From: "Ruth Piwonka" <ruthpiwonka@hotmail.com>
Date: Mon, 05 Dec 2005 00:19:39 -0500
Subject: fresh material
Source: direct

Title: Liefde Zal Ons Levend Bijhouden

Questions, comments, complaints, edification, degradation: E-mail: 
ruthpiwonka@hotmail.com

Disclaimer:  Are you kidding?  I have no intention of apologizing for 
apprehending these characters--it's not like anyone officially associated 
with the series reads fan fiction.  And should I be wrong, God strike me.

Summary: You are an FBI agent that just lost a best friend and a partner to 
a hostile species of aliens planning to invade and secretly annihilate the 
inhabitants of Earth.  Your new partner refuses to believe in the paranormal 
despite the evidence.  You've been used by your government against your 
will.  You've also been dismissed by the same people and neglected despite 
your own troubles.  A new black covert organization has offered you a chance 
to get him back should you do a simple favor for them.  What would you do to 
get Mulder back?

Blurbs (to wet a few appetites):

Scully:  What you see, Agent Doggett, is an extreme close-up of an 
exsanguination.  The coroner found traces of digitalis in the bloodstream.  
Seven years ago, Agent Mulder and I investigated a case just like this.

Gardener: I'm Detective Janine Gardener, of the Flagstaff Police Department. 
  So you're buying into her bullshit?

Doggett: I didn't say that.

Kersh: Just pack up and leave at once, Agent Doggett.

Scully: If that hand disappears, you're gonna join that cancer ridden 
bastard in Hell.

Doggett: Agent Scully, I'm sorry to wake you up in the middle of the night 
like this, but AD Skinner's taken sick.

Skinner: You're just going to let them win?

Scully: My God.  This is what you were going to show me.

Keywords (genre): mytharc and X, MSR (only because of one part of a scene)

Rating: R for case details, language, and mature situations

Spoilers: Revolves around the old conspiracy and dances circles a bit around 
the newer alien thing, whatever it was.  Personally, I disliked the new 
direction that Carter took the series in during season 8, so I put a new 
spin on some of the old ways...and then some.  Occurs just before "This Is 
Not Happening".  Some minor references are made to a comedy I posted earlier 
this year, but it's not necessary to have read it for an understanding.  So 
if you are not quite up to date on your mytharc, I'd suggest revisiting some 
a little bit before reading this piece, though there are some visits to the 
past.


"Liefde Zan Ons Levend Bijhouden"


Hobbit Avenue, Flagstaff, AZ
September 15th, 2000, 3:49 p.m.


A canary yellow school bus marked "Cococino County Schools" pulled up to the 
stop sign to let off the few children of the neighborhood.  Five 
rambunctious children hurried down the tall steps and jumped down onto the 
sidewalk.  But only two of them did not part ways.  The eight year old boy 
and girl remained close to one another while their other companions ran on 
ahead.

He reached for her hand and held it closely to his side.  "So, Theresa, 
what'd you think of Ms. Connelly's science project?"  They began a leisurely 
stride, and a rush of wind swept across them, suddenly truncating the 
blazing heat of the day momentarily.

"It's a waste of our time."

"Well, why's that?"

"If I want to know how a volcano works, I'll watch the Discovery channel.  
I'd rather do that and write a report about it than build that stupid 
atrocity she wants us to concoct," Theresa huffed and broke their touch to 
shove some of her long, ash blonde hair away from her face.

"Yeah, but if we don't do it, our grades will suffer.  It's a homework 
assignment, not extra credit."

"Aaron, do you know how stereotypical it is for kids our age to have to go 
through the hassle of constructing first a week's worth of newspaper 
carefully into a paper mache mountain and then have it graded upon how 
wonderful it looks?  And then on top of that, a week later, the whole 
monstrosity will end up in the school dumpster or if you're lucky, postponed 
because of the science fair for another week."

"I don't think she grades it according to the project's looks.  I think she 
grades it based upon the fact that it works properly," he reached for her 
hand again and started to swing it with his own in a gentle rhythm.

"She used to be an art teacher, you know, before she began her career over 
at our school."

"Really?"

"Yeah.  I read about her just before school started again.  Ms. Connelly's 
just a warm body filling a cavity in the third grade for now, until they can 
get someone with a real brain."

"That does explain a few things, now that I think of it."

"Right.  Start getting out your paintbrush instead of your white vinegar and 
baking soda."

"Oh, I'm not very good at painting.  Do you think you could help me if I do 
your paper mache construction?"

"Sure, no problem.  Did you notice how she screws up our curriculum, too?"

"What do you mean?"

"For one thing, the 'volcano' is supposed to be a fourth grade project 
according to the Cococino County Schools' syllabus.  We're probably supposed 
to just be collecting leaves and learning how to classify them since we're 
only in the third grade."

"Since when have you been reading your mom's syllabus?"

"Since my dad keeps on buying me those retarded R.L. Stine books.  I asked 
him for something more stimulating, like a Sir Arthur Conan Doyle Sherlock 
Holmes novel, but I guess it was too expensive.  I don't know.  I can't 
comprehend adult logic."

"Me neither.  I think my dad's got a copy of some Sherlock Holmes 
adventures.  I'll bring it over after dinner, if you want."

"Okay, that sounds cool."  They were nearing two nearly identical adjacent 
houses.  The only significant difference between the two was that there was 
a cactus on Theresa Samuels' porch.  The Troxlers owned slightly overgrown 
hedges, and they hid the windowsills' ledges perfectly.  But other than 
that, the color was the same, and so were the types of cars parked outside 
in the driveway.

"Hey, Theresa," Aaron raised his voice as she went across the way to her 
front door.

"Yeah?"

"Which do you like better, physics or chemistry?"

"Chemistry," Theresa answered him and fished out a key from her pocket.
	"Me, too."  As the two children closed the doors to their respective homes, 
they knew what had to be done.  Unfortunately, it could not be put off any 
longer.  By six thirty, the task had been completed.



The X-Files Office, FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C.
September 22nd, 2000, 8:15 a.m.


Agent Doggett made his usual morning rounds upstairs as brief as possible.  
As much as he hated to admit it, the traffic of the bullpen was becoming 
less and less appealing for him.  He had to come up here just once a day for 
their mail, but even that was getting old.  He toyed with the idea of asking 
the mail room to install a box in the elevator next to the 'B' button but 
dismissed it once there was nothing in their current pigeon hole.  Again.  
Oh well.

Doggett eyed the pile of pastries sitting in an unguarded spot in the break 
room.  Two minutes later, he was down in the basement hallway again only to 
find the X-Files office dark, save for the hard edge of the slide 
projector's lamp on her bureau.  He dumped the Danish and glazed doughnut 
onto his seat and spun around to try to find the light switch on the wall.  
"Morning, Agent Doggett," came her voice from behind a portable projection 
screen.

"Good morning, Agent Scully," he returned and approached her.  "Need any 
help?"

"I'm fine, thanks."  She gripped the handle with one hand and cautiously 
balanced her weight onto a chair behind the screen.  After two failed 
attempts, she finally guided the handle into the hook and triumphantly 
stepped down.  Before she could even say anything, Doggett moved the slide 
projector into the appropriate position and sneaked past the huge 
obstruction to get to their coffee pot.

As she battled with the carousel, Doggett set down a mug of coffee beside it 
and picked up the breakfast junk food before retrieving his chair.  "Where'd 
you get the screen, Agent Scully?"

"I purloined it from the audio visual department."

"Purloined?"

"Well, I actually borrowed it from Agent Schneider.  Agent Mulder and I did 
own one, but unfortunately, it got demolished in our office fire almost 
three years ago.  Besides, he owed me a favor."  Scully gratefully took a 
sip of her coffee and winced.  Doggett had many good traits and had proven 
himself as loyal as a canine, but unfortunately, his skills with making 
coffee were somewhat limited.  *I miss Mulder's coffee.*

He apparently did not notice her expression since the office was dark, and 
that was fine with her.  Scully remembered how at first, Mulder had the same 
lack of talent with the beverage when she first darkened the door of the 
X-Files office.  But under her guidance, Mulder had gradually learned how to 
perfect the art.

"What am I looking at, Agent Scully?"

"A very blurry image.  I'm sorry, hold on a minute."  She drank some more 
and advanced the carousel into the next slide.

"I'm guessing the remote got burned up, too?"

"That's another story I'm afraid we don't have time for right now," Scully 
shook her head and graciously refused one of the pastries he held out to 
her.  "Ah.  Here we are.  What you see, Agent Doggett, is an extreme 
close-up of an exsanguination."

"A what?"

"An exsanguination.  The victim is pierced with two knife wounds here, above 
the jugular vein," Scully walked over to the screen and pointed to the two 
markings, "where the heart continues to function as a pump, and therefore 
causes him to bleed to death.  This is a common tradition with the Islamic 
and Jewish ritual of animal slaughter, as the Koran and Torah instruct the 
practitioners not to eat the blood of any animal.  But as you can see, we're 
not looking at an animal.  This neck, does indeed, belong to a human.  A Mr. 
Ralph Troxler, age 38, of Flagstaff, Arizona."  She traveled back over to 
the projector and advanced it.

"How long does it take for someone to die like that?"  Doggett had to look 
away when the next slide showed a long shot of the middle aged man drowned 
in a huge puddle of blood on the floor.  Even though he had been a New York 
City Police officer and seen much brutality, there were still some things 
that he could not stand to look at for more than half a second.

"It depends on the victim's height, weight, and blood pressure.  But by the 
data given by the Cococino medical examiner, I can approximately guess that 
it would have probably taken two hours.  And that's only our first victim."  
She advanced the projector to show the Troxlers and again for the Samuels 
then sat beside him in the other visitor's chair with a manila file in her 
lap.

"My god.  What kind of a screwed up fruitcake would do that to four people?  
Do you suspect a cult or some kind of a gang initiation?"  Doggett turned 
his chair to face her.

"No, the punctures made were too surgically precise for them to have been 
done by a gang member.  There was the possible theory of a cult's 
involvement, until I got to the second page of the coroner's report.  She 
found traces of digitalis in the bloodstream.  Digitalis is culminated from 
a plant in South America, and if a human consumes more than 500 mg of it, 
the results are fatal."

"What kind of prescription medication contains this stuff?"

"None.  It can't be bought over the counter, either.  Digitalis once 
ingested causes paralysis to the spinal cord and then from there, the 
victims had no chance of escaping their murderers."

"Murderers?  You're saying that these four people were killed by more than 
one person?"

"Yes.  I've seen this before, as a matter of fact."  Scully closed the 
manila file and reached to the desk for the red and white striped X-Files 
folder.
"Seven years ago, Agent Mulder and I investigated a case where the victims 
had been poisoned by the means of digitalis and then exsanguinated.  The 
crime was committed by two identical girls.  One was from Greenwich, 
Connecticut, and the other was from San Francisco, California.  As a matter 
of fact, the murders occurred at the very same moment in time."

"Were they twin sisters?"

"Not exactly."

"Then what do you mean?"

"They were clones created by a Dr. Sally Kendrick, of San Francisco, whom 
they too murdered."

"Clones?  Agent Scully, that kind of technology for humans isn't even 
possible yet.  The scientists that made that sheep a couple of years ago 
even admitted that they made huge flaws with their three hundredth and 
whatever try that was."

"The technology is possible--I've seen it.  Mind you, she didn't create 
these test tube children out of nothing--she did use someone's ova.  
However, they were engineered specifically to cater to certain 
expectations."

"Engineered?  To whose expectations?  You make it sound like that woman was 
making Chevys on a production line from Detroit."

"That was sort of along the lines of her intentions.  She wanted to make the 
perfect assassins."

"That's ridiculous.  Why would she do a thing like that?"

"To carry on the work of her predecessors."

"Who?"

"I'm not precisely sure of that information.  But what I want to know is how 
the technology got out again--all of Kendrick's achievements were destroyed 
by the time Agent Mulder and I found her office.  This X-File isn't even an 
original--it's just the field report notes we gave AD Skinner seven years 
ago."

"I still can't get over the fact that you think two eight year old girls 
killed a grown woman."

"Well, their fingerprints were found all over a phial of digitalis, Agent 
Doggett."  Scully handed him a sheet of paper and crossed her legs.  "Does 
that sound plausible to you now?"

"Yeah, I guess.  So what, do you think that they're at it again?"

"No.  I checked on the records at Whiting Institute, which is where they 
were originally incarcerated, and they're both still there.  Someone else is 
making killer children."

"Okay."  Doggett gave her the paper back and opened one of his desk drawers. 
  "I'll fill out the paperwork to AD Skinner for a 302 if you want to stop 
by the travel office and requisition two tickets to-"

She pulled out another sheet and gave it to him.

"That's a confirmation number for our 1:30 flight to Flagstaff today."

"How'd you get an approval so fast?"

"AD Skinner' s accompanying us."




Troxlers' and Samuels' Residence, Hobbit Ave., Flagstaff, AZ
September 22nd, 2000, 5:45 p.m.


Skinner had no trouble finding the houses--the block was clustered by every 
type of police vehicle imaginable except a SWAT team truck.  He pulled their 
Buick Le Sabre up behind a gigantic Ford Expedition and got out, followed by 
both Agents Doggett and Scully.  "I'm surprised to see all this traffic 
still here a week after the incident," Skinner commented.

"The families were only found three days ago," a female voice declared and 
all three agents spun around to get their first look at her.  She was about 
five five and dressed just as stylishly, if not more than Scully.  Her 
almond hair was pulled back into a straight pony tail; her face made her 
appear to be not much more than the age of a high schooler, but Scully knew 
better.  "Detective Janine Gardener, from Flagstaff Police Department," she 
told them.

Scully found Gardener to be just as brief in her introductions as she.  The 
thought was mildly intriguing at first, but she pushed it away as Skinner 
introduced his agents.  "My name is Assistant Director Skinner, and these 
are Special Agents Doggett and Scully from Washington, D.C."

"Not that I don't appreciate your presence on this case, but why is the FBI 
here?" Gardener asked.  "I didn't phone the Phoenix or Tucson field 
offices."

"Our department specializes in the investigation of the paranormal and 
unexplained," Scully started.

"Hold on a second.  We have two cases of homicide here, nothing else."

"I have reports here that state otherwise, according to what your medical 
examiner found."  She opened her briefcase on top of the trunk and showed 
the papers to the skeptical detective.

"This evidence still sounds like murder to me," Gardener stated after 
spending a few moments skimming over the reports.  "I'm afraid you're 
wasting your time by coming here, Agents.  We've already got this homicide 
well underway."

"Who're your suspects?" Doggett finally spoke.

"I don't need to share that information with you."

Scully's temper was rising very quickly, and her tongue pressed itself 
firmly into the front corner of her mouth.  Skinner noticed her body 
language and his insides tensed up.  This was the dawn of her exasperation; 
he knew she could keep her professionalism for a few more minutes.  But it 
wouldn't be too long before the explosion would occur between the two women 
if he didn't interfere.  *Mulder would have either blown up in her face or 
insulted her intelligence five minutes ago*, he thought.

"Detective Gardener, your investigation coincides with one the Bureau opened 
up seven years ago.  As a matter of fact, Agent Scully was one of the field 
agents involved.  It might be a good idea to perhaps at least consult with 
her upon matters of your investigation, if not cooperate directly with us."

"We do have jurisdiction here.  And please feel free to contact the office 
of the Attorney General in Washington should you have any further 
questions," Scully coldly added.

Just as the heated situation seemed like it was going to boil over into 
complete animosity, Gardener shrugged and glanced at Doggett.  "No, we don't 
have any legitimate suspects.  We questioned neighbors, family, friends.  
You name the question, we've asked it in the past seventy-two hours."  She 
walked coolly to the Expedition, unlocked it, and took out a light rain 
coat.  "What about you, Agent Scully, was it?  You got anyone in mind?"  She 
donned the jacket and tied the flaps around her waist snugly.

"We do, as a matter of fact.  Theresa Samuels and Aaron Troxler."

"Oh.  Why didn't I think of that?" Gardener snapped.  She didn't wait for an 
answer.  "I'd probably give you one iota of belief if we'd found a very 
important thing, namely, a smoking gun."

Doggett remembered how he felt as a police officer when he had to deal with 
the regional New York Bureau; every time he did, it felt like he was being 
slapped in the face or had an anvil dropped onto his toes.  It was a common 
practice for rookies in the precincts to be the "Bureau escorts"--what it 
really meant was that you were the runner for coffee, lunch, dinner, or 
simple little errands that the special agents couldn't be bothered with.  
Then after he'd proven himself after a couple of years of hard work, the 
same special agents from the regional office still treated him like shit.  
This, no doubt, had been the same situation for a person like Detective 
Gardener, and he sympathized with her.  But Agent Scully was not like them; 
she didn't seem to mind getting her hands dirty like other female agents 
he'd gone to Quantico with.  Neither did she complain when their cases 
seemed to go nowhere, and hell, they'd been getting a lot of those recently. 
  Maybe these homicides would give him a boost, and in no time, he would be 
out of the X-Files office and into an assistant director's chair.

"What did your crime scene investigators find, if I might ask?" Doggett 
inquired.

"Come this way.  I'll show you."  She led the way into the Troxler's house 
and tapped a man on the back that had the absolute most enticing pair of 
aquamarine eyes Scully had ever looked into.  And they seemed to be boring 
right back into hers with a fierce intensity.  His black nylon jacket had 
the white acronym of CSI stitched across the back and just below his left 
shoulder above the breast.

"Jerry Hester heads our department's crime scene investigation team.  These 
are Special Agents Skinner, Doggett, and Scully," Gardener announced after 
demonstrating with her hands slightly towards each.  "Please familiarize 
these people with what you've found out here so far.  I've got to make a 
call to the Sheriff to let him know we now have assistance from the FBI."  
Her last statement was so acrimonious that even Skinner wanted to bite her 
head off, particularly since she addressed his rank incorrectly.

"Nice to meet you.  I assure you, Agents, we've been combing this place for 
days now and haven't found a thing to incriminate anyone.  You'd think with 
8 liters of blood spilled all over the kitchen floor that there'd be at 
least one footprint somewhere," Hester lamented and began to scratch his 
left cheek.

"Excuse me, did you say eight liters of blood?"  Doggett questioned him.

"Yeah, that's right.  It took us an hour to vacuum it all up.  Right now, 
it's being analyzed at the lab and separated--the mother's from the 
father's."  He shook his head and moved out of the way as one of his 
colleagues brought a whole container of pens and pencils through the 
doorway.  "And 16 liters total, if you count the Samuels' house, too."

"Are those going to be bagged and studied as well?" Scully motioned with her 
head towards the CSI that had just passed them, and Hester gave her his full 
attention.  There was a familiar juvenile twinkle in his eye that Mulder 
gave her when she was in full lecture mode.  At first it had annoyed her; 
but she found that in the last couple of years, the twinkle gave her shivers 
down her spine.  Not that she'd admit it to him, of course.  He really did 
enjoy listening to her usual differential hypotheses, she realized.  That's 
why he gave her those excited looks.  Here she thought that he did it to 
distract her and try to convert her thought processes to the dark side. "I 
studied the autopsy reports your county coroner made before we came here.  
She didn't expound upon what could have been used to puncture the jugular 
vein.  I was kind of surprised that there were no theories made."

"Oh, she had theories all right.  But she just didn't put them in the 
summary.  We've been exploring every inch of these houses and collecting 
everything and anything that looks like it could be a stabbing weapon," 
Hester explained.  "I've never heard of an FBI agent examining autopsy 
reports before.  Is that a new requirement or something before you go out 
into the field?"

"Agent Scully is a pathologist.  She likes to be prepared," Skinner replied 
and nodded.

"In that case, do you want to go over to see Dr. Fauci?" Gardener suddenly 
reappeared in the house and pocketed her cell phone.  "I could drop you off 
on the way back to my office, if you'd like."

"I don't think it's necessary, thanks.  I have all the details that I'll be 
needing," Scully answered.

"Oh, if you're so sure about that, then, why don't you just tell Jerry here 
what he'll be needing too, and maybe we'll have the case solved by 
midnight."

"You sure have an answer to everything, don't you?" Scully challenged her.

"Look, I, uh, for one, would like to go back to your office with you.  Do 
you know where the kids are?"  Doggett interrupted their spat.

"They're in the custody of the county now, under social services.  You want 
to talk to them, huh?  I suppose I could put in a call to their case worker. 
  Where do you want to do this?"

"I'll leave the arrangements up to you, since you were so kind to offer your 
services.  I appreciate your time, Detective."  She nodded and stepped 
outside once more to make another phone call.

"Jerry, I'm almost out of fluorescein.  Do we have anymore on the scene?"  
the African American woman tapped Hester on the shoulder from his side and 
showed him her empty spray bottle.

"Check next door, Doris.  They might have an extra bottle.  If not, 
someone's gonna have to make a run back to the lab for some more."  He 
patted down his pockets for a fresh pair of latex gloves and once he found 
some, he discarded the others into his own tackle box.  "Well, Dr. Scully, 
how about some ideas from you?  I could certainly use the inspiration."  
There was a flicker of a grin that crossed his mouth, and it drove Scully 
crazy because it was so reminiscent of Mulder's.

"Well, what have you tried so far?" she wondered.  "Besides knives, of 
course."

"Of course."  There were some teeth involved in that one.

"Everything's all set, Agent Doggett.  I'll drive you over to the house 
now," Gardener declared from the open screen door, and Doggett gave his 
companions brief goodbyes as he parted.

"Well, there were several letter openers around the house.  None of those 
were used.  Uh, we went through the yards of silverware the Troxlers and 
Samuels owned, too.  Even checked the spoons," Hester continued.  "We 
cleared out the tool chests and cabinets.  I was thinking about writing 
utensils, next.  That's why she went next door."

"I think I'll head over there, too.  Maybe I'll be able to help them," 
Skinner said and left a very surprised Scully standing alone.  He withdrew 
his own gloves and put them on before leaving.

"I surmise that your experiences with our field offices have been 
rather...rough," Scully insinuated and walked over with Hester to the 
testing station Doris had set up.

"Who, me?  I've got nothing to complain about.  You guys just usually leave 
us alone and inflict all the mortal pain on the homicide detectives.  No 
offense intended, Dr. Scully," Hester told her.

"That's okay.  My partner and I were out in Vegas last year with a very good 
team.  They expressed a similar sentiment to our Vegas branch."

"I went to school with one of them, as a matter of fact.  Does the name Nick 
Stokes ring a bell?"

"I met him," Scully agreed and flushed inwardly.  She did just more than 
meet him.  They had gone back to his house for a drink at the end of a 
frustrating X-File, but one thing had led to another.  Scully had not had a 
one night stand since college and reacquainted herself with the odd feeling 
of emptiness as she left Stokes' house the next morning.  As she had flown 
back to Washington, she told herself that she only slept with him to get 
back at Mulder for his inconsiderate remarks.  But what good had that done?  
She never actually told him, and by the next time they met back in the 
office, silent apologies were made.  And then New Year's Eve happened.  Now 
he was gone.

"I swiped their last bottle.  Oh, Robertson was pissed," Doris called as she 
re-entered the house and triumphantly set it down in front of them.  "So I 
told him that I'd get tonight's dinner.  Seemed to simmer him down to just a 
violent glare."

"Doris, this is Special Agent Scully from the Washington branch of the FBI.  
She's going to help us find what killed these poor folks," Hester declared.

"I hope," Scully muttered.  She put on her own gloves and started to sort 
the pens and pencils into separate piles.  The other woman eyed her 
carefully for a moment but then poured some solution into a petri dish while 
Hester looked on with amusement.

"I'll just look around to see if I can locate some more," he said as he 
meandered away.

"So those two guys are your partners, huh?" Doris queried to start the 
conversation.

"Just the one that left with Detective Gardener.  The other man is my 
supervisor.  She actually made a mistake when she introduced him.  He's an 
assistant director."

"What's it like?"

"Beg pardon?"  Doris pulled a box of Q-tips from her crime scene kit and 
dipped one into the fluorescein then picked an individual from the pile of 
pens Scully had made.

"What's it like to work for the main branch of the FBI?  We already know 
about all of the pricks out here in the western field offices, but I bet 
they don't tolerate too much crap from anyone in the east."

*You'd be surprised.*

"There's not that much of a difference between coasts, actually.  There are 
some people that I've met that I'd rather not associate with again if I had 
the choice.  But that doesn't often happen."

"Yeah, it isn't easy being a woman in our line of work, that's for sure.  
Speaking of women, don't mind Detective Gardener.  Now if you want to talk 
about somebody's who's tolerated a lot of shit, she's the epitome of 
strength on our force.  She grew up in San Francisco but moved here to get 
out of the big city.  Mind you, Flagstaff's not a small town, though.  
Anyhow, rumor is that she got sexually harassed by someone in San Francisco 
and filed a suit.  So they fired her.  Can you believe it?"

"I can," Scully replied glumly.

"When she got to Flagstaff, she had been a sergeant on the force in Frisco 
by the way, they just brushed off all of her past experience and started her 
off as a rookie here.  That really upsets me.  But anyhow, the Sheriff that 
did that to her got fired.  She's been on the force here for six years now.  
Not too many people have tried anything because they hear about how good of 
a case solve rate she has and know how fast they could end up in the ground 
without a headstone," she chuckled.

"Really?  What kind of percentage does she have?"

"Out of 120 homicide cases, she's solved 101."

"That's almost eighty-five percent," Scully marveled.  *She could probably 
work at the Bureau if she wanted to as a profiler.  Mulder's percentage was 
only five more.*

"Yeah, she's one smart cookie."

"What's the diagnosis on our pens?"

"I got nothing so far.  Are you done sorting them yet?"

"Just about.  I really doubt a permanent marker could be used as a weapon."

"I got plenty of abuse on my body due to those," Doris laughed.  As Scully 
gave her a questioning look, the woman rolled up a part of her left glove 
and showed her the remains of a smiley face.  "I have a five year old son 
with a mind of his own.  I fell asleep one night on the couch in front of 
the TV, and he went to town on me.  Got any kids, Agent Scully?"

"No."  At least not yet, she mused.

A flapping noise startled the both of them that came through the kitchen.  
Both women went for their weapons, but remained still.  Ever so slowly, a 
beagle trudged into the living room and started to whine.  His howl was soft 
at first but it grew louder.  In fact, it was so loud that Hester came all 
the way from the attic to see what all the commotion was about.

Seconds later, the reason became very clear to everyone why the dog was so 
upset, and it ended up all over the living room carpet.  "Oh no," Hester 
complained and stamped his foot onto one of the stairs he'd just scaled and 
descended.

"Jerry, I'll clean it up, don't worry about it," Doris mumbled and grunted.

"Then who's going to finish the writing utensils?  I'll do it, Doris."  As 
the two of them were quarreling, Scully secured her weapon, and went through 
the back door to the yard.

Sure enough, all of the garbage cans had been overturned and trash lay 
scattered everywhere in the backyard.  Nobody had bothered to look for an 
animal, much less feed it, so logically, the poor dog was scavenging for 
food.  As she sorted through the refuse, she found exactly what she had 
hoped to find: a ray of hope.  A pair of latex gloves turned inside out lay 
on top of a white kitchen sized plastic bag, and the familiar green color of 
digitalis was smeared all over them.  "I'll be damned."

As she came back into the house, Scully couldn't help but feel relieved.  It 
was evident to Hester that something was different about her gait; she 
seemed taller somehow.  "What've you got?" he asked.

"The smoking gun," Scully's mouth formulated a tiny smile.  "Do you have any 
evidence bags?"

"Is the Pope Catholic?"  Hester chortled and brought one over to her.

"Never thought I'd be bagging these kind of gloves."

"The world's changed.  Killers of the eighties and nineties used to wear 
leather.  Now they sport latex.  Spooky, isn't it?  I could start my own 
business on the side."  When both women gave him "the look", he shrugged 
innocently.  Now Scully knew she had found the perfect friend for Mulder, if 
she could ever get him back.  "Sorry, sorry, don't mind me.  Is there blood 
on those?"

"Nope.  Just a little digitalis, though.  That's enough to get you going, 
right?"  Scully questioned him.

"You bet.  Guess what tonight's theme song is going to be back at the lab, 
Doris?"

"Ah, I can only guess," she answered.

"AC/DC's 'You Shook Me All Night Long'.  These puppies are going off right 
now!"

"Speaking of dogs..." Doris began.

"Buy some food while you're out getting dinner, please."

"I knew it..." she rolled her eyes and took his proffered car keys along 
with the evidence bag.

"Actually," Scully stopped her before she could go out the front door, "I'd 
like to take this in myself to show Detective Gardener.  Don't worry, I'll 
make sure it gets to your chemist."

"Suit yourself.  What do you want, Jerry?"

"Where're you going tonight?"

"Burger King, I guess."

"Whopper combo #2 with a Dr. Pepper.  Agent Scully?"

"No thanks.  AD Skinner and I will probably grab something on the way to the 
station."

"Are you sure?  Doris is buying."

"Positive.  I'm not hungry."  The last thing she wanted to think about was 
greasy, fried food at the moment.

"I've heard that from a woman before.  Okay, how about picking up a garden 
salad for Agent Scully?"

"Don't push your luck, Jerry.  If the woman says she doesn't want anything, 
she doesn't want anything.  Women only lie about their appetites in front of 
men they are interested in."

"Thanks a lot," Hester groaned.

"The mood's certainly lighter over on this piece of property," Skinner 
observed as he watched Doris climb into an SUV and pull away.  Scully folded 
the seal over her prized evidence bag and lifted it up for him to see as 
they walked down the pathway back to their rental.  "Where'd you find 
those?"

"Strangely enough with the help of a beagle."  She set her briefcase into 
the back seat and readjusted the passenger seat to accommodate her height.  
"I haven't had to do this for a while."

"What'd he do, sniff 'em out for you?"

"No.  He came in through the pet door in the kitchen and um...-"

"Shit on the carpet?"

"No, thankfully, although the smell might be a little more tolerable.  The 
dog regurgitated his lunch all over it instead.  Well, I suppose, it could 
be argued as dinner now," she glanced at her watch.  "But anyway, I got a 
feeling to go outside, and just as I thought, the animal had been foraging 
in the rubbish."

"Go on."  Skinner ignited the engine and turned the a/c on at full blast.

"There's a bit of the right index finger chewed off here, and I postulate 
that both the combination of latex and digitalis caused the dog to get sick, 
therefore...-"

"Caused him to puke on the carpet?"

"Right."

"Good work, Agent Scully.  The reason why I wanted to come with you, to tell 
you the truth, is not because I didn't believe you, but rather because I 
wanted to see how you and Agent Doggett were getting along in the field 
together."

"We're fine, sir.  You could've just asked."

"I meant that I wanted to see how you were performing without...without..."

"Without Mulder?"

"Correct."

"I'm..." she thought carefully over her words, "...managing."

He stopped at a red light and gazed over at how quickly forlorn her face had 
become.  "Probably shouldn't have brought that up.  Sorry, Agent."

"I was thinking about him a lot today."

"You were?"  Skinner's face was a complete mask of innocent surprise, but 
deep down, he was doubting that it was just 'today' that Scully thought of 
Mulder.  He knew how much Mulder cared for her, but this was the first time 
that he got the same inclination from Scully of Mulder.  He also was very 
much aware of how far past their care for one another went beyond the call 
of the FBI partnership duties.  She did not just take the news of his 
disappearance like many other female agents with male partners would have.  
*Well, it just went back to the cliche of you never know how much you're 
going to miss someone until they're gone.  Damnit, Mulder's not gone, he's 
just gone missing.  Stop thinking like that!*

"Someone I met today reminded me a lot of Mulder."

"Who was that?"

"That uh...Jerry Hester guy.  He approaches a crime scene just like Mulder 
does with an X-File."
*I'm glad she's still using the present tense to speak about him.*

"You're right, he was kind of quirky.  But that's good.  Helps energize 
everyone else.  While some others like to drag the rest down," his grip 
tightened on the steering wheel.

"If you're referring to Detective Gardener, I may have found out the reason 
why she behaves that way."

"Those wonderful field office agents paved the streets gold again for us, 
haven't they?"

"Maybe.  I got the impression that she's been at war with the boys' club 
just like a lot of other women.  But surprisingly enough through it all, 
she's remained consistently strong at work.  85% solve rate of homicides 
alone."

"Wow.  She could probably do some profiling for the VCS if she wanted."

"I know.  Mulder's solve rate was 90%.  But he was so unhappy--he got worked 
just like a field hand over there by that idiot Patterson."  She glanced 
down at her hands and realized that they were still covered with latex 
gloves.  She had them off in moments and stared out the window.  "I miss 
him.  I miss his 'hunches' and those infamous 'leaps of logic'."

"I think he's stamped himself onto a lot more people than he gave himself 
credit.  For me, it was his persistence and the intensity.  He threw himself 
into his work.  For you, I see a more open mind.  When you two were first 
working together, I could tell that he annoyed the hell out of you, and 
you'd do practically anything to try to disprove him or either shut him up.  
Look where one of his hunches got you today," he pointed to the evidence bag 
sitting in her lap.  "Mulder would be proud."



Flagstaff Police Department, Flagstaff, AZ
September 22nd, 2000, 8:49 p.m.


"This is Caroline Connelly, of Cornerstone Elementary, the school Aaron 
Troxler and Theresa Samuels attend.  She's a long term substitute while they 
try to find someone permanent," Detective Gardener told Doggett outside of 
the questioning room.  "Used to be an art teacher beforehand."

"How long have the kids been in school?"  Doggett inquired.

"I don't know...maybe since the beginning of this month.  It's been a long 
while since I've been in school.  We used to get summers off and start 
school in the fall when I was a kid."

"I'll ask her then."  He pushed the door open for her and shut it behind 
them after they filed in.  "Ms. Connelly, I'm Special Agent Doggett with the 
FBI, and this is Detective Gardener.  We'd like to ask you about a couple of 
students of yours, if you wouldn't mind."

The woman was in her mid-20's and her crimson hair was coifed short into an 
Italian bob.  Her hazel eyes seemed just as harmless as a deer but her arms 
were crossed impatiently.  "I've been sitting here for the past half hour 
waiting for you," Connelly remarked.  "I've got papers to grade at home, you 
know."

"We apologize, Ms. Connelly.  Thank you for taking your time to speak with 
us," Doggett acknowledged her.

"Well ask your damn questions and get them over with," Connelly spat.

"You teach third grade at Cornerstone Elementary, yes?"  The woman just 
nodded and rolled her eyes.  "And you have Aaron Troxler and Theresa Samuels 
for students, isn't that right?"

"If you ask me, they don't belong in the third grade," Connelly dismissed 
his perfunctory questions.

"Really, and how do you figure?"  Gardener jumped in suddenly.

"Considering that both of them constantly ace all of the tests and projects 
that I've been giving out since the school year began.  Both of them express 
boredom with all of their assignments.  Mind you, the work they turn in is 
outstanding, and when I compliment them, they just seem to ignore me as if I 
didn't exist.  Whenever I try to put them to work with other children and 
boost the others' learning level, those two just leave them behind in the 
dust.  As a result, they're often ostracized and ridiculed by the children."

"And do you correct this cruel behavior?"

"As often as I see it occur, yes.  But unfortunately, I can't be in every 
argument during recess and after school on the playground."

"Ms. Connelly, have you ever had to call a parent/teacher conference for 
either child?"  Doggett asked.

"Well, during the first two weeks of school, I was concerned that maybe the 
kids were using their parents or siblings to do their work for them because 
it was so above the level of a typical third grader.  So I called their 
homes and found out that Aaron and Theresa were only children to two very 
loving pairs of parents that were shocked that I even suggested such a 
thing.  It's such a rare occasion for children to have both a mother and a 
father in the same household anymore.  It was odd to speak with both parents 
on the same line.  I have to make phone calls to kids' grandparents, 
step-parents, uncles, aunts, and guardians most of the time nowadays.  
Sometimes I have to make sure that I have the right contact information 
after I get in touch with the responsible party--their names don't even 
match the last names of the kids' anymore."

"How about any abnormal behavior from Aaron or Theresa?"  When Connelly gave 
him an exasperated glare as if to ask were you just paying any attention to 
what I told you, Doggett waived his hand in mid-air.  "Let me rephrase that. 
  Are you having disciplinary problems with these kids?"

"Not one bit.  But it's the quiet ones that secretly worry me the most."

"What do you mean by that?" Gardener prodded.

"Look at what happened last year in April.  I know those weren't elementary 
kids, and if that ever happens in an elementary school, I'm going to find 
myself a new career.  Those teens just let the anger build up inside of them 
for years and finally let it all go with bombs and shotguns.  It's not right 
for kids to be allowed to be that ruthless to each other.  So I watch over 
Aaron and Theresa's situation closely."

"Might I ask how escalated the situations got when you have interfered in 
the past?  Do they typically involve just verbal abuse or do they get 
physical?"

"I try to cut them off as early as possible...just when they start to call 
Aaron or Theresa names.  The fights are mostly verbal and instigated only by 
the jealous kids.  Aaron and Theresa rarely do anything in defense; they 
take the abuse most of the time.  But one time, it did require the 
involvement of another adult's assistance.  I don't remember what led up to 
the altercation, but I sure as hell remember the result.  As a matter of 
fact, it happened two weeks ago.  Both of them had ganged up on a boy that 
was teasing Aaron.  Theresa was holding the poor kid's hands behind his back 
while Aaron was getting ready to perform some kind of a choking blow.  I 
ordered Theresa to release this boy, but neither of them reacted to my 
voice.  It was as if they either didn't hear me or didn't care.  I had to 
get the janitor to help me pry the boy away from Theresa just before Aaron 
could land the hit correctly.  He ended up just missing the fatal spot, too. 
  And I mean by centimeters.  She had a deathly strong grip on the kid."

"Have either of them had karate lessons?"  Doggett probed.

"There was a meeting held with the parents, and the question was asked.  
Their answer was no.  At first, none of them would believe me when I called 
because nothing like this had ever happened before.  I only knew what to do 
because I'm taking self defense classes at night, and this technique 
involves the assailant's two fingers; the index and forefinger strike the 
windpipe here," she pointed to her neck.

"I'm familiar with that.  You can use that to your advantage if you get 
backed into a corner by someone twice your size," Gardener assented.  "What 
happened after you pulled them apart from the kid?"

"I took them to the principal's office.  They weren't kicking or screaming 
on the way, but as soon as I explained what had happened to my boss, I 
noticed something very peculiar about their behavior.  They were stoic, 
almost like soldiers--neither of them had emotions either way about the 
happenstance."

"That's odd.  So they just took their punishment and went back to their 
quote normal conduct?"  Doggett rested his chin in one hand while the other 
held up his elbow.

"Yes.  My boss later informed me that there were no arguments and no 
reactions with him when he told Aaron and Theresa that he'd have to phone 
their parents.  Do you have a kid, Agent Doggett?"  Connelly watched him as 
he poured a paper cup full of water and offered it to her across the table.  
He then pulled out the chair in front of her and sat.

"One.  He's gone, now,"  Doggett replied emotionlessly.

"I apologize.  But as a father, would you think that a child would be 
terrified upon being in trouble with his or her parent?"

"Under normal circumstances, yeah, definitely."

"They were both as quiet as mice and showed absolutely no remorse for what 
they'd done.  If I hadn't gotten there to stop Aaron, that boy would've been 
dead no questions asked."

"In that case, you probably understand why I wanted to talk to you, Ms. 
Connelly."

"Detective Gardener said that Aaron and Theresa's parents had been murdered. 
  Do you suspect that those children killed their parents?"

"I can't discuss all the details of this case with you freely, Ms. Connelly. 
  But what I can do is thank you again for taking the time to speak with 
us."  But his eyes told her that that was precisely why he had made her sit 
in that windowless, bleak room all by herself for half an hour.  "Detective, 
is there anything else you'd like to add or ask?"

Gardener seemed taken aback by his question, but her outward reaction was 
nothing more than the narrowing of her eyes briefly.  If he hadn't made eye 
contact with her when he asked the question, he would have missed it 
entirely.  She shook her head.  "No, except my own thanks to you as well, 
Ms. Connelly."

Both law enforcement officers watched the teacher leave in silence and 
remained inside the room to discuss their points of view.  "They could have 
learned moves like that by watching TV," Doggett suggested.  "We have no 
idea how much the media is affecting kids nowadays.  They're like little 
sponges."

"It's likely.  Where are your colleagues?  I thought they were going to meet 
us here."

"Agent Scully said that they were getting those gloves looked at by one of 
your forensic chemists.  Maybe it's taking her longer than we thought.  I 
can only hope that's because it's good news."

"Can I ask what you hope to get out of this?  I already heard your partner's 
far out theory."

"I hope that we catch the killer, whatever age he or she might be."

"So you're buying into her bullshit?"

"I didn't say that.  But there's something that didn't sit well with me when 
I talked to those kids.  I can't say what it is specifically right now--but 
let's just say that it was an uneasy feeling.  Didn't you get that when you 
looked at them?"

"I don't really rely upon 'feelings' to solve my cases, Agent Doggett.  I'm 
a factual type of person."

"Well, I don't rely on them either, but every now and then it pays to have a 
'gut instinct' about police work no matter what your job is.  Agent Scully
is more the expert in our department than I am.  I find that I get left in 
the dust with her sometimes."

"She didn't strike me as the sort to go off chasing after aliens.  In the 
dust?"

"Yeah, left in the dust because she's knows a helluva lot more about science 
than I do.  Why would you think we chase after aliens?"  Doggett took the 
cup that Connelly left untouched and brought it to his lips.

"I met a guy that used to work on these X-Files.  He was partnered to Scully 
before you, I think, but she wasn't with him at the time.  We met at an APA 
convention in Topeka, Kansas this past year, and he told me what kind of 
work he was involved in at the FBI."

"Well, we're certainly not dealing with those.  Tell me, how long ago was 
this convention?"

"Uh, let's see..."  Gardener leaned against the wall and tapped her foot 
onto the tiled floor pensively.  "It was in April."

"Oh."

"Why do you ask?"

"Agent Mulder's been missing since the end of May.  I was kind of wondering 
if you'd bumped into him in the past couple of months."

"I think he'd be the last kind of guy to skip out of his work, especially 
after I saw what Agent Scully looked like.  He showed me a photo of her in 
his wallet.  If I'd not seen her with you, I would have thought that he'd 
have taken her with him, wherever he went.  She seemed like she was more 
than just a close friend or partner.  I'd think he'd probably give his life 
for her.  What's your interest in Agent Mulder?"

"It's my job to find him.  I'm only working with Agent Scully temporarily, 
until her original partner can be located.  Not that I don't like working 
under a woman, but I hope to find him soon."

"You used to be a cop, didn't you?"

"Eight years with the NYPD," Doggett nodded.  "How'd you know?"

"I can read into people and sense things about them.  It's why I became a 
detective instead of a forensic investigator.  I noticed how differently you 
treated me than your boss and your partner.  They dealt with me as 
diplomatically as ever as you feds can be, but you know what it's like to 
have your feet squashed by some pompous agents either in heels or suits."  
The tapping of her foot was rhythmic, like she was listening to a song as 
well as talking to him.

"Yeah, well, even some feds in the regional and district field offices can 
get rather territorial about people like us coming from Headquarters."  He 
paused to think for a few moments and set down the paper cup.  "Do you mind 
if I ask you a few questions about Agent Mulder since you can read into 
people's character?"

"Shoot.  I'm yours until the feds get back," Gardener shrugged.

"How long was this conference?"

"Three days and three nights.  He sat next to me every day in the lecture 
hall."

"Do you mind if I ask you what you talked about?"

"Our careers and future paths we hoped to take along them.  We also 
discussed some topics that the lectures touched upon."

"Did he ever mention that he was unhappy with his life?"

"Agent Mulder wouldn't be the kind of guy to commit suicide, if that's what 
you're thinking.  He had a fairly stable career and though he didn't give me 
the nitty gritty details, a rock solid relationship with the woman he was 
working with."

"What would your ideal future be, if you could alter your career?"

"I'm satisfied now with where I am.  Mulder told me I could easily snatch up 
a job as a profiler in Washington, but I don't have any sort of interest in 
that line of work.  Then when I said so, he said I was very wise, and that 
was the end of that topic."

"He used to profile at the Behavioral Sciences Unit and our Violent Crimes 
Section years ago.  You said he didn't give you the 'nitty gritty details' 
of his and Agent Scully's partnership.  Can you...uh, pick up any kind of 
vibes with that?  I mean, how'd you know that he would give his life for 
her?"

"You've been in love before, right, Agent Doggett?"

"Yes, of course."

"You know what the little smile is, then."

"I think so.  But go on."  Gardener gazed outside the window for any signs 
of life from Scully or Skinner, but no one was there.  She eventually sat in 
the previous chair Connelly occupied.

"When he gave me his business card, I saw her there in the wallet and just 
casually asked.  All he said was my partner, but he had the telltale smile 
on his face.  Head over heels.  There's no way he'd separate himself from 
her willingly, Agent Doggett."
"Thanks, I appreciate your insight.  As you can figure, I met all sorts of 
people as a New York cop, and that's where I got my nose for people.  It 
doesn't come quite as naturally to me as it does you.  Which is why I wonder 
you don't use it when you work."

"I use it.  I just don't rely on it to solve cases, like I said."

"Well can I ask then, what was your first sense about those kids?  Not when 
you interviewed them with me, I'm just talking about what you observed when 
you walked in and laid eyes on them."

"They didn't look like killers, but neither did Ted Bundy."  She dug her 
notebook out of her jacket and flipped it open.  "Boy, that Farrell woman 
was a bitch."

"She sure tried to take over the interview, didn't she?"

"Reminded me of my old lieutenant when I worked in San Francisco.  Real 
horse's ass.  Whenever I was questioning a perp and he was around, he'd jump 
in whenever he wanted to and take over the whole damn conversation without 
letting me get in one more word."

"She was manipulative, too.  I'm not into accusing somebody of a crime until 
I'm positively sure of it, but she made it sound like we were putting the 
kids through the Spanish Inquisition!"

"Would you mind if I ask you a personal question, Agent Doggett?"  Doggett 
considered telling her that they should just stick to the case, but after 
the brief amount of time he spent with her, he found that she was not a man 
hater, and that she could be a pleasant person.  So he just nodded.  "Why'd 
you quit NYPD?"

"My wife and I separated.  I wanted to get out of New York, and I made 
friends with the special agent in charge over at the FBI's regional office 
there.  He recommended that I apply to the FBI and gave a lot of good 
recommendations to them while I was at the Academy.  That's why I didn't get 
shipped off to one of those field offices first like most of the other 
greenies."

"Well, I don't know what could've happened to them.  Come on, let's get some 
coffee, and we'll go down to forensics," she arose and wrote a few more 
sentences before closing her notebook.

"Sounds good, Detective."  Just as they left the interrogation room, 
Doggett's cell phone trilled from his suit coat pocket, and he reached into 
it.  "Sorry about that.  Maybe that's her now.  This is John Doggett."

"Agent Doggett?  This is Deputy Director Kersh.  Are Agent Scully and AD 
Skinner with you?"

"Uh, not at the moment.  But they're not too far from me."

"Good, then you can give them this message, too.  Agent Doggett, you are to 
cease all investigations in Flagstaff immediately and return back to 
Washington ASAP."

"Why, sir?  Is there an emergency?"

"The order is for all three of you."

"Might I repeat the question why, sir?"

"The Attorney General called, Agent Doggett.  Let the locals handle the case 
from now on.  We cease to have jurisdiction over there."

"Can we at least hand over our case file to the field office?  I don't want 
to leave the detective here empty handed when we have quite a bit of 
information to give her."

"Just pack up and leave at once, Agent Doggett."

"I still think maybe if Agent Scully stayed behind that would really help 
them.  After all, she was the one who was originally working this case years 
ago.  Skinner and I are just providing backup to her now."  The director 
paused for a few moments as if he were actually considering Doggett's plea.

"John, you still have a promising future ahead of you at the FBI.  I advise 
you not to be picking up any of Agent Scully's rebellious habits.  It's 
obvious that Agent Mulder was a bad influence on her.  At one time, Scully 
did have a positive outlook on her career; I don't want the same thing to 
happen with you.  And to continue on with this case would reflect poorly on 
your performance records, especially since you'd be going against an order 
from the Attorney General."

"Yes, sir, I understand.  We'll be home tomorrow morning."

"Leave tonight."  Doggett was puzzled at his urgency; Kersh could be brusque 
at times, but he had never been rude before to him.

"Will do."  He hung up and began to look around for Gardener, who was 
standing about ten feet down the hall from him talking to an officer.  He 
was very glad that she didn't hear a word and shuffled over to her.  She 
noticed his presence and finished her conversation abruptly.
"Ready?"

"Yeah, but, I'm only going to be going with you to find Scully and Skinner 
and take off.  That was our deputy director on the phone.  Looks like we're 
off the case now."

"Hmm."  Gardener shrugged nonchalantly; he couldn't tell what she was 
thinking.  "At least you found out that Agent Mulder didn't run away on you 
to attend a psychologist's convention."

They traveled on quietly for another five minutes before bumping into Scully 
and Skinner coming up from the staircase.  "We were just looking for you," 
Doggett commented.  "Thought you'd disappeared into thin air."

"Sorry, the analysis took longer than we thought.  The chemist had a lot of 
priorities ahead of us," Scully apologized and handed the evidence bag to 
Gardener.  "But good news.  It is indeed digitalis."

"Unfortunately, I got some bad news, Agent Scully.  Deputy Director Kersh 
just phoned me, and we're outta business here."

"Why's that?" Skinner spoke up.

"All I know is that we've been requested by the Attorney General to drop it 
and leave it to the capable hands of Detective Gardener here," Doggett 
gestured over to her.

"Well now I know who's behind the technology," Scully mumbled.  "Damnit, I 
thought they were gone."

"Technology?  And what do you mean by 'they'?"  Gardener pocketed the bag.

"It's a long story, one I'm afraid that would take hours to explain.  And 
I'm not going to let them bully me out of a case--not now."

"I don't understand what you mean, Agent Scully," Doggett stated.

"Agent Doggett, this is our case.  I opened it with Agent Mulder in 1994, 
and I'll be damned if I walk away from it because some bureaucratic fool 
told me to."

"Agent Scully, this is an order from the Attorney General, not just some 
superior in the FBI."  Kersh was right about Mulder's influence, all right.  
"Besides, I think Detective Gardener has a very strong foundation here, and 
now that she has some evidence, she'll be able to proceed."

"To what lengths?  I'm sorry, Doggett, I don't doubt her abilities at all as 
an investigator.  She needs more information and help before she can go on 
any further."

"I'll be the judge of that now, Agent Scully," Gardener barged in on their 
disagreement.

"Do you see the date on this file here and the names signed below on the 
report?"  Scully fumed, folded the X-File folder open, and held it open for 
Gardener to read.  "I'll be more than happy to work with you, Detective 
Gardener, but it's our case.  And you can tell that to the Attorney General 
if he wants to be so goddamned fussy about the details!"

"Don't make trouble for yourself, Agent Scully.  If you stay here, it won't 
be good for you."  Doggett shook his head.

"I care about finding out the truth...and bringing people to justice.  If I 
go, that won't happen," her tone came down about two octaves.  "Tell me, 
Agent Doggett, what are your priorities?  Do they include easing yourself 
into a higher position's chair, or finding out why those two kids 
assassinated their own flesh and blood?"

"Assassinated?"  Gardener posed.  There was a moment of reticence throughout 
the hallway, and it was Skinner that broke it first.

"Agent Doggett, if Deputy Director Kersh wants us to leave, then let's go.  
But just the two of us."

"I suggested that to him, and he said no," Doggett's eyebrows furrowed.

"What was your reasoning behind that?"

"I figured that I wasn't nearly as experienced as she.  So it probably 
wouldn't hurt if I left."

"Do you still feel the same?"

"Yeah, but the Deputy Director-"

"Doesn't have to know about it.  I'll make you a deal, Agent Scully.  If 
nothing comes out of this in the next twenty-four hours between you and 
Detective Gardener here, you come back home to D.C."

"I can promise you that I'll make something out of the investigation in less 
than twelve," Scully softly assured him.

"Good.  Does this sound sensible to you, Agent Doggett?"  Skinner questioned 
him.

"No.  But I've been dealing with a lot of non-sensible stuff for the past 
few months now, haven't I?"  the agent ignored his conscience and trudged 
away from the other three officers.

"He's a good man, Skinner.  I know he won't betray us to Kersh," Scully 
stated.

"I don't like leaving you out here in the field alone.  Report in to me as 
soon as you finish up here for the night.  I don't care if it's just a short 
message on my cell or a lengthy monologue on my answering machine at home."

"Will do, sir," Scully nodded and patted him on the forearm.  "Thank you for 
understanding."

"Detective Gardener, will you do me a favor, please?"

"Yeah?"  Gardener looked completely bothered but gave him her full 
attention.

"Make sure Agent Scully gets to her motel okay."

"I can do that, sure."  Scully was on the brink of irritation but remembered 
that he knew best and was only thinking about her welfare.

"Oh, and Scully, we'll take a cab to the airport."  Skinner handed the keys 
of the rental to her and caught up with Doggett.  He was hoping and praying 
that Scully would finish this up quickly for everyone's sake.

"You want to tell me what that was all about, back there?"  Gardener 
queried.  "How in the hell do you get off by calling those two kids 
assassins?"

"Because that's what they are," Scully returned and closed up the X-File.  
"I think you should know what you're dealing with, which is why I wanted to 
stay here."

"I don't know what to make of this, I really don't.  We interviewed five 
neighbors, three classmates, two local relatives, and one teacher that 
actually did believe that these kids could kill.  The others had no 
indications or inclinations."

"What did the teacher have to say?"

"It's been a long day, and I need some coffee."  She motioned her head 
toward a break room, and Scully strolled around the corner with her towards 
it.  After receiving a firm 'no thank you' from Scully, Gardener poured 
herself a full styrofoam cup.  "Now, her name was Caroline Connelly, and she 
teaches third grade over at Cornerstone.  She spoke of an incident where the 
boy and girl almost killed another classmate once."

"Hmm, so it was just attempted murder and deadly assault."

"Yeah.  She didn't state specifically what the punishment was, and it 
sounded like it didn't matter to the children.  There's so much violence on 
TV nowadays--maybe that's what hardened them.  Agent Scully, Caroline 
Connelly said that neither child flinched with remorse.  I've never heard of 
any kind of reaction like that coming from a child before."  She lifted the 
cup to her lips and started to sip it.

"They're not regular children."

"Come again?  I visited them with Agent Doggett earlier this evening, and 
they looked fairly normal to me.  They were quiet, but that's a usual 
response for frightened children."

"Did they look scared to you?"

"They were shy.  But then that damned social worker kept on interrupting 
us."

"But did either of them want their parents or the comfort of a relative?  
Perhaps even a stuffed animal?"

"Well, their parents are dead, of course they wouldn't...--no, now that I 
think of it.  Maybe that's what they wanted us to think.  Their teacher did 
say that these kids had intelligence that was way above the level of a third 
grader."

"What were they doing while you interviewed them?"

"Well the girl was drawing something, and the boy was building a skyscraper 
with Legos."

"What kind of questions were you asking?"

"Certainly not ones like 'are you assassins?' and 'by the way, did you kill 
your folks?'.  We asked them where they were when it happened."

"So you questioned them together in the same room."

"Doggett asked most of the questions, and as a matter of fact, I wanted to 
do that; I wanted to question the girl by myself and he the boy.  But the 
social worker wouldn't let us."

"What were the alibis given?"

"Same answer--in the kitchen eating dinner.  This murder happened in front 
of them, Agent Scully."

"I realize that.  Please continue."

"They said that their parents got up to get some more water but fainted.  
Their dogs started to bark outside.  So they went to their backyards to 
check on the dogs.  After they came back, they caught glimpses of some men 
in black masks stabbing their parents in the jugular veins and then running 
out the front door.  Wait a second, something's not right with their 
stories."

"And what's that?"

"I'm sorry?"

"What was wrong with the stories?"

"Well, why would both of the kids run into the backyard at the same time?  
And furthermore, how would a couple of eight year olds remember specifically 
where their parents got stabbed?  Even people with superior minds can blank 
out on the details."

"Speaking of details, what were the children's actions after these men 
killed their parents?"

"Doggett didn't ask, but then again, the social worker kept on haranguing us 
to stop interfering with the children's rights."

"Right.  If these were normal children, the normal response would have been 
one of two different reactions.  Either they would have run screaming over 
to their neighbors, or they would have called 911 themselves.  You yourself 
said that the bodies were found three days ago.  And children from the age 
six and up are now taught in every public elementary school in America what 
the emergency number to the hospital is."

"I see what you mean.  The Geigers, who live next door to the Troxlers, were 
on vacation.  The Shermans, who are next to the Samuels didn't hear 
anything.  No front doors slamming and certainly not any yelling," Gardener 
admitted and sat down at a table where Scully joined her.  "Mortally 
terrified or not, kids scream like there's no tomorrow when they think 
they're about to be harmed by strangers."

"Forensically, the alibis do not corroborate.  For instance, typically 
speaking of homicides committed with knives, 95% of them are crimes of 
passion.  The stab wounds I usually find are not so methodical, so precise.  
The only sort of crime that I see that could possibly be committed so 
quickly and fatally is by a large slash across the throat from ear to ear.  
Or perhaps, maybe, a gash across the aorta.  But then your CSIs would have 
found blood sprays elsewhere around the kitchen, not just large pools of 
blood.  Knife wounds are quite messy even if the crime is pre-meditated.  
Your medical examiner found a pair of wounds right here," Scully pointed to 
her neck.  "And the angle with which the stabbing instrument was placed 
suggests more of a careful insertion point--so that the parents would bleed 
to death.  But even then if these masked men had truly done this so 
methodically--in their haste, there would have been some kind of footprint 
somewhere.  By the way, how about these masked men?  Did you get a 
description out of the kids, or were they too mortally terrified to give 
that to you?"  Gardener gave her a sharp scowl.  "I'm sorry, that was rude.  
I didn't mean to discredit you, but I just think that you were fed a pile of 
very large manure."

*There was a time when I was the one solving the problems with the local law 
enforcement, not causing them.  I'm turning into Mulder.*

"I've been up since 4:30 this morning, Agent Scully, and the case worker 
wasn't helping either of us.  All she did was bitch about the children's 
rights like a broken record."  She ran her fingers through her scalp and 
finished the remainder of her coffee.

"But do you now see the flaws in their stories?"

"I was waiting for you to say that it was gonna be a little green man," 
Gardener muttered.  "Yeah, I see them.  It's just such a rare thing 
nowadays...I've busted teenagers for murder, but never a pair of eight year 
olds.  Guess I just didn't want to believe that kids at this age could do 
something like that."

"Just because my department deals with the unexplained doesn't mean that I 
go off blaming the aliens.  I start my cases off with the principle of 
Occam's razor.  Are you familiar with it?"

"Yeah.  I can see why he liked you so much," the corners of her mouth turned 
up.  "What do you suggest we start off with in the morning?  I desperately 
need some sleep, and I need to start a mountain of paperwork."

Scully looked at her watch and saw that it was quarter to eleven.  She was 
becoming hungrier by the minute, but she had to know what Gardener was 
talking about first.  "Who?"

"Your partner."  She got up, threw the cup away, and Scully joined her as 
she started to walk back to her desk.  "I mean, your old partner.  What time 
do you want to start in the morning?  Maybe we could meet for breakfast 
somewhere," Gardener yawned.

"I'll call you around 7:00, and we'll figure it out from there.  When did 
you meet Mulder?"

"About um...five months ago, actually, at a conference in Topeka, Kansas.  
Surprised you didn't know.  Thought he would tell you anything."  Scully's 
mind raced back to remember that it was just not so with Mulder.  He told 
her a lot, but he never mentioned the tumor that had been pillaging his 
brain into ruin.  And he didn't tell her where he was going in April for 
that long weekend, just that he needed some personal time to himself.

"He's kept some secrets from me, yes," Scully confessed.  "What kind of 
conference?"  She found that her voice had gone into the cautious but 
suspicious investigator.

"American Psychology Association.  We sat next to one another for every 
lecture.  Don't worry, Agent Scully, there was nothing between us.  He was 
as loyal to you as a dog."  When they arrived at her bureau, she dragged an 
empty seat from someone else's desk in front of hers and signaled Scully to 
be seated in it.  Only when Scully settled in did she also in her own chair. 
  "He leaned over to me during the first one and asked me if I had any 
aspirin...said he had a pounding headache."

*Goddamn that cigarette smoking bastard to hell.  I know he was the one that 
caused Mulder's tumor.*

"So I gave him some, and that sparked off our brief acquaintance during it 
all."  She opened a drawer and pulled out a packet of papers so fat that it 
made a car rental agreement look like a shopping list.  "He gave his 
business card to me at the end of the weekend, but I managed to sneak a 
glimpse in his wallet and saw your picture.  I asked who you were, and all 
he said was 'my partner'.  I think it wasn't just those words that stunned 
me; it was the intensity and solemnity with which he said them.  You miss 
him very much, don't you?"

Although Scully had been furiously trying to keep her face free of emotion, 
it was slipping by in every moment that Gardener spent speaking of Mulder.

"How'd you know he's been missing?"

"Agent Doggett told me.  But I figured it out long before then that that man 
would never leave your side.  Am I right?"
Tears were just about ready to pour forth from Scully's eyes, and all she 
could bring herself to do was nod and hide her grief with her left palm.

"Oh, I can see that this is tearing you apart.  Perhaps it'd be better if we 
called it a night."

"Yes.  You're right," Scully admitted after composing herself.  "How can I 
reach you?"  Gardener wrote her contact information down on a sticky note 
and admired Scully's business card as it was given to her.

"Fancy.  My tax dollars at work," she reflected tartly.



The Golden Fleece Inn, Flagstaff, AZ
September 22nd, 2000, 11:35 p.m.


All Scully wanted to do now was collapse on her bed.  Dinner consisted of 
the very thing she had refused earlier in the day from Hester and his CSI 
coworker.  Well, it wasn't Burger King; it was worse--Taco Bell.  They were 
the only ones open within the area after eleven, and she wasn't about to go 
roaming around for a Wendy's instead--she was vulnerable to falling asleep 
at the wheel at this point.  But at least they had some kind of taco salad.  
The shriveled and deflated vegetables the sixteen year old girl assured her 
were grape tomatoes tasted like they'd been soaked in battery acid.  And the 
lettuce was about as fresh as a package of Asiago cheese.

But it was some form of nutrition--she wouldn't have dared to even try those 
greasy and chewy nightmarish things that were normally accepted by Mulder as 
"yummy Mexican tacos".  Besides, they looked about as old as the coat of 
clear polish on her nails.  "I'm going to have to touch that up sometime in 
the near future if I want to keep my job," she mumbled as she took a quick 
gander at them on her way back from the motel office.

Scully opened the Le Sabre's trunk, picked up her overnight bag, and 
strolled over to the door to her room.  Before she slid the key into the 
lock, her gaze shifted to the Venetian blinds on the window.  They were 
closed, but all the rest of the vacant rooms beside hers were open.  She 
knew something wasn't kosher and sneaked her SIG Sauer out of her holster as 
she carefully turned the key with one hand.  As soon as the lock was undone, 
she stood to one side of the door after kicking it open.  When there were no 
shots or any signs of suspicious activity, she dropped her overnight bag to 
the ground, and cautiously entered the room.  Scully tried to hunt for a 
light switch with one hand still keeping the gun in a defensive position.  
"I'm a federal agent.  I know there's someone in here, and it's time to stop 
playing games," she ordered.

"Very well, then, Agent Scully," a baritone voice answered her and turned on 
a bedtable lamp.

"Krycek.  And who the hell are you?"  Scully motioned with her gun to Marita 
Covarrubius.

"We're not here to cause any trouble, Agent Scully," Covarrubius told her 
and began to move away from Krycek's side to switch on another light, but 
Scully removed the safety from the weapon.

"Stay where you are," Scully commanded, and surprisingly, the woman obeyed.  
She also raised her hands to chest level submissively.

"Wouldn't it be better if we didn't disturb the neighbors?"  Krycek smirked 
and pointed to the open door with his good arm.

"It'll stay open until you leave.  Which will be in two minutes."  Scully 
held her wrist up to quickly glance at her watch but still kept an eye on 
the two intruders.

"I'm afraid what we have to say will take longer than that," Covarrubius 
declared. "Can I put my hands down now?"

"Not until I figure out just what in the hell's going on here."

"I can explain, if you'd just let me put down my hands and turn on another 
light, please."  Scully relented finally, and Covarrubius illuminated the 
motel room further.  "My name is Marita Covarrubius.  I am a special 
representative to the Secretary General of the UN, and I was previously an 
informant to Agent Mulder."

"Then what's your role now?  Oh, wait, let me guess.  You had the Attorney 
General call the FBI and shut down our case out here.  I knew something 
fishy was going on here--you're producing those children now, aren't you, 
Krycek?"

"I'm involved, but I'm not in the making process, so to speak," he remarked 
and looked behind himself.  "Can I sit down?"

"No.  You're not staying.  I don't accommodate murderers or people I don't 
trust," Scully signaled with her head over to Covarrubius.

"The purpose of that phone call was to remove the involvement of Assistant 
Director Skinner and Agent Doggett, Agent Scully.  We knew you'd be 
reluctant to give up one of Agent Mulder's cases so easily," Covarrubius 
informed her.
"I was involved with that X-File, too," Scully barked.

"As you are now, and so now our purposes have entwined.  That's why we're 
here."

"I don't understand."

"Then why don't we discuss it further?  Perhaps without the gun in our 
faces?"

"Yeah, right.  I trust either one of you as far as I could throw you."

"I'm unarmed, Agent Scully," Krycek lifted up his leather jacket to show her 
the absence of a holster.

"I'm sure you could still have a knife strapped to your leg somewhere."

"I'd so be wasting my time right now if I had that in mind," he became 
agitated.

"All right, but the door still stays open," Scully sighed and acquiesced to 
their wants.  She backed up slowly to retrieve her overnight bag, set it 
down on the bed, and sat down in a chair with the gun within an arm's reach 
on the table.

"I'm afraid we can't do that," Covarrubius journeyed over to the door and 
closed it.  "What we have to tell you is much too sensitive information for 
the general public to hear."

Scully was about to protest, but she realized that it was futile.  If Krycek 
and this woman had wanted to hurt her, they would have done it five minutes 
ago when she was standing in the doorway.

"As I was saying, our purposes are now entwined, so to say, with this 
Litchfield experiment.  Our interests are merely for the preservation of the 
human race," Covarrubius elaborated.

"With killer children?"  Scully snarled.

"The methods that have been tried in the past are old and ineffective, i.e., 
the vaccine."

"What...do you mean?"

"There is a new species out there, Agent Scully, as you have seen come in 
the consistency of black oil.  Once it infects the host, an EBE commences to 
grow inside, and consume all of the host's innards until it is ready to 
hatch, as it were."

"It's not new.  It's been around for millions of years," Scully corrected 
her.

"Well, the ones we've seen infecting people most recently cannot be expunged 
with our current strain of the vaccine.  That tells us that they've built up 
an immunity to it.  We've tried injecting the sick at several different 
times of the incubation, too.  But to no avail."

"That's one of the reasons why the Litchfield experiments were set forth 
into existence once more," Scully insinuated.

"Correct.  Only we've hit a snag in the process, which is why we're here."

"And you need me for something?  I won't be a party to making test tube 
assassins."  She shook her head, and Krycek settled into the chair.

"We thought not...at first," he mused.

"Who is this we, anyway?  Last time I got involved in a sick little idea 
like this, the old man was still with you.  Is he finally confined to just a 
bed now?"

"Spender was part of the old way, and therefore expendable.  He's been 
removed from the entire equation."

"You killed him," Scully assumed.  The expression on Krycek's face grew 
smug, but he made no verbal admission.

"The disease would have done it in a few more months anyhow.  Thought you'd 
be pleased."

"Answer my question.  Who else is involved?  You just told me that you're 
not the one holding the strings.  Now who's pulling them?"

"A group of men and women concerned for every man, woman, and child 
inhabiting this planet," Covarrubius stated.

"I see.  If I find out that this new consortium is responsible for Agent 
Mulder's disappearance, consider it open war upon your little-"

"We're not.  We only came into being after he disappeared, I assure you, 
Agent Scully.  In fact, Agent Mulder's abduction was one of the main factors 
to reassemble some of the members."

"What do you mean?  I heard everyone got burned up to a crisp at El Rico."
"Only two of those men that were not present at that attack are still alive 
and operating in the group."

"Who?"

"That's not important right now.  What does matter is the X-Files, and the 
proper agents conducting them," Covarrubius said.  "Only half of the team is 
functioning here."

"You just want Mulder back so you can try to push us around like your little 
pawns again, right?  Well, when he does get back, it's not going to happen, 
so don't even try to find him."

"That's not our purpose any longer.  Although you've seen our recent 
influence over the Attorney General and various other people at the FBI, we 
do not intend to interfere with your cases."

"Influence?  You people just don't 'influence'.  You threaten and suck the 
life out of people like it was bone marrow," Scully bitterly spat.

"„` „x„~„p„| „~„p„ƒ „t„€„|„w„~„€ „~„u „ƒ„€„q„‚„p„„„Ž„ƒ„' „~„y„s„t„u „ƒ 
„u„�," Krycek mumbled.

(I knew we'd be getting nowhere with her.)

"„A„�„„„Ž „�„p„ˆ„y„u„~„„„€„}, Krycek," Covarrubius scolded him.

(Just be patient.)

"Anything you're going to say in this room will be in English from now on," 
Scully commanded.

"I apologize, Agent Scully, for our rudeness.  It won't happen again," 
Covarrubius agreed.

*At least this woman was brought up correctly*, Scully thought.

"Anyhow, what's even more important than Agent Mulder right now, even us, 
Agent Scully, is the eradication of this retrovirus and its subsequent 
invaders.  And to do that, we need your help."

"I told you that I'm not interested, so you can just forget it.  If that's 
all you have to say, then get out."

"What if I told you that it could bring Agent Mulder back to you?"

"I'd say that you're full of shit.  You've spoken your piece, so you can 
leave now."

"Show her, Alex," Covarrubius gestured with her head to him.  His hand moved 
for his pocket, and so did Scully's for her gun.

"If that hand disappears, you're gonna join that cancer ridden bastard in 
Hell."

"You should've been quicker on the trigger, then."  Krycek withdrew his hand 
and opened it up.  Inside his palm was a miniature version of the bounty 
hunter stiletto, but there was a window on the outside of the cylindrical 
sheath.  He held it up to the nightstand's light, and Scully saw that the 
container not only held a steel needle but also some blood.  "It's 
Mulder's."

"And how would you know that if you weren't working with them again?"

"Because it was found days after the FBI manhunt team left Arizona.  You 
were there, with the kid, right?  Well so was the ship," Krycek declared.

"You could have just collected that from an old sample.  I'm not buying it," 
Scully lowered the gun.

"Take a look.  How long does it take for blood to coagulate?"  He tossed it 
onto the bed, and she picked up the stiletto to study it.

"A few days, depending on the erythrocyte count.  But that could be easily 
doctored by some of your people," she told him haughtily.

"All right, bad example.  But it's still his.  And what about that piece of 
paper, Marita?"

"I almost forgot, thank you, Alex.  Here."  Covarrubius came closer to her 
and handed her a torn piece of notebook paper.

"Mulder's handwriting.  I'm not saying anything either way until I get them 
analyzed."

"I don't doubt it.  But just to let you know, time is always against us."

"This case requires my time right now."

"And where do you expect the direction to go from here with that skeptic?  
She'll just be dragging you down instead.  Besides, if you ever did figure 
out where it was being done, whom would you prosecute?  The people working 
on it can disappear very easily," Krycek said.  "Don't waste your energy 
with this right now.  Help us save our planet.  Help save Mulder."
"Get out."

"Very well, then, we'll wait until you've had every cell and inch of that 
studied to prove that it's Agent Mulder's," Covarrubius nodded.

"How will you know when I've had that done?"  Neither Krycek or Covarrubius 
said a word to one another; they just exchanged assertive glimpses and 
walked to the door.

"We'll let you know the details when you're ready."  Covarrubius opened the 
door, and Krycek followed her, shutting it behind himself.

"I told you," he argued once they were in the dark sedan.  "It would have 
been easier to start a fire with a wet matchbook."

"I hate resorting to threats, Alex.  That's your style--something you picked 
up from Spender.  Look how far that's gotten us so far in the war."

He put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking spot.  "You got any 
better ideas?  You said it yourself, that we're running out of time."

"If we'd gone in there and you'd gotten to run your circus, the conversation 
would have lasted half as long.  And you'd probably not be in shape to be 
driving."

"I'd rather take the beatings of a woman than deal with her mouth."

"From what I witnessed, somehow I doubt that Scully would be much of a 
talker in that instance.  A little less conversation and quite a bit more 
action, I'd think."

"Speaking of that, Marita...-"  A thundercloud above them growled ominously.

"All right.  Strughold would kill you if he found out about this."

"He doesn't have to know then, does he?"



Scully paced the room as she brushed her teeth.  "There's no way that they 
have any sort of means to get him back," she assured herself.  "And why 
would Mulder be so important to the X-Files if they weren't going to be 
bullying us all over the chess board again?"

*But would it be so bad if you could save a lot of people in the process?*  
The other half of her argued.
"There's no guarantee that that could happen even if I help them."

*And what about Mulder?  How much is his life worth to you?*

"Everything, but...the last time I tried to do something altruistic for 
these people..."

*Krycek just told you that he's dead.  He's no longer in the picture.*

"I can't do anything until I know what their agenda is."

*That woman sounded like she was serious and like she genuinely wanted to 
help you.*

"So did Spender."

*So check on it.  Ask the Gunmen to find out as much as they can about her 
character.*

"What they find might be only public records, and we both know that anyone 
involved in politics is as two-faced as an evangelical TV preacher."

*It's worth a shot, isn't it?  For Mulder?*

"I'm still not convinced that-"

*I'd think that woman's connections would go farther than any amount of 
hunting with Doggett.*

"That's for sure.  Poor man still thinks Mulder went AWOL."  She rinsed her 
mouth out and started to undress.  "I just don't want to...be disappointed 
again.  If I do decide to help them, what if I fail?"

*Take one day at a time.  Remember how much he means to you, and you to 
him.*



September 23rd, 2000, 1:55 a.m.


Scully awoke to the chirping of her cell phone beside her bed and answered 
it groggily.  "Scully."

"Agent Scully?  This is John Doggett.  I'm sorry to wake you up in the 
middle of the night like this, but AD Skinner's taken sick."

"What?"  She immediately sat up and leaned against the wall.

"Yeah, he had to be rushed to George Washington right away.  I'm on my way 
there now to find out what I can.  Do you want me to call you when I get 
there or wait until the morning?"

"Like hell, I'm going back right now."  Scully got up out of bed and started 
to pack up her belongings.

"But what about-"

"I can fax Detective Gardener anything she needs from our office.  Skinner 
needs me, well...I mean us."

"I think all we're probably gonna be doing is waiting, though I'm not sure.  
Are you sure you want to do that to yourself?  You need the sleep."

"I'll sleep on the plane."  Scully hung up on him and speed dialed 
Continental Airlines.



George Washington University Hospital, Washington, D.C.
September 23rd, 2000, 10:05 a.m.


"Dr. Scully, right?" a male nurse asked her as she hurried up to the 
reception desk.

"That's me," Scully answered.  "I'm looking for Assistant Director Walter 
Skinner, please."

"303.  He was just moved from the ICU not half an hour ago, so I'm afraid he 
can't have visitors quite yet."

"That's fine.  Who's his physician?"

"Dwight Maddox.  He's in with another patient at the moment.  Do you want me 
to beep him?"

"Now."  Scully just spent the last eight hours traveling with less than two 
hours of sleep.  She was not about to begin ripping into people yet, but if 
provoked, she found that her voice could climb several levels of intensity 
at an instant.  She found herself practically hunched over the desk as the 
nurse kindly handed her Skinner's chart.  "How long have you been on duty?"  
Her eyes swam over the information.
"Since six this morning, why?"

"Oh.  Have you seen a kind of rugged looking guy with blue eyes pacing the 
floor or tagging along with the Assistant Director's gurney?"

"Uh...I'm afraid I'm no help to you there, Dr. Scully.  The only man I can 
remember being rushed in and out of here this much with you was that partner 
of yours...Agent Mulder, right?  Don't think it was him.  Gee, he hasn't 
been here for a long time.  What happened, did the guy become invincible or 
something?"

"No.  You'd think that by now that I'd know all of you by name."  She lifted 
her head momentarily to look at him--he was a Filipino with very fetching 
brown eyes and wavy hair.  If she weren't so damn tired, she probably would 
have given him more than just the once over.

"Gervacio Mendoza.  But everybody calls me Jun."

"Like the month?"

"That's right."

"I'll remember that."  A withered African American doctor approached the 
bureau with a stack of charts in his arms and dumped them.  "Dr. Maddox?  Do 
you remember me?  I'm Special Agent Dana Scully of the FBI.  I'm here for 
Assistant Director Walter Skinner, and-"

Maddox ripped the chart away from her hands and slammed it shut.

"Jesus, Jun, how many times have I told you not to let anyone look at my 
patients' charts?" he yelled.

"I'm a doctor, sir.  I would just like to be informed of my superior's 
condition."

"Then you wait for me to come talk to you.  Is this what you beeped me for 
out of surgery?"

"It was just a minor one, sir.  I didn't think you'd mind," Jun shrugged.

"Minor?  I practically tore off the patient's thumb because I got the 
beegesus scared out of me!  I still can't understand why they can't make 
this goddamned thing set to vibrate only."  Maddox lifted the beeper off of 
his belt and shoved it into his lab coat pocket.

"Excuse me, Dr. Maddox.  I would like to know how the Assistant Director is 
faring," Scully pressed.

"He's fine now.  Just moved him out of the ICU.  Jun should've told you 
that," he gave the nurse a dirty stare, and Scully was about five seconds 
from losing it.

"He did tell me.  Now what...happened?" she asked through gritted teeth.

"He had a few myocardial infarctions."

"Heart attacks?"

"He was hit with several.  He flat-lined on us many times during the night 
on the table, but we were able to defibrillate him each time at 400.  I'm 
giving him some aspirin and Tirofiban hydrochloric acid intravenously.  
Nothing too serious to be worried about as long as he watches his diet and 
exercises regularly."

"He does," Scully chuffed and gave him a perplexed glare.  "And his family 
has no history, either."

"Well, then, maybe he got overly stressed.  You mentioned that he's an 
Assistant Director over at the FBI.  Perhaps a vacation would do him good.  
When's the last time he had one?"

"I..."  Scully for once was speechless.  She didn't know about Skinner's 
personal life, except that he used to do some boxing on the side, but he 
quit last year since he got blind-sided and lost his peripheral vision in 
his left eye.  If he did take his vacation time, he did it without letting 
Mulder or her know about it.  "I'm not sure about that.  What do you think 
could have caused these heart attacks?  He's not a smoker, either."

"Let's see.  Ah...we just drew some blood and did an angiogram on him last 
night.  Those results should come back in a couple of hours or so," Maddox 
replied.

"Would it bother you if I had a look at them?"

"You're not a resident here," his tone became belligerent but stayed at a 
low pitch.

"No, but I'd like to know if there can be anything that I can do about it."

"The best thing you can do right now is to sit back and let us do our jobs."

"He's a goddamned FBI agent!  He deserves the best we can give him, and I'm 
not going to sit on my ass while you're all scratching your heads trying to 
figure out what's going on!"  Scully lost all the remaining patience she had 
and banged her fist onto the desk.  Mendoza jumped slightly and backed his 
chair away.

"This is not your patient.  I decide what's best for him.  If you think that 
you're going to get anywhere with me by screaming at me, you're at a dead 
end street, sister."  He seized another group of charts and stormed off.

"Jun, would you mind telling me where the lab is on this floor?  I've 
forgotten."  She put on her most polite face possible, but he could tell 
that she had absolutely no energy left to smile.  If any other doctor were 
on duty, he'd gladly divulge the information--but not with Maddox the 
Terrible.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Scully, but...I'd hate to think of what he'd do to you if he 
saw you in there..."

"Be more afraid of what I'd do to him if he tried to stop me from finding 
out the truth about my boss."

"Please don't hate me...but I can't tell you.  I've already gotten two 
write-ups from him in the last month, and if I get another..." he made a 
throat cutting gesture across his neck and a well accompanied sound effect.

"Fine.  I'll go find it myself."  As she was about to leave, he grabbed her 
wrist.

"No, wait.  I'll let you in to see your boss."  That plea did not seem to 
satisfy her, so he quickly added another and let go of her.  "And I'll bring 
you the blood work results and his charts myself."

"Okay.  Is there a coffee machine around here or somewhere I could get some 
caffeine?"

"Yeah, but it sucks grapes.  Just go into room 303 and wait for me.  I'll 
get you the good stuff."  Jun turned and sprinted down the hallway.  Scully 
was amazed at herself--all in the same matter of five minutes, she had 
managed to piss off one hospital worker and bring another down to grovel at 
her feet.  But she was too exhausted to analyze why and entered Skinner's 
room.  He was fast asleep but appeared to be healthy.

Scully retrieved her cell phone and dialed Doggett's number.  All she got 
was his voicemail, but she left him a brief message saying that she was back 
in D.C. and at the hospital looking after Skinner.  There was no doubt in 
her mind that Doggett had remained at the hospital all night until it was 
time for work the next morning.  That being said, he was probably stuck in a 
meeting getting chewed out by the likes of Deputy Director Kersh.  For what, 
Scully couldn't possibly imagine.  The director had a burr on his ass the 
size of a cantaloupe.

"Dr. Scully?  Your coffee," the Filipino nurse offered her the mug and 
beamed.

"Thanks, Jun.  I'll remember you next time, I promise."

"Say hello to Agent Mulder for me, if you can.  We almost kind of miss him 
here."

"I'll do that."  After he left, she dragged a chair closer to Skinner's bed 
and joined him.  Selfishly, she wished that it was Mulder next to her 
sleeping peacefully.  She'd do anything just to be able to caress his 
forehead or run her fingers through his hair right now.  Anything?  Her mind 
wandered back to Marita Covarrubius and Alex Krycek's visit.  How much truth 
was there in their fiction?

She was roused from her thoughts as she felt a feather light touch run down 
her arm, and she whirled around.  He was there--standing in the most angelic 
light she had ever seen.  Mulder was dressed in a simple black t-shirt and 
blue jeans, nothing too impressive--it was just the expression on his face 
that stunned her.  It was serious yet playful, and when he circled round 
her, she glanced hurriedly around the room for some sort of visitor or 
interruption.  But the hallway was empty--seconds later it had been filled 
with rushing employees--and now the noise was gone.  In fact, it was deadly 
silent--that's what frightened her.  "Mulder, how did you get back?"

He did not answer her.  Instead, he reached for her hands and pulled her up 
from out of her seat.  Scully did not like this one bit--he could have been 
one of those bounty hunters.  She jerked her hands away, wrapped them around 
herself,  and turned her back to him.  "Please answer me," she said firmly.  
Mulder seemed hurt and his face wrinkled up like she had just jabbed him in 
the gut.  He did it again--the gentle tease of his fingers came down her 
shoulder, but then it continued down her side, and ended up where his arm 
met her abdomen.  Scully did everything she could to stifle a groan, but she 
shivered, and soon felt her back being pushed against his stomach.  *I could 
live with this.  He could just hold me here for hours if he wanted.*

The next thing he did absolutely drove her mad.  His other hand traveled 
first down from her hair, brushed against her cheek, dragged across her 
chin, and gingerly pushed it back so that her head was tipped to the side.  
First she felt the tickle of his breath, then the caress of his bare chin, 
and finally, what she longed and ached for the most, his lips.  But he 
didn't stop there, oh no.  He had to continue around to the other side with 
his fingertips and soon after, his mouth followed.  "Please tell me, 
Mulder...how...you..."
Words seemed to fail her as he continued his ministrations and soon only the 
lip contact ceased.  She felt his teeth sink into her flesh softly below her 
the chin, oh god, ever so sensitively.  And just when she was about to cry 
out, he closed the lips down--and carried them with his breaths back to the 
very spot in the back of her jaw that finally caused an audible sigh from 
her.

This was very nearly perfect with what she wanted, perhaps even 
needed--except for the fact that he wasn't talking.  He didn't utter a word, 
when she had at least thought that he'd be just mumbling her name or telling 
her that he loved her over and over again.

Oh no.  He was nuzzling her now with his nose and chin.  It wouldn't be too 
much longer before she lost complete control over herself.  Wait a 
minute--since when did she have it in this situation?  He had made all of 
the moves...she had just accepted them.  Not that she couldn't just shove 
him away anytime that she felt like it.  But what he was doing felt too good 
for her to refuse it now.  Suppose someone should see them?

Damn them to hell.  She was tired--oh so tired, and if he kept doing what he 
was doing, it would only be a matter of time before she fell 
asleep...probably standing up.  Standing up?  That was no good.  If 
anything, her ideal position was definitely not standing up--it lacked 
comfort.

As much as she hated to do it, she broke away from his embrace and started 
back towards the chair.  He knew exactly what she wanted to do and sat down 
in it before she could.  Her eyes met him with uncertainty, and he drew her 
close by the hand first and then the arm.  Scully had an idea of what he was 
wanting, but she wasn't so sure that he'd feel so content with her booted 
heels digging into his thighs.  Any inhibitions that she had were flaunted 
when he tugged her forward and kissed the crown of her forehead.  Message 
received loud and clear, Ahab.

She sank into his lap and was only too happy when one arm encircled her 
waist.  She reached around his neck and nestled her head against his rising 
and falling chest.  The other brought her legs up onto his and then sneaked 
her fingers up to his lips.  He blew on them first, then actually exhaled 
forcefully, and pressed them to his mouth.  The last touch she remembered 
before drifting off into the unconscious dreamworld was that he entwined 
their fingers over his heart.  Just as she was almost gone, his throat and 
chest vibrated.  "Love will keep us alive, Scully," he whispered.


Three hours later...


A gentle shaking to the shoulder stirred her from a deep sleep.  "Not now, 
Mulder," she mumbled drowsily.  It continued.  "All right, I'm up.  You're 
gonna be in big..." Scully let her sentence drift into the abyss of 
incomplete thoughts when she noticed Agent Doggett standing above her.

Of course, there was no Mulder still holding her--or Skinner in the bed next 
to her as a matter of fact.

"Where's AD Skinner?"  Reality came back to slap her in the face like a bad 
hangover.

"Got released fifteen minutes ago.  I just came in to pick him up on my 
lunch hour.  You look like you could use a good lunch--I haven't eaten yet.  
How about it?"

"I...should probably go back to the office."

"Hold on a second.  You just collapsed in a visitor's chair for a couple of 
hours, of all places to conk out, and now you wanna go back to work?  No 
way, Agent Scully.  You need to sleep in a bed, preferably your own."

Scully arose and picked up the research that Mendoza had left behind for her 
on the bedside table.  She motioned for Doggett to follow her outside the 
room, and they journeyed down the hallway as she skimmed through the report.

"I appreciate your concern, Agent Doggett, but I can't.  When you got here 
last night, what did they tell you was wrong with him?"

"Dr. Maddox said that AD Skinner had a series of heart attacks."

"He did.  But Skinner does not have arteriosclerosis, as these charts show."

"What do you mean?  He's in his late forties, he's a Caucasian 
male...sometimes these things just happen due to stress."

"Agent Doggett, arteriosclerosis is a disease that develops over time.  The 
artery walls harden and therefore, make it more difficult for blood to flow 
through them to the heart.  If he truly had that disease, it would have 
shown up on a simple EKG physical.  You know how the FBI makes everyone get 
one every single year."

"So you know all of Skinner's medical history by heart?"

"I've kept a close watch on him, ever since he..."  The realization just hit 
her.

"Ever since he what?" Doggett prodded and stopped them at the elevator.
"Two years ago, AD Skinner was infected with some of kind of future 
technology into his bloodstream.  Nano machines.  Those could have caused 
the arteries to harden.  Or cause the blood to clot.  They somehow caused 
his heart to stop, and then miraculously he didn't die.  He's had a damn 
near perfect health record, with the exceptions of the times he was shot."

"You're saying that someone did this to Skinner?  Someone gave him a heart 
attack with these little robot things?"

"It would be the simplest explanation as to why he suddenly developed this 
disease in a few hours, mind you, Agent Doggett, and then why he walked out 
of here as healthy as a horse this morning.  Where is he, by the way?"

"I think he went to get some coffee from the vending machines downstairs.  
You could probably use some too, since you aren't going to be returning home 
to sleep anytime soon, right?"

"I forgot to drink it," she remembered the mug that was sitting in Skinner's 
room and headed back.

"Where are you going?" Doggett called.

"I have to return this chart anyway," Scully announced.

After she came back with a fresh mug of hot coffee, Skinner met them at the 
elevator.  "How're you feeling, sir?" she inquired.

"Pretty damn good, considering the night.  They told me I had six 
consecutive heart attacks, Scully.  No one at this hospital has seen anyone 
go through that much and live to see the next morning, much less get up out 
of bed and leave," Skinner remarked.

"It's miraculous, all right.  But Agent Scully seems to think that these 
episodes weren't coincidental, sir," Doggett pushed the down button.

"I don't doubt that."

"Then you think these nano machines are responsible, too?"

"Put 2 and 2 together, John.  First you get a call from Deputy Director 
Kersh, and then when we left, they attacked me with the nano machines 
because Scully was still there.  Scully, did you notice anyone following you 
or anything suspicious while you were there alone?  Did anyone approach you 
and threaten you while you were at the police station?"

"No."  She didn't exactly know how, but someone within the consortium was 
yanking her chain.  If she wasn't careful, they would also twist the knife 
into her companions' backs.  Right now, for everyone's sake, it would be 
best if she did not tell the truth to Skinner.  "After I left the station, I 
went straight to the motel and slept until Agent Doggett called me."

"I don't understand who this group of 'they' is.  And how would they know 
that only the two of us left," Doggett retorted.  "I told Kersh that we were 
all leaving last night.  Scully just said nobody was tailing her."

"Then maybe we had a couple of shadows and didn't know it," Skinner 
countered.

"They're using you as a way to get to us...to make us drop this X-File.  
Maybe we'd better," Scully admitted as they stepped into the elevator.

"Did you just say what I thought you just said?"

"Weren't you talking about 'not being a pawn or a chess piece' or something 
yesterday?  What kind of talk is that?" Doggett was confused.

"You don't understand what kind of games these people play.  Whoever they 
are, they've made it very clear that we are to step away, and I'm not going 
to make the Assistant Director our sacrificial lamb," Scully said in her 
honey over the rocks tone.

"You're just going to let them win?" Skinner questioned her.

"It's not worth your life, sir."

"I don't get how they do it.  What is it, a push of the button or somethin'? 
  That's what you're making it sound like," Doggett commented.

"If that's what it takes for this case to be solved, then that's what'll 
happen," Skinner resolved.

"No, sir.  I won't let you do it!"  Scully cried.

Doggett was becoming more and more agitated.  He had no idea what was going 
on, and it was time for someone to turn the lights on.  He smashed the 
'emergency stop' button on the lift, and it came grinding to a halt.  
"Nobody's going anywhere until I get a few straight answers!"

"What the hell's the matter with you, Agent Doggett?" Skinner yelled.

"I don't like being held against my will and in a dark place at the same 
time.  No one's making any decisions about life or death until I'm informed 
of what we're dealing with!  It's time to turn on the lights, Agent Scully!" 
  he shouted and crashed his fist into the elevator wall.

Scully was honestly scared.  She had never seen John Doggett get overly 
upset, much less lose his temper and start to hit things.  She guarded her 
words very apprehensively as she spoke them.  "Agent Doggett, there is a 
conspiracy hidden within our government that is above the President of this 
country...even above the law.  I don't know what their agenda ultimately is, 
but I have a feeling that they're involved somehow, with these Litchfield 
experiments."

"Litchfield experiments?  Is that the nano stuff in Skinner's blood or 
something else?"

"It's what they called the tests with the children assassins."

"Agent Scully, I'm really at a loss here.  What would this syndicate...be 
doing with a bunch of killer children?  And besides, we never did prove that 
those two kids killed their parents."

"Don't you get it, Doggett?  We're being told to back off because they do 
exist, and the Consortium wants them to keep doing whatever they are doing," 
Skinner told him.  "And I thought they were all dead, by the way, Scully."

"So did I.  I don't know who any of the players are," she lied.  "All the 
more reason for us not to explore it anymore--we don't know who has control 
over your life, sir."

Skinner swallowed his saliva hard.  He knew exactly who had control over his 
life--Krycek.  But right now, he did not fit into the equation, and there 
was no sense in telling Scully since he knew nothing himself yet.

"Do we, sir?" she repeated the question.

"I think you're right, Scully.  We'll let Kersh have his way for now.  In 
the meantime, Agent Doggett, you need to be re-certified for your weapon.  I 
suggest you take care of that right away.  Agent Scully, I'm going to have 
to insist that you take a couple of personal days after you finish today."

"Why?"

"You need sleep, and you haven't taken a vacation for yourself in three 
years.  Until this matter blows over, we are going to keep a very low 
profile.  Is that understood, agents?"

"How dare we call ourselves part of the Justice Department...if our days are 
coming to this?"  Doggett sighed and depressed the emergency button.  The 
lift continued down to the parking garage, and the agents strode in silence 
to Doggett's fleet sedan.




Scully's Apartment, Georgetown, Washington D.C.
September 23rd, 2000, 7:32 p.m.


After Scully let herself in, she found a business envelope lying across her 
doorstep, and picked it up.  A solitary piece of stationary with the emblem 
"Special Representative to the Secretary General" was stenciled across it in 
gold ink.  On the paper were four words:

*Lincoln Memorial.  9 p.m.*


"I can't do this," she whispered and balled up the paper.

*Why not?  You already lied to your partner and your boss.*

"Because the cost is too high."

*How do you know for sure that Skinner isn't lying to you?  You saw the look 
on his face earlier today.  It reminded you of the same face he made two 
years ago after he told you and Mulder not to pursue the matter of the nano 
machines in his bloodstream.*

"But that's no reason for me to continue lying to him."

*Don't you want to find out who is doing this to him and stop it?*

"I don't know if I can."

*You'll never know if you don't make that appointment.*

Scully threw the letter in the garbage and reached into her coat pocket for 
the proof of Mulder's existence.  She studied the phial and pushed her thumb 
against the bottom.  Sure enough, the stiletto sprang out of its hiding 
place.

Scully left the instrument on her kitchen counter, strolled into her 
bedroom, and opened a drawer in her chiffonier.  She pushed her lingerie 
aside and withdrew two extra clips of ammunition for her SIG Sauer.  When 
she was satisfied that they were hidden safely in the other coat pocket, she 
slammed the drawer shut firmly and maintained a steady pace towards her 
door.
Lincoln Memorial, Washington, D.C.
September 23rd, 2000, 9:15 p.m.


Scully climbed the stairs to the impressive sculpture and glanced around 
herself warily.  "My, Miss Scully, how you've...changed," a highly educated 
English accent greeted her and she whirled around to see what she thought 
was the ghost of the Well-Manicured Man.  "It's been a long time since we've 
spoken, has it not?  In fact, I believe, you had much longer hair at the 
time."

"How is it possible that you are still alive?  Mulder told me that you were 
killed in a car bomb three years ago."

"That's what you were meant to believe," he replied ambiguously and came 
into the light so she could see that he indeed was in full body and spirit.

"I don't understand."

"Of course not.  What your partner saw was an illusion.  Oh, the car blew up 
into millions of pieces and so did the driver.  But I survived, as you can 
see."

"Then why weren't you involved with the others...at El Rico?"

"The illusion wasn't just meant for the audience of Mr. Mulder, Miss Scully. 
  Or you--but you were rather indisposed at the time.  You...were infected 
with the retrovirus."

"What have you been doing all this time?  Hiding in sewers and licking your 
wounds until it was time for you to come out and kill again?"  He gave her 
an enchanting beam and descended the stairs.  Scully was intrigued with this 
man but equally disgusted that she had to bend to his will and amusement.  
But she pursued him anyway and traveled alongside him.

"I was with my grandchildren, making sure that they had proper care, as 
their mother had just perished.  The motivation for my mythological death 
was to escape the Consortium.  Or rather, get out from underneath his grip."

"Spender," she nodded.

"It was my belief that they gave him too much power.  And as a result of 
their carelessness, they lost the lives of their families as well as their 
own and have cost us a great deal in the war against extinction."

"Did you know he's dead?"
"Oh yes, I'm very much aware of that, Miss Scully.  Unfortunately, their 
numbers grow every day.  We are losing more and more of our race, even as we 
speak."

"Because of the retrovirus?"

"That is correct.  And we are in great need of your assistance."

"You have control of the government again and probably your pick of the 
country's greatest scientists for your dirty work.  Why me?"

"Because you are an investigator as well.  I believe you met a young lady 
that was accompanying Alex Krycek named Marita Covarrubius, is that right?"

"Yes, I did."

"She told you that we are at a stalemate in the Litchfield experiments.  The 
conundrum our geneticists have is that they are doing guesswork.  As a 
result of that, they are inadvertently making mistakes...something we cannot 
afford in either time or money.  We need you to locate the final Eve.  As 
you know, all of Dr. Kendrick's work was terminated and demolished--that was 
done by Mr. Mulder's first informant.  We thought that it was not a wise 
idea at the time, but before we could stop it, the deed was completed."

"Looks like you're at a dead end.  Our case files were destroyed in that 
fire your colleague started.  I have nothing to offer you," she miffed and 
stopped walking.

"Surely you have other...resources."  He also halted in his tracks and 
touched her arm fleetingly.

"None that I'm willing to use in your scheme."

"Perhaps you do not see it clearly enough.  Though it is not my preferred 
method for dealing with this species, it is the only one that's currently 
working."

"Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?"

"Don't you see the entire picture?  If this virus continues to spread at its 
current rate, there's no way of stopping it!  Our vaccines are no longer a 
choice!  They have a quiet weapon for their side of the war, Agent Scully.  
With these boys and girls, so do we--and with this woman's aid, it will be 
infallible."

"How?  How can you guarantee that these children, dare I even say it, kill 
with precision and accuracy?"

"With your help, they will."

"I can't believe you're asking me to do such a thing."

"War requires sacrifice, Miss Scully.  As the daughter of a Naval captain, 
you should understand that concept fairly well."

"Don't you try to manipulate me by dragging my family into this!"

"It is just one of the more subtle procedures we've been using.  
Unfortunately, you do not seem to be changing your mind, so...-"

"I will kill you myself here and now should that need arise."  Scully 
grabbed him by the coat, and her hand moved to her hip holster.

"If you feel it's necessary, but doing that won't stop the Assistant 
Director from suffering.  I'm the negotiator, Miss Scully, not the 
puppeteer.  And they'll just keep doing whatever it takes to make you 
acquiesce to our needs."

"Let's say I agree to this.  How do I know for sure that you can get Mulder 
back?"

"As with any mutual agreement, there is some amount of risk involved.  I'm 
afraid you'll have to accept only what I can offer you."

"And that is?"

"My word that Mr. Mulder will be back...soon."

"I think I'd have a better chance on a roulette wheel."  She let go of him.

"Do you know why they took him, Miss Scully?"

"And you do, I suppose."

"Nothing more than a theory, but at least it is a plausible explanation."

"I'll listen, but I can't guarantee that I'll accept anything."

"For years, they've been taking humans for experimentation and study.  But 
it is my belief that now they are preparing something."

"What?"

"Something that will act faster than even the retrovirus.  Something that 
will be invisible in our culture until it is too late."

"Will you stop talking circles around the goddamn issue and get to the 
point?!"

"I don't know what they're doing for sure.  But it will probably be 
somewhere around our idea...perhaps worse.  Maybe not only children will be 
assassins--maybe one night a loved one disappears in the blink of an eye 
only to be returned the next and then completely murder his entire family."

"I think...I'm going to be sick," Scully covered her mouth while the man 
tried to steady and guide her out of the public eye.  Fortunately, it came 
just as they reached the grass and darkness.

"Do you understand why now?  Our group is desperately trying to save the 
human race, and the only way we can do it now is through you."

"Why can't we just have peace?  Why does it have to be like this?"

"I cannot answer that, Miss Scully.  But I do know that the years of peace 
created earlier by my colleagues are days of the past.  They were just 
buying time for us, did you know that?  None of us exactly knew when the day 
would come, so we tried to prepare well in advance.  How foolish we were to 
think we were superior to them."

"I know where I could possibly get those case files reconstructed, but 
that's all I can do for now."

"That's a start, isn't it?"

"Might I ask...what are your intentions towards Mulder when he comes back?"

"That he continues his work on the X-Files with you, Miss Scully.  And as 
promised by Miss Covarrubius, we will not interfere.  Your work is just as 
consequential as ours...for now."

"How do I contact you once I've located her?"

"You will bring her to Georgetown University to work with this man," he 
reached into a vested pocket and gave her a business card.  "Dr. Bowman is a 
professor of human genetics.  His office and laboratory hours are listed 
here."

"Is this all you need me to do, or will more be required of me?"

"Yes, there is more.  It's been advised by your superior that you take a few 
days off for yourself.  If you must use the FBI for support, do it 
inconspicuously.  No one there is to know what you are doing with us--that's 
why you've been made to drop the case."



Lone Gunmen Headquarters, Washington, D.C.
September 24th, 2000, 12:01 a.m.


A bout of thunderous banging drove Langly crankily away from his computer to 
the door.  He took his time to unlock the door, and Scully practically mowed 
him over as she marched inside.  "Hey, Scully, " he remarked.

"Where're the other two?" she inquired curtly.

"Asleep, I think, but now that you pounded our door into a grade A 
toothpick, you probably woke up the dead."  Shortly after he said this, 
Byers and Frohike joined them in their pajamas and bathrobes.

"I had a feeling it'd be you, Agent Scully," Byers observed.

"Yeah, I'm glad it wasn't Agent Doggett.  Now that's someone I would not 
want to be woken up for...not that it hasn't happened before," Frohike piped 
in.

"I need something from you.  Almost six months ago, Mulder told me that 
you've been reconstructing pieces of old X-Files together that had been in 
the fire.  Now I need one of them.  I need the one regarding the Litchfield 
experiments.  It'll be in the first year that I worked with Mulder, if 
that's how you organized them."

"Well, we've managed to save quite a bit, except for the ones that were 
burned to a crisp," Langly pinched his fingers together and returned to his 
computer.  Scully stalked him all the way over and rubbed her eyes.  "Just 
give me a few minutes, please.  I need time to close what I'm working on 
here and open up the other program."

"Are you okay, Agent Scully?" Byers asked.

"I'm fine.  I'm just tired, that's all," she sighed.

"How much sleep have you gotten in the past 48 hours?" Frohike peered 
through his bottle thick glasses at her and went to the refrigerator.

"About five hours."
"That's not good.  What about the baby, Agent Scully?  You shouldn't be on 
your feet like that," Byers told her and guided her over to their couch.

"That's very kind of you guys to be concerned, but-"

"It's nothing.  We know how much this means to you to be able to finally 
conceive, and we don't want there to be any hiccups in the process.  For 
both of your sakes."  He sat her down and took the glass of milk that 
Frohike had brought over.  "Drink this."

"I don't want any right now," Scully pushed his hand away.

"Think of your child.  Drink this and get some rest.  This might take a 
while."

"How long?"

"It doesn't matter.  What does is your health.  If we find the case, we'll 
print out everything and make sure that it's intact for you in the morning."

"The morning?  I need this information now!"

"And we're working on it, we assure you.  But please take some rest now, 
while you have the chance."

"You're in the hands of the Master, Agent Scully, don't worry," Langly 
chimed in.

She finally relented and accepted the glass from Byers, which had already 
begun to drip with condensation.  Moments later, she fell asleep with the 
glass still in hand, and Frohike draped a blanket over her after moving the 
glass to safety.



About five hours later...


Scully woke and found two of the three Gunmen asleep.  Frohike's head was 
immovably frozen on their kitchen table snoring, and Langly was sprawled 
onto the desktop with his arms tightly clasped around the keyboard.  She saw 
the Litchfield file resting on top of the printer, and she breathed a sigh 
thanking God that she wouldn't have to lie to them, too.  Unfortunately, 
that relief was lived momentarily when she heard a toilet flush and Byers 
come out of the bathroom.

"Did you find something happening again like this?" he questioned her as she 
collected the papers.

"Yeah."

"Are you investigating them with Agent Doggett?"

"We're using them for reference."  *That much was true, at least.*  "Thank 
you."

"Will you be needing our assistance for any further activities?"

"Not this time, Byers."  She found her keys had escaped from her coat pocket 
and scooped them up from the sofa.

"Any word on Mulder?"  Scully was glad that her back was turned, that he 
could not witness her emotions.  She rebuked herself silently for letting 
them get the better of her again when she knew that she was in complete 
control of them.

"Nothing yet, I'm afraid."  She made her way toward the door and started to 
undo all of their locks.

"You know you can always come here if you ever need anything, Agent Scully, 
just like you did last night."

"You can't possibly imagine how much this will help me," she mumbled as she 
exited and quietly closed the door behind herself.



Whiting Institute, San Francisco, CA
September 24th, 2000, 12:15 p.m.


"Are you sure you really want to see them while they're being fed?" the 
guard questioned Scully, who removed the SIG Sauer from her holster and 
signed her name into the registry.

"You make it sound like they're animals," Scully declared.

"Well, they're not much different.  You see, after we deliver their food to 
them, they become...disturbed.  There was a man that came in two weeks ago 
to see them during breakfast, and although we keep them under very strict 
security, they still managed to stab him in the thigh with a fork.  They're 
now limited to spoons and Jello because of that incident," she explained.
"I'm on a tight schedule."  The sentry shrugged, handed Scully the 
obligatory panic button, and buzzed her inside where another guard met up 
with her.  "Do they still go by their given names?"

"You can ask them yourself...they've been awful talkative these last few 
days," he told her and let her into the "Eve" cellblock.

"Would it have something to do with the visitor that she was talking about?  
The one that came two weeks ago?" Scully wondered.

"Possibly."

"What did he look like?"

"Guy had a prosthetic arm--and you know how people can look like animals, 
right?"

"Yeah?"

"If I had to pick one for him, I'd say a weasel.  I'll be just out here if 
you need anything.  Remember the button."  He shut the door behind himself 
and locked it.

Scully trudged skittishly down the cement hallway.  She heard some giggling 
coming from the end and as her stride became more confident, it ceased.  
"Cindy?  Tina?" she called as she reached the "Eve 9" and "Eve 10" cells.

"Good day, Agent Scully," Tina greeted her, and Scully gasped as she twisted 
around to look at the girl.

"Yes, good day, Agent Scully," Cindy echoed.  Scully turned to face the 
hallway so that she could keep both of the teenagers in view.

"How did you know I was coming?" she asked.

"We just knew," they both stated at the same time.

"Well your voices have changed quite a bit.  But I see your homicidal 
tendencies haven't."

"We didn't kill Mr. Krycek," Tina smirked.

"No, but you tried."

"Would that have been such a terrible thing if we did?" Cindy retorted 
smugly.

"You have me there.  Why did he come visit you?"

"For some more tests.  He tried to draw our blood," Tina replied.

"And so you stabbed him in self defense?"

"More or less," Cindy said.  "And now they give us mush because of it.  What 
if someone took away your gun because you shot someone on the job, Agent 
Scully?"

"It's my job to protect people and in order to do that, sometimes it 
happens.  Let's not worry about that, though."  Scully took a glimpse at the 
empty "Eve 7" cell.  "What happened to her?"

"Dead," Tina informed the FBI agent.

"She committed suicide," Cindy added.

"How?  She was in a straight jacket the last time we saw her," Scully was 
incredulous.

"In 1995, straight jackets were deemed cruel and unusual punishment in 
California.  We appreciated that ruling," Tina smiled.

"Strangled herself with her own bed sheet," Cindy proclaimed.

"Are you sure that she did that?"  Both girls nodded in unison.

"We heard it all.  And when we turn 50, it'll happen to us as well," Tina 
announced.  "Dr. Kendrick wasn't able to correct that flaw."

"Nope, she wasn't," Cindy echoed.

"Girls, I need your help with something."  Scully withdrew a folded up piece 
of paper and held up a picture of a grown up Eve 8, who was of course, 
identical to Eve 7.  "I know she's still out there.  What does she do?"

"Obstetrician.  She used to visit us all the time, when we first got here.  
But when she found out that we couldn't conceive, she stopped coming," Tina 
uttered.

"What's her name?" Scully's brow furrowed.

"Dr. Anne Gossamer.  She's only three months away from her due date," Cindy 
told her, and they began to click their tongues in tandem.  "They'd better 
hurry."
"So you know that these experiments have started up again?"

"Affirmative," they replied at the same time.

"That was why Mr. Krycek came," Tina stated.

"And left with a gash in his leg," Cindy joked, and they started to laugh.

"Can I ask...what happened to all of the Adams of the project?"

"Dr. Gossamer knows."

"Where is she?"

"Use your federal status to find out.  We cannot supply you with that data."

"By the way, Agent Scully, where's your partner?"

"Back at the office," Scully swallowed her anger.

"No, no, we mean Agent Mulder.  What's the matter...you lose him or 
something?"  The girls chuckled together again.  Cindy took some of the pea 
soup in her bowl that had congealed and launched it with her spoon onto 
Scully's very expensive and fashionable designer suit.  Scully's fists 
curled into balls as she stormed out and crashed one of them onto the door 
separating her from the guard.

"Had enough, huh?" he inquired.

"I almost started to feel sorry for them," Scully growled and made her way 
to the entrance to pick up her weapon.  "Is it possible for me to view some 
of the old registries?"

"How old?" the same sentry that signed her in asked.

"Maybe one or two years.  I'm looking for a specific visitor going by the 
name Dr. Anne Gossamer."

"Mmm.  Let me see here..." the woman dug underneath her counter and searched 
through her records.  Several page turns later, the guard found an entry.  
"She was last here in June of 1999."

"Did she give a city of origin?"

"Ah, one moment.  Yes.  Greenwich, Connecticut."  Scully groaned and slid 
the panic button lethargically across the counter.  "What on earth is the 
matter?"
"I just came from that side of the country," she grumbled.  "Do you know how 
many airports I've just come through in the last three days?  I feel like a 
piece of chain mail."

"At least you can pick up frequent flyer miles."

"I...hate...flying," Scully deplored.




Scully's Apartment, Georgetown, Washington, D.C.
September 24th, 2000, 10:13 p.m.


The first thing Scully did after she tossed her belongings onto her kitchen 
table was to press 'play' on her answering machine.  "You have 6 new 
messages," the synthesized female voice announced.  *Beep*

"Scully, this is Agent John Doggett, your partner."

"Hmmph...just in case I forgot," she mumbled.

"Detective Gardener's been trying to reach you all day.  I know we said that 
we were going to drop the case, but I thought you probably might want to at 
least send her some of the case files.  I think you said that you would a 
couple of nights ago, unless my hearing's gone to the dogs.  I also would 
have tried to do it myself, except for the fact that they're not in the 
X-Files office.  Did you take them home to work on them?  Anyhow, I 
understand that you're on vacation now, and so I won't bother you on your 
cell phone...so call me back at least tomorrow to let me know what's going 
on, please.  I'm at the office now, but you can reach me at my home after 
six."

"The man may not be as keen as Mulder, but at least he has some manners," 
she commented and hung up her jacket.

*Beep*

"Dana Scully, we at Avalon Spa know how stressful your week days can be," 
the machine continued.

"Oh yeah?" she sneered and dug out a letter opener from her top center desk 
drawer.  "Week day?  What's a week day?"

"Come rest your body, mind, and spirit while we pamper your every need.  We 
are located not too far away from your home in Georgetown..."
"I still wanna know how the hell they got my number.  I gave a gift 
certificate to Mom, and yet they still continue to harangue me with their 
damn advertisements."

"Call us for an appointment today."

*Beep*

"Dana Katherine Scully, where in the world are you?"  It wasn't until her 
mother's voice came on over the speaker that Scully froze in her tracks from 
doing her nightly ritual of mail trafficking and disrobing.  This was the 
only multi-tasking chore that she did both mindlessly and habitually.  But 
there were few times when Dana Scully was petrified to the bone, and her 
mother's raised voice could do it every time.  "This is the third time this 
month that you promised you would come over for dinner, dear.  " By now it 
had calmed down into despondency.

"I wouldn't mind it so much except for the fact that you never remember to 
call me until half an hour beforehand that you can't make it.  And this 
time, you didn't even call!  Now what's the matter, sweetheart?  I know 
you're going through a lot these days, and it's important for you to share 
it with someone, if not your own mother," she sighed.  "I only want what's 
best for you, Dana, I hope you know that.  Now please call me back."

*Beep*

"Senator Mattheson fights for the people's rights.  Only with your continued 
support can we continue his quest for-"

"I don't think so," Scully interrupted the machine and pressed the forward 
arrow button.  *Beep*

"Agent Scully, I'm sorry to bother you on your personal line, but Agent 
Doggett gave me your number.  This is Detective Janine Gardener, of the 
Flagstaff Police Department, by the way.  I could really use some background 
information from your X-File reports right now."

"I'll bet."

"Please fax them to me over at (770). 691.0583.  Thanks.  I really would 
appreciate your time and trouble.  Sorry to hear about your boss.  Hope he's 
feeling better."

*Beep*

"Scully, this is your superior, Walter Skinner.  Are you there?  I know you 
screen your calls sometimes.  Look, I really gave you those personal days 
off for you and your baby's sake, I wanted to let you know that.  This is 
not really my decision, but, Kim keeps on asking me and asking me about you. 
  She kind of has a sixth sense about her on these things--mentions how 
different you look and how much you glower.  Is that even a word?  Uh, I 
don't know what to tell her--so I just keep changing the subject every time 
she brings it up."

"Good.  Keep doing that," Scully rolled her eyes and went back to sorting 
through her pile of mail.

"All joking aside, when are you going to let everyone know?  You're going to 
start showing soon, aren't you?  And then what are people going to think?  
If you want your secret to remain under wraps, you'd better give me a call 
soon.  I'm running out of excuses and tangents."

*Beep*

"End of messages," the electronic voice asserted.

"Sweet Mary, Mother of God, if this is what my home phone's like..."  she 
started over to the kitchen table for her cell phone but then brushed it 
off.  "No.  No, damnit, it can wait until tomorrow.  There's only one person 
that matters right this second."

Scully went to her phone and picked it up off of the cradle.  She then 
discarded the rest of her junk mail into the garbage as she waited for her 
recipient to answer.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Mom, it's Dana."

"Oh, thank God.  I was starting to get worried."

"I forgot, Mom, I'm so sorry," Scully apologized and ran her fingers through 
her hair absentmindedly.

"It's all right, Dana.  Incidentally, I did make the baked chicken like you 
asked."

"Aww..." she whined and now felt a stack of twenty pound weights leap up 
onto her chest.  "Nobody makes it like you, Mom."

"So where were you?"  Scully walked through her hallway and into her 
bathroom to turn on her tub's faucet.

"Uh, I was working on a case today."

"Well, there's a surprise.  I have a daughter that works in the FBI that 
works on nothing but cases day in and day out.  You're so ambiguous, Dana.  
You must have picked that up from Fox."

"It's amazing how much he's rubbed off on me.  I think I might start eating 
those damn sunflower seeds if he doesn't come back soon."

"God will return him when the time is appropriate."

"Oh, Mom, you don't honestly believe that angels took him, do you?"

"I never said that, Dana.  I said that God will make sure he's back in time 
just when you need him the most."

"Oh, damn it, Mom, I need him now!"

"Our timing does not always align with God's."

"You can say that again."  She tossed several different powders and lotions 
into the tub and watched as they took form in the water.

"Maybe this is why..."

"What are you talking about, Mom?"

"Well, I'm saying...this is just a shot in the dark, so don't discredit me, 
Dana...I know how much science governs your life."

"Fine.  I won't, speak your piece."

"Maybe this is why Fox's gone.  You finally are admitting that you need him. 
  It took you until now to admit it."

"Mom, we knew that years ago about one another--that we couldn't work 
without one another."

"I'm talking about your realizing that he's your other half.  Work is 
temporary--love is long lasting."  Scully hesitated on the line as she 
pondered her mother's revelation.  She wasn't trying to be nosy, and she 
never tried to interfere with her relationships in the past.  Maybe it was 
time that she listened to her mother's advice for once.  "You're not still 
trying to convince yourself otherwise, are you, Dana?"

"Things are kind of...complicated between us right now.  I don't know what 
to feel."

"It's this time then...that God has given you...to sort your feelings out.  
Perhaps you'd like to speak with Father McHugh about this."

"No, I can't."  She eased herself into the bath and sighed contentedly as 
she felt the bubbles relax her stiff muscles.  "There are some things that a 
woman has to keep hidden in her own heart, even from her own priest."

"Dana, I think you know what you feel...but you're afraid to admit to it.  
Your father was the same way with me when we were dating."

"How long did he wait to propose to you?"

"Well...I know how long it took for him to come back to me from his ship.  
But I don't know how long he pondered the question in his own mind before it 
popped out of his mouth to me."

"He never told you?"

"He said that he thought about it quite a bit for his two months at sea, but 
I can't help feeling that he wanted to do it sooner.  Not that it matters 
anyhow, because those events were long ago.  Did I ever tell you that once, 
his ship became lost in a storm?  It happened just after we became 
engaged--he got called up again and left for the Pacific.  I was so scared 
when I got the news...I just felt so helpless, and I just wished that I 
could have had the power to bring him back...Dana, are you still on the 
line?"

Scully mumbled something inarticulately in her sleep and dropped the phone 
into the water.


Office of Dr. Anne Gossamer, OBGYN, Greenwich, Connecticut
September 25th, 2000, 11:30 a.m.


Scully tried to take in her surroundings as her poise began to slip through 
her fingers like sand.  The office itself was filled from wall to wall with 
shelves of medical journals, reference books, and oddly enough, philosophy.  
Among the alphabetized authors packed back to back were Carl Jung, 
Nietzsche, and Benjamin Franklin.  The books themselves were so neatly and 
finely compacted that it made her own library at home seem like Mulder's 
chaotic X-Files cabinets.

She had once made it a point to go through the drawers herself in the past 
few months and try to make some sense out of his mayhem, but every time she 
laid one finger on the drawer, she felt guilt creep over her shoulder like 
Mulder was right there demanding to know why she had to give his systematic 
turmoil a makeover.  It made sense to him how they were organized.  As long 
as he could find the X-File he wanted within two minutes, he had explained 
to her one day six years ago, there was no reason to disturb the system.  He 
was coming back soon, she reasoned, so there was not a need to change his 
chaos into her order.

The numerous diplomas and awards that occupied another wall of the office 
was another point of interest.  Gossamer was a complete Yale graduate, of 
course, at the top of her class.  Various photographs of her accepting her 
awards accompanied each just below the honor.  She had also founded three 
different hospital wings dedicated completely to inviterofertilization.

She was not losing her confidence because of Gossamer's accomplishments; 
Scully was not a flatterer.  Truth could spew forth from her mouth like 
water from a fire hydrant, but when it came to compliments, her mouth 
immediately evaporated.  There were always things that people needed to hear 
and wanted to hear; for her, there was no line to be crossed except in 
extreme situations.  In that respect, she could never be a salesperson, and 
it seemed like an impossible task the more that she thought about it.  She 
had to sell Gossamer a story about research and development that could only 
be completed by herself.  *No one else could be more brilliant*, she told 
herself in a mantra to remember her stinger.

"Please do sit down, Dr. Scully," Gossamer broke her train of thought as she 
entered and gestured to a client chair.

Scully had thought it best when introducing herself to the receptionist not 
to draw attention to her federal status.  Especially since she was 
admonished by the Well Manicured Man to keep a low federal profile.  She 
addressed herself simply as a doctor that consulted at Georgetown University 
Hospital from time to time, and that seemed to satisfy the executive 
assistant.

"Thank you for seeing me, Dr. Gossamer," Scully began courteously.  "My work 
concerns me with a Dr. Shannon Bowman, who is a geneticist at Georgetown 
University.  Right now, he's involved in a brand new project that needs some 
further analysis."

"Mmm.  R and D?" the woman's fingertips brushed her desk as she sat.

"He's past that stage, actually, and is into the...production aspect."

"Really?  I've heard of Bowman before, but I was under the impression that 
he was cutting back his experiments due to the incredible amount of students 
that the University had clumped into his classes this year.  In fact, he 
made no mention of this project in his column last month.  How long have you 
been working under him?"

Scully might have been more upset if she were conversing with a man; that 
comment could be construed as a huge insult to any female doctor.  But she 
knew that Gossamer was from an older generation and thought nothing of the 
phrase 'working under him'.  She cleared her mind of any negative comebacks 
and politely rebuked her.  "I've been working *with* Dr. Bowman, not under 
him, for two weeks."

"How long has this 'project' been going on?"  The woman made Scully feel 
diminutive; it was flagrant that she was self absorbed and was used to being 
told how intelligent she was during her entire life.  She wasn't interested 
in how she came into Bowman's research or even what her specialty was.

"He's been very shrewd about the whole thing, actually.  It's so hush hush 
that he only keeps me on a need to know basis, which is why I assume that he 
sent me out here today to speak with you instead of one of his students."

"Perhaps he thought you could explain it best."

"I suppose.  But he's run into an obstacle; that's why I'm here to see you."

"Why would he want to keep this matter under wraps?  All the rest of the 
projects he's been involved in have been publicized in every medical 
publication on the East coast...each one of them have been rather 
groundbreaking in the field of genetic science.  You know that boy that had 
been hit by a drunk driver on his bicycle and lost his complete right hand?"

"Where was this?"  Scully probed.  The story was firing off a few synapses.

"Falls Church, Virginia.  There of course, were various other injuries to 
the poor boy, but Bowman was focused only on the loss of his appendage.  He 
wondered if it would indeed, be possible through some tampering, for the boy 
to regenerate his hand."

"Of course, indeed, I have."  *Now I remember where I had heard that name
before*, Scully thought.

"Do you recall the result?"

"Bowman was able, through a mutation, to do it.  Has there been a followup 
to the story since then?  I believe that was five years ago."

"Yes, indeed, there has.  It took two full years for the boy's hand to 
develop fully, and now, he's completely dexterous with it again.  So my 
point is, Dr. Scully, what's he got hidden in the closet?"

"Human cloning through inviterofertilization."

"I see.  That's reason enough to remain under the AMA's anal radar.  What's 
your problem?"

"We must fulfill these clones to the expectations to our project sponsors.  
Right now, with what little we know, we can't.  And we've heard of your 
leaps and bounds with the process.  No one else could be more brilliant."  
*There.  I said it.*

"What makes you think I would want to assist you?  My practice is fairly 
successful; I've got a large number of patients."

"Dr. Bowman's got a cause that's even bigger than our grant suppliers.  He 
won't share it with me; he said that if you came, he'd tell you and only 
you.  It apparently matches what you've been trying to do."

"And just what exactly does he think I've been trying to do?"

"I said he won't share it with me."

"Then why are you working under him?"  There it was again.  This time, 
Scully was positive that Gossamer was trying to infuriate her.  Either that, 
or pump her for more information.  But the only thing that was working was 
the anger swelling up inside of her now--due to the fact that she had to 
convince a Dr. Frankenstein to go work with a Dr. Mengele to recreate the 
immoral, nightmarish Litchfield experiments.  *I don't know how much longer 
I can keep up this facade before I break.*

"Because of his genius.  I see good things coming out of this; for instance, 
we can use it to help reduce fatal diseases to children.  Perhaps we could 
design a child immune to cancer."

"So you're an altruistic type, not an opportunist.  Interesting."  
Gossamer's intense gaze made her seem as if she were staring down at Scully 
from a fifty foot platform.  She tapped her fingertips together as she 
pondered her decision.  "Do I need to physically be there?"

"Dr. Bowman didn't mention it, but that's probably because he assumed you'd 
want to come...to inspect the work being done."

"He's never met or communicated with me before.  It's an awful lot to 
assume."  Scully did not say anything else; she had had enough of trying to 
rope the arrogant obstetrician in.  Gossamer leaned back into her chair and 
pointed to her bookshelves.  "Dr. Scully, you're obviously a keen scientist, 
and before I ever work with another doctor, I always consider the stakes.  
Number one, of course...is that I could lose my license.  But that I am not 
worried about.  Number two, is...what I get out of it should we succeed.  I 
already have a successful practice like I said, so money and fame don't 
matter.  Number three...is that I could be walking into a trap."

"A trap?"

"Yes.  You see, there was an obstetrician much like myself, named Dr. Sally 
Kendrick, that worked across the country involved in what I do now.  But 
I've come miles from where she was seven years ago.  She...unfortunately, 
walked into her own trap and was killed...but I don't blame the girls that 
did it.  No, no.  I blame the FBI agents that were following her."

"I assure you, Dr. Gossamer, there's nothing going on like that.  We don't 
even have..." she stopped herself because she was about to let on more than 
she was supposed to.  "We don't have much time.  The grant sponsor wants to 
see some results in a few days, and we've hit rock bottom."

"You were looking at my collection as I came in.  How much do you know about 
me, Dr. Scully?"  Her query shocked Scully, and she ran her tongue nervously 
across her upper lip.

"Just...that you spent all of your school years at Yale as the 
valedictorian.   You won the Humanitarian of the County award, and you 
alphabetize your books by name rather than by author or subject."

"I see.  You managed to remember that without looking at the wall or 
bookshelf.  You don't have a photographic memory, do you?"

"No," Scully admitted and a slow panic was rising in her.  The Eves were 
homicidal sociopaths.  They killed without fear or remorse.  And she had 
left her weapon under the dashboard.

"Neither did Sherlock Holmes, but he was an exceptional observer.  As was 
the norm of the culture, he consumed cocaine regularly.  Makes you wonder 
how clear of a thinker he really was as that toxin flowed through his 
bloodstream up to his brain."

"I suppose, except for the fact that he was a fictional character."

"Yes.  You're right.  Makes me wonder what's on the mind of an investigator 
these days."  Gossamer spoke as though she were in a trance through the last 
few sentences and then clapped her hands together once.  "Very well.  I'll 
make arrangements with my patients and accompany you to Georgetown 
U."	Outskirts of Edison, New Jersey
September 25th, 2000, 3:17 p.m.


While Gossamer went to the bathroom at the rest stop, Scully took the 
opportunity to pull out her cell phone and the business card that the 
Well-Manicured Man had given her.  "Hello, I'm trying to reach Dr. Bowman, 
please?  He's in class now?  Well, my name is Special Agent Dana Scully..." 
she kept an eye on the public restroom as she spoke.  "He knows who I am?  
Good.  Then tell him that his expected companion has consented to come to 
D.C., and that I'm bringing her with me.  Yes, he'll know what that means.  
Thank you."

Gossamer exited the building and scrutinized the FBI agent from head to toe.

"Problem?" she questioned Scully.

"No, I was just letting Dr. Bowman know that we are on our way."  She hung 
up and pocketed the cell phone.

"How considerate of you.  Does he make you check in to report where you 
are?"

"No, I..." she tried to change the topic.  "He's very excited to be able to 
meet you finally."

"Shall we go on our way or do you need to go use the women's room, too?"

"Not right now."  Scully quietly slid back into the car along with the 
doctor and vitalized the engine.  Her mind raced through several different 
matters; the first one she worried about was that Gossamer could see right 
through her and possibly become hostile, and the next was what action she 
would take if that came into play.  She couldn't draw the gun first...that 
would be a dead giveaway that she was a law enforcement officer--but decided 
that deadly force with the gun would be her only advantage with this woman 
for two good reasons.  Number one, they were in a car and now on the 
interstate, and if Gossamer got the upper hand, she could lose control of 
the car and hurt lots of people.  Number two, she remembered after reading 
through the restored X-File that the Eves had exceptional strength.  Scully 
knew that the self defense training she had been taught in the Academy would 
not be enough to stop the likes of Gossamer.  She probably knew enough to 
take Scully out in two moves or less.

Scully took a quick glance in the other woman's direction; Gossamer's eyes 
were planted on the road ahead of them and concentrated on nothing else.  In 
some ways it was easy to see in assassin in her, but Scully had to admit 
that had she not known that all of the Eves were identical, she would not 
probably have picked Dr. Anne Gossamer out of a lineup to be a murderer.  
The design was brilliant; she appeared to be a middle-aged woman and no more 
harmless than a typical housewife.  Nor was she meant to attract attention 
to herself; her looks were certainly nothing more than ordinary.  It was 
obvious that Gossamer groomed and maintained her femininity well, but she 
had made no attempts to correct her aesthetics or ill-proportioned symmetry.

Gene therapy, doctors called it.  Scully was in favor of pushing the 
envelope of discovery and experimentation in science just like any other 
doctor, but when it came to 'playing God', she drew the line.  There were 
just some things that you didn't mess with, she decided long ago.  Her 
mother would have bought the proverbial farm if she had heard that Scully 
had tried to have a child via invietrofertilization two years ago--it didn't 
work, anyhow.

"When are you expecting, Dr. Scully?"  That question hit her out of the blue 
like a militant ambush.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"I don't remember telling-"

"Oh, please, like you have to tell a woman that makes her living off of the 
creation of life that you're going to have a child.  After a certain number 
of years of being in the business, you can tell.  It's a bit akin to a 
mortician 'smelling' death."

Scully hated how cold and indifferent the obstetrician sounded.  The very 
fact that she profited off of these women and didn't care about how they 
felt burned her up.

"I prefer not to think of my future child like a cataclysmic event, thank 
you," she said with dismay.

"I don't view it that way, either, seeing as how I make it happen every day. 
  In my promotional videos, I call it a miracle of production.  Hah.  
Miracle.  It's a purely scientific production constructed in a sterile 
laboratory.  I find that people who believe in miracles are far too caught 
up in the fantasy of romance.  Or the belief of an all-powerful God that 
controls the universe."

"February."  Scully found herself struggling not to say it with contempt.

"I'm relieved to hear that.  That's another reason why I asked you how long 
you've been working under Dr. Bowman.  I notice there's no diamond or gold 
band on the significant finger, Dr. Scully.  I suggest you buy some kind of 
costume jewelry to make him think twice. He's something of a...no...excuse 
me, he is a womanizer."
"How'd you find out about that?"

"Some of the lab technicians I hire come from Georgetown.  I like to keep 
the nurses and interns strictly from the Yale med. program.  Room for less 
marginal error, you see."  Gossamer turned her eyes back to Scully's, whose 
now kept straight to the interstate.  "They say that there's no differences 
between the ivy league schools, but I beg to differ.  Harvard Med. is no 
longer at an acceptable level.  I once made the mistake of hiring a Harvard 
intern for a semester three years ago, and she proceeded to destroy five of 
my patients' samples.  I know it was an honest accident, because of the fact 
that she couldn't concoct a story that would convince a five year old to 
tell me otherwise."

"Georgetown isn't an ivy league school," Scully remarked.

"I know it isn't.  But it should be--perhaps it would be a sufficient 
replacement to the Harvard medical program.  They just about let anyone with 
money and proper achievement test scores in nowadays," Gossamer scoffed.

"So do you only hire women?"

"Oh, yes.  I find that it's best, especially in this kind of an environment. 
  When I take my clients around the facility for a tour, I explain to them 
that the reason why there are only females working in my lab is because 
'women take care of their own'.  That usually thrills my clients to death, 
and that's when the checkbooks pop out of those purses like a jack in the 
box."

That was the end of that conversation, and it wasn't until they were near 
Philadelphia that Gossamer decided to bring up another matter.  It was the 
unfortunate one Scully feared most.  "So why don't you tell me the real 
reason why you're taking me to see the illustrious Dr. Bowman?"

"I already did."  Scully's hand tightened around the wheel, and Gossamer 
immediately noticed the action.

"You're well adversed in the medical field, I can tell, but you're some type 
of investigator.  I'm not sure if you're a private detective or if you're 
chained to the pathetic federal justice system, but I know that you, my 
dear, Dr. Scully, have been putting on a facade.  It's time to remove your 
mask and makeup."

The FBI agent kept her mouth sternly shut.

"All right, fine, give me the silent act, but I know it's true, especially 
how I observed your actions after my secretary let you into my office.  
Though everyone's actions are different, here is a typical picture.  If it's 
a client, she waits outside until called in.  If it's a vendor, they'll be 
let in, but he or she usually just sits down if I'm out.  Perhaps their eyes 
will wander around the room, but never to the extent of an investigator.  
And sometimes, if it's a colleague of mine, she'll pick up a book from my 
collection and read it.  You're afraid to put your fingerprints onto 
anything, aren't you?" she snickered and waited for a response.  "I'm not a 
criminal.  Everything I do is aboveboard."

There was another pause in the discussion as she waited for Scully's 
interjection, or at least some form of a proper introduction.  But Scully 
remained taciturn and her face was completely disguised.  As Gossamer went 
on, Scully knew that it wasn't long before the accusations stopped and the 
questions started.  "Look, I have to know where we're going.  You deceived 
me, and I deserve that right, no matter what your occupation is."

"I'm taking you where I told you we'd be going--to Georgetown University.  
Dr. Bowman wants to work with you," Scully finally replied indifferently.

"So whom do you really work for?"  No response came from Scully.  "Damnit, 
this is unjust, and you're violating my rights!  Do you even have a 
warrant?!"

"You agreed to come with me of your own merit.  And besides, it's my day 
off.  I'm not even on duty," she shrugged.

"Then what do you want from me?  Do you even know who I really am?  I think 
if you did, you wouldn't be ignoring me.  You'd probably be reaching for 
that weapon underneath your dashboard.  Don't think I don't see you eyeing 
it from time to time."

"Could be looking at the speedometer, too, couldn't I?"

"Very well.  I'm good at games, too, Agent Scully, and you just met your 
match."

Nothing more was said between them even after they arrived at Georgetown 
University.  Scully pulled up to a parking lot's guard station.  "Evenin', 
ma'am," he addressed her as she rolled down the car window.

"Hello.  Is this building ahead of us the science department?"

"Kind of.  The one on the left deals with non-organic sciences like math and 
physics, and the one on the right deals with the other stuff.  You know, 
biology, chemistry-"

"I get the picture, thanks," she cut him off.  Gossamer took the few moments 
that she had to get out of the car, and before Scully could stop her, she 
shouted, "That woman's got a gun!"

"Stop, Dr. Gossamer!"  Scully yelled, and as he laid one hand on his 
telephone, she removed her ID from her sweater.

"Hands up, don't even think about it, lady!"  he cried, and Scully had to 
admit, he was rather foolish to order this command after she had already 
stuck one hand in her pocket.  *Poorly trained security guards.  Wonderful.* 
  He kept his .38 special trained on her professionally, though, as she 
obeyed and reached for her badge with one hand.  "FBI?  What're you doing 
here?"

"Trying to keep the woman you just let escape behind bars," she miffed and 
lowered her hands as he did his weapon.

"Oh shit.  Do you want me to call campus security?"

"No.  I don't want to attract attention to her.  She's dangerous but 
wouldn't be stupid enough to harm someone in broad daylight in front of 
hundreds of witnesses," Scully gestured with her head to the college 
students that still littered the campus.

"I apologize for interfering, ma'am.  I'd help you catch her if I didn't 
have to stay here."

"Right now, the best thing for you to do would be to raise this blockade and 
let me into the lot."  His fist hit the 'up' button just after she said her 
last word, and without so much of a thanks, Scully furiously drove into the 
lot, parked in a 'faculty' spot, and began to scan the area for her renegade 
assassin.  She hurriedly removed the gun and stuck it into the waistband of 
her pants, cursing herself for not having the good sense to bring her 
holster today.

Thinking that it would draw too much attention to herself, she decided not 
to run after Gossamer.  Instead, she marched a furious pace down the campus 
green, and approached a few students with the picture of Gossamer.  Two 
students shook their heads, but one pointed towards a bus stop sign that was 
in the opposite direction of Scully.  "Saw the woman get onto the bus," he 
told her.

"Is it a university shuttle or the local bus line?" Scully inquired.

"Local.  But she couldn't have gotten too far, since I just saw it happen 
not two minutes ago.  It's got two more stops on campus before it heads out 
onto 38th St.  The first one is five minutes from here at the hospital."

"Good.  Thank you."  Scully walked briskly back to the car, took the parking 
ticket lodged underneath the windshield wipers, and threw it onto the ground 
before starting the engine again.  Without hesitation, her lead foot took to 
the gas as she sped down the college parkway and bee-lined into the medical 
center.  Sure enough, the bus had just stopped, and she shoved her way past 
the exiting passengers.  She paid the fee into the machine and just as 
Gossamer noticed her and tried to escape, the bus' doors closed in front of 
her.  Scully spotted her instantly and made her way back to the rear of the 
bus.  "I have to admit that that was clever, but not above the resources of 
the twelve year old shouting 'fire' in the theater," she said to Gossamer, 
who scowled.

"You're obviously not going to arrest me, so what do you want, Agent 
Scully?"

"For one thing, for this mad goose chase to end.  Let's just go see why Dr. 
Bowman needs you.  I really don't know."  Gossamer agreed, and Scully 
secretly used her credentials to stop the bus before it left the hospital.  
The driver gave her his complete cooperation without one word.

Fifteen minutes later, Scully drove them into the same parking lot.  The 
sentry gave her a huge beam, happy to notice that he had not completely 
wrecked her day, and let the sedan pull in.  This time, Scully chose a 
visitor's space and noticed that her parking ticket was still lying on the 
ground where she had thrown it; however, it had gained several tire tread 
markings.

After finding the appropriate floor, Gossamer and Scully traveled to a door 
with 'Dr. Shannon Bowman' stenciled on the translucent glass.  Scully 
entered first, and together, they approached the receptionist's desk.  "Is 
Dr. Bowman in?"  she asked.

"Yes, he's having his tea at the moment.  He usually does not take visitors 
until afterwards, but...-"

From behind her, a man roughly six foot one with chocolate hair and cinnamon 
eyes in a lab coat stirred.  He held a teacup in one hand, and the other 
rotated a spoon languidly around the hot liquid.  Bowman's eyes flicked over 
both women but fixated upon Scully.  "Do I know you?" was the first question 
to come across his lips.

"I'm Special Agent Dana Scully of the FBI, and this is Dr. Anne Gossamer.  I 
believe you've been wanting to meet her."

"Quite right.  I appreciate your bringing her this swiftly, Agent Scully.  
Dr. Gossamer, would you care for a refreshment first, or would you like to 
step over into my lab?"

"No to the tea, but yes to the lab.  Just what are your intentions towards 
me?"  Gossamer stayed put, even though he had made a few polite motions with 
his arm.

"Nothing but great things in mind, Doctor.  If you'd please join me..." He 
headed across the atrium and started for another door, but Scully cleared 
her throat.  "Oh yes, I almost forgot about you.  Did you want to come, 
Agent Scully?  I heard you're a doctor and a scientist yourself."

"I don't agree with the ethics of this experiment, so I think I'll have to 
decline your offer, Dr. Bowman.  But I do need to know what's expected of me 
next."

"Expected, dear?  Well, I have no idea of what you're talking about.  I was 
only told that you were locating the final Eve."  At this news, Gossamer's 
head snapped in Scully's direction with defiance.

"So you did know," Gossamer seethed.  "No one makes a fool out of us."

"May I call you Anne, or would you prefer to utilize proper titles?"  Bowman 
distracted her while Scully made a hasty exit.



FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C.
September 25th, 2000, 7:50 p.m.


"Agent Scully, could I have a moment?"  Doggett called to her as she was in 
mid-stride to the elevator from Skinner's office.  She stopped and waited 
for him to catch up with her.

"What can I do for you, Agent Doggett?" she inquired and punched the call 
button.  He leaned one hand against the walls to support himself while the 
other sneaked into his pants' pocket.

"I was wondering if you'd heard from our boss.  He hasn't been in all day."

"That's what I just found out."

"And what are you doing here?  I thought you were supposed to be having the 
day off."

"I was, but...I needed something from the office to take to Quantico while I 
was thinking about it."

"So you came up here looking for it?"

"I was going to check on him.  I am a doctor, you know."  The lift arrived, 
and he pursued Scully inside.  She pushed the button for the parking garage.

"I do, yes.  Is there a reason why you didn't return my call?"

"Did you?"

"Yeah, I tried both your house and your mother's.  She said you weren't over 
there.  I just got concerned, that's all."  Scully's eyebrows lowered and 
her jaw twitched to one side.

"I unplugged my phone...I needed some time to sleep, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you look a lot better, by the way.  It's funny you say that, Agent 
Scully, because I left a message on your answering machine."

"I'm fine, really, Agent Doggett."

"What are you taking over to Quantico?"

"Just something I need analyzed.  It's no big deal, which is why I came in 
after office hours."

"Does it have anything to do with the case we were just pulled off of?"

"What are you implying, Agent Doggett?"  The elevator stopped at its 
destination, and Doggett again followed her as she walked briskly to her 
car.

"I'm just wondering if you're working on something behind my back that you 
shouldn't be.  Maybe with Skinner, too."

"Skinner has nothing to do with this," her animosity rose.

"All right, fine.  Then you be honest with me as your partner.  Do you know 
what the ramifications are for disobeying the head of the Justice 
Department?  Immediate dismissal, no questions asked."

"I'm not working on a case, Doggett.  This is personal!"

"And you're using the FBI's resources for something personal?"

"You're one to talk to me about breaking the law in order to bring someone 
to justice.  Am I jogging your memory when I say the words 'sealed juvenile 
records'?!"  Doggett observed the determined expression on her face as she 
unlocked her car.

"Wait, Agent Scully," his accusatory tone fell.  "Does this have to do with 
Mulder?  Is that what this is all about?"

"It's not your concern," was all she said as she got in.

"It is, since I still head the manhunt team to find him.  Now if you've got 
some kind of evidence that involves him, you need to hand it over."

"Not if you still think he's a criminal."

"Agent Scully, I saw him kidnap that kid...Gibson Praise."

"What would his motivation have been?"  Scully thundered.

"He knew that he was cornered, and he probably was desperate to get a way 
out, knowing how we deal with hostage situations.  Don't make this an 
obstruction of justice.  What've you got?"

"Nothing to incriminate him."

"I'll be the one to decide that.  Come on, Agent Scully."  She bit her lip 
and realized that he was not going to let her leave without looking at 
Mulder's handwriting.   Scully reached into her sweater and handed him the 
paper that Covarrubius insisted proved Mulder's identity.

"Now can I have it back?"  Doggett seemed confused as he studied the paper.

"Why were you taking it to Quantico?"

"I told you.  I wanted a graphologist to look at it."

"Is it Mulder's?"

"It belongs...to a friend."  He was absolutely exasperated with her 
evasiveness but figured that it was Mulder's and left the argument alone.  
"I don't have all day, Agent Doggett."

"Now hang on just a minute.  I picked graphology up as a hobby back in 
college; I used to analyze people's handwriting all the time.  As a matter 
of fact, that's why you can't fool me, Agent Scully.  This is Mulder's.  
Where'd you get it?"

"In a drawer in his apartment.  What's it to you?"

"I haven't seen anything there with his writing on it in the past four 
months except on some insurance and medical papers.  You wanna tell me what 
this is about?"

"What were you doing in Mulder's apartment?!" she hissed.

"Well, I've only been there a couple of times, and I know it's an intrusion, 
but I needed some leads, you know, to get him back.  Now that I have this, I 
know that he's still alive and fairly well."

"How do you know?"

"Mulder had previously been going through a brain tumor, am I right?"

"What's your point?"

"Sickness affects a person's handwriting, especially through a disease like 
that ruining the human brain.  But I no longer see it in this sample."

"What?"

"That's right.  Wherever he is, he's perfectly healthy--at least in the 
head.  Tell me, Agent Scully, where did you get this?"

"It was given to me.  I don't know where he is."  Scully reclaimed the paper 
and started the car.

"You might want to rethink that, Scully, especially since Mulder's guilty of 
murder, too."

"I keep telling you that that man you saw wasn't Mulder!  Just like the man 
who took Gibson Praise.  It may have very well been the same man, too."

"If it wasn't Mulder, then, who was it?"

"The bounty hunter.  I told you that they can change themselves to appear 
like humans--they can make themselves into an exact copy of a live being."

"That's still incredibly difficult for me to swallow, Agent Scully.  A man 
cannot simply just modify his appearance in two seconds without a mask.  
That notion sounds like a contrived, twisted plot that belongs on a 
Hollywood silver screen."

"The being you saw was not a human being."

"Aw, you're not gonna go into the description of what an alien looks like 
again, are you, Agent Scully?"  She rolled her eyes and sped off.



Washington Monument, Washington, D.C.
September 25th, 2000, 9:15 p.m.


"You're late, Agent Scully," Marita Covarrubius lowered her newspaper and 
motioned for Scully to join her on the bench.

"I wasn't expecting to hear from you again so soon.  Sorry.  I had other 
priorities to attend to."  Scully sat down reluctantly.  A streetlight 
nearby flickered on and off, basking them in a fleeting glow.

"I know.  I thought you'd rush out and get those samples analyzed before 
doing anything else--I have to admit that I'm impressed."

"There were complications...caused by your people, I'm sure."

"I'm afraid I don't know anything about that."

"Don't play the 'innocent blonde' act with me.  I've seen it before, and 
it's been frequently over used...particularly during the 1980s."

"Fine, then let's talk.  First of all, are you satisfied that everything 
given to you is genuine and authentic?"

"Yes, it appears to be bona fide."

"Good.  Are you prepared for your next service?"

"Service?  Is that what you people think of me?  I'm a goddamned slave to 
you?"  Scully looked above her peevishly and huffed.  "That light is driving 
me crazy."

"Let's walk, then."  Covarrubius folded up the paper, slung it under her 
arm, and arose with Scully.  "No, you are certainly not a slave, Agent 
Scully.  Your involvement is purely voluntary."

"Then we're done here."

"Ah, not quite.  There is something more that we need of you."

"Didn't you just say that I could leave when I wanted to?  That's the 
germane definition behind the word 'volunteer'."
"All right, then let me redefine your terms with us, Agent Scully."

"No.  There won't be any redefinitions or redrawn outlines of my forced 
agreement with you people.  I've not only had to bring your Dr. Mengele in 
to meet your Dr. Frankenstein, but I've also had to lie to several people 
that used to call me a friend, partner, and confidant."

"I've also had to make several sacrifices of my own, you know.  I had to 
break any sort of ties with my family or previous relationships.  I can't go 
out into the daylight openly and discuss my work with anyone.  Neither can I 
even attend a loved one's funeral, except through a very powerful set of 
binoculars.  I've disappeared off of the map, so to speak, and it's Hell, 
Scully.  It may sound like a game of power and might between the men, but it 
kills me," Covarrubius confessed and sighed.

"And life's been a bed of roses for me at the FBI since they got involved," 
Scully snapped back.  "Did they kill your sister?  Or take away your ability 
to have children?"

"No, but they did expose me to the retrovirus and practically left me for 
dead at a military base."  Covarrubius approached a wastebasket they were 
nearing and threw the newspaper into it.  "But that was indeed while Spender 
had an upper hand.  Now that he's dead, the ways have changed."

"How?  You're still threatening the FBI officials and dangling Skinner's 
life like a piece of live bait to the sharks over the precipice of death.  
Explain to me how that's any better than how that cigarette smoking fiend 
ran it."

"There have been mistakes made, yes, but they are in the past now."

"I've had enough of being patronized, Marita.  Say what you're meant to, and 
then deliver your threats swiftly afterward."

"Did I make any before?  All I said was that we could get Mulder back.  If 
you received any threats, they were certainly not from me."

Scully had had enough of this conversation.  It was going around in circles; 
Marita was still playing the same old tune that Spender did, but only this 
time it was on a different instrument.  It was time that she put her foot 
down and stepped out of this muck before it could get any worse.  "Look, 
I've got a job and something of a life to get back to.  And if you don't 
mind, since you keep promising it, I'd prefer if you would keep me out of 
your filth."

"And by all means, if you do this for us, we certainly will."

"I'd like to know how in the world you propose to get Mulder back if you're 
not conspiring with them anymore.  I won't lift another elbow for your 
organization until I'm sure of it."

"Very well, then, I'll tell you.  We make a simple exchange."

"Excuse me, are you deaf?  Didn't I just tell you that I wasn't going to 
deal with you people anymore?"  Scully stopped, spun around, and before she 
could head back in the opposite direction toward her car, Covarrubius 
touched her elbow.

"No, Agent Scully, listen.  I'm explaining how we can get Mulder back.  Our 
organization makes an exchange...for Mulder's life."

"I don't understand."

"I thought not.  Please, come with me."  She led Scully by the elbow down a 
path secluded from the harsh streetlights' glow.  A black Lincoln limousine 
waited outside of the park on the curb and roared to life as soon as the 
driver saw the two of them.

"I still don't trust you," Scully barked.  "Where are we going?"

"Bethesada Air Base.  They don't know I'm bringing you."  Once they got in, 
Covarrubius tapped on the Plexi-glass barrier between them and the 
chauffeur.  "Let's go."

"No, wait, stop," Scully yelled, and he kept the car in park.  "Whatever 
kind of parlor trick you have to show me isn't going to change my mind, 
Marita."

"I think it will, once you realize our situation.  Then of course, if you 
don't like our terms, we'll drive you back home to your job and life.  Of 
course, how much of a life will it be without Mulder?"

"You're forgetting that I used to be partnered to a psychiatrist.  Don't try 
to use him against me," Scully's eyes narrowed and reached for the door 
handle.  As she tried to open the door, it was no use.  The driver had 
locked them in.  She knew that she could always use her gun for leverage but 
decided against it.  Covarrubius was determined to get her to the air base 
one way or another.  For all Scully knew, she could be the one pressing the 
button to inflict Skinner's torture.

"Drive," Covarrubius repeated, and this time, the driver shifted gears and 
obeyed her order silently.  "Would you care for some coffee?"  She reached 
in front of herself and pulled out a Thermos.  It wasn't until she poured 
some into the lid and drank some that Scully finally assented.  She had had 
some bad experiences before with Thermoses full of coffee.
"Thank you," Scully acknowledged her graciously after taking a few sips.  
The beverage felt good as it slipped down her throat.  She handed the lid 
back after it was empty, and Covarrubius poured some more for herself.  "Is 
it going to be a long night?"

"I thought you could use a beverage with some stamina to it since you've 
been traveling all day long.  The length of the evening all depends on you," 
the blonde replied vaguely and set the half full cup onto the elbow rest 
between them.

Scully could tell that there was not going to be much further of a 
discussion between them, especially since Covarrubius put on some classical 
music.  She wasn't precisely sure why Marita had done that--and was 
surprised when the light and melodious keys of a piano came over the car's 
speakers.  Scully had mildly suspected that any member of the Consortium's 
selection of music would lean towards a wild symphony composed by Beethoven 
or perhaps a pipe organ fugue by J.S. Bach.

She was not sure who the composer was--the music was too dissonant to have 
been written by the likes of Mozart, Haydn, or even Brahms.  But it followed 
some sort of structure, like a freely flowing river.  And she surprised 
herself as her lips formulated the question audibly, "What is this?  Rather, 
who is this?"

"Debussy.  You might know him as the writer of such masterpieces as "Clair 
de Lune" or "La Mer".  Sound familiar now?" Covarrubius noticed that Scully 
was no longer drinking the coffee, so she picked up the steaming cup once 
more.

"Perhaps if I heard one of them, I'd recognize him."

"Very well, then."  The woman's hand slid onto her door's arm rest and 
interrupted the music.  She didn't stop skipping songs until the CD came to 
"Clair de Lune" and then relaxed her finger.  "Pleasant, isn't it?"

Scully almost wanted to close her eyes and listen to the piano.  The 
artist's hands flew proficiently across the ivories like her skilled 
surgical blade.  It had begun as a simple tune, but as the piece went by, 
the melodies became more complex, and the speed with which the pianist's 
fingers sailed over the keys moved her.  She noticed that her breathing had 
slowed down a great deal and that her hand was no longer clawing the arm 
rest.  Her fingertips had settled down and so had her nerves.

"It was written at a time when artists like Monet painted their gardens and 
scenes of people enjoying everyday life instead of self absorbed opulent 
portraits," Covarrubius continued.  "Of course, like Monet, most people did 
not appreciate Debussy's work until he passed away.  Such is the life of an 
artist."

"I can't believe that I'm sitting here and listening to someone of your ilk 
appreciate classical music," Scully was astonished.  "Or better yet that I'm 
receiving a music appreciation lesson from a conspirator."

"I find Debussy to be the one constant in my tumultuous world.  While the 
interpretations, dynamics, and virtuosos playing him might change, the notes 
and style do not.  His music does not always tell a story, but it does 
portray life as something to be lived and enjoyed.  Even on my worst days, 
when I put this on, I always come back to finding peace and solace.  Do you 
listen to classical music?"

"Of course I do."

"But you've always listened to something with a lot more structure, haven't 
you?  Yes, I do believe that Mozart can help increase the brain's ability to 
learn, but only Debussy's free flowing style can put the soul at ease."

"Why'd you put this on?"  Covarrubius filled the plastic cup again and 
offered it to Scully, who drank from it gratefully.

"I had a bad day.  Try it sometime, perhaps when you're doing an autopsy.  
You'll find yourself probably accomplishing more work and perhaps even 
discovering anomalies more quickly."  Scully's eyebrow wrinkled.  "Or keep 
on doing it the same old way.  Humans are creatures of habit."

"I think this is probably the most absurd conversation that I've ever had 
with one of you before."

"I told you that there have been many changes, haven't there?  Namely, for 
one, the Consortium's members were only male.  There are a few females now, 
and let's just say that subtlety has become our 'golden rule', as it were.  
The old way was 'shoot first and ask questions later'."

"The female of the species is more deadly than the male," Scully quoted.

"Ah, Rudyard Kipling.  Wise man," Covarrubius beamed slightly.  "Did you 
know that he won the Nobel Prize in 1907?  Of course, the category was 
literature.  This one's called "La Neige Danse"," she signified the next 
song with her index finger.  "The snow is dancing.  Reminds me of spending 
the winters with my father.  Do you hear the snowflakes dancing?  The snow 
covered his farm as a blanket might envelop a child in his bed."

"How much longer are we from the base?"  Scully did not want to get to know 
this woman, no matter how nice and pleasant she appeared to be on the 
outside.
"No more than ten minutes.  In a hurry?"  Covarrubius closed the Thermos 
after Scully had drained the lid of its contents.

"I'd like to go home soon."

"We'll drive you back as soon as you've seen it."

"Seen what?"  Marita did not reply.  Instead, she rolled down the window as 
the vehicle approached the military base.  The soldier at the gate came out 
of his station and checked first the driver's credentials.  When they 
appeared to check out, he next came to the open window and peered inside 
first at Covarrubius and then Scully.	"Go on ahead, ma'am," he addressed her 
and waived the chauffeur through the open gate.

The driver let Scully and Covarrubius off at the entrance where two military 
police soldiers stood flanked.  They lowered their M16s and opened the doors 
for them.  "Good evening, ma'am," one of them saluted Covarrubius.

"Evening," she greeted him back and urged Scully in.

"I think this is the most polite visit I've ever had to a military base," 
Scully marveled to herself, but her companion heard her and smiled.  "I keep 
waiting for one of these armed guards to jump in front of me and demand to 
see my clearance level or aim an M16 at me."

"Mr. Mulder's methods were a bit unorthodox, weren't they?  But as I said, 
don't worry, you'll be sure to get him back soon."  She ushered Scully into 
an elevator and down they went.  "Basements are perfectly acceptable places 
to work, aren't they, Agent Scully?"

"Why do you address him as 'Mr. Mulder' and me as 'Agent Scully'?  He's 
worked for the FBI even longer than I--he deserves some respect."

"Quite right, Ms. Scully.  Here we are."  More armed sentries with even more 
impressive submachine guns littered the hallway as they stepped off of the 
elevator.  Covarrubius journeyed about halfway down the hallway and halted 
in her tracks in front of a securely locked door.  She pressed her thumb and 
middle finger into a rubber square.  The LED flashed green, and the door 
opened automatically.

They entered the next room completely encased in plexi-glass marked 
'sterile', and Scully followed Covarrubius' lead as she was dressed by a few 
lab technicians in medical scrubs from head to toe.   "Is it conscious?" she 
inquired to one of them through her facial mask.

"No.  But it's started to talk," he answered her.
"Using telepathy, right?"

"I guess you could call it that, but it can't read minds.  It can only 
communicate.  At least that's what we've learned so far."

Scully now got an idea of what she was about to witness.  A real, live 
extraterrestrial biological entity.  The EBE was in the next room over, and 
she could see that it resembled the bounty hunter's body.  However, the head 
looked exactly like what Mulder nominated 'the Grays'.  The being was 
strapped down to a medical table much like an autopsy bay with an 
intravenous line attached to an appendage.  "My God," she whispered to no 
one in particular.  "This is what you were going to show me."

"That's right, Ms. Scully.  This is what we're going to trade Agent Mulder 
for."

"But what makes you think that they'd...how do I put this...deal with you?"

"Its craft crashed half a mile from the base, and a reconnaissance team was 
sent out.  The being was thought to be dead, until last week.  Then we knew 
that there was hope."

"How?"

"One of our medical examiners was about to begin dissection.  It kind of 
said something to him like 'put it down' and 'if you cut me up like one of 
your human kind, you will suffer the consequences'."  Covarrubius dismissed 
the technicians, who left her and Scully alone with the EBE.

"I thought you said that it wasn't conscious," Scully reminded her.

"Please let me finish.  It also commenced to tell the doctors in no small 
terms that it was a member of their royalty...whatever government system 
they use is still a mystery to us...and that open war will be upon Earth 
should they continue their dissection.  I suppose they feel a connection to 
one another right before the moment of death.  At least, that's what we are 
theorizing," Marita enthused.

"So somehow, it can get into our brains and communicate, but not pluck out 
any of our innermost thoughts?" Scully questioned her.

"That's what we've found so far.  We did an MRI on it and found that the 
temporal lobe of its cranium was damaged.  Their brains are structured very 
similar to ours, but yet, where we use 10%, they use 20% or more.  The royal 
family member, here...uses 25% during the peak of his 'waking hours'.  We 
think that those are the ones that plan the strategies...the equivalent to 
our generals."

"So they have a circulatory system and-"

"Everything a human has and more.  Except for one digit, of course," 
Covarrubius pointed to the alien's missing middle finger.

*Mulder probably would have found that amusing.*

"Didn't you say that we're already involved in a war?"  Scully prodded her.

"We are, but I think that their definition of 'open war' means that all Hell 
would break loose and well...use your imagination."

"Do they know that this thing's gone?"

"Not yet.  As soon as it chooses to wake up, we'll inform it of our plans."

"Take me to your leader?"  Scully asked snidely.

"How ironic, yes, it'll be like that."

"And what do you mean by 'choosing to wake up'?"

"It's sleeping right now.  Since the Grays utilize higher brain capacities 
than we, they spend fewer hours of the day at work or whatever else they 
do."

"Makes sense.  Does anybody know what they want with us?  Did anyone even 
bother to ask why they're trying to annihilate the planet?"

"Perhaps they feel that they can be better stewards.  No one knows for sure. 
  But in the past, whenever we met with them, there was always an attitude 
of open hostility towards our race...excuse me, species," Covarrubius 
corrected herself.  "Now that you've seen the EBE, Ms. Scully, you know that 
we now have some leverage."

"What if they don't care about one of their 'lost generals' as you put it?"

"We've prepared for that contingency.  Now, this is what we require from you 
to get Mulder back."  She guided Scully out of the 'sterile' room, proceeded 
to strip out of the scrubs, and tossed them into a 'dirty linen' laundry 
basket.  "Destroy all of the records you ever have of us."

"What?"

"Spender succeeded in destroying quite a few files when he played the 
arsonist three years ago in your office, did he not?"

"Yes, he did."

"Well, finish the job.  Mind you, we're not asking you to burn down your 
office again, Ms. Scully, but that includes all of the cases and reports 
you've filed along with Agent Mulder over the years dealing with our 
organization.  We're a covert operation, and we'd like to continue on in 
that respect unhindered...for many obvious reasons you've seen."

"The law is the law, and if you keep on breaking it, we have no choice but 
to investigate you," Scully said quietly.

"And to what point?  You know how far that's gotten you in the past.  
Remember what I told you three days ago, Ms. Scully.  We're only concerned 
for the life of every man, woman, and child on this planet."

"That's what we elect a president and Congressional members for...well...at 
least in America."

"I see.  So you trust every single politician you've ever met, read, or 
heard about?"  Covarrubius noticed Scully's incredulous eyebrow.  "I thought 
so.  If you want to talk about lies and corruption...Fidel Castro has 
committed fewer sins in a lifetime than the lot of that House of Ill Repute 
and Senate of Pompous Pricks."

"That's a very unpatriotic attitude.  I should arrest you here and right now 
for espionage and treason."

"Go ahead.  I warn you, though, if you do pull out your weapon here or 
utilize your handcuffs, you'd better go back to being just as cautious as 
you've been with Agent Mulder in the past about traipsing around a military 
base."

"Now that's irony," Scully mumbled and followed Covarrubius back to the 
lift.

"So, Agent Scully, are we understood?"

"I need some time to think about this.  I'm not just delivering a mad 
scientist to another this time..."

"Very well, then.  I'll give you 36 hours to make up your mind," the woman 
glanced at her watch.  "You'll hear from us when that time's up."

"Who will I be meeting then?"  As Covarrubius escorted Scully back out of 
the building, she opened the limousine door for her and knocked on the 
chauffeur's front passenger window.  He rolled it down all the way and threw 
out a cigarette butt.  "What's going on?" Scully queried.

"Take Ms. Scully back to Washington Monument and make sure she gets to her 
car safely," Marita ordered him.  The man tipped his hat to her courteously 
and pulled the limousine away from the air base.  Seconds later, Krycek 
appeared from the complex and watched the vehicle depart with her.

"You want to try a two for two?" he asked.

"Don't push it, Alex.  Strughold was the one who created that technology, 
and he does not wish for it to be constantly abused like that."

"He's not here, though, is he?"  He retrieved the PDA and opened it up.

"No, but I was informed that he found out about your little scheme the first 
time you pulled it a few days ago."

"By whom?"

"Does it matter?  There will be a time and a place for it, I assure you."

"That's if she says no," Krycek smirked.  "Well, I think I'd better be off."

"Where are you going?"

"Oh, I'm just going to pay a little visit to an old friend.  If she won't do 
it, then I'm certain that he will.  Remember, I don't just hold his life in 
my hands," he snapped the case closed over the PDA and strolled over to a 
car in the parking lot.



Skinner's Apartment, Arlington Heights, Washington, D.C.
September 25th, 2000, 11:14 p.m.


Skinner had taken the day off for personal reasons, at least that's all he 
told his assistant Kim over the phone.  But the truth was, he really wanted 
to check on Scully.  Something did not register with her attitude towards 
the case even after he told her that his life did not matter back in the 
hospital elevator.  He knew that she deeply respected him not just as a 
supervisor, but also as a fellow investigator and friend.  Skinner found 
himself growing rather fond of his agents and not just because their work 
was excellent, but rather because they had gone out of their way several 
times to dig him out of his personal and professional troubles.

Two years ago, Skinner had asked himself while he was lying helplessly on 
the hospital bed, what did he have to show for all their help?  How could he 
have repaid them for all the times they had been there for him?  He 
confessed later on that day to Scully that he could have done more when they 
were under the insidious shadow of the Cigarette Smoking Man, and that he 
should have.  She had listened patiently that day and told him that they did 
think he was an ally...a formidable one even.  But now that it was his 
chance to assist Scully in her quest for the truth and mission against the 
evil conspiracy that had arisen once more, he did offer something.  He 
offered his life.

Skinner could tell that in that elevator, when he had said that to Scully, 
she was deeply touched and troubled by the statement.  She couldn't have 
negated his wish under the doubt that he was not being sincere; she knew how 
he felt about sacrifice.  She understood whose side he was truly on now.  
Why would she try to deny him from completing his greatest desire?

So under those thoughts, he eluded the heavy traffic of I-66 at 8:30 in the 
morning, and instead drove to Georgetown.  She was not home, so he called 
Doggett.  Perhaps like Mulder, she had turned into a workaholic.  That 
suspicion went through the proverbial shredder as Doggett informed him that 
Scully was not at the office.  The thought ran through his mind that maybe 
she had gone to her mother's house.  He had heard Scully mention once that 
her mother's baked chicken and garlic mashed potatoes was the only thing 
that could drag her away from college to come home on a weekend.

Unfortunately, Scully wasn't there with Maggie Scully.  After Margaret 
became overtly curious, he replied that he had just given Scully the day off 
and thought that perhaps she'd take the time to visit her mother.  Mrs. 
Scully's tone was then full of worry, especially since Dana had not told her 
that she would be out of town.  But Skinner assured her that he had spoken 
with the landlord that morning; he had seen her leave very early in a normal 
fashion.  He just assumed that she was leaving earlier for work; she was 
certainly dressed for it.  No strange visitors had come and none of the 
neighbors had any suspicious activities to report.  That seemed to relieve 
Mrs. Scully enough to thank Skinner for his concern about her daughter and 
end the phone conversation.

What on earth could she have been doing?  While he was at Scully's complex, 
he convinced the landlord to unlock her apartment, just so he could satisfy 
himself that his agent was not in trouble.   Skinner promised that he would 
not drag in the forensic team or any kind of law enforcement's attention to 
disturb the neighbors unless it was absolutely necessary.  God knows that 
they'd seen and heard enough of that throughout the years.  Both Mulder and 
Scully's apartments were definite hotspots for trouble, and about half of 
the tenants that lived within ten feet of their doors wished that they had 
never moved into the building, despite the promises made by the landlords 
that the complexes were safer because of the two resident FBI agents.

While Mulder's landlord despised his FBI inhabitant, Scully's adored her.  
True, her apartment did suffer the occasional bullet holes in the wall and 
the illicit intruder, but Mulder's poor landlord had the circumstances occur 
about ten times as much.  He had once remarked that Mulder had even bought a 
waterbed once that had leaked into not only his residence, but the one below 
as well.  That was yet to be completely paid off, and although Mulder's rent 
was now being paid by Scully, Skinner also had learned that it was once too 
often that the FBI agent escaped being evicted due to late rent.  So even 
though he was missing, Mulder's landlord considered the occurrence to be a 
godsend.

All the more reason why Scully's landlord was all too happy to be of service 
to Skinner.  He stood in the front entrance while Skinner circulated through 
the apartment.  The Assistant Director first limited his investigation to 
furniture surfaces only, but soon after he was reminded how organized his 
female agent was to Mulder, gave up and resorted to opening drawers.  "Do 
you think she's done something wrong?" the proprietor asked, scaring 
Skinner.

"I don't know what to think.  It's why I came here," was all the ex-Marine 
gave for his response and went back to his search.  Everything in her living 
room secretary was legitimate; the top middle drawer contained nothing but 
writing utensils and a day planner.  The others held hanging folders labeled 
according to subject: from credit card statements, financial investments, 
insurance, medical records, and even personal letters in diabolical order, 
for Pete's sake.

"Scully, sometimes even you can be a little too meticulous," he mumbled to 
himself and shoved the drawer shut.  Skinner pondered the possibility of 
taking her laptop to the Gunmen and trying to pull some sort of information 
out of it, but decided against the notion when he remembered how nosy they 
could sometimes be.  Then if they did discover something electronic that 
she'd hidden, they'd insist upon helping Skinner find her, and he just did 
not have the patience to deal with them right now.

Another search to her bedroom was futile except for the fact that her 
Bureau-issued SIG Sauer was missing.  And so was her overnight bag.  Skinner 
meandered into the kitchen with one last shred of hope and scooped the lid 
off of the garbage can--and hit paydirt.  A crumpled up piece of stationary 
was its only contents.  He reached in and opened up the note.  Special 
Representative to the Secretary General?  Whom could Scully know from the 
UN?  Skinner removed his latex gloves, wrapped the note in them, and placed 
the evidence into his trench coat pocket.  After that, he drove to Quantico 
and had the note studied.

The forensic analyst could find no prints on the note save Scully's, and the 
ink was from a ball-point pen; it could have been penned quite easily by a 
BIC.  Finding out who the Special Representative to the Secretary General 
was, however, an easier task.  Getting a hold of this Marita Covarrubius was 
another matter.  Her executive assistant was rude and anything but helpful.  
All he said was that she 'was out of town on business and that he could 
leave a message if he wanted to, but it was likely that he would not be 
called back anytime soon'.  That was both an infuriating and irrelevant 
phone call.

Back at his home, where he lounged on his sofa and frugally sipped his 
tumbler of J & B scotch, he now promised himself that since his search had 
basically been fruitless, he would give it up if Scully returned to work 
tomorrow.  She was a good agent; she would not wander off into trouble like 
Mulder, although, there was that time last year when she'd rashly gone off 
with the Cigarette Smoking Man to try to find the cure for any disease known 
to mankind, but even then, she did report in to him to let him know that she 
was okay.  It was so unlike her to be that irresponsible.  Why would she 
suddenly turn over a new leaf like that?

"Good evening, Walter," Krycek's voice came from his door, and Skinner's 
eyes immediately went to his own weapon, which was lying on the coffee table 
in front of him in its holster.

"How'd you get in?  I even used the dead bolt," Skinner remarked.

"The FBI isn't the only organization to use picklocks, Walter.  The U.S. 
Military has an additional device on their standardized versions, though.  
Don't think that they'll be available to the lower branches of federal law 
enforcement anytime soon.  It kind of works like a motorized corkscrew...my 
hat's off to the inventor.  Probably started off with the idea of how to 
make wine bottle opening easier and got contracted by your government on the 
side.  American entrepreneurship is the only facet I admire about your 
country--it's the only thing that you do better than us Russians."

"Then go back to it if it's so much better than the United States.  What do 
you want, Krycek?"  Skinner growled.

His intruder strolled further inside and without so much of an invitation, 
sat in a recliner near the sofa.  "Thanks but no thanks, Walter.  Russia 
does not suit my purposes for now.  You do."

"What?"

"That's right."

"And what was the purpose of that stunt you pulled two days ago?"
"I think even you could figure out something like that, Walter."  Krycek 
shifted around in the recliner and crossed one leg across the top of the 
other.

"To get Scully out of Arizona because you knew she'd come for me.  But why?  
I know you fit into these Litchfield shenanigans somehow.  And just to let 
you know, the FBI's dropped the case by all means, but the investigation's 
still going on out there."

"We're aware of that.  We're also aware of the fact that the detective out 
there has requested some assistance from the X-Files office...strictly 
paperwork, though."

"And you want me to stop it?"

"Oh, even if Scully had continued on out there and had the original X-File 
to work with, she would never have been able to tie the creation to the 
creator.  So no, Walter, you're not going to stop your agents from sending 
the paperwork.  You're going to rid the office of it...permanently--and not 
just the files dealing with the Litchfield experiments.  All of the 
conspiracy X-Files are to be destroyed...by you."

"No longer do you have a hold on my life, Krycek.  I don't care if I die--at 
least it won't be in vain."  Skinner set the glass onto the table.

"You've got it all turned around, Skinner.  With you dead, that just leaves 
the X-Files office out in the open again...to the vultures, so to speak.  Or 
wolves, if you prefer the metaphor."

"No.  Even if it's at my grave site that Scully has to tell me that she and 
Doggett or Mulder have finally rid the planet of your ugly conspiracy, I'll 
consider it an honor greater than any medal I could have received."

Krycek was impressed with the ex-Marine; Skinner could really be a diamond 
in the rough when pushed to the extremes.  He pulled the PDA out of his 
leather jacket pocket and when Skinner did not even flinch or bat an eye, 
his smugness grew by the volumes.  "Remember three years ago when the old 
man gave Mulder the cure for Scully's cancer?"

"Your mind games are falling upon deaf ears, Krycek."

"They always did wonder why it was so miraculous.  I have to admit myself, 
that the technology is admirable--but with that chip came a great cost.  
Just as you have a marvel of science in you, so does she.  Granted, I can't 
kill her quite as succinctly as you.  But..." he actually grinned this time 
with teeth, "I can make it three times as painful."
"You son of a bitch," Skinner's temper flared.

"So your life doesn't matter anymore, eh, Comrade Skinner?  Well, perhaps 
someone else's does."

"Do I even get a choice?  How do I know that you're not going to push that 
button on either of us after I do this?"

"I'm the antagonist, Skinner, not the villain.  I only stir up trouble 
that's been brewing for a while...I don't create it out of thin air," Krycek 
shook his head.

"I'm not agreeing to anything yet, but let's say that I do this.  What 
happens after that?"

"Neither of you die."  Krycek took a glimpse at a watch.  "Don't make me 
resort to tired cliche threats.  You decide now."

"This isn't just a choice to be made in two seconds, Krycek!  I'm not 
comparing the prices of two different brands of soap."

"Fair enough.  I'm going to pour myself a shot of that scotch," the Russian 
gestured to the J & B bottle sitting on the coffee table next to Skinner's 
tumbler, "and by the time I finish it, you'll have made up your mind or be 
pushing up daisies with Scully faster than you could pucker up and kiss my 
ass."

As Krycek arose to find himself a glass from Skinner's kitchen, the 
Assistant Director pondered his conundrum.  He knew beyond a shadow of a 
doubt had it been Mulder's life in question that Mulder would give it up.  
His life was the pursuit of truth no matter the cost.  At first Scully did 
not share his vision; Skinner saw that now she was more and more concerned 
about it, but he was not certain that she'd give up her life like he or 
Mulder would.  Oh, God, and if she were to die now, there was no hope for 
that baby--it was still far too young for the miracles of modern science to 
keep alive.

Krycek sat back down and poured himself the shot.  He eyed Skinner and 
placed the PDA back into his pocket before downing the liquor.  This man 
truly is what the Americans call a hero.  Mulder was a loaded gun ready to 
explode at any second.  What could Scully possibly see in that man? he 
thought.

"I'll do it," Skinner announced calmly and looked directly into Krycek's 
face.

"Dobre, good.  Of course, since we don't trust one another, this action will 
take place in front of me.  I don't care if you burn down the X-Files office 
again, although I thought that was a moronic decision on the old man's part, 
or if you have to put them all through the shredder after hours.  I'll be 
there to watch it happen as proof."

"Is there a time limit on this deed?"  Krycek put down the glass and wiped 
his mouth with a gloved hand.

"Tomorrow.  Let your secretary know that you won't have be taking any 
appointments or any visitors during the day.  I'm sure that there's that 
much information in their possession.  Of course, if either agent wants to 
visit you, it's out of the question.  In fact, you won't be taking any calls 
either."

"When will you be coming in?"

"Expect me around nine.  We could use a man like you, Walter.  You know 
which chess pieces are the right ones to give up at the right times."  He 
stood and held out his hand to Skinner who just stared at it spitefully.

"A man like you doesn't even belong in the human race."



The X-Files Office, FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C.
September 26th, 2000, 7:57 a.m.


Scully never thought that she'd see the day when she would reluctantly walk 
into their office for a day's work; granted, it had been much harder to come 
to work since Mulder was gone, but even then, she had held up her head with 
pride while walking across the instep.  Today was different.  Her heart was 
beginning to sink, and she felt her shoulders sag as she settled herself 
into the chair she usually occupied while either speaking or listening to 
him.

She couldn't even look at his chair; she had made a deal with the Devil and 
was endangering their mission for the pursuit of truth.  *How can I say that 
I'm doing this for him but yet destroy the very thing he's put all of his 
mind and soul into?  Am I really that selfish?  That thing that I saw last 
night could have been a sideshow freak--they even fooled Mulder with an 
alien before, although it was a corpse at the time.  Maybe they're doing the 
same thing with me as they did Mulder; they made him disappear so that I'll 
believe in their cause.  But what could we do to stop them even if Mulder 
does come back?  He'd definitely be incapacitated for a few days, perhaps 
even suffer from amnesia.  And then--oh God.  What if I had to retell his 
life back to him?  And then should he ask me why I'm not looking further 
into this investigation...what do I say?  Sorry, dear, I gave up your life's 
meaning to get you back into my arms.*
"I need something to do, or else I'm going to go nuts," she mumbled to 
herself, stood, and went over to the file cabinets.  She opened one and 
inadvertently stumbled upon one of several unsolved cases--but in all truth 
when they were ordered to stop its investigation, Scully didn't give a rat's 
ass one way or another about it.  The case had called the both of them last 
year into New York into a fabulously opulent penthouse suite that it 
probably had costed about half of her annual salary.  They had spent about 
three days mostly doing nothing but eating, and Scully had secretly wished 
that it could have been much longer.  The following Saturday, they had 
agreed to the 'sacred spring cleaning ritual' and showed up at the late hour 
of 9:00.

"Well, good morning, Scully," Mulder greeted her with his back turned and 
began to rummage through the folders.

"Amazing.  I didn't even wear the heels today," she chuffed and journeyed 
across the doorstep lightly.

"You didn't have to.  Number one, we planned this rendezvous according to 
your heart's desire, and number two, if Skinner ever does storm down these 
hallways, the scent that lingers in the air is old Spice and not my 
favorite..."  he spun around, shut the drawer, and noticed that she was 
dressed practically in plain clothes.

*Plain clothes, well, even a Scully clad in a V-neck cardigan ivory sweater 
and Lord, was that a spaghetti strap tank top underneath?*  That was almost 
too much for Mulder.  He found that his throat went completely dry and no 
words were coming out when that sweater came off and was hung onto the coat 
rack.  But oh, the thoughts were there.  *Woman, what are you doing to me?*

"My heart's desire?  Wasn't that you who brought up the suggestion after our 
latest case, hmm?"

"I don't think I've ever seen you in this office with so little clothing on 
before," he retorted and opened a desk drawer to search through it.

"Well, we did agree that I wasn't going to wreck another one of my Brooks' 
Brothers Oxford suits, and if that happened, you were going to pay the dry 
cleaning bill.  So I decided to wear some clothes that could actually be 
thrown into the regular laundry machine.  Did you make any coffee?"  She 
wandered over to the pot, saw that it was empty save for a few drops left, 
and raised one slightly irked eyebrow at him.

"I drank the first pot and ran out of filters.  That's what I'm looking for 
right now, actually," he replied and pulled out a stack of paper.

"Ugh," she sighed and stopped him from piling more of a mess onto his 
bureau.  "I thought we were supposed to be clearing your desk off today so 
you could actually find the bottom of it.  I know where we can get some more 
filters--be back in five minutes.  Why don't you find some empty boxes and 
paste your infamous acronyms across them?"  Before he could tell her that he 
had already done so, she disappeared from the office.

Mulder dumped out the dregs from the first pot, rinsed it out in their sink, 
and refilled the reservoir with the new water.  Then he hefted the three 
boxes up onto his desk, which were half full of contents.  He was proud of 
himself that he had actually thought ahead of Scully and brought a large 
twenty gallon garbage bin that he'd smuggled away from the cafeteria half an 
hour earlier into their office from the dark hallway.  And Skinner had 
graciously surrendered his huge two by four office shredder  the day before. 
  Mulder remembered Skinner's strange reaction when he had explained that 
they would be re-organizing and downsizing their office.  He looked as if 
Mulder had told him that he had discovered Bobby Fischer in a drawer and was 
asking to borrow a bicycle pump to re-inflate the man.

"I'm back," she announced and proceeded to finish making the coffee.  "I 
also managed to snag some pastries for us from the bullpen, too.  They're 
sitting on my chair."  Mulder practically hopped over his desk and headed 
straight for the kill.

"Doughnuts and chocolate croissants?  All right, you are obviously not my 
real partner.  First the clothes and now the food .  I demand to know what 
you've done with her."

"Skinner lent you his shredder, huh?  What was his reaction?"  She ignored 
his banter and washed out two mugs in the sink.

"Something along the lines of mild amusement, I think, would be the 
colloquialism.  It looked like he wanted to laugh when I told him that I'd 
actually be throwing away some X-Files, but he didn't because he's an 
ex-Marine."  Scully let out a brief exhale through her nose, smiled briefly, 
and shook her head.  "By the way, Scully, on Monday, we're going to be 
audited again.  This time the both of us will have the pleasure of 
addressing Agent Chesty Short.  Poor guy...wonder how he made it through 
high school with a name like that."

"Maybe he changed it.  I knew a kid in Miramar whose actual first name was 
Limuel Crockenfeld, but he went by the pseudonym Dave."

"Limuel Crockenfeld?  I thought that my parents were treacherous for giving 
me mine, but I see that I'm not the only one that suffers.  Why didn't he go 
by L.C.?"

"I don't think he even wanted to give anyone a clue about his real identity. 
  You know, give people an inch, and they want a yard.  Don't you touch that 
croissant, Mulder, that's mine.  The doughnuts were for you."

"Who, me?  I didn't do anything," Mulder shrugged innocently and traveled 
around the bureau back to the file cabinets.  Scully poured them the coffee, 
set his mug on top, and then retrieved her 'junk food' for the day from her 
seat.

"Yes, you were.  You were ogling the croissant--I could feel it.  Must be 
finally listening to that famous 'spooky sense' that's hammered into my head 
day in and out."

"Oh, no, Scully.  That's the first thing that look out for...you might end 
up in a padded cell if you keep talking like that," he gibed and hummed the 
theme from The Twilight Zone.

"And where does that leave you?"

"In the same cell.  What the...what happened to the autopsy reports for this 
one?"  He peered inside of a folder, turned, and gave her his interrogation 
stare.

"Which one was that?"  she asked coolly and blew on her coffee.

"Well, uh...the case where we were out in LA...and when we were on TV."

"I don't think I have to remind you of what occurred in the morgue, do I?"  
Mulder thought for a moment, agreed, and started sending the whole folder 
through the shredder.

"Hey, now wait a second!  Suppose we have to go back out there one day and-" 
  she arose from her chair but it was too late.  The file was far too thick 
to go through the machine all at once and got stuck.

"Shit," Mulder cursed and tried to remove it.  As a result of his battle, he 
came out with a large paper cut across his index finger.  But at least the 
file had gone through the shredder all the way.  "Yeow!" he shouted, shook 
his finger, and stuck it into his mouth.

"Mulder, don't do that.  Did you know that that's the dirtiest place on the 
body?  Here, let me take a look."  She set down her breakfast and reached 
across the desk to yank the digit out of his mouth.  "I hope you didn't 
infect it."

"Scully, quit playing doctor, I'm all right.  It's just a little 
cut--nothing in comparison with some of the many others I've gotten through 
the years."  She lifted it underneath his desk light, which was now sitting 
atop the file cabinet while he struggled to reclaim his wounded paw.  
However, as the daughter of a Naval captain and sister to two brothers, she 
had learned how to hold a squirming object down and kept her strong grip.

Some force got ahold of Mulder that morning, Scully thought, because he 
closed in onto her personal space and the next thing she knew was that she 
became pressed against the cabinets with nowhere to go.  "You did it for me, 
didn't you?"  his bold question hit her like a sack of bricks and his breath 
was teasing her ear.

"What?"

"The perfume, the clothes, coming in on your day off...why're you so good to 
me, Scully?"  It was now coming out in a husky voice, and she could feel 
herself beginning to crack under his pressure.

"I told you...there's practically an unlimited supply of coffee down here.  
Speaking of, yours is probably getting cold."  She let go of his finger and 
tried to push him away gently, but he would not budge.  "Come on, Mulder, 
we've got work to do."

"And it can wait," he whispered.  The temperature was rapidly growing hotter 
in that room, but somehow, Scully felt herself shiver involuntarily.  "Don't 
you dare tell me that you haven't thought about us since New Year's."

"I have, Mulder, but...this kind of behavior doesn't belong at the office.  
I don't think I should be having to tell you that," and she was shocked that 
she did.

He appeared to reconsider his actions when he heard the phrase 'at the 
office' but then leaned in so close that his mouth was centimeters away from 
her ear.  "But it's Saturday."



"Agent Scully?"  Doggett's voice called her from the doorway, and she spun 
around, slightly flustered.

"Yes?"

"AD Skinner's lent us out to some different departments that need our help 
for the day.  I gotta help a task force bust an arms dealer across the 
river, and you've been requested for some consultation at Quantico.  Guess 
they need help with an autopsy or something.  Anyway, they'll be expecting 
you around ten or so.  You okay?"

"Yeah.  I'll be there shortly.  Did he say which M.E. needed me?"

"Ah...he mentioned the name, but it's slipping from my mind at the moment.  
Did you get any more sleep last night?"

"Some," she nodded and lied.  Last night kept her tossing and turning.  Now 
that she had remembered the result of that little episode, she was even more 
confused about her decision.  "Did you get to see him?"

"No, actually.  I got the message from his secretary."

"Skinner's out of the office again?  There's got to be something wrong," 
Scully shook her head and headed for the doorway, but he stopped her with 
his hand.

"He's in, but he's not taking any calls or seeing anyone at all today.  I 
think she said that Deputy Director Kersh was in with him or something.  
Don't think he wants to be disturbed for a reason, Agent Scully.  Oh, by the 
way, did you ever fax those case files to Detective Gardener?"

"No, damnit, I forgot.  Left them on the table...ugh...I was going to take 
them with me this morning," she groaned and collected her keys from Mulder's 
desk.  "It's probably Selina Carmine.  She just transferred from the Atlanta 
regional office not too long ago."

"Would you mind calling Detective Gardener and telling her that, please?  
She left you about half a dozen voicemails yesterday.  I was out at the 
shooting range doing my re-certification," Doggett pointed to the door as 
she locked it, and together, they both headed to the elevator.

"I wonder how much headway she's made since I saw her last."  Scully 
retrieved her cell phone from her belt clip and searched through her contact 
lists.



		Two hours later...


	Skinner and Krycek went down to the X-Files office on the lift together and 
before Skinner unlocked the office, he put on a pair of latex gloves.  "That 
was good thinking, Walter--reassigning them temporary duties while you come 
in and wreak havoc," Krycek remarked.
	"Unlike you, Krycek, I don't stoop down to your low level.  You probably 
would have shot someone first."
	"Or perhaps destroy property.  I can get creative every now and then."
	"Get out your trash bag and hold it while I fill it," Skinner instructed 
his companion who complied.  As the Assistant Director opened the cabinets, 
his eyes sped over the subjects, numbers, and names.  He then tossed the 
appropriate ones into the bag.  The prolific amount of conspiracy and alien 
related files was quite substantial to the other cases, but it did not shock 
Skinner all that much.  It was Mulder's quest to find the 
extraterrestrial--he probably put those cases ahead of some of the others, 
especially when those matters concerned his sister or Scully.
	"So answer me this question, Krycek.  Is the surveillance going to end?"
	"What surveillance?"
	"Don't jerk me around, you Red bastard.  You know exactly what I mean."
	"It's not my decision, and nothing's been said to me about discontinuing 
it.  However, I'm not in charge of the Consortium's security matters 
anymore."
	"After everything that you people have put Scully through, the least you 
could do is just to leave her alone," Skinner grunted.
	"And we will...we just have to make sure that the X-Files Division is no 
longer concerned with us."
	"Isn't that why I'm doing this here and now?"  Skinner slammed a cabinet 
shut and then jerked another open.
	"Of course, but we must prepare for countermeasures."



The X-Files Office, FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C.
September 26th, 2000, 6:44 p.m.


Scully unlocked the door and tossed the recovered 'Litchfield experiment' 
X-File onto Mulder's bureau.  She then closed off the office and locked 
herself in.  *Should have brought a large garbage can with me.  No doubt 
that the amount of case files will completely fill it to the brim.  Oh well. 
  Maybe if I do it little by little, no one will notice.*

She slid the top cabinet towards herself and started to thumb her way 
throughout the files.  "Hmm...that's odd.  This drawer seems less full than 
before."  Just to make sure that she was not going insane, she opened the 
top cabinet adjacent to the first.  It was not filled to the brim with case 
files either.  A small premonition in the back of her mind began to grow, 
which made her pull a stack of the X-Files out, and they landed haphazardly 
onto the desk.  She tore the covers away as she skimmed through the names 
hastily.  "Flukeman, Big Blue, New Jersey Devil...what the...this can't be 
right."

Scully shoved the files away and returned to scour the open drawers.  
Seconds later, she futilely shut them.  "I hate it when I'm right," she 
mumbled.  Gone.  All the conspiracy files; they were all gone.  Someone had 
beaten her to the chore.  A muffled expletive drew her attention to the 
locked door along with the jingling of a set of keys and before Scully could 
get to it, Doggett burst through the door.

"You wanna tell me why you locked yourself in here?" he barked.  She turned 
and leaned against the front of the desk.  "And why are all those files all 
over the place?  Doing a little housework?"

"Just looking for the truth.  And I'm not going to find it...in this office 
at least," she pointed to the cabinets with her head.

"I'm not following your riddles today, Agent Scully, I'm sorry.  I've had a 
very long day," he announced gruffly and rested his hands atop the visitor's 
chair.

"As have I.  I'm saying that all of our X-Files having to do with the 
Consortium have disappeared--not missing--but are definitely gone."  When he 
gave her an inquisitive look with his eyes, she sighed.  "That's about half 
of our case files."

"Well...who would do a thing like that?"

"Although I hate to admit my suspicions, I'm thinking towards Skinner."

"Oh, come on, Agent Scully, he's been a big help to us...-"

"Because he's been concerned with his health.  Someone has a hold of his 
life and is trying to strangle him to death with the chain.  I don't want to 
believe that it's true myself...perhaps it isn't."

"He did send us out of the office with jobs that could last all day, and 
besides the janitors and us, he's the only one with a key.  I doubt very 
much that the janitors have been in here today," Doggett nodded and eyed the 
wastebasket that was hall full.

"Let's see if he's gone home yet," Scully said, and they rode up to his 
office in the elevator.  Fortunately, Doggett caught hold of Kim just as she 
was locking up the outer door to Skinner's atrium.

"Oh, hey, Agent Doggett," Kim greeted him first.  "Agent Scully.  I was just 
on my way out.  Something I can do for you?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact.  He's not still in, is he?" Doggett inquired.

"No, that's why I'm closing up tonight.  Do you need something from the 
office?  I could let you back in."

"No, we don't.  Skinner wasn't taking any calls or receiving anyone.  Do you 
know if he was in meetings all day with Kersh or someone else?"  Scully 
asked.

"I don't mind speaking with you, Agents, but do you mind if we do it while 
I'm going down to my car?  I'm pretty tired."  The assistant did not wait 
for their approval; instead, she just started to walk off, and they fell in 
step with her on the way to the lift.  "Now, let's see...yes, he was in a 
meeting, but it wasn't with Kersh.  I didn't see who it was, but I know what 
Kersh's voice sounds like."

"Did you recognize the voice?"

"No, but I think his name was Krycek.  Walter only mentioned it once, but I 
remember it very clearly because it was in anger.  And also because it was 
pretty much the only statement from him I could hear coming through that 
huge oak door," Kim shrugged and got into the elevator with them.

"How about any abnormal behavior from him?"  Scully questioned her.

"Left the office for lunch like usual...there were a few times when I was 
out making some copies and for my own lunch as well, but...he came and left 
at the usual times.  So if Walter did do anything strange, I was unaware of 
it."

"This man, Krycek, uh...did you hear any unusual activity coming from 
Skinner's office today?" Doggett queried.  Kim gave him a puzzled expression 
as the doors opened to the parking garage.

"I wasn't really paying all that much attention, Agents, except for that one 
time when I heard Skinner yell at the man.  Then nothing else happened.  
Why, is there something wrong?  Is Walter in trouble?"

"We're not sure of that yet, but we hope not," Scully replied evasively.  As 
Kim parted ways from the two, Scully signaled Doggett to follow her over to 
her car.  "Get in."

"Whoa, what's going on?"

"We're going to Georgetown University to question some doctors over this 
case."

"What do they have to do with Skinner?  Or our case files' disappearance?"

"Nothing, on those two particular issues."

"I need a better explanation before I go free falling into an infinite black 
hole like this, Agent Scully."

"Just get in, and I'll explain on the way.  Please trust me."  Once he 
acquiesced and shut the passenger door, she started the engine and backed 
out of the space.

"I've been compromising myself and the Bureau...for selfish purposes, I'm 
afraid," Scully began.  "Like I said at the beginning of the Litchfield 
case, we were being used...by a group of men and women that are immune to 
the laws of this country."

"Why?  And how?"

"Because they have an alternative agenda...supposedly to protect the human 
race from being annihilated."

"Ah, so this is all a big conspiracy to stop the aliens from killing 
us...like that movie...what was it...Independence Day?"

"Sort of...except for the fact that no one got to meet with them before the 
killing happened.  Please don't ask me for the details--I'm not sure of how 
everything exactly occurred.  I just know how we're being used...our 
department, I mean."  Scully pulled out in front of a Lincoln Town car from 
the 1970s and received the very loud blare of a horn for doing so.

"All right, I think I'm getting it, sort of.  We were pulled off of the case 
and Skinner was infected.  They wanted to keep using those kids.  What I 
don't understand is why they'd do such a thing.  Can you fill in some of 
those blanks for me, Agent Scully?"

"A few years ago, Agent Mulder and I investigated into some cases of extreme 
radiation that were brought over on a French marine vessel in California.  
The end result of those was not due to exposure; we found that it was a 
parasitic being that was infecting its host.  If it stays long enough in the 
human body, it can ingest all of the vital organs and eventually propagate 
from that state."

"What's this thing look like?"

"A filmy black oil.  It can jump from body to body if needed--or even be 
injected into the bloodstream just like a bio-weapon."

"I've never heard of anything like this...just like that cloning you were 
talking about.  Is this some kind of alien technology, too?"  He removed his 
SIG Sauer's empty clip and exchanged it for another.

"No, it's a virus that grows into an actual being.  Mulder called them 
extraterrestrial biological entities.  I think what the Consortium's now 
trying to do is rid them from wiping out our species.  And they're using the 
children to eradicate them."

"By killing off the humans this virus has infected?  Sounds like a good plan 
all except for this...how do they know who's got it?"

"I'm not sure.  That's why we're going to Georgetown to talk to the doctors 
that are creating the children."

"And what was your role in all this?"  His tone had changed from the typical 
one he used with colleagues to the pitch and intensity that he usually 
reserved for his suspects.

"I lied to you and Skinner a few days ago when I said that I hadn't been 
approached by anyone--back at my hotel, Krycek was there, along with another 
woman involved in this conspiracy.  They convinced me that if I helped bring 
these two doctors together, Bowman and Gossamer, that it would help..."

"Help what, Scully?"  He was fuming at this point, and she did not blame 
him.

"Help bring Agent Mulder back."

"You weren't kidding about being selfish."  Doggett replaced the weapon into 
his arm holster and tucked his trench coat around it.  "What else did they 
want you to do?"

"I was supposed to also destroy several of the X-Files.  But I suspect that 
Skinner was involved in that," Scully continued and ran a red light.

"Were you actually going to go through with it?"  Her reticence was enough 
of an answer to his inquiry, but Doggett was overwrought with his emotions.  
He wanted more than just a hunch that he was right.  "Goddamnit, Scully, if 
you ever expect me to trust you ever again, you'd better give me a goddamned 
verbal response!"

"Ask yourself what you'd do if it were you."

"Don't change the subject!  It doesn't matter what I'd do, because you 
apparently didn't trust me enough to ask me beforehand or explain any of 
this."

"It does, too, because you'd immediately run to Skinner for approval, or 
even worse, Kersh."

"Is that what you think of me, Agent Scully?  That I'm a big tattletale?  
Maybe you don't know me as well as you'd think.  We've known one another for 
about five months now, and I've gotten to know about you.  But you've never 
given me the chance to reveal who I am to you."  Doggett glanced down at the 
tie that was choking him, yanked it away from his neck, and gave her a 
wintery glare.  "I admit that I do play by the rules, but from what I 
understand, you used to do that, too."

"Yeah, and nearly every single time that I insisted upon doing so, I got 
bitten right in the ass for doing it."  She returned his vexed stare and 
braked sharply as she wheeled the car to the right.

"Believe it or not, Agent Scully, but I have made exceptions...for you, in 
the past, I might add.  There was a case I was involved in not too long ago 
that involved Agent Mulder in the murder of a man.  A man, not a kid," he 
interrupted her before she could utter an objection.  "I investigated it, 
and as it turns out, it wasn't exactly a normal man.  Nor did Mulder kill 
him.  But you signed that 302, though you didn't go with him.  This was 
about two weeks before he went missing.  Sound familiar?"

"Vaguely."

"I was there, in that town, in Pennsylvania, less than a month ago following 
up on a lead on Mulder.  But do you know what I realized after it ended?  If 
I reported that event or any of your deceptions that you'd be dismissed and 
your reputation tarnished.  That's just one instance."

"Why didn't you tell me about this before?"

"Isn't that my line?"  Scully pulled into the science buildings' parking 
lot, rolled down her window, and showed her credentials to the guard.  The 
blockade came up shortly afterward and he waived them ahead.  "Look, just 
what is it that you plan on doing afterward...if we get to question these 
mad scientists?"

"What I originally planned to do at the beginning of this 
investigation--stop and arrest the offending parties.  I apologize for not 
being truthful with you, Agent Doggett."  She parked the car, and they 
strolled into the organic sciences complex.

"What can I do for you, sir and ma'am?"  a patrolling sentry questioned them 
and after the FBI agents offered up their identification, he released his 
grip on his sheathed blackjack.

"We're looking for Professor Shannon Bowman.  He was also working with a 
female named Dr. Anne Gossamer.  She looked like this," Scully declared and 
held up a photograph of Gossamer.  He scrutinized it very carefully and 
shook his head.

"Yep, I know who Professor Bowman is, but I ain't seen the likes of her."

"How about him?  Have you seen him at all today?" Doggett prodded.

"Nope.  He's been out sick--all of his classes got canceled today, as a 
matter of fact."  The two agents traded eye contact and the same expression 
of doubt.

"You remember where his office is?"  Doggett asked Scully who nodded.  They 
took off in a rapid pace with the poor security guard out of breath just 
behind them.  As suspected, the office that had been completely filled with 
plants, books, and diplomas was now empty--as was the receptionist's desk.  
The phones had also disappeared.  All that remained was the furniture.

Scully used her picklock to the previously locked door to the laboratory.  
The only equipment that was around was a set of Bunsen burners, a test tube 
rack, and a few flasks and beakers.  Everything was as clean as a whistle as 
she inspected it and even free of fingerprints as Doggett dredged some of 
the test tubes in powder.  "They sure made a clean sweep," the sentry 
commented and scratched his white haired head.

"I'm gonna call Detective Gardener.  She might have an idea of what to do 
next.  I also want to see if she got those files that you sent, " Doggett 
stated and retrieved his cell phone.  He inched closer to the window for 
better reception and about thirty seconds later, hung his head in defeat.  
"No answer.  But did you-"

Scully shook hers in response and left the tampered equipment alone.  "I 
never got the chance.  I was stuck doing autopsies all day, remember?"

"Right.  I guess that's that."

"What do you mean?  Call her back up--or try the receptionist and ask if 
she's been into the precinct yet today.  If she's not, we're going to 
Arizona."

"Look, Agent Scully, I'm all for checking up on a fellow officer's well 
being, but we shouldn't pursue this any longer.  Remember that we'd not only 
be disobeying the FBI but the Attorney General as well.  I'm not so sure 
that I'm so willing and able to flush my career down the tubes just like 
that," he snapped his fingers.

"All the Attorney General has to know is that we're looking into finding a 
person that's gone missing and is in possession of a federal case with 
sensitive information."

"All right, I agree with you.  I'll meet you at the airport tomorrow morning 
with our travel arrangements."

"Good."



Scully's Apartment, Georgetown, Washington, D.C.
September 26th, 2000, 9:27 p.m.


After she dropped Doggett off back at Headquarters, Scully went straight 
back home and found Skinner standing outside her doorstep.  He looked just 
as exhausted, if not more than she.  "Sir, what're you doing here?" she 
inquired and the doctor in her began to check him out.

"I haven't been injured, Scully, leave me alone," Skinner replied while he 
watched her open up her apartment and usher him inside.  "But I feel as if a 
thousand bricks have been dropped on me."

"Sit down, sir.  Do you want any tea?" she questioned him as she dumped her 
keys onto the same table her phone and answering machine shared.

"No, I think I might need something stronger.  I don't suppose you'd...-"

"I'll be back in a minute."  Scully disappeared from sight, and Skinner 
pulled out a chair for himself at her dinner table.  By the time she came 
back, she was settling two tumblers down onto it in front of him as well as 
a full bottle of Dewar's scotch.  "I decided that I needed one, too," she 
muttered and let him pour his own first.  "Before we say anything else, I 
just want to know if I was right."

"I did.  I did it, Scully."  She watched him consume a double like it was a 
glass of water and let the liquid pour freely into her own tumbler.  "But I 
tell you, that in doing so, I feel as if I'm now carrying the weight of an 
elephant on my shoulders.  I destroyed your work...years of Mulder's hard 
toil...and for what you might wonder?  Deep down, Agent Scully, I always 
knew that Mulder would die for the X-Files...and later on, I realized that I 
would do the same.  But for you, I was never sure--I'm still not.  And when 
your life was threatened, I just couldn't say no to him."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"I lied to you back in the hospital...hell...two years ago, I lied to you, 
too, when I said that I didn't know who was behind the nano machines in my 
blood.  It was Krycek all along, and he showed me proof that he could do 
almost the exact same thing to you."

"How?"  Scully proceeded to toss back a gulp of the scotch and wiped some of 
it off of her lips with the back of her hand.

"The chip that was given to you to cure your cancer.  Its technology is 
miraculous, but it came with a price.  He could push the button on either of 
us if he wanted to and we'd be dead in an instant.  I told him that he could 
kill me if he wanted to...that my life was forfeit...but I cannot stand to 
see one of my agents suffering."

"I should've let Mulder kill him a long time ago," Scully mumbled and 
removed her suit coat.  "And I was asked to do the same thing, but you kind 
of...acted first."  She suddenly felt glad that if Mulder came back, that 
she would not at least feel quite so guilty as Skinner, since he was the one 
that had acted first.

"So that's where you were for the past two days.  How far does your betrayal 
go?  I know I'm not an Eliot Ness myself, but I'd like to know as your 
friend and as a superior."  He wanted to take some more but knew that he'd 
regret it--he was already breaching protocol by visiting a female underling 
by himself and consuming alcohol with her was an even bigger sin.

"They asked me to find out where the final Eve 8 was and bring her to work 
with one of their scientists at Georgetown University.  Apparently, they'd 
hit several dead ends and needed outside help.  So, I did.  I also went to 
the Gunmen to retrieve the actual case file."  Scully finished her glass and 
capped the bottle.  "Sir, I just remembered something.  You didn't destroy 
everything.  They have been recovering files that had been thought to be 
lost in the fire.  And I took the Litchfield file with me--I never returned 
it back to the office until today."

"It's no good, Scully.  They're probably still going to be monitoring you 
from all sorts of channels."

"Then we'll investigate those types of cases...unofficially," Scully 
resolved.  "I want to bring them down.  I don't care about aliens or 
invasions or viruses or plagues anymore.  I want those bastards brought to 
justice somehow."

"You also want revenge for being double crossed...don't you?"  Sometimes she 
hated being read like a book--by Mulder was one thing since he used to 
profile, but when her boss was starting to predict her MO, she became even 
more disturbed.

"Among other reasons," she hissed.  "Doggett and I are catching a flight out 
to Flagstaff tomorrow morning.  Detective Gardener's gone missing.  Will you 
be coming with us?"

"No, I'll stay here in D.C. to keep up appearances.  She'll be dead, Scully. 
  That I'm sure of.  You know how these people don't like to leave loose 
ends.  I'm surprised that you didn't find the scientists the same way.  Am I 
right?"

"We didn't find them at all.  Gone--left without a shred of evidence.  Dr. 
Bowman called in sick and high tailed it out of there probably with Dr. 
Gossamer."

"Well, I'd better head off back home."  Skinner took his glass into the 
kitchen and left it on the counter.

"Are you sure you want to be driving now, sir?  You just had a bit to 
drink."

"I can hold my own, Agent.  I didn't have any more than two shots.  At my 
height and weight, my alcohol capacity stretches about five times more than 
Mulder's.  Not that I've ever seen him drunk, but I have a feeling that he'd 
be a flyweight."

"Do you think...sir...that if he comes back, he'll ever forgive us?"

"I think he'll come to an understanding, Scully, especially with you.  He's 
hurting just as much as you are right now because he's not with you."  Her 
eyebrow furrowed at that comment but realized that he probably was speaking 
about work.  Skinner took out his keys from his coat pocket and let himself 
out.  "Thanks for the drink."



Route 89, Outskirts of Flagstaff, Arizona
September 27th, 2000, 8:35 a.m.


"Nobody's seen or heard from her in the past fourteen hours.  She showed up 
for work yesterday and left," Doggett informed Scully as he drove.

"How far does she live from the station?"

"I spoke with one of her colleagues...he says that she lives in a condo 
complex about ten minutes away.  Want me to drop you off at the station 
while I go look for her there?"

"I think that'd be a wise idea."  There was no further conversation between 
the two of them until Doggett pulled up to the front of the department.

"Hey, did you ever get to talk with Skinner?  You must have; he approved 
that 302 so fast that I felt like I was in the middle of an Indy 500 or 
something."

"Yes, I did, and he confessed."  She exited the car, and Doggett rolled down 
the window.

"Hey, wait a second.  So then what?  Are we just going to let him get away 
with murder?  Well...okay, it's not murder, but you know what I mean."

"Skinner had his reasons, and maybe he'll reveal them to you one day.  Rest 
assured, Agent Doggett, not all of the files have been lost.  The Gunmen 
retrieved some," Scully told him and walked away before he could ask her 
anything more.

"I don't ever think I'll be able to figure her out," he grunted and left the 
driveway.

Scully made her way into the building and showed her badge to the police 
officer at the reception desk.  "Not another one," he groaned and rolled his 
eyes.  "What do you need to see?"

"I'm sorry?"  she folded up her identification and tucked it into her trench 
coat.  "Another FBI agent, do you mean?"

"Right.  Which branch are you from?"

"Headquarters, as a matter of fact."

"Y'all should really start communicating to one another--or at least have 
the decency to stop bugging the shit out of the police departments at 
indecent hours."  The Hispanic cop dug into a breast pocket and wiped a 
heavy trail of sweat off of his brow with a handkerchief.

"You're right, we should.  But since I wasn't here earlier, could you please 
tell me what in God's name happened here?"

"Well about five of your guys from the Tucson offices stormed our precinct 
demanding to know where Detective Gardener's desk was.  They claimed that 
she was suspected of unpatriotic deeds and espionage against the United 
States.  What could I do but open the door for them once I saw their IDs?"

"Let me guess.  They pretty much emptied her drawers and trashed her files 
to find what they were looking for--the evidence to convict her--without so 
much as a question to anyone else in the department of her whereabouts?"

"Guess so.  Didn't see much after I let 'em in because we had a shit load of 
trouble last night.  All the drunks and wife beaters decided to keep us 
busier than an army of ants.  Jail was full, and I didn't get off until 4 
this morning because of the goddamned paperwork.  Sorry that I didn't track 
their every goddamned move, G-woman.  Next time you want a play by play, you 
oughta hang bells around your freakin' necks."

"I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's paramount that I see Detective 
Gardener.  I seriously doubt she's involved in anything but investigating 
the truth."

"Well, she isn't here obviously.  Sure could've used her help last night 
with those domestic disputes--I had to pull in men and women away from their 
beds to work double shifts."

"I understand, sir," Scully tried to be polite, "but could you please just 
let me go through her files?  I had been working on a case with her long 
distance, and I'd like to go over her notes."

"I'll let you pass through, but good luck with her lieutenant.  That woman's 
a Mauser ready to go off at any second--also another cop that got called in 
early this morning."  He stepped aside from a trap door and shut it after 
Scully entered.

"Is there a reason why no one's looking for her besides us?"

"I just assumed she's not here because you g-people got her."

"Well this time, you're the one who's not informed," Scully spat and marched 
straight for Gardener's bureau.  For the life of her, she could not 
comprehend why that police officer was so unconcerned for a fellow cop--even 
officers that did not get along together always seemed to be genuinely 
disturbed when told someone was missing.  There were several different 
agents in the Bureau that she could not stand to even make pleasant, casual 
small talk with; but she knew that if one of them were in trouble, she'd do 
her best to ensure that he or she were back to work as quickly as possible.  
At first, she had thought of Doggett as just a parasitic leech sent down 
from Kersh in spite of the fact that he disliked both her and Mulder so 
much.  But now, if he had disappeared like Mulder, she wasn't so sure that 
she could handle another absence  of a partner from her life.  She needed 
some stability in her life right now like many people felt the need to 
gamble or smoke.

Scully broke her inner monologue, snapped on her prophylactic gloves, and 
commenced to concentrate on the details of Gardener's desk--the few that she 
found.  The pocket sized evergreen notebook that Gardener had been using 
when she conversed with Scully was nowhere to be found.  All the drawers 
were unlocked, even the ones with 'confidential' marked on top of the files. 
  She rifled through them, and much like Mulder, this detective had little 
organizational skills.  The "solved" cases were mixed in with the "closed", 
"pending investigation", or "unsolved" files.  But who else would indeed be 
going through these besides the detective?  She had no partner, so what 
would be the use?

Well, perhaps the crime had been committed by the "FBI agents from the 
Tucson office" mentioned by the Latino cop.  They must have been in quite a 
hurry to leave Gardener's bureau in such a mess.  Maybe she'd be lucky 
enough to catch a few latent prints, if she could find a CSI willing to help 
her.  Then she did remember the two she'd made brief acquaintances with: 
Doris and Hester.  They seemed kind enough and definitely would be more than 
interested in Gardener's vanishment.

Speak of the devil, Hester just strolled in, tackle box in one hand, and a 
cell phone pressed to his ear with the other.  He seemed completely immersed 
in another world and failed to observe Scully waiving at him.  "Mr. Hester," 
she called.  Finally, he glanced away and nearly smacked into another 
officer as he stopped to wait for her.  "Sorry.  I'm gonna have to let you 
go," he said to his caller and hung up.  "Agent Scully, I'm surprised to see 
you back here.  Detective Gardener mentioned that you had dropped the case." 
  His smile was as welcoming as the spring blossoms of May.

"Not exactly.  We were ordered by the Attorney General to return back to 
D.C. and leave the jurisdiction with Flagstaff PD.  But now we're back 
because Detective Gardener's gone missing."

Hester's face wrinkled with confusion, and he ushered her into his office 
that was down the next hallway.  "Missing?  I didn't hear anything about 
that."

"She's been gone since she finished her shift last night at 6:00, so I'm 
told.  But no one has bothered to look for her or lift a finger.  I was 
informed that everyone was too busy last night, and that supposedly, some 
folks from the Tucson Bureau came in to collect evidence."

"Evidence of what?"

"The excuse was espionage and terrorism, but I seriously doubt that.  I know 
that she didn't exactly work in the same department as you, Mr. Hester, but 
would you place her as being the sort of person to take a day off or perhaps 
even run away?"

"It's Jerry, by the way, and no, Gardener never took days off, even when she 
was sick.  Rumor was that when a fever hit her was when she did her best 
work.  Even her boss tried to make her leave early when she was ill, but 
that was about as futile as trying to stop a pissed off bull from charging." 
  *That sounded all too familiar*, Scully thought to herself.  "I'm married 
to my work most of the time, but I know I'm not at my fullest capacity when 
I'm not well.  So I try to take multi-vitamins all the time so I don't get 
sick--I'm the head of my department--got too much responsibility for 
sickness."

"Did you catch a glimpse of these "FBI agents", Jerry?"

"Nope, I've been out all night.  Gotta start on the paperwork to file along 
with the evidence I find for the night, you know."  Hester offered her a 
chair while he set down his toolbox and sank into his.

"Of course.  Before you do that, would you mind assisting me in collecting 
some from Gardener's desk?"  He bit his upper lip and leaned forward.

"I did kind of wonder why you were packing protection."  Hester motioned to 
her gloved hands.  "What would I be looking for, and why do you refer to 
them as quote FBI agents?"

"Latents.  They were in an awful hurry, unless the Detective adheres to the 
same kind of filing system that my former partner does.  I know that we're a 
huge government operation, but we do usually keep tabs on our field and 
regional offices."

"You think that those weren't real plants?  Hmm, that does sound like a 
remote possibility.  And since nobody's seen a hide or hair of Gardener, 
that sends alarm bells ringing off in my head.  Well, let's go."  He grabbed 
a container of yellow powder, some taped cardboard tabs, and a brush from 
his kit before hopping out of his seat.

A few select heads turned towards Hester and Scully, but no one interfered 
as he dragged the brush across the desk.  Some smudges appeared but that was 
about it.  "Shit.  They must have wiped it clean after they finished," 
Hester swore and swept underneath a couple of corners.  "Oh ho.  But they 
didn't do that great of a job," he grinned at her after looking at the area. 
  "Not to say that these couldn't belong to Gardener, but, at least it's 
something."

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

"Yeah, hopefully she just got drunk last night and forgot to call in today.  
There have been one or two occasions when a case got particularly gruesome 
where she did that.  But I've been here for three years now, and she hasn't 
done that since I joined the force."  Hester separated the tape from the 
cardboard surface and pressed it to the area he'd just dusted.  "Like I 
said, definitely a workaholic.  Maybe that's why we got along together so 
well.  She's really apprehensive about working with men."

"Did you ever find the weapon that was used to exsanguinate the Troxlers and 
the Samuels?"

"Nada, which makes it even harder for those kids to be caught," Hester shook 
his head and removed a plastic baggie from his jeans' front pocket.

"So she finally did come around to accepting the truth, huh?"

"I don't know about that, Agent Scully, but she sure did have her heart set 
on making this her number one priority case, and it showed.  Her shift 
really didn't end yesterday at 6:00--I don't know when it was really 
supposed to end--but I can remember seeing her lieutenant yelling at her to 
go home and give her brain a 'forking break'."

"A forking break?  Wait a second."  Scully tried to picture his meaning and 
then her imagination kicked in.  The corners of her mouth turned up as he 
gave her another smoldering grin.  "Very creative, Jerry."

"You think so?  I try to substitute expletives with silverware and other 
objects of the kitchen--makes them sound quite less offensive to the ears.  
And it usually brings about a big laugh...or for people like you at least a 
smile."  He stuck the print extrication flap into the baggie, and together 
they descended down the stairs to the crime laboratory.  "You see, I've got 
a kid, and I've been trying to shield him from the ugliness of this world 
somewhat.  Don't want him to grow up too fast, you know.  So he doesn't know 
what swear words actually are if he hears them because we don't use that 
kind of language in the house."

"What about on TV?  Some channels have nothing but the 'fork' word to use 
because the people on them have the most remote bit of intelligence I've 
ever seen," Scully wondered.

"He's not allowed to watch those kinds of shows--I've got a chip in the TV 
set that mutes out the words.  And I've got one in the makings by one of our 
techs here that actually does use the silverware and kitchen objects for 
curses instead."

"What's your wife got to say about this?"

"Oh, we're uh...she ran off on me for some other guy."

*Why in the hell would she do that?  I'd go for him myself if*-

Scully stopped herself from her current train of thought.  "I'm sorry to 
hear about that.  How old is your son?"

"Just the right age for a mother to be running out on him like that...four," 
Hester replied bitterly.  "Always got the feeling that she always thought of 
him as less than human when she had him.  He was just some...inconvenience 
that she hated taking care of while I was out making the money.  So then she 
got back her own career, fell madly in love with her boss, and went to 
France with him.  Suits me just fine anyhow.  If a mother won't take care of 
her own, what good is she?"

It took practically all of Scully's self control not to break down in front 
of him; she still kept her invisible mask on.  Mulder had once called it 
"the invulnerable face of the goddess", but Scully just considered the 
expression to just be passed down from the likes of her father and from 
years of practice of dealing with the boys' clubhouse rules.  The ringing of 
her cell phone tore Scully away from yet another fond memory of Mulder and 
brought her back down to earth.  "Scully."

"Agent Scully, it's John Doggett.  Sorry to be interrupting your search, but 
I think I found out what happened to Detective Gardener."  She paused in her 
travels and held up her hand to Hester before he could mutter out one 
inquiry.

"Uh-huh, what is it?"

"I'm standing at the bottom of a ravine near a set of railroad tracks with a 
crap load of EMTs and an ambulance.  You got that Hester guy available to 
you?"

"He's right here.  Are you about to say what I think you're going to say?"

"Yep.  Lost control of her car and careened right over.  Course, as I'm 
looking at it right now, I can see that her brake-line got cut, probably by 
a switchblade."

"I'll be right over with him."  Scully pressed the 'talk' button and turned 
to Hester.  "Better bring that tool kit of yours with us."

"They got to her first, huh?"

"I'm afraid so."


Assistant Director Skinner's Office, FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C.
September 29th, 2000, 10:26 a.m.


"All of Detective Gardener's work on the Litchfield experiment was taken 
from her desk.  Fingerprints were found on the corners underneath, but 
unfortunately, they only belonged to her.  I have a feeling that even if I 
did actually fax those files to her that they would also be gone with all 
the rest," Scully reported to her superior as he surveyed their field notes 
at his desk.  The two partners were also seated in front of him.

"The CSI team found that Gardener's brake-line was severed by a common 
switchblade; one that could be bought probably at a local Wal-Mart.  The 
actual weapon that did the cutting was found in a dumpster near the 
department's auto maintenance and repair shop with no fingerprints or fluid 
on it.  All the mechanics on duty were questioned, but no one knows or will 
admit to anything yet," Doggett said and leaned his elbows intensely into 
the arms of his chair.

"And you say here that both children were cleared of all charges and 
wrongdoing by the circuit judges.  They were placed under foster care 
yesterday," Skinner read.  "I'm looking through your autopsy review, Agent 
Scully, and I'd like to know what conclusion, if any, you might be drawing 
about the murder weapons that were never found."

"My theory was that the weapons could very well have been writing 
utensils...most likely fountain pens.  I come to that conclusion due to 
three reasons.  One, no parent was a member of the medical profession, so 
it's highly unlikely that a child could have access to surgical instruments. 
  Two, I picked up a few spare ink cartridges in my search with the CSI 
there, and three, the instruments had to have been small enough that they 
could have been disposed of down the plumbing system."

"You think they flushed those pens down the toilet?" Doggett questioned her. 
  "Why not just dump them in the garbage like those latex gloves we found?"

"These children have exceptional intelligence and resourcefulness for their 
age.  Although their alibis were contradictory, they had obviously concocted 
the story betwixt the two of themselves.  I do wish that I had gone to Dr. 
Fauci to see the bodies myself--perhaps I missed something.  I see that now 
as a mistake on my part, sir, and I now regret that I didn't use all of the 
avenues available to me."

"So what are we going to do with this case now, sir?" Doggett asked.

Skinner turned another page over in the file and opened a drawer in his 
bureau.  He removed two long strips of tape with the words "Sealed File: Do 
Not Open Without Express Permission", closed the X-File, and taped it shut.  
He next took out a rubber stamp and ink pad.  "Pending Investigation" was 
affixed to the case file in red letters, and he handed it back to Scully.  
"I'm giving this back to you because I know I can trust you not to open this 
back up without the Deputy Director's permission."

"But sir," Doggett began.

"Do you understand the words written across that seal, Agent Doggett?" 
Skinner's tone became slightly belligerent.  And as one former soldier to 
another knowing his place, Doggett acquiesced silently with a nod and 
lowered his eyes.  "I'll be expecting your expenditures report by tomorrow 
morning.  Now, if you'll both excuse me, I've got some documents to go over 
and sign."

Doggett stood and waited for his partner to follow, but when she made no 
move, he gave her a puzzled expression.  She waived him off, and he took his 
obligated cue to leave the office.  "Excuse me, sir, could please I have a 
few more moments with you?" Scully asked.

"Yes, Agent Scully."  Skinner's eyes darted up to hers from another pile of 
papers and then back to them.

"I didn't put this bit of information into the X-File because should this 
case ever be opened up again, I didn't want any officials to be yelling 
'fire' in the theatre."

"I'm listening, Agent."

"When you sent me over to Quantico to work with Dr. Carmine three days ago, 
we found two more bodies dead just like the Troxlers and Samuels.  But what 
was even more disturbing was that with her I found traces of that 
retrovirus."

Skinner dropped the pen that he was about to sign with and gave her his full 
attention.  "What?"

"That's right, sir.  But thankfully, it was dead.  I can't help but wonder 
if the digitalis utilized by the children was the cause.  I could have the 
technicians study the structures of both and come up with a plausible 
theory, but-"

"Leave the door to this case ajar, Scully.  You saw me seal the file just 
like Agent Doggett did.  I don't think I should have to remind you why I did 
that."  Skinner sternly picked up the pen again and this time signed his 
name to the bottom of the paper.  "But that's not to stop you from adding 
your own notes to the case the Gunmen recovered," he added.

"Are you going to turn down a 302 from now on every time it looks like a 
conspiracy is involved, sir?"

"If I do, you know for whose well being it is," his eyebrows raised in 
unison.

"Sir, do you think that Agent Mulder will ever come back?"  Scully's voice 
was riddled with doubt and desperation.

"He will.  And don't you dare give up hope.  Mulder wouldn't have any of it, 
and neither will I."  He arose from his chair and leaned against the front 
of his desk.  "You know, he never gave up on you.  He was so damned stubborn 
to get you back when you were abducted, and when you had your cancer, he was 
almost willing to sacrifice everything.  And I mean...everything here," he 
whispered.  "But I talked him out of it."

"He never told me that before," her voice became just as quiet.

"Was there any reason to?  He did find your cure just the same.  Thank God 
he wasn't too late."

"Yes...thank God," Scully admitted to herself and left the office.



St. Paul's Cathedral, Georgetown, Washington, D.C.
September 29th, 2000, 7:33 p.m.


"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.  It's been...I don't know...six months 
since my last confession," Scully told Father McHugh as she sat down in the 
booth.

"It's good to see you again, Dana.  Though I have missed seeing you at Mass 
for almost the same amount of time," he corrected her in a kind voice.

"I know.  I'm here to make up for that now."

"Well, Dana, to not attend Mass is not a sin, of course.  But those who do 
wander away have been known to be led astray."  She fell silent, obviously 
consumed in her grief and guilt.  "What sins have you to confess?"

"I'm sure many, but, I think I've been kidding myself that I can do this 
alone."

"Without God, we are nothing.  Remember St. Paul the Apostle's quotation 
from the book of Phillippians.  I can do all things through Christ who 
strengthens me.   What it is it, my child, that you have realized you cannot 
do?"

"Five months ago my partner at the Bureau was abducted...and it's been 
rather difficult to go through the work he himself started without him 
there."

"Is this the same man you spoke of before...Mr. Mulder, was it?"

"Yes.  I've been working with another man for the same number of months, but 
it's not the same.  We can't exactly bounce theories off of each other the 
way Mulder and I did."

"So you enjoyed the man's companionship as well as his intelligence?"  
Scully felt herself blush and heat grow to her cheeks.  She had been trying 
to deny herself the fact for years, and even more so for the last one.  He 
completed her, and she him.

"Yes, well, I mean, I suppose."

"Dana, you need not fabricate walls around your heart.  Remember, this is 
part of reason why you came to me, is it not?"  The rosy feeling that had 
been passing through her heart when she thought of Mulder went cold 
suddenly.

"You've been talking with my mother, haven't you?"

"Yes, but, remember I'm not a psychiatrist, Dana.  I don't pull people's 
brains apart to study what's wrong with them; they confess it to me, and I 
only speak the Word of God.  He is the Almighty Healer.  Have you been 
relying on Him to get you through your day to day work?"

"I haven't.  I know I should be--it's hard to let someone else take control 
of your life when you've done it for so long."

"Yes, and although I don't know all of your troubles, Dana, I do know that 
you're going through a very hard time now.  It is all the more reason to 
lean on God as your stronghold, especially since you do not have your former 
partner at this time."

"I'm expecting a child in February.  Although it's not Mulder's, I wish he 
could be there to see it."

"Hmm...I'm not saying this to chastise you, although it may sound so, but 
had you come to God earlier to pour out your soul to Him first, you might 
not have so many hard times now.  He teaches us lessons everyday; I'm still 
learning new things about Him everyday myself, Dana.  And you know what?  
It's a testing of our faith and by relying upon God for everyday life makes 
difficult decisions that we have to make into the right ones.  And it's not 
to say that you have been making the wrong ones all the time.  But am I 
right?  You have been making a few poor choices recently; you probably 
wouldn't be here otherwise."

"Yes, you're right, Father McHugh."

"Tell me something, Dana.  Why do you wear that cross around your neck?"

"It was a gift from my mother."

"Is that the only reason?  Surely you have other jewelry that loved ones 
have given you, but yet you do not wear it.  You want others to notice your 
faith, yes?"

"I...yes, I do."

"Good.  And I'm sure they see it.  But do you?  Do you doubt the work of our 
Lord and Savior?"

"Never."

"Hmm...I think if that were really true, you wouldn't be suffering so.  I'm 
not saying that your lack of faith has caused Mr. Mulder to disappear by any 
means--only God knows of His own plans, but know that He works in mysterious 
ways.  And believe it.  Something good could come out of such a tragedy.  
For instance, in one way, it has caused you to rethink your relationship 
with him, has it not?"

"I had thought about it before, but I guess I took it for granted until he 
was gone.  What are you saying, Father?  That if I say that I love him, I'll 
get him back?"

"Oh, you know better than that, Dana.  God has His own timetables.  Have 
faith.  That's all it takes.  I know you believe in the work Mr. Mulder did; 
now believe in the work that God does.  Remember that the things of this 
world are only temporary, and that the things of Heaven are eternal.  Go, my 
child, you are forgiven.  Take comfort in what you have heard this evening."

"Thank you, Father McHugh."  Scully arose from her seat and left the booth.  
She started to leave the cathedral, but thought better once she saw a senior 
citizen kneeling and bowing her head with her rosaries clutched in both 
hands.  The female FBI agent pulled her own set of rosaries out from her 
raincoat pocket, knelt in the same row, and crossed herself before beginning 
her own prayers.


THE END