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  This author's e-mail address has changed to: xanaduxf@yahoo.com
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Memorial Day
By Brandon D. Ray and shannono
(publius@avalon.net, shannono@iname.com)

CATEGORIES: X-file (mythology variety), Romance, Angst

All other information in part 1/?


==========
Chapter 7
==========

7:58 a.m.

When she first came aware, she was disoriented for only a moment
before she realized where she was -- in the passenger seat of a 
rental car, with Mulder behind the wheel. A warm, comfortable 
feeling passed over her at the familiar circumstance, the product
of countless long car trips in his company.

She moved slowly, pushing herself upright, and ran a hand across
her mouth. "What time is it?" she rasped out, then cleared her
throat.

"Almost eight," Mulder replied, shooting her a glance. "Sleep
well?"

She nodded absently as she reached to flip down the sun visor,
checking her appearance in the mirror. She ran her fingers through
her hair to straighten it a bit, then decided that was the best
she was going to do and folded the shade back into place.

She could feel Mulder's eyes still on her, only flicking back to
the road every few seconds, and she turned to regard him. "Mulder,
what is it?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Nothing," he said. "Just ... I didn't wake you, did
I?"

She knew he had more than that on his mind, but she let it slide
for now. "No, I just woke up," she said, glancing out the
windshield at the steady flow of traffic. "Where are we, anyway?"

"About ten miles or so from the airport," Mulder replied, smoothly
changing lanes to pass a clump of slower-moving trucks. "I
shouldn't have any trouble making my flight."

"Good." The word ended on a yawn, and Scully saw Mulder frown.

"Are you going to be okay, Scully?" he asked, his tone cautious.
"You didn't get any sleep last night or much the night before ..."

"I'm fine, Mulder," Scully said automatically, only to see his
frown deepen. Realizing he never quite believed those words from
her mouth, she added, "I'm a little tired, but I'll be okay. If I
get too sleepy, I'll let Andy handle the driving. She's had at
least a little more sleep than either of us."

Mulder nodded, his eyes trained on the road as traffic continued
to increase. "How long do you think you'll be in Atlanta?" he
asked.

Scully shrugged. "The rest of today, at least, and we'll come
back tomorrow if we need to," she said. "I just talked to Cal
about three or four weeks ago and everything seemed to be fine,
so I'm hoping he'll be willing to at least talk to us, even if he
can't give us much information."

She didn't add her own calculations of the odds against her old
acquaintance providing anything useful, but she knew she didn't
have to. Mulder could certainly be pessimistic enough for the both
of them when he put his mind to it.

They fell silent for a few minutes, until Mulder pulled the car 
into the exit lane for the airport. The deceleration roused Andy, 
who yawned and stretched comically as she straightened in her 
seat. "Are we there yet?" she mumbled, and Scully had to fight to
hold back a full-fledged grin.

"We're here," she answered, half-turning in her seat to face the
younger woman. She let the grin escape then, as she added in a
teasing tone, "Sleep well?"

"Yeah, just not long enough," Andy grumbled, still blinking slowly
against the bright sunshine.

Scully glanced at Mulder, who was steering the car into an hourly
parking deck by then, and saw he'd lost the battle against his own
smile. Turning back to Andy, she said, "We only have about thirty
minutes before Mulder's flight, so we'll have to hurry. You ready?"

Andy gave her a blank look. "I was just going to wait in the car,"
she said. "I thought ..." Her voice trailed off, and she glanced
at the back of Mulder's head. She leaned in closer to Scully and
whispered, "I thought you two would want a minute alone."

Scully's eyes widened, and then she felt herself blush. She should
be used to people mistaking Mulder and her for a couple, but now
she wasn't so sure it was a mistake any more. Or at least, she
wasn't sure it would be a mistake for much longer.

She managed to shake her head at Andy and whisper back, "It's not
like that." She saw Mulder turn his head in her direction then,
and she shifted back around in her seat, just as he swung the car
into a parking spot and shut down the engine.

"All right, ladies, we've got to move it," he said lightly, holding
out the keys to Scully. She took them, and the three climbed from
the car, Mulder pausing to grab his bag from the back seat.

They were inside in minutes, stopping only long enough to scan the
arrival/departure displays and determine that his flight was on
time. Security held them up a few moments. Andy had left her
weapon in the car, and Mulder had removed the clip from his and
pocketed it, the weapon slipped into his bag; a quick badge flip
was enough for him. Scully kept her weapon with her, which
necessitated a longer perusal of her ID, but she reassured the
guards that she was only going to the gate, not boarding, and they
finally waved her through.

The trio headed for the gate at a fast pace, down to twenty
minutes before flight time. Luckily, Mulder's gate was on the
first concourse, so they arrived quickly, and the boarding pass
only took a few moments.

As Mulder was finishing up at the counter, Andy tapped Scully on
the arm and said, "I've got to run to the ladies' room; I'll be
right back."

She was gone before Scully could reply, and Scully had a feeling
it wasn't just a call of nature that had prompted Andy's departure.
The reporter had been serious about giving them a minute alone,
and despite Scully's protest in the car, she was glad for it. Her
mind had been offering up a train of thought for the past few
hours that she'd been trying to avoid, but now she let it have
full rein.

She knew Mulder had been functioning at his peak over the past
24 hours or so only when he'd been able to focus on her for one 
reason or another. Now he was going halfway across the country, 
alone, and she was worried that he'd lose track again, and without
her there to pull him out of it, he'd end up in trouble.

Problem was, she didn't know what she could do about it.

Mulder was walking back toward her by then, dodging a few people
hurrying past to their own gates, and came to a stop in front of
her. "All set," he said, grinning down at her. "Five minutes to
spare."

Scully smiled in return, her mind racing at a mile a minute. An
idea had popped into her head, a way to send Mulder off with a
firm, unambiguous -- if intangible -- piece of her to carry with
him. She wasn't sure if this was the time or place, and she didn't
know how much it would actually help ... but she had to do
something.

Besides, she wanted to do it.

And so she lifted one hand to rest on the side of his face, drew
him down ... and grazed her lips softly, gently across his.

She felt him freeze under her touch, not responding or reacting in
any way for a long moment. She pulled back, suddenly uncertain
that the kiss had been a good idea, only to face the stunned
expression on Mulder's face.

His eyes were locked on hers as his mouth worked wordlessly for a 
few seconds, and then he forced out, "Scully ... you kissed me."

Scully smiled, a little shakily, and replied, "Yep."

Another second passed, and then Mulder was a flash of motion,
scooping her up and pulling her tightly against him, one arm 
around her waist, the other hand cupping her head. His words were
a whisper against her lips as he said, "I think we can do better
than that."

He kissed her then, still gently but with a greater sense of
urgency, and she fell into his kiss willingly, if briefly, before
drawing away.

His mouth followed her for a moment, but then he stilled, his eyes
opening to meet her gaze again. Her heart was pounding in her
chest, and she smoothed one hand across his hair. "I'm with you,
Mulder," she whispered. "Even when I'm not there."

He lowered her back to her feet, his eyes never leaving hers, and
his hands came up to frame her face gently. He bent to place a
tender kiss in the center of her forehead, then pulled her into
a gentle hug. "Be careful, Scully," he whispered into her hair.

"You, too," she answered.

They pulled apart reluctantly, their hands lingering as long as
possible, and Mulder kept watching her as he walked sideways
toward his gate. Scully's eyes followed him until, at the last
possible moment, he turned and stepped into the walkway to the
plane.

Scully had no idea how long she'd stood there, her eyes trained
on the spot where she'd last seen Mulder, when someone touched her
arm. She jumped and whirled to face Andy, who was looking at her
with an expression of concern. "Are you all right?" Andy asked.

Scully nodded quickly. "I'm fine," she said, although it was an
effort to steady her voice. "Let's ... let's get going."

And they headed back to the car.

==========

Delta Flight 954
Somewhere over Kentucky
8:33 a.m., Central Daylight Time

Mulder snapped his laptop shut in disgust. Despite having spent 
the better part of an hour searching the Internet, he'd been 
unable to find any useful information on the attack in Cedar 
Rapids -- or, in fact, any information at all, beyond the short 
synopsis they'd received from Andy early that morning. 

He'd finally given up looking and sent e-mail to the Lone Gunmen,
asking them to see what they could dig up, especially concerning 
military air traffic arriving at and departing from Columbus and 
Cedar Rapids during the preceding 24 hours.

Almost as an afterthought he'd requested they do a background 
check on Andy Baker. From everything he'd seen of her she seemed
completely genuine, but Mulder had been burned once too often to 
take her totally at face value. 

He'd hesitated to raise the issue with Scully, both because of the
obvious friendship that was blossoming between the two women, and 
because his own track record on deciding who could and could not 
be trusted left something to be desired. But now that he'd left 
Scully alone with Andy, he couldn't help but worry a little, and
he hoped the Gunmen would be able to lay those fears to rest.

He closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. Scully. She'd
certainly given him a lot to think about this morning. From the
almost surreal conversation in her motel room in the middle of the
night to that surprising, wonderful kiss at the airport, she'd
delivered one shock to his system after another. They were good
shocks -- definitely good shocks -- but it was still a little
overwhelming, and he knew it was going to take him some time to 
digest it all.

He wondered if she realized just how much he'd come to depend on 
her -- and just how much she had rocked his world in the last six
hours.

He caught himself sliding the tip of his forefinger along his lower
lip. That kiss ... that kiss had been ... spectacular. Mulder had 
been kissed by other women whose intentions were more immediate 
and practical, but none of them compared to the intensity of those
few seconds when he'd held Dana Scully in his arms at last. It 
had been the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life to let go of
her and turn and walk away ...

But he'd done it, and now he felt filled with vitality and energy,
like a man who had been slowly bleeding to death and then been 
given a lifesaving transfusion.

That was it, he thought, nodding slowly to himself. That was 
exactly it. Scully had given him a transfusion, a new lease on 
life, as corny as that might sound. She hadn't made things all 
better, of course; that only happened on television. But for the
first time in at least a year -- for the first time since before
the X-files had been burned -- he found himself actually starting
to think proactively rather than reactively. The process was still
rather sluggish, since those mental muscles hadn't been used much 
in the last few months, but he could feel his thoughts starting to
move in that direction. 

It was wonderful. And it was all Scully's doing.

Scully. He wondered what she was doing right now. She and Andy 
had planned to drive on into Atlanta, and try to pry some 
information out of an old friend of his partner's who worked at 
the CDC. In all honesty Mulder didn't expect that lead to amount
to much, but he'd agreed with the two women that it made sense to 
try.

Mulder opened his eyes and glanced at his watch. Four more hours 
and he'd be on the ground in Iowa, and he still didn't have 
anything much to go on when he got there. 

With a sigh of reluctance, he pushed thoughts of his partner out 
of his mind and opened his laptop again. He'd have plenty of time
to think about her later; right now he still had work to do.

==========

Interstate 75/85 (Downtown Connector)
Atlanta, GA
9:55 a.m., Eastern Daylight Time

Neither Scully or Andy said more than two words at a time for a
good twenty minutes after leaving the airport, only speaking to
check directions and traffic. As she drove, Scully could almost 
hear the gears turning in the other woman's mind. She knew the 
question was coming.

And then it did.

"It's not like that, huh?"

Andy's voice was even and calm, with only a slightly teasing tone
to it. Just the right tone to get the answer she wanted, Scully
thought. She should have been a lawyer instead of a reporter.

Scully sighed. She knew she should answer the question. Heck, for
once, she *wanted* to talk about it. Problem was, anything she 
said would sound either trite or misleading, or both.

It's *not* like that.

It's complicated ...

Mulder and I don't ...

In the passenger seat, Andy chuckled softly. "Damned if you do ..."
she said.

Scully had to smile at that. "Pretty much," she said, shooting a
quick glance at the other woman. "I didn't lie to you, Andy. It
isn't ... well, *wasn't* 'like that.'" She paused, then plunged
ahead. "That was the first time we even kissed."

Andy stared at her. "Really?" she asked, her excited tone making
her sound like a teenager.

Scully nodded slowly. "We started to, one other time ... well,
twice, actually ... but we were interrupted both times," she said.
Then she grinned. "So I decided it was time to take matters into
my own hands."

Andy laughed out loud then, and Scully felt her grin widen. It
felt good, she realized, to have a conversation like this. Really
good, and not just because of the subject matter. She couldn't
remember the last time she'd enjoyed talking to someone like she
enjoyed talking to Andy.

And then her smile faded. Andy, whom she'd only met the day before.
Who had a lot of information about whatever was going on. Who now
knew a good portion of what she and Mulder had learned.

Suddenly, Scully wasn't enjoying herself quite so much.

"Dana?" Andy had stopped laughing, and her voice was low and
concerned. "Are you okay?"

Scully shook herself free from her paranoid thoughts. I really
*have* been around Mulder too long, she thought. 

Out loud, she said, "I'm fine, Andy. Just drifted for a minute." 
She shot the other woman a quick half-grin. "I guess I'm a little
distracted."

Andy laughed softly. "Wonder why? ..." she said, her voice
trailing off suggestively, and Scully had to laugh herself.

Andy sobered quickly, though, and turned slightly toward Scully.
"So who is this guy we're going to see? Someone from medical
school?"

"No, undergrad, actually; we had some classes together," Scully
replied, her mind drawing up an image of Cal Danielson -- short,
stocky, ugly as a hound dog, and one of the funniest and most 
outgoing people she'd ever known.

"How long has he been with the CDC?"

Scully shrugged. "About three years, I think," she said. "He
started medical school, hated it, and switched over to
pharmacology, so it took him a couple of extra years to finish
up his doctorate." She chewed on the inside of her lower lip, 
thinking for a moment, then said, "I talked to him about a month
ago, just a social call, really. He looked up my e-mail address a
year or so ago and we e-mail back and forth occasionally."

Andy nodded. "And you called him yesterday?"

Scully blinked, and realized yes, it was just yesterday, less
than 24 hours before, when she'd called Cal from the car on the
way to Columbus. A yesterday that now seemed at least several 
lifetimes ago.

She sighed. "I called, but he was in the middle of something and
couldn't talk. I told him I'd call him back ..." Her voice trailed
off, and she glanced at Andy. "Which I guess I should do, if I'm 
just going to show up there. Could you get my briefcase out of 
the back seat? My phone is in the outside pocket, and there should
be a small address book there, too. His number is in there. Oh, 
and I should probably call and make a car rental reservation for 
Mulder; he'll probably forget all about it until he arrives, and 
then God knows what he'll wind up with. He's not good with 
paperwork."

Andy unbuckled her seat belt and twisted in the seat to retrieve
the briefcase, then dug out the phone and address book. She'd
barely settled back in when Scully slammed on the brakes, sending
them both hurtling forward until the shoulder harnesses caught.

"What the hell?" Scully exclaimed. Traffic had stopped dead, all
five lanes, and as she looked further ahead, all she could see
was taillights.

"Shit." Andy's voice was sharp, and she reached for the radio
dial. "Atlanta traffic strikes again. Let's see what we're in
for."

Scully sighed and picked up the phone, using the temporary
reprieve from driving to call the CDC. She ended up with Cal's
voice mail and left a quick message, telling him she was stuck
in traffic but would get there as soon as possible.

And then they settled back to wait for the road to clear.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

==========
Chapter 8
==========

Eastern Iowa Regional Airport
Cedar Rapids, IA
12:27 p.m., CDT

Mulder had actually fallen asleep on the short hop from 
Minneapolis to Cedar Rapids, and so he was one of the last 
passengers off the plane. He stood just outside the exit walkway
for a moment or two, blinking sleep out of his eyes and trying to
get his bearings. Finally he spotted a sign directing him to the
main terminal and headed off in that direction.

A few minutes later he was handing his Amex card to the pretty 
young woman behind the Avis counter. She glanced down at the 
card, then looked back up at him and smiled.

"Mr. Mulder!" she said, pulling a small sheaf of papers from under 
the counter. "We've been expecting you."

Mulder raised his eyebrows at her. "You have?" He'd completely
forgotten to call ahead and book a car; logistics like that just
didn't come naturally to him, and he'd come to depend on Scully ...

He broke off the thought and smiled. "Oh, of course."

The young woman gave a knowing smile, and said, "I have to say,
*somebody* is sure looking out for you, Mr. Mulder." She shoved
one of the papers across the counter at him. "Prepaid and 
everything."

Mulder continued to smile as he bent to sign the rental agreement
she'd put in front of him, and then he froze as he heard a voice
coming from behind him. A familiar voice.

"Yeah, somebody's always looking out for you, aren't they, 
Mulder?"

Mulder closed his eyes for just a moment and waited for his 
breathing to steady. His weapon was still in his carry-on, of 
course, and the ammunition clip was in his pocket. The other man
was no doubt armed -- or at least, Mulder would have to act on 
that assumption. Which meant he was going to have to do his best
to stay calm. Calm.

He opened his eyes, and with slow deliberation he straightened up,
casting what he hoped was a reassuring smile at the clerk, then 
turned to face the man who had spoken.

"Krycek," he said. "Fancy meeting you here. Such a pity you 
missed the weenie roast at El Rico. I'm sure you would have been
the biggest weenie there."

"I dunno, Mulder," the other man replied, a slight smirk on his 
face. "There were some pretty big weenies in attendance, from what
I heard." He took a step closer and lightly fingered Mulder's 
necktie for a second. "Nice tie."

"I wore it just for you." Mulder gave Krycek a hard shove, hard
enough to make the other man stumble back a couple of steps. He 
then advanced after him, getting back into Krycek's personal space
and pressing his momentary advantage.

"Do you have a reason for being here, asshole?" he asked, giving 
the man another shove. "Because I'm sure there are some Marshals
at the Federal courthouse downtown who would love to have a chat 
with you." And he advanced again and gave his opponent still 
another shove.

This time Krycek stood his ground, and even shoved back. "Sure,
Mulder," he said. "Why don't we do just that. Nothing I'd like
better than to spend the afternoon talking to a bunch of cops." 
He gave another shove, and this time Mulder was forced back a step
or two. "Or we could just stay here and have a circle jerk." One
more shove, and Krycek smirked. "Of course, then you never would 
find out what I came here to tell you."

Mulder stood perfectly still for a moment, muscles tensed and
breathing hard. He wanted nothing more than to mop the floor with
Krycek's face, but unfortunately the man was a potential source of
information, and Mulder didn't exactly have leads coming out of 
his ears.

Krycek must have read the changing emotions on Mulder's face, 
because he smirked again and said, "All right then. Let's get the
fuck out of here; I'm hungry." And he brushed by Mulder and headed
for the exit.

==========

Centers for Disease Control and Prevention
Atlanta, GA
1:30 p.m. EDT

Scully stared at the receptionist, stunned. "Excuse me?" she
asked, not at all sure she'd heard correctly. Tired, hungry, and
down to her last nerve after sitting in traffic for over two 
hours, thanks to what turned out to be a nasty tractor-trailer
wreck, Scully did not want her hearing to be right. But it seemed
it was.

"I'm sorry," the woman repeated, with exaggerated patience. "But
there is no one by that name in these offices."

"But I talked to him yesterday," Scully insisted, fighting the
urge to shove her badge and/or gun in the woman's face. She had
been hoping to speak with Cal as quietly as possible, and flashing
her FBI ID wouldn't exactly be conducive to keeping a low profile.

But this woman was telling her that no Cal Danielson worked at
the center, and none ever had.

Scully didn't know what to think. Obviously, someone was hiding
something, whether it was Cal, the CDC, or some unknown person or
persons who did not want her to talk to Cal.

Andy shifted behind her, and Scully started to turn her head to
shoot the other woman a glance ... and saw a man watching them.

He was nothing noteworthy, really -- standard suit and tie, no
particular malice in his expression, no obvious look away when
Scully spotted him. He merely continued to look in her direction
a second or two longer before his eyes moved on, as if he was
simply scanning the lobby, almost idly.

But the skin all over Scully's body prickled in warning.

Keeping half an eye on the man, she turned calmly back to the
receptionist. "I'm sorry," she said, as evenly as she could. "I
must have my information wrong. Sorry to have bothered you."

She ignored the receptionist's final words and swiveled carefully
to face the door, catching Andy's gaze before flicking her eyes
toward the door.

The two women started across the wide lobby silently, though 
Scully could practically feel the waves of confusion coming from
Andy, maybe mixed with a little fear. She didn't blame her; she 
was experiencing the same thing.

In a conversational tone, Scully said, "So since we're here, why
don't we try that new place downtown for lunch?"

She was relieved when Andy picked up the cue immediately. "Sure,
I've heard it's really good," the reporter said, sounding 
completely normal.

They kept up the idle chatter until they were back in the car,
but as soon as Scully pulled out into traffic, Andy was all
business.

"What was that guy?" she asked, her voice tense. "I saw him right
after you did."

"I don't know," Scully replied tightly, her eyes glued to the 
road. "But I don't think he was just there for security."

Andy nodded. "He was there for us."

It wasn't a question, but Scully nodded once in confirmation. "Or
for me, possibly me and Mulder," she said. "Seeing you with me
may have thrown them a bit. They probably didn't expect that."

Scully paused as a brief dizzy spell washed over her, and she
shook her head lightly. She blinked several times, then focused
her eyes on the dashboard clock. Nearly two, and they hadn't
eaten since six. Hunger, combined with the aftermath of the 
adrenalin rush from a few minutes earlier, she determined, 
flicking on the turn signal and heading across traffic toward the
next fast-food restaurant she saw.

"Where are we going?" Andy asked.

Scully flashed her a half-grin as she pulled into the Arby's
parking lot. "Looks like that new restaurant will just have to
wait for the next trip."

==========

Northbound on Interstate 380
Cedar Rapids, IA
12:45 p.m., CDT

"Crown Victoria, Mulder? You really are moving up in the world."

"I've got frequent flyer miles coming out the wazoo," Mulder
replied, not bothering to keep the contempt from his voice. He
glanced briefly at Krycek, who was sitting in the passenger seat
and running his hand over the upholstery, then looked back at the
traffic. "Now you got something to say, say it."

Krycek chuckled. "You've always been so impulsive, Spooky." 
Mulder gritted his teeth; he was determined not to let this man 
get his goat. "Where're we going, anyway? I thought I told you I
was hungry."

"You can get out of the car anytime you want to," Mulder said, 
pushing down on the accelerator just a little harder for emphasis.
"Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out."

"You're going to see Amos Harter, aren't you?" Mulder glanced at 
the other man in surprise; Krycek nodded. "Amos Harter, cameraman
for KFXA and friend of Andrea Baker." He looked at Mulder 
sideways. "Want me to tell you the license and engine block number
on the car Agent Scully's driving?"

Mulder tightened his grip on the steering wheel, willing his
breathing to stay steady and even, and looked back to the front.
"Do you have a point, Krycek? Or are you just here to fuck with
my head?"

Again the other man chuckled. "Oh, I have a point -- fucking with
your head is just a fringe benefit." He fell silent, and after a
moment Mulder glanced over at him again, to see that his features
had turned grim and a little introspective.

At last Krycek sighed. Very softly, he said, "This is the real 
deal, Mulder."

The agent felt a prickle run down his spine. "What do you mean?"

Krycek shook his head. "Don't play stupid, Mulder. You know what 
I mean, and we don't have time for this. The Date is here.
Colonization is about to begin. The operations in Georgia and 
here in Iowa were the final dress rehearsals, and everything went
just fine. Trust me on this. Final preparations are underway as 
we speak." He waved his hand so as to encompass roughly half the
city. "None of these people will be alive a month from now."

Mulder struggled to contain himself, fighting off both anger at 
Krycek and the despair which had been hovering over him like a 
cloud ever since El Rico. He had to stay focused; he had to 
concentrate, for Scully's sake if for no other reason.

His voice carefully controlled, Mulder asked, "So why are you 
sharing all this with me, Krycek? You expect *me* to do something
about it? These are your friends, not mine."

The other man laughed. "Hell, no!" he said. "The ball's already 
in play; it's much too late for anyone to do anything to stop it, 
even if that's what I wanted, which I don't. No, I'm here at the 
request of a mutual friend. Someone who wanted to deliver a 
message to you. But he was afraid he might not be well-received
if he tried to deliver it in person."

Mulder snorted. "So he sent you instead? *That* sure shows a high
level approach."

"Yeah, they're learning to think outside the box," Krycek replied.
"Look, Mulder, this is no joke. I know we've had our differences,
but this is real. In the next 30 days more than five billion 
people are going to die, and there's nothing you or anyone else 
can do to stop it. The last train is about to leave the station,
and a certain old man wanted to give you one more chance to get on
board."

Krycek hesitated, as if he were suddenly unsure of himself. 
Finally he added, "Look, she wants you to come along, too."

Mulder offered Krycek another brief look, and then refocused on
the road and shook his head. "Not interested," he said in a flat
voice.

Krycek shrugged. "I told them that's what you'd say." He glanced 
out the window. "Just pull over anywhere along here and let me 
out."

Mulder was silent for a moment as he maneuvered the car through
traffic and over into the breakdown lane, finally pulling to a 
halt a few hundred feet short of the next exit ramp. It occurred
to him that he shouldn't just be turning this man loose again, but
it hardly seemed to matter anymore. 

He turned to Krycek curiously, and said, "Is that it? That's 
everything you came to tell me?"

The other man shrugged again. "It wasn't my message, Spooky. I
promised to deliver it, but I never said I'd make much effort to 
sell it to you." He reached in his pocket and pulled out a slip 
of paper. "You remember the old Batman TV show? Adam West? Burt 
Ward?"

Mulder nodded, trying to hide his confusion at the sudden turn in 
the conversation. "Yeah, I remember."

Krycek grabbed Mulder's hand and pressed the slip of paper into 
it. "Just think of me as the Riddler," he said with a smirk, then
leaned forward and whispered in Mulder's ear, "Betcha wanna find
'em." 

Before Mulder could react, Krycek had stepped out of the car and
was gone.

==========

Arby's
Atlanta, GA
2:03 p.m. EDT

Scully and Andy spent their lunch break poring over a city map, 
trying to find an alternate route back through town. Radio reports
said traffic was still awful because of that morning's wreck, and 
they both wanted to get back to Columbus as soon as possible. 
There might not be many leads left to follow up there, but there
didn't seem to be any at all here in Atlanta.

Directory assistance no longer had a home listing for Cal 
Danielson, and Scully suspected that his existence had been 
quickly and ruthlessly expunged. She intended to check further,
but past experience with such matters did not leave her feeling
hopeful. She couldn't help wondering if Cal was even still alive.

On top of that, the presence of the man at the CDC had shocked her
into realizing that someone was most likely always watching, and 
she didn't like the idea of any of her or Mulder's things lying 
unguarded in a hotel room. She knew they hadn't left anything of 
significance there, just some clothes and toiletries, but she 
wasn't taking any chances.

The two women were back in the car a half-hour after stopping,
and Scully followed the route they'd picked, taking Candler Road
south toward Decatur. The route would, eventually, take them back
to I-285, the perimeter interstate circling the city. 

Andy was quiet as they drove, and Scully glanced over to see the
younger woman's eyelids drooping. Scully actually didn't feel
tired at all, and she said, "Go ahead and nap if you can, Andy;
I'm doing fine."

Andy's head jerked up, and then she grinned. "Sorry, Dana," she
said. "Too many late nights in a row."

Scully shook her head, smiling. "Believe me, I know the feeling,"
she said dryly. "But I'm wide awake, so sleep while you can. I may
need you to drive later."

Andy nodded. "It's a deal," she said, then let out a massive yawn
that obviously surprised her. "Geez, guess I'm more tired than I
thought," she said, laughing, and then she leaned back in the
seat and closed her eyes.

Scully watched the scenery pass as she drove, noting that the
traffic lightened significantly once they passed Decatur. She 
watched with a smile as a line of at least a dozen various sport 
utility vehicles passed in the opposite direction. The things 
were obviously *the* status symbol for Atlanta drivers; they 
were everywhere.

Her amusement died, however, when she glanced in the rear view
mirror and saw the black sedan roaring up behind her, and she
barely had time to brace herself before it hit.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

==========
Chapter 9
==========

2:40 p.m. EDT

The first impact jolted Andy out of her light sleep and nearly
out of her seat. "What the hell?" she barked, twisting to look
behind them.

Scully didn't even try to answer, concentrating on keeping the
car on the road. She gunned the engine, pulling further ahead of
the other car, but the other driver followed suit, slamming into
the rental with more force this time.

"Shit!" Andy spat out, bracing one hand on the dashboard and
leaning forward to snap the glove compartment open with her free
hand. She'd stowed her weapon there as soon as they'd gotten back
in the car, and now she pulled it out.

"Keep that out of sight," Scully said, risking a glance at Andy.
"If they don't know who you are, they're not likely to suspect
you'd be armed. Better we don't let them know until we need to;
we might need the element of surprise. And call 911."

Andy nodded and slipped the gun under her leg, keeping her hand
on it. "Where's your weapon?" she asked as she reached for her
cell phone with her free hand.

"Holster," Scully answered, jerking her head back and down to
indicate her right hip.

Andy immediately dropped her phone in her lap, then reached over
and shoved Scully's jacket aside, yanking the weapon loose and 
slapping it down on the seat between them. Then she went back to
the phone and punched in the three digits while she asked, "Where
the hell are we, anyway?"

"Uh, Candler Road, south of Decatur," Scully said.

Andy nodded, turning her attention back to the call, where
someone had apparently just answered. "I have an officer in need
of assistance," she said, starting with a phrase sure to perk up
some attention at dispatch. "Someone's trying to run us off the
road on Candler Road, south of Decatur. I'm the passenger, the
driver is an FBI agent, and the car that's hitting us is an
unmarked black sedan with tinted windows." She paused, then
glanced around outside and said, "Uh, we just passed McAfee, I
think."

The car behind hit them again, more of a nudge this time, and
Scully ground her teeth together as she slammed the gas again.
"I'm gonna have to pull over," she said, eyeing the road ahead
for a likely spot.

"Hold on," Andy said into the phone, then pulled it away to speak
to Scully. "She says there's a police precinct on Candler, a 
little further down."

"How far?" Scully barked out as the sedan bumped them again. "I
can't face off with them forever."

Andy's eyes were scanning the road as she spoke to the 911
dispatcher again. "2357 Candler Road, it'll be on the right, 
thank God," she said. She paused again, then shouted "There!" 
and pointed.

Scully's eyes darted from the road long enough to register the
brick building with at least a dozen police cruisers in the
parking lot. She waited until the last possible second before
yanking the wheel hard, almost sliding the car sideways into the
lot.

They came sliding to a stop just feet from the nearest cruiser,
and Scully finally released her attention from her driving long
enough to look back toward the road. The black sedan had slammed
on its brakes when she'd made her frantic swerve from the road,
but they apparently realized what the building was, and the car
accelerated suddenly and was gone.

She could hear Andy still talking into the cell phone as she
straightened the car out and pulled into a parking space, keeping
one eye on the road all the time. Once the car was in place and
the engine off, she reached for her weapon, still on the seat
beside her, and tucked it back into its holster.

Andy ended her call and turned sideways in the seat. "So, any
idea what *that* was all about?" she asked, the blunt wording of
the question belied by the slight waver in her voice.

Scully closed her eyes and sighed. "Same shit, different day,"
she said shortly, popping open her seat belt and climbing out
of the car to inspect the damage to the rental.

==========

Studios of KFXA-TV
Cedar Rapids, IA
1:42 p.m., CDT


Amos Harter was dead.

Mulder sat quietly in his car in the parking lot of the TV
station, trying to absorb that simple fact: Amos Harter was dead.

He'd died early that morning when his car had crashed through the
guardrail of U.S. Highway 30 -- a stretch of highway the cameraman
had driven every day for the past seven years. A stretch where he
must surely have been fully aware that the output of a nearby corn
sweetener plant occasionally caused a nearly-impenetrable fog to
blanket the road.

An accident, the receptionist at the TV station had called it. A
terrible tragedy, the general manager had said. Another statistic,
judging by the bored voice of the highway patrol officer Mulder
had spoken to on his cell phone.

A damned fucking convenient statistic, Mulder thought. A statistic
which had also resulted in the mysterious disappearance of all of
Harter's work materials from the TV studio.

The general manager had shrugged it off: The techies were always a
little buggy, he'd remarked. Harter had his own extensive video
editing equipment at home, and he'd been known to take work home 
with him from time to time. His tapes and notes must have been in 
the car with him, and the police said it was nothing but a burned-
out shell.

No, the reporter who had teamed with Harter to cover the bee 
attack wasn't available; she was in Des Moines for an interview 
with the new governor. She should have called in by now, but the 
interview must be running long. Politicians were like that; they 
loved to talk about themselves.

Mulder wondered grimly whether that phone call would ever come.

The upshot of all of this was that he had no further leads. Oh, he
could -- and probably should -- drive over to the ballpark where
the attack had occurred and check the grounds. But he knew without
bothering to look that he wouldn't find anything. This entire
operation had clearly been professionally planned and smoothly
executed, just like the one in Georgia.

Just like the one in Georgia.

For just a moment he wondered idly if Krycek wasn't right, after
all. Perhaps it was time to give up and just try to save himself
and those he cared about. The one person he cared about, he
corrected in his mind. If he could just find a way to save Scully,
the rest of the world could go fuck itself with his blessing.

Except that Scully wouldn't like that -- and truth be told, he
didn't really like it, either. He didn't like the person he would
have to become in order to do that; he'd come close, so close, a
few months before, and he still hadn't gotten over that. He
doubted he'd be able to live with that person very long, and
although Mulder didn't really expect to miss himself when the
darkness finally claimed him, he clung to the knowledge that
Scully, at least, would grieve, and be hurt, and that was
unacceptable.

All of which meant that he needed to focus his attention back on
the investigation, no matter how hopeless and futile it might
seem. Scully would expect it of him, and his need for her approval
and good opinion was really the one motivator he had at this
point.

Unfortunately, the only real lead he had left was the slip of
paper Krycek had given him.

Mulder hadn't looked at the paper yet. He suspected it just
contained some clue or other, perhaps an address or a phone
number, which would allow him to locate Diana Fowley and C.G.B.
Spender -- or whatever the hell his name really was -- just in
case he should change his mind. He hadn't looked at the note
because he hadn't wanted to be tempted -- but he hadn't been able
to make himself throw it away, either, and now it nestled in his
pocket like a snake, coiled and ready to strike.

Against his will, he found his thoughts flying back to that final
night in Diana's apartment. He had deliberately stayed away from
her place since she'd returned from Europe, because he knew what
an emotional risk he'd be taking with himself if he allowed
himself entry into her personal space after so many years of
absence. And also, deep in his heart, he'd known that the warnings
Scully had been trying to give him contained more than a kernel of
truth, even if he hadn't been quite ready to face the reality of
it.

Circumstances had finally forced his hand, however, as the rapidly
escalating events concerning Cassandra Spender had joined with
Scully's ultimatum to point an unmistakable finger of guilt at
his former lover. Just this once, though, Mulder had felt a need
for hard, unambiguous evidence before reaching his final
conclusions. 

And so he'd gone to Diana's apartment, hoping to exonerate her, 
but knowing deep inside that he was far more likely to convict
her beyond redemption. As he had feared, back in the dark corner
of his mind where he really lived, that visit had almost been his
undoing.

Mulder shook his head sharply, forcing the memories away. That was
the past; that was history. *Diana* was the past -- an important
part of the past, no doubt, but the past, nonetheless. Scully was
the future, and for just a moment he once again traced the line of
his lower lip with his forefinger. Scully was the future, and he 
had to remember that.

No matter how brief and painful that future might be.

With a sigh of resignation he reached into his pocket, pulled out
the slip of paper Krycek had given him and unfolded it. For just a
moment he stared at the handful of words scrawled there, and then
he started to laugh.

That son of a bitch. He should have realized it wouldn't be 
anything as simple and easy as a phone number.

"Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and Gordon Lightfoot have this in 
common. And remember, your response must be in the form of a 
question!"

He was still shaking his head ruefully when his cell phone rang.

============

South DeKalb Police Precinct
Decatur, GA
3:12 p.m.

Scully squinted against the late-afternoon sun as she stood just
outside the door of the police station, her cell phone pressed to
her ear. She could see Andy standing at the counter inside, filing
a report with the desk sergeant on the bumping incident, though
both women doubted the record would exist by tomorrow.

The connection took a few moments to go through, but the phone
rang just once before it was answered: "Mulder."

"Mulder, it's me," Scully said automatically, leaning tiredly
against the brick wall next to the door. "Where are you?"

"Lovely downtown Cedar Rapids, outside the studios of KFXA-TV," he
replied. "And take a guess at what I found?"

Scully raised an eyebrow. "Well, if your day has gone like ours, I
doubt it's good news," she said.

"Tell the nice lady what she's won," Mulder intoned. "To start
with, our contact no longer walks this mortal coil."

Scully snapped to attention. "Amos Harter?"

"Dead," Mulder confirmed. "Killed in a traffic accident this
morning on the way to work. And the reporter who covered the story
with him is late calling in from an assignment in Des Moines."

Scully sighed and lifted her free hand to rub her forehead. "That
story sounds too familiar," she said, turning slightly to glance
back inside at Andy's back. "Cal Danielson has disappeared. His
phone's been disconnected, and the reception desk at the CDC
insists no one by that name has ever worked there, even though I
left a message on his voice mail this morning."

"This sounds entirely *too* familiar, Scully," Mulder said, and
Scully could hear the sounds of his car's engine starting up as he
continued talking. "Listen, there's more I need to tell you, but I
don't want to do it over the phone. We need to meet somewhere as
soon as we can."

"Not here," Scully responded immediately. "I don't want to get
into it either, but as soon as we're finished where we are, Andy
and I are going back to Columbus to clean out our motel rooms. I
can get down there and back to the airport by ..." -- she paused
to check her watch -- "... by about 7:30 or 8, so I'll call the
airlines to see what's available and give you a call back."

"Sounds good," Mulder said. "I'm going to head to Chicago, and 
that may be our best bet, so see if you can get a flight there. 
I'll call and check on flights leaving from there, too, in case we
need to go somewhere else. There's not much to choose from here, 
but it'll only take about four hours to get over to Chicago. And 
right now, I'd rather have a big crowd around me."

Scully smiled at that. "Definitely," she said, her voice softening.

There was a moment of awkward silence between them, and Scully
tried to think of something to say to dispel it. But Mulder beat
her to the punch.

"Scully?" His voice was gentle but a little ragged. "I ... take
care of yourself ..." His voice trailed off hesitantly, as if he
wanted to say more but wasn't sure it would be well-received.

Scully could hear her heartbeat pounding in her head and forced
herself to take a deep, steadying breath. She was trembling, she
realized, and she wasn't entirely sure if it was a result of the
fading adrenalin rush, or of Mulder's words. She'd rarely heard
him sound so unsure of himself, and she said a quick prayer of
thanks that she hadn't yet told him of their run-in with the MIBs.
He didn't need anything else to worry about right now.

She swallowed and opened her mouth to answer him, but it took
a second for the words to come. "I ... I will, Mulder," she
managed. "You, too."

"Talk to you in a bit," he said, sounding more like himself, and
then the connection was broken.

Scully ended the call on her phone, then leaned against the wall
again, not entirely sure her legs were going to hold her up. She
closed her eyes and forced herself to take deep, regular breaths,
slowly calming her body's autonomic reactions.

She felt much stronger when Andy reemerged from the building a
few minutes later, and Scully turned to face her.

"Finished, for all the good it'll probably do," Andy said, then
stopped as she got a better look at Scully's face. "Hey, Dana,
are you all right?" she asked, reaching out to lay a hand on
Scully's arm.

Scully nodded briskly. "I'm fine," she said, shooting a quick
smile. "I talked to Mulder, and we're going to try to meet up
tonight, probably in Chicago. He's going to head that way, and I'm
going to see if I can get a flight up there tonight." She turned 
toward the car, Andy following, and continued speaking. "We can 
head back to Columbus so I can get our things, and I can call the
airlines from the car."

"Sounds like a plan," Andy said with a grin as the two women 
climbed into their slightly-battered car.

===========

Studios of KFXA-TV
Cedar Rapids, IA
2:19 p.m. CDT

Mulder sat staring at his cell phone for several minutes after the
conversation with Scully had ended. The call had not gone at all
the way he had expected.

To be fair, he wasn't entirely sure what he *had* been expecting.
His partner's words had been crisp, businesslike...and brief.
Just as her words always were on the telephone. Just as *his*
words always were.

That was the real problem, of course: Nothing had changed. Nothing
had been different. Again, Mulder wasn't exactly sure what could 
have or should have been different; nevertheless, he felt a 
certain lack of ... something. An incompleteness. It was almost as
if the scene at the airport that morning hadn't happened -- or 
that if it had happened, they were both choosing not to 
acknowledge or validate it.

He sighed and as he had on the plane that morning he pushed the 
topic from his mind. He didn't have time for this; not now. 
Worrying about it would only serve as a distraction from the 
things that needed to be done. He would see Scully again soon 
enough, and then maybe they could sort things out.

Maybe.

He glanced at his watch: Almost 2:30. He just had time to check 
out the ballpark and still make it to O'Hare by a reasonable hour.
Scully had said she expected to be back to the Atlanta airport by 
eight or so; assuming she could get a flight, and allowing for the
time difference, that would put her on the ground in Chicago by 
9:30 or ten. If he hurried, he could just about make it.

=========

Interstate 185 South
Near Columbus, Georgia
4:02 p.m. EDT

The argument started before the car cleared the Atlanta metro area
and continued for quite some time. Since Scully was still driving,
Andy made the calls to the airlines. And before Scully realized
what was happening, Andy had reserved not one, but two tickets on
the 8:30 flight to Chicago.

Scully was not happy. It wasn't a matter of trusting Andy; despite 
her early qualms, Scully was as sure as she could be without 
extensive background checks that the reporter was completely on 
the up-and-up.

It wasn't Andy's role as a reporter, either. Scully had spent 
enough time around Marines while growing up to know that they took
their oath of service very seriously, and she believed Andy could 
be trusted to keep the secrets that needed to be kept.

But the fact remained that Scully was a federal agent, and she did 
not feel she had the right to bring anyone, even a reserve Marine, 
into an ongoing investigation -- especially one as dangerous as 
this one had already proven itself to be.

Sighing, she tried again. "It's not that simple, Andy. This is a
*federal* investigation, and ..."

"And I am an *officer* in the United States Marine Corps," Andy
cut Scully off, sharply. "I have the right and the responsibility
to act in the best interests of my country in matters of national
security. And it is my judgment as a Marine that this is a matter
of national security, and that the national interest will be best
served if I accompany you to Chicago and assist you and Special
Agent Mulder with your investigation."

She paused, then continued in a slightly calmer voice. "Now, I
would be more than happy to get in contact with my C.O. to secure
an official assignment, but considering what we just went through
in Atlanta, I doubt that you or Agent Mulder would want to rely on
official channels. Am I correct?"

Scully shot Andy a long look, barely holding back the grin she so
wanted to let loose. Scully knew that tone of voice well. She'd
heard it emitting from her own mouth many, many times, starting
with that first nerve-wracking encounter outside Ellens Air Force
Base in Idaho, so many years ago.

And despite her negative words, she did want Andy on the case. The
woman was no lightweight, and she had grasped very quickly just 
what they were up against. She might not know the whole story yet,
but Scully had no doubts that when she did, she would only be more
determined to help.

Sometimes, Scully thought, you just have to trust your instincts.

"All right, here's a compromise," Scully said. "We'll go to Chicago
and meet with Mulder. But I can't let you into the investigation 
without clearing it through *our* superior, and he will almost 
certainly require a background check first. He is a former Marine
himself, as a matter of fact."

Andy nodded. "Deal," she said, then held out the cell phone she
still held. "Do you want to call someone to get that started?"

Scully glanced at the phone, then reached for it. Keeping one eye
on the deserted road, she punched in the number for the Gunmen's
secure line.

"Lone Gunman."

Byers. Scully breathed a silent sigh of relief and said, "Byers,
this is Scully. I need a favor."

"Actually, I have some information here for you, Agent Scully,"
Byers answered, and Scully could hear papers rustling in the
background. "Mulder called earlier and said one of you would be
calling back to get it. A background check on an Andrea Baker?"

Scully smothered a grin and glanced at Andy. "Yeah, that's why
I was calling," she said dryly. "Mulder apparently beat me to it."
She saw Andy's eyebrows arch as she made the connection.

"Well, she's clean, as far as we can tell," Byers answered. "No
time unaccounted for, no unusual transfers, fairly straightforward.
We're still looking, but there doesn't seem to be anything. Do
you want me to fax the information somewhere?"

"No, that's all right," Scully said. "Just ... call if anything
changes, and we'll let you know if we need anything else. And
Byers ... thanks."

"No problem, Scully."

When Scully ended the call, Andy was smiling. "I'd hazard a guess
*Mulder* is the more paranoid of you two," she said, not quite as
a question.

Scully snorted delicately. "However did you get that idea?" she
asked archly, as she decelerated onto an exit ramp and headed
toward the motel.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

==========
Chapter 10
==========

United Airlines Flight 1189
Somewhere over Illinois
8:34 p.m. CDT

It was a short flight, less than two hours, so Scully knew better
than to even attempt a nap. Not that she could sleep now, anyway;
too many thoughts whirled around her brain. There was no room for
sleep.

She sat in an aisle seat in the last row of the plane, having
gladly turned the window spot over to Andy. Many things had
changed in six-plus years, but one thing that hadn't was Scully's
dislike of flying. She was no longer white-knuckled, but she still
made every effort to avoid the window seat.

So she couldn't sleep, and she wouldn't watch the lights passing
by below, as Andy had been doing for most of the flight. Which
left only one thing of interest for her: A microcassette tape with
her name on it.

The tape was the single item in a FedEx package waiting at the
front desk of the Columbus motel when she went to check out. The
address read simply "Dana Scully," in care of the motel; the
shipping date was May 10, from Kansas City, Missouri.

Scully had the tape in her microcassette player seconds after
they'd gotten back in the car. But when she pushed "play," she'd
been sure she was losing her mind:

//Hello my baby, hello my honey, hello my ragtime gal
Send me a kiss by wire -- baby my heart's on fire!
If you refuse me, honey you'll lose me, and then you'll be alone
Oh baby, telephone and tell me I'm your own!//

When the short song had ended, Scully and Andy had simply looked
at each other for a few long moments, and then they'd burst out
laughing.

Andy'd found her voice first. "Does this kind of thing happen 
often, Agent Scully?" she'd asked. "Because if it does, I want 
in!"

In her seat, Scully smiled to herself as she recalled the comment.
They had played and replayed the tape, running all the way
through both sides twice on the way to the airport, but the song
snippet was the only thing on it. So now they were simply waiting
until they arrived in Chicago and could compare notes with
Mulder, hoping some kind of solid lead would coalesce.

Sighing softly, Scully shifted in her seat and leaned back. She
allowed her eyes to slip shut and concentrated on relaxing,
taking advantage of the time to rest, even if she couldn't sleep.
She could hear Andy's deep, even breathing beside her and knew
the other woman was either doing the same or had drifted off
herself.

Before she knew it, she heard the flight attendant announcing
their final approach into Chicago, and she opened her eyes to
check her watch. Nine ... no, eight forty-seven, she corrected
herself, adjusting the watch to Central time.

As she finished, she glanced at Andy to see her following suit.
Scully opened her mouth to speak, but the flight attendants were
making their way down the aisle, checking for trash and seat belts
in preparation for landing, and she thought better of discussing 
anything related to the case.

So, she shifted gears. "Where are you from originally, Andy?" she
asked.

Andy shot her a look. "You didn't get that from the background
check?" she asked, eyebrows raised, but then she grinned to show
she was teasing. "No, seriously, I was born in Valdosta," she
said. "My dad was in the Air Force then and was stationed there.
But we moved to Columbus when he got out, when I was three. I've
lived there ever since." She paused, then said, "What about you?"

"Okinawa, believe it or not," Scully said, then started ticking
off on her fingers. "Then Norfolk, then San Diego, then
Annapolis ..."

The women laughed in understanding. "Ah, the life of a military
brat," Andy said, shaking her head. "I was lucky to avoid that,
since Dad got out so soon. But in Columbus, of course, I had a
lot of friends and classmates whose parents were in the Army. It
was tough on them."

Scully nodded slowly. "It wasn't easy," she said. "I was luckier 
than some, since I was the youngest and Dad was already in long 
enough that he had some choice in assignment. We were only in 
Norfolk for five years, but then we were in San Diego for twelve.
Dad split time between the Yard and Miramar, so I ended up 
finishing school there and did a year at Berkeley before he got 
the transfer to Annapolis."

"Do they still live there?" Andy asked.

Scully smiled softly, absorbing the tiny pain the question
caused. "Mom does," she answered. "Dad died five years ago."

"Oh, Dana, I'm so sorry," Andy said. "I shouldn't have ..."

"It's okay," Scully interrupted gently. "You couldn't have known.
It's fine, really."

Andy sighed. "But I know it must be hard," she said, her voice
soft. "I'm lucky to still have both of my parents, but my
mother's parents both died when she was very young. And my dad's
father died when I was in kindergarten. All I have left is my
grandmother." She glanced at Scully again. "Do you have brothers
and sisters?"

Scully's eyes fluttered shut, and she gave a rueful smile. Andy
certainly didn't know what she was letting herself in for by 
pursuing this line of questioning.

Opening her eyes, she focused on the seat in front of her as she
spoke. "I have two brothers, and I had a sister who ... was
killed four years ago," she said.

This time, Andy gasped. "Oh my God, Dana, I wish I could learn to
keep my big mouth shut," she said, covering her face with her 
hands. "I am so, so sorry for bringing all this up in the first 
place. Let's just talk about something else. I won't ask any more
questions, I promise."

Scully started to reassure the other woman again, but then she
hesitated. She wasn't upset with Andy for bringing up the subject,
but she still didn't want to dwell on it. So she changed tactics
and asked, "Well, why don't you tell me why you went into the
military, and how you ended up working for your hometown paper?"

Andy relaxed noticeably as she went into her story, and by the
time the plane touched down, Scully knew that Andy had chosen the
Marine Corps for the GI Bill and College Fund. Her family had been
unable to cover the costs of college, so rather than borrow
heavily, Andy took the military route, which later paid her way
through journalism school at the University of Georgia.

As the plane taxied toward the terminal, Scully found herself
clasping and unclasping her hands, then wiping her palms along
her pants legs. She forced herself to quell the nervous habits,
and it took her a few minutes to realize what it was that had
set her off.

Mulder.

Mulder was inside, waiting for her.

And she had no idea what to say to him.

==========

O'Hare International Airport
Chicago, IL
9:24 p.m.

Mulder paced in small, tight circles at the foot of the jetway,
pausing briefly at the completion of each circuit to peer down the
passageway.

Still nothing. What could be taking so long? The plane had arrived
at the gate several minutes before, and he couldn't imagine what 
could be causing the delay. He glanced at his watch and smiled 
ruefully. Four minutes; not so long after all. He and Scully 
really needed to have some sort of resolution to this ... thing ...
between them, or he was going to be a nervous wreck.

After leaving the Cedar Rapids television station Mulder had 
driven over to Kingston Stadium, the site of yesterday's bee 
attack. As he'd expected, he'd found no evidence, no clues -- none
of the employees would even admit to knowing anything about it, 
although they all had seemed jumpy and nervous. 

He'd also tried calling the two hospitals in Cedar Rapids, as 
well as the major medical center complex at the University of Iowa
in nearby Iowa City, but again he'd run into a stone wall: No 
records existed of so much as a single bee sting victim being 
treated anywhere in the area in the past 48 hours -- let alone 83
such victims.

And of course, nobody he spoke to had any personal recollection of
such a thing, either.

"Mulder!"

He was brought back to the present by the sound of Andy Baker's 
voice, and he swung around to see the reporter just emerging from
the jetway and heading in his direction. He craned his neck 
slightly and was rewarded by a flash of red hair behind her, and
almost despite himself he felt a smile spreading slowly across his
face.

"Glad to see me, are you, Mulder?" Andy said with a smirk as she 
came to a halt in front of him. She looked up at him for just a 
moment with an amused expression on her face, and then she stepped
to one side and there was Scully.

God, she was beautiful. Mulder was stunned by the realization, and
his mouth suddenly felt very dry. She was standing about two feet 
in front of him, a nervous-looking smile on her face, and in a 
blinding flash of insight he had an epiphany:

She was just as uncertain about all of this as he was.

Somehow that made everything easier to deal with. Mulder allowed 
his own smile to broaden, hoping like hell that it would seem warm
and welcoming rather than desperate and idiotic. His hands 
twitched at his sides as he repressed the urge simply to reach out
and grab her. Not like that, he told himself; not like that.

Abruptly he felt a shove in the small of his back, and he stumbled
forward, his hands automatically reaching out to grab his 
partner's shoulders for balance. He felt a slight touch at his 
waist, and realized that she was also holding him, steadying him,
and now they were only inches apart, and he looked down into her 
eyes and was lost.

"Jesus. Don't you have to pass *some* sort of intelligence test to
get into the FBI?" That was Andy's voice, but Mulder barely heard
her; all he could see was Scully's face, her expression sober and
serious as ever, but now with something else he had rarely seen 
there before. Something soft and tender. Something feminine.

Without knowing quite how it had happened, he was kissing her. And
this was not a quick peck like that morning in Atlanta; this one 
was deep and long and meaningful, and he felt her arms sliding 
around his waist even as his own arms were wrapping themselves 
around her shoulders, drawing her inward into an intimate embrace.

The world around them slowed almost to a stop, and for a timeless
interval Mulder felt a sense of completeness and contentment which
he could not recall experiencing in this lifetime. This was where 
he was meant to be, this was his true home; and no matter what 
might lie ahead, nothing and no one would ever be able to take 
this moment from them.

Finally they broke apart, and this time Scully's smile was 
positively radiant. "I guess that settles *that* question," she
said, her voice very low and just a little rough.

Mulder chuckled and released her from the embrace, taking her hand 
as they turned to follow Andy towards baggage claim. "Yep," he 
said. "I guess it does."

==========

Best Western Inn, Rosemont, IL
Near O'Hare International Airport
10:48 p.m.

A little over an hour later Mulder lay sprawled on one of the beds 
in Scully and Andy's room at the motel they'd found. Several open 
boxes of Chinese carryout were scattered here and there around the
room, reminding Mulder rather vividly of the impromptu dinner the 
three of them had shared at the Holiday Inn in Columbus the 
previous day. 

Jesus. Had it really been only the previous day? So much had
happened since then, so much had changed -- and not just 
concerning the investigation, either. He glanced across at Scully, sitting
crosslegged on the other bed, and saw her looking back at him, an
expression of gentle possessiveness on her face.

"Mulder? Are you listening to me?"

With a conscious effort, Mulder dragged his attention away from 
his partner and looked over at Andy, who was lounging on the floor
and leaning against the connecting door to his room. "What's that,
Andy? I'm sorry ... I was thinking about something else."

"I'll say," she muttered under her breath, an amused smirk on her
face. "Anyway, as I was just saying, Dana and I solved the case 
this afternoon on the way back to Atlanta. We phoned it in to your
boss, and the SWAT teams are in action as we speak. We would have 
just called you and let you know, but Dana said she wanted to take
in a Cubs game and hit the Museum of Science and Industry before 
heading back to D.C."

For just an instant Mulder stared at the reporter open-mouthed, 
and then Andy suddenly burst out laughing. "Sorry, Mulder," she 
said, glancing over at Scully -- who was losing her battle against
a smile -- and then back at him again, still chuckling. "You two 
are just too damned cute for words. Honestly. But we do have some
work to do, I think."

Mulder couldn't help but laugh in response; Andy's good-natured 
sense of humor was infectious. He shook his head ruefully and 
said, "Okay, okay; I get your point. Let's back up and start 
over."

The two women proceeded to fill him in on the events of the day,
trading the story back and forth seemingly by instinct, and 
breaking in on each other to fill in forgotten details. Mulder 
watched their performance with increasing awe as the narrative 
progressed: Not only had Andy been a loyal, dependable backup for
his partner, but it was clear that the two of them had rapidly and
seemingly without effort established a rapport which rivaled that 
which existed between Scully and himself.

He briefly tested the idea -- and his own reaction to it -- for 
any sign of envy or jealousy on his own part, but was relieved to 
find that there was none. Andy was not a threat to his 
relationship with Scully -- not professionally, and certainly not
personally. In fact, the reporter appeared to be filling some gaps
in Scully's life which he had been aware of for some time, but had
been unable to do anything about himself. And that was all to the 
good.

At last the story reached the checkout desk at the motel in 
Columbus, and Scully described her surprise at finding an 
overnight letter waiting for her. "At first I thought it was from
you," she said to Mulder. "But then I realized it couldn't be; it
would have to have been shipped pretty late on Monday, and we were
all still in Georgia on Monday. And then I saw the postmark...." 
Her voice trailed off and she shrugged. "I don't know who it was 
from. And all that was in it was this." She briefly held up a 
microcassette tape, then popped it into her player and pushed the
start button.

The tape crackled in the machine for a minute, and then a familiar
song started playing:

//Hello my baby, hello my honey, hello my ragtime gal
Send me a kiss by wire -- baby my heart's on fire!
If you refuse me, honey you'll lose me, and then you'll be alone
Oh baby, telephone and tell me I'm your own!//

Mulder felt his eyebrows shoot up in surprise as the song ended, 
to be replaced only by the faint crackle of blank tape passing 
through the machine. Scully pushed stop and looked over at him 
again.

"And that's all there is," she said. We played the entire thing
through twice, both sides. There's nothing but that little 
snippet."

Mulder shook his head. "Weird. Maybe it was a prank?"

His partner shrugged. "Maybe. Or a bit of misdirection. Or just a
distraction. It would help us figure out what the purpose was if 
we knew who it was from."

Mulder nodded thoughtfully. Time to add his own little enigma to 
the pot. He reached into his pocket for the slip of paper he'd 
received from Krycek, saying, "Well, I don't know if this makes 
anything any clearer, but as I said earlier, I bumped into an old
*friend* of ours this afternoon, and he gave me this."

Taking the paper from his hand, Scully raised her eyebrows at him 
in silent inquiry. "Alex Krycek," he explained. Glancing over at 
Andy, he said, "Krycek is a ... well, a mercenary, for want of a
better word. He's a former Bureau agent. We've run into him from
time to time in the past, and he seems to be connected somehow 
with the people we think were responsible for what happened in 
Columbus and Cedar Rapids the past couple of days."

Scully had glanced down at the slip and studied it while he was
speaking to Andy; now she looked back up at Mulder. "Lake 
Superior," she said neutrally, and then her lips quirked slightly.
"Excuse me: 'What is Lake Superior?'"

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

==========
Chapter 11
==========

11:07 p.m.

Mulder felt his own eyebrows raise in surprise at Scully's words.
"Lake Superior?" he asked. "How did you get that out of it?"

She shrugged slightly. "Longfellow and Lightfoot," she said. "It's
the first association that springs to mind." Mulder shook his head
and gestured for her to continue. "Well, you can probably guess
what the Lightfoot reference is," she said. "In the first stanza
of 'The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald' mention is made of 'the
big lake they call Gitche Gumee', which is the Ojibway tribal name
for Lake Superior -- which is where the Edmund Fitzgerald was lost,
of course."

"Okay," Mulder said, nodding, his gaze intent on her face. "I got
that much. What about Longfellow?"

She shrugged. "Nothing earthshattering, but Longfellow mentioned
Gitche Gumee as well, in 'The Song of Hiawatha'." She closed her
eyes, and recited:

"'By the shores of Gitche Gumee,
By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
Stood the wigwam of Nokomis,
Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis.
Dark behind it rose the forest,
Rose the black and gloomy pine trees,
Rose the firs with cones upon them;
Bright before it beat the water,
Beat the clear and sunny water,
Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water.'"

Scully opened her eyes again and glanced briefly at Andy before
looking back at Mulder. "But that's just the first association I
came up with; it could simply be a coincidence."

Mulder shook his head, his eyes drifting off and going slightly
unfocused, as they tended to do when he was processing information.
"I don't think so, Scully," he said slowly. "Those are two such
diverse sources, and you spotted the correlation right off the bat."
He swiveled his head back to grin at her. "Besides, if
coincidences are just coincident --"

"-- then why do they feel so contrived?" she finished for him with
a grin. "Yeah, I know." Her features turned serious again. "But
even if we assume that WAS the intended association, that still
doesn't help us much; Lake Superior is a big place."

"I think you're right, though, Dana." Mulder turned in surprise at
the sound of Andy's voice; he'd almost forgotten that the reporter
was in the room. "And we CAN narrow it down a bit," she continued.
"The Edmund Fitzgerald went down on the south side of the lake --
pretty close to shore, as a matter of fact. Remember the lyrics?
'The searchers all say she'd have made Whitefish Bay if they'd put
fifteen more miles behind them.' Whitefish Bay is on the south
shore, pretty close to Sault Ste. Marie, and there's even a
shipwreck museum there. I was up in Mackinaw Island one summer,
and we spent a couple of days driving along the coast of the
lake."

She colored slightly, and went on, "And this *also* ties in with 
the tape you got, Dana."

Scully looked as surprised as Mulder felt. "It does?" his partner
asked.

Andy nodded vigorously. "Sure! Don't you guys ever watch cartoons,
or even the WB network? That song clip is from a classic Warner
Brothers cartoon: 'One Froggy Evening.' It's about a singing frog
named Michigan J. Frog. *Michigan* J. Frog, get it? He even sings
'The Michigan Rag' elsewhere in the cartoon." She looked from
Scully to Mulder and then back to Scully again. "So that just
reinforces the idea that whatever it is we're looking for it's on
the Michigan side of Lake Superior."

"I don't know," Scully said doubtfully. "That sounds pretty --"

"-- amazing," Mulder said, cutting her off. "That's simply amazing,
Andy." He could feel his mind going into overdrive as his
investigator's intuition kicked in, and he looked over at his
partner. "I think she's right, Scully. I think she's hit the nail
right on the head. At the very least, it's a better lead than
anything else we've got right now."

Scully raised her eyebrows, then shrugged. "I should know better
by now than to argue with you about something like this," she
said. But there was a hint of humor in her voice that took the
sting out of her words. "And you're right; it *is* the only real
lead we've got at the moment." She leaned forward and handed the
slip of paper back to him. "So what did Krycek want, anyway? I
assume there was more than just that," she said, gesturing at the
paper.

Mulder hesitated before responding, suddenly feeling uncomfortable
at what he was about to tell his partner. Scully surely knew by
now that he'd made his choice and was going to stand by her ...
but he still wasn't very happy with how he'd handled himself
during the Cassandra Spender case, and he was afraid that what he
was about to say might reopen old wounds.

"He was waiting for me at the airport," he began, hesitantly. "And
he implied that he knew every detail about the car you were
driving. Which suggests that we're being watched very closely right
now." Scully nodded her understanding -- and something in his face
or tone of voice must have alerted her to what was coming, because
she suddenly looked wary.

Mulder went on, "Anyway, he said he'd been sent to deliver a
message."

Mulder glanced at Andy, and she apparently had also realized that
something big was about to come down, because she was studiously
looking away from both of the agents. He sighed, and looked back
at his partner. "Basically, the message was, 'Come home; all is
forgiven.'" And he stopped and waited to see what Scully was going
to say.

"How did you respond?" she asked. Her gaze was even and level, but
there was just the slightest hint of a tremor in her voice.

Mulder swallowed, and then said the only words he could think of.
"I'm here, aren't I?"

She seemed to study his face for a moment, and finally she nodded.
Not in surrender of the point, but at least in provisional
acceptance of it. "Yes, you are."

"I'm where I want to be, Scully," he said, his voice very low. His
throat was suddenly constricted, and he was having difficulty
forcing the words out. He wished Andy weren't there; this was hard
enough to do just in front of his partner. But there was really no
alternative; he had to get this settled, once and for all.

"I'm where I want to be," he repeated. "There isn't anywhere else, and
there isn't anyone else. Not anymore. I've been stupid and
thoughtless, but that's past. When Krycek made that offer, I 
turned him down flat. It wasn't even a close call."

She continued to study his face for another pair of minutes, until
at last he saw her features soften, just a little. "Okay, Mulder,"
she said in a low voice. "Okay. I'll ... accept that." She paused,
then added, "And for the record, this is where I want to be, too. 
Wherever you are, that's where I want to be." She paused for 
another moment, and then she said. "So did Krycek have anything 
else to say, or was he just running errands for Spender and 
Fowley?"

"Yeah," Mulder said. "He did have a bit more on his mind. He said
what we suspected: This is the real thing. The attacks in Columbus
and Cedar Rapids were what he called 'dress rehearsals', and
everything is going according to plan. 'The ball's already in 
play; it's much too late for anyone to do anything to stop it.'
Those were his exact words, Scully."

Silence descended on the room, and for a pair of minutes nobody
spoke. Finally, Andy spoke, a little hesitantly. "Uh, guys?" she
asked. "Is it too much to ask to be brought up to speed on all of
this? Which ball, exactly, are we talking about here? And what do
you mean when you say, 'This is the real thing'?"

Mulder thought about it a moment, then shrugged. They'd told Andy
a little of what was happening on Monday afternoon, but they'd
held back some of the more dire implications. Now, however, if she
was going to be a player -- and she seemed to be determined to do
so -- she was going to have to hear the rest of it. He glanced at
Scully, and she nodded, almost imperceptibly.

Mulder took a deep breath and turned back to the reporter. With
slow deliberation, he said, "We're talking about the end of the
world."

==========

11:27 p.m.

Scully flinched involuntarily at Mulder's somber statement, while
Andy simply stared at him. His words had hit Scully harder than
she'd expected; it was the first time he had put the situation in
quite those terms. But that was exactly what they were up against,
and they all needed to face it.

Scully managed to shake herself free from her shock and started to
wrack her brain, trying to think of what they should say next.
There was so much to explain, and she didn't quite know where to
start.

Andy saved her the trouble. "What the hell are you talking about?"
she demanded.

Mulder's mouth twisted into a parody of a smile, and he shot
Scully an almost-apologetic look before he said, "Do you believe
in the existence of extraterrestrials?"

"Mulder --" Scully started to protest, but once again, Andy beat
her to the punch.

"Aliens?" Andy said, incredulous. "You think, what, we're about
to be invaded? 'Independence Day' meets 'Swarm'?"

Mulder's voice was calm. "I know it sounds insane," he said
carefully. "But all indications we have are that we are about to
be colonized by a hostile race of extraterrestrials. Now, Scully
and I have some difference of opinion over this, and we have very
little hard evidence. But we do agree that *someone* is trying to
take control, and that a lot of people are probably going to die
in the process."

Andy studied him, then Scully, as if she was trying to decode
their expressions and figure out the puzzle of her life. Which,
Scully realized, she was.

Scully decided it was time for her to speak up. "Andy, it sounds
crazy, I know," she said, her voice low but intense. "But we have
seen bee attacks like this before, and seen some of the results.
We think those bees were carrying a virus of unknown origin. One
which is almost always fatal, and one for which no reliable cure
exists."

There must have been something in her voice; either that, or
Andy's observational skills were better than Scully realized.
"You sound like you have firsthand experience," the reporter said,
her eyes sharp and zeroed in on Scully.

Scully hesitated, then nodded. "I was stung last summer," she
confirmed. "Mulder was given a vaccine to use, and it worked. But
we don't have the vaccine now, and we don't know if it even
exists any more."

Andy nodded slowly, accepting this much of the explanation, then
turned her attention back to Mulder. "So what, exactly, makes you
think this is aliens?" she asked.

Mulder closed his eyes for a second, then reopened them and
focused on Andy. "Because I've seen them," he said simply.

Andy fell silent, her eyes on Mulder's face. Mulder took the
scrutiny silently, and Scully got the impression he was willing
Andy to believe him.

Finally, without taking her eyes off of Mulder, Andy said, "Dana?
You really believe all this?"

Scully hesitated, then nodded. "Not exactly as he does," she
clarified. "Mulder told you: We disagree on some of the ... finer
points. But the essence of the story is true." She looked at her
partner and saw that he was looking back at her, and there was no
mistaking the open affection and gratitude in his eyes. "I'm sure 
of that."

There was another moment of silence as Andy continued to study
Mulder's face. At last she nodded briskly. "Okay," she said.
"I'll buy the takeover story, although I'm not convinced it's
aliens. It's far out, but to tell the truth, I can't imagine how
or why you'd make something like that up." She paused, then said,
"The next question is, what the hell can we do about it?"

Scully had no idea what to tell her, and she could see that
Mulder didn't, either.

==========

11:58 p.m.

Thirty minutes later they still hadn't found an answer to that 
last question, and as the hour approached midnight Scully finally
called a curfew, insisting that they all needed to get some rest.
For once even Mulder was not inclined to argue the point. Other 
than the nap on the plane he hadn't slept since Monday afternoon,
and he knew it had been even longer for his partner and Andy.

He looked over at Scully, still sitting crosslegged on the other
bed, as she yawned and stretched. He wished that there were some
way the two of them could get a few minutes alone together. So
much had happened between them in the past 24 hours, so much had
changed, and he had so many things he wanted to tell her.

But he hesitated to ask her for that time alone. She'd already
given him so much today, and he didn't want to push her faster
than she wanted to go.

Abruptly, Andy was bouncing to her feet and moving towards the 
door to the outside. "Well," she said, her words a little rushed,
"I don't know about you two, but I'm not going to be able to sleep
soundly until I've checked the perimeter. All this talk of alien
invasions and government conspiracies has made me just a little
paranoid. Shouldn't take long -- maybe twenty minutes or so." And
before either partner could react to her statement she was out the
door and gone.

Mulder found himself staring at the closed door open-mouthed --
and then he heard a light chuckle from the other side of the room,
and turned in that direction to see Scully grinning at him.

"I'd say we've just been set up, wouldn't you, Agent Mulder?"

Mulder felt a slow smile spreading across his own features as he
watched his partner climbing off of her bed and moving over to sit
next to him where he still lay sprawled on the other one. "Looks
that way, Agent Scully," he said, and then he shivered slightly as
she ran the fingers of one hand lightly through his hair.

For a few minutes neither of them spoke. Mulder simply lay on his
back looking up at Scully, watching her as she watched him,
tracing her features with his eyes even as she traced his scalp
with her fingertips. He'd never allowed himself to look at her
like this before, and now that they'd abruptly broken down those
walls he didn't know if he would ever be able to stop.

God, he needed to touch her, too. Her fingers were still idly
playing with his hair, but it wasn't enough -- it wasn't nearly
enough. He knew they had to take this slowly -- it was all so new
and strange, and they both needed to take their time adjusting to
this new aspect of their relationship. But perhaps tonight they
could at least have a little bit more.

He allowed his hands to move forward until he was lightly gripping
her waist. Scully flinched slightly at his touch, but then flashed
him a reassuring smile and allowed herself to be drawn down. She 
pulled her legs around as she moved, so that she was lying on her
side next to him on the bed, his hands still resting on her waist,
her face now only inches from his own.

"I've wanted this for such a long time," Mulder said at last, very
softly. "Such a very long time." He hesitated, not sure how far he
should go, but then he forced his doubts and insecurities to one 
side. She would understand. She would have to understand. "But I 
wish ... I wish it hadn't happened this way."

"What do you mean?" she asked, equally softly. But he could see
in her eyes that she already knew the answer; she just wanted him
to say the words out loud.

He drew her a little closer, taking comfort and reassurance from
the warmth of her body. "I mean I never wanted this to happen in
a moment of despair," he said, and he had to swallow slightly to
clear the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. "Despair
has driven so much of our time together, right from the very
beginning. Despair, and grief. And loss. I wanted ... I wanted
this, with you, to be different. That's one reason why I held
back for so long. I kept waiting for the moment when we could be
happy together." Despite himself, he felt tears forming in his
eyes. "But I kept waiting and waiting, and that moment never
came."

Scully nodded slowly, then leaned forward and brushed her lips
lightly against his. "It's okay, though, Mulder," she whispered
against his mouth. "It's really okay. This may not be the moment
we both wanted it to be, but at least it's here. And I wouldn't
trade it for anything in the world." And again she kissed him.

At length they reluctantly drew apart. During that last kiss
Mulder had become acutely aware of his own physical need for her,
and now looking down at her he saw that same desire reflected in
her own eyes. It would be so easy just to give in to that and try
to lose themselves in each other, even if only for a few hours. It
would be so very easy, and he knew that she would not refuse him
if he chose to pursue it. All that was needed was one more small
shove to send them both over the edge ...

And then her eyes changed again, and the moment had passed. Mulder
allowed a wistful smile to creep across his lips, and he said, 
"Not tonight, I guess."

Scully smiled back and shook her head before closing her eyes and
allowing her head to fall back on the pillow. "Too much, too 
soon," she murmured, her voice tinged with regret, and he knew
that she was right. And in another minute her breathing had slowed
and deepened, and he realized that she had finally given in to her
exhaustion.

Mulder waited a few more minutes to make sure she was well and
truly asleep, and then he gently disentangled himself from her
embrace, climbed off the bed and covered her with the blanket
before finally going to his own room. He flicked on the
television and then stripped down to his boxers and crawled into
bed.

For a few minutes his eyes followed the flickering images on the
TV screen, but soon his eyelids began to droop, and within a few
minutes more he too had fallen fast asleep.

==========

4:13 a.m.

Scully sat straight up in the bed when the knock sounded, going
from deeply asleep to completely alert between one breath and the
next. Her hand was grabbing for her gun where it lay on the
nightstand almost immediately as her eyes tracked to the clock,
and she caught sight of Andy doing the same thing in the bed next
to her.

Scully took a deep breath to steady herself and whispered, "You
ask who it is, but stay to the side of the door. I'll cover."

Andy nodded, and the two women slipped from their beds, Scully
moving to stand to one side as Andy flattened herself against
the wall, then edged carefully toward the door, gun in hand.
Stopping several feet from the doorway, she called out, "Who's
there?"

A pause, and a male voice said, "I'm looking for Agent Scully."

The voice sounded familiar to Scully, but she couldn't quite
recognize it. Moving closer to the door, she said, "Who the hell
are you, and why the hell should I let you in?"

The pause was longer this time, and then the voice spoke again.
"I need to talk to you, Agent Scully," he said, slowly and
distinctly. "This is Jeffrey Spender."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+









==========
Chapter 12
==========

4:16 a.m.

Scully knew her mouth had dropped open in shock, but she was 
frozen in place for a few long moments. Andy's voice finally 
shook her free.

"Who is that?" Andy hissed, her gun still at the ready.

Scully moved cautiously toward the door. "He's an agent who
disappeared without a trace three months ago," she said in a low
voice, sidling up carefully to peer out the peephole. "He was
presumed dead, actually; his blood was found on the floor of ...
an office where he'd been working."

Sure enough, outside the door stood a tall, thin, familiar figure,
dressed in a suit and tie and draped with a black trenchcoat. His 
eyes moved from one side to the other, scanning for potential 
danger as he waited to be allowed entry.

Scully thought quickly. It could be a trap. She'd been fooled by
a lookalike of Mulder before, and that had nearly gotten them both
killed.

But if this *was* Spender, he had a hell of a lot of questions to
answer.

She spoke through the door. "Get your hands up in the air where I 
can see them," she barked, watching as Spender's head swung around
to face the door. He complied, lifting his hands, then placing 
them on top of his head.

Still moving cautiously, Scully stepped across the doorway, then
glanced at Andy, motioning with her gun hand. "Back up over there
and cover me," she said, then paused and pinned Andy with a hard
look. "But do not fire unless you *absolutely* have to."

Andy's face furrowed, and she opened her mouth as if to question,
but then stopped and snapped her jaw shut. She planted herself
near the beds, gun trained on the doorway, and nodded once to
indicate she was ready.

Scully released the locks and opened the door carefully, stepping
back while keeping her own weapon trained on the man outside. 
"Inside, over to the bed, sit down, and keep your hands on your 
head," she ordered.

Spender shot her an annoyed glance but followed her instructions,
eyeing Andy with some curiosity as she backed away from him.
Scully closed and locked the door without looking, then walked
back toward Spender, stopping in front of him but staying a few
feet back.

"Okay, start talking," she said. "And what you say better make
sense damn fast."

Spender sighed. "Can I put my arms down now?" he asked, almost
petulantly.

Scully rolled her eyes. "Okay, but move slowly, and sit on them
instead."

Spender looked annoyed again but continued to follow Scully's
orders. Once he was settled with his hands under his legs, Scully
looked at Andy, jerking her weapon and head in Spender's
direction. "Frisk him," she said. "Carefully."

Andy nodded, lowering her own gun to the far edge of the dresser
before quickly and efficiently patting Spender down. She emerged
with a handgun from a shoulder holster -- and a small, silver,
penlike item, which she looked at with some confusion.

Scully's eyes widened when she saw what Andy held, and she
immediately held her left hand out. "You keep the gun, but give 
me that," she said. "If it's what I think it is ..."

"It is," Spender said immediately, an edge of either anger or
disgust in his voice. "And do you really think I'd show up with
*that* on me if I was what you apparently think I am?"

"Why not?" Scully retorted, shifting the gimlet around in her hand
to get a thumb on the trigger. "The second time I saw one, that 
Schwarzenegger wannabe had it on him."

Her thumb landed on its target, and the switchpick opened with a 
swish, drawing a gasp from Andy.

"What the hell is that thing?" Andy demanded, throwing glances at 
it every few seconds, between keeping an eye on Spender.

"It's a weapon," he said in a flat voice, his eyes on Scully's.
"Used to kill when nothing else will do the job."

Scully met his gaze. "You've used it," she said, not really asking
a question.

Spender nodded once. "Badly, at first," he confirmed. "Better with
practice, but still only a few times." His voice hardened. "And 
even then only when absolutely necessary, Agent Scully. I took an
oath when I became a Federal agent, and I didn't do a good job 
keeping it then. But I'm doing my damnedest to keep it now, and 
that's why I came to talk to you."

Scully studied the younger man for a moment. "Why me?" she asked.
"Why not Mulder?"

Spender shrugged, his eyes dropping to stare at his knees. "I
considered it, and decided Agent Mulder was the one more likely to
shoot first and ask questions later," he said in a wry tone. "I
thought you'd give me a chance to talk before you killed me."

Scully relaxed minutely at that. "You're probably right about 
that," she conceded. "So what is so important that you're willing
to risk one of us shooting you?"

Spender's head lifted, and Scully was taken aback at the hardness
she saw behind his eyes.

"I'm here, Agent Scully, to tell you and your partner to stop
letting yourselves be led around like trained animals," he said 
sharply. "I know who Agent Mulder met with in Iowa, and I know 
what he was told. I also know that it's a diversion, and that if 
you allow yourselves to be distracted, you will be too late."

Scully frowned. "Too late for what?" she asked.

Spender shrugged. "Too late to save the world, of course," he said
in a matter-of-fact tone.

Silence hung the air for a few seconds before Andy finally broke 
it. "All right," she demanded. "Quit the bullshit and get to the 
point. Why are you here, where have you been, and why the hell 
should we listen to you?"

Spender seemed taken aback by Andy's outburst and stared at her.
"Excuse me?" he retorted. "And just who the *hell* are you
anyway?"

"Captain Andrea Baker, United States Marine Corps Reserves," Andy
snapped back. "Not that it's any of your *damn* business. Now
answer the questions, you punkass!"

Spender simply stared at her, his mouth hanging open a half-inch,
and then slowly rotated his head back to look at Scully. "Where
the hell did you find this one?" he asked.

If Scully hadn't been so tense, she would probably have laughed
at that. Instead, she said, "Never mind, Spender. Just speak your
piece and I'll decide if it's enough to save your life."

Spender held her gaze for a moment, then looked away and nodded.
"All right," he said. "Here's the deal: The message you got is
accurate, but it's not important. They're trying to distract you
from what you should really be looking for."

"Which is?" Scully prompted.

"I think you know," Spender said.

Scully let out an exasperated sigh. "Cut the shit, Spender," she
said. "I'm sick of riddles and guessing games. If you want to tell
me something, then just tell me."

Spender sighed as well. "The victims, Scully," he said. "Trace the
victims and you'll find what you need to find. You and Agent 
Mulder are letting yourselves be distracted, and that is the one
thing none of us can afford right now. There's no time."

"Why?" Andy asked, taking a half-step closer. "You keep talking
like we're all under a deadline here. What do you know that you're
not telling us?"

Spender gave her a long look, then slowly turned back to Scully.
"The date is set," he said slowly. "Our time is up."

Scully felt her blood run cold. "When?" she forced out, her voice
hoarse.

Spender's face was blank when he spoke again, but his words froze
Scully's blood in her veins:

"Memorial Day."

========

4:33 a.m.

At first Mulder wasn't sure what had awakened him. His room was
still dark, other than the flickering images on the TV screen, and
the only sound was the muted murmur of voices coming from the same
source.

Without moving, he cast his eyes around as much of the room as he
could see, but there was nothing -- and nobody -- there, other
than the shadowy outlines of the furniture and the sparse decor.

Still, something *had* awakened him -- he was sure of it. He
wasn't quite sure *how* he knew, but he knew. It hadn't been a
dream, and he certainly wasn't completely rested and ready for the
day -- not after only four hours. No, there had been some outside
stimulus. Something ... something ...

A sound? Mulder concentrated, trying to bring back the fragment of
a memory. A sound. A short, sharp sound. Too quiet to be a gunshot,
but loud enough, apparently, to disturb him.

A door closing?

He rolled out of bed and onto his feet, and without turning on the
lights he managed to find his slacks and pull them on. He then
picked up his weapon off the bedside table, and walked quietly
over to the connecting door to Scully and Andy's room.

As he approached, he saw that there was a light showing from
underneath it, and he drew in his breath -- and just as quickly
let it out again. Just because there was a light on in the next
room didn't mean that anything was wrong. Scully and Andy must
have woken up for some reason, and they were sitting and chatting
for a few minutes before going back to sleep. That's all. Nothing
to be alarmed about.

Except that he didn't believe it for a minute. His professional
instincts were quivering, and alarm bells were clanging in his
head. Without consciously thinking about it he worked the slide of
his weapon, jacking a round into the chamber, then slowly reached
out and as quietly as possible opened his side of the connecting
door.

Their side was still closed, but he knew it would be unlocked. For
just another moment he paused and listened, but there was nothing
but silence in the other room.

This was ridiculous; this was foolish. He was about to do a Rambo
into his partner's motel room, with nothing to justify it but a
vaguely defined feeling that something was wrong. These two women
were both quite capable of taking care of themselves, and they
were both armed. There was no reason for him to be doing this;
none at all.

But he couldn't help himself.

He closed his eyes very briefly, praying that he was about to make
a fool of himself. Then he opened his eyes, took a deep breath,
and kicked in the door.

==========

4:39 a.m.

Scully would later thank God she'd had a few minutes to collect 
her wits after Spender's departure. Because when Mulder came 
crashing through the door, she'd been no more than a hair's-
breadth away from pulling the trigger on him. Two minutes earlier,
and she didn't know if she'd have been able to stop herself.

Instead, she hit him with the residue of her anger, fear, and
frustration.

"Mulder, what the *fuck* are you doing?" she demanded, her voice
as harsh as her words. "Have you completely lost your fucking 
*mind*??"

He lay in an only half-dignified and virtually ineffectual lump on
the floor, his gun pointed in her direction but tilted up toward
the ceiling, where he'd moved it instinctively once he realized
there was no danger.

He looked up at her, embarrassment warring with guilt for the
upper hand in his expression. "Sorry, Scully," he said sheepishly.
"I heard noises and I guess I got a little carried away."

Scully snorted as she secured her weapon and placed it on the
dresser. "Now THERE'S an understatement," she said, sneering.
"What the hell were you thinking? Did you conveniently forget that
this room was occupied by two well-armed and fully trained
people who can take care of their own damn selves?"

Mulder had pushed himself to his feet as she spoke, wincing and
rubbing his shoulder where he'd bounced off the door frame on his
way into the room, but Scully was too angry to worry about any
possible injuries. Instead, she lit into him again.

"It's four-thirty in the fucking morning, and for all you know we
could be in here talking or watching TV or getting ready to take
fucking *showers*," she ranted, pacing back and forth between the
beds and the dresser. "And you come crashing in here with some
hero complex and think you've got to rescue the poor damsels ..."

"Dana." Andy's voice was firm and clear and served to cut through
the layers of emotion coloring Scully's speech.

Scully stopped in mid-step and mid-sentence, and as soon as she
did, all the frustration and most of the anger and fear drained
away, along with the adrenalin rush. Her knees weakened, and she
moved carefully the two feet to the edge of the bed, lowering
herself onto the mattress.

"Shit," she muttered.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Mulder take a hesitant step in
her direction, as if he was afraid his movement would set her off
again. Her eyelids slid shut, and she took several deep breaths,
trying to fight off the pounding headache that was taking root
behind her eyes.

Spender's words kept running through her mind. Memorial Day. Less
than three weeks before everything went to hell. And the only
lead they had was questionable at best.

Three weeks. In three weeks, they could all be dead. Her. Mulder.
Andy. Their friends. Their families ...

Scully's mind brought forth an image from two weeks earlier. She
sat on the sofa in her mother's living room, drinking coffee and
laughing, as Margaret Scully filled her in on the latest gossip
from their extended family. She could feel the warmth of the room
and the conversation deep inside her, and she struggled to hold
onto that sensation as the memory started to fade from her mind.

She heard Andy speaking softly, but it took a moment for the
words to filter into her brain. "Dana? Dana, are you gonna be
okay?"

She opened her eyes to meet the concern in Andy's. The younger
woman was squatting on the floor next to her and was lifting her
hand to Scully's forehead.

"There you are," Andy said with a small smile. "You drifted off
there for a minute. Where were you?"

Scully shook her head sharply. "I'm ... I'm fine," she said,
ignoring the low sound of derision she heard coming from Mulder's
direction at her words.

Andy nodded. "Okay," she said softly. "Why don't you lie down and
see if you can sleep another couple hours or so before we leave?
It's not even five yet, and our flight's not until 10:30 ..."

"NO!" Scully's head popped up. "We need to talk. We need to tell
Mulder ..."

"Tell me what?" Mulder's voice cut in. He was at Scully's side an
instant later, sinking onto the mattress next to her as she
turned, slowly, to face him. "What happened?" he asked, his eyes
wide and anxious.

Scully opened her mouth, closed it, swallowed, and lowered her
gaze to study the rumpled bedspread on which she sat. "We had ...
a visitor," she said carefully. "He told us that the leads to
northern Michigan were designed to lead us off the real trail,
and ..." Her voice trailed off, and she gave Andy a pleading
glance.

Andy nodded in response, then looked at Mulder. "He told us that
the date was set," she said, but then she hesitated, and Mulder
jumped in.

"Who was it? Krycek?" he demanded, and now he was up and pacing.
"That asshole does nothing but run us around in circles. I knew
I should *never* have let him out of that car ..."

"Mulder!" Scully interrupted his self-flagellation. "It wasn't
Krycek."

He stopped in mid-stride, much as Scully had a few minutes earlier,
and shot her a glare. "Well, then, who the hell was it?" he
snapped.

Scully met his angry gaze directly. "It was Jeffrey Spender," she
said.

Mulder's eyes widened, then narrowed almost instantly. "Are you
sure it was him?" he asked.

Scully let out a frustrated sigh. "Yes, Mulder, I sliced into his
arm to make sure he didn't bleed green," she said sarcastically.
"No, of course I can't be sure it was him. But he didn't try
anything, and he had one of those weapons on him." She glanced
around and spied the switchpick on the nightstand. "That, whatever
it's called," she said, nodding her head in that direction.

Mulder looked where she indicated, then stepped over and picked
up the metal cylinder. He repeated Scully's actions from earlier
again, instantly finding the trigger and opening the weapon.

He looked at Scully. "This doesn't mean anything," he said. "They
carry them anyway ..."

"I know," Scully interrupted, impatient. "But he didn't try
anything, and he left without the weapon. Or the clip from his
gun, for that matter; we took that, too."

Mulder's gaze hardened. "You just let him walk out of here?" he
demanded. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"What was *I* thinking?" Scully was on her feet and incensed. "You
certainly are one to talk. What were *you* thinking when you let a
*federal fugitive* out of your car in Iowa? Jeffrey Spender may
be officially missing, but he is *not* a wanted felon by *any*
stretch of the imagination. I had no just cause to keep him here
against his will."

She paused, then said in a calmer voice. "If I had, we might all
be dead by now; we have no way of knowing who might be following
him. We might all be dead in three weeks anyway, but at least this
way ..."

"Three weeks?" Mulder interrupted again. "What's in three weeks?"

Scully hesitated, only then realizing that they still hadn't told
Mulder the date Spender had named. She reached out her hand to
slip it into his, squeezing lightly, and watching his eyes dip to
look at their hands before raising back to her face.

"Scully?" he asked softly. "What is it? *When* is it?"

She took a breath, then said, "Memorial Day."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

===========
Chapter 13
===========

Whitefish Point, MI
Wednesday, May 12, 1999
5:55 p.m. EDT

Mulder peered into the late afternoon sunlight and tried to blink 
the sleep from his eyes as he steered their latest rental car into
the tiny hamlet of Whitefish Point in the Upper Peninsula of 
Michigan. The two women had fallen asleep almost as soon as they
left the airport at Sault Ste. Marie, so he'd been left alone with
his thoughts for much of the past two hours.

Despite good intentions, none of them had slept more than a couple
of hours after Mulder had burst into Scully and Andy's room in 
Chicago. The three of them had sat up for half an hour or so 
kicking around the implications of Jeffrey Spender's visit without
really getting anywhere before Mulder had finally returned to his 
own room and tried to go back to sleep.

But he hadn't been able to sleep. He'd tossed and turned, trying 
to find a comfortable position, alternating that with propping 
himself up to stare, unseeing, at the television. But nothing had
worked. The visions evoked by the day's events simply had not 
left him alone.

Memorial Day. A little over two and a half weeks away. He'd known
about this threat for years; could it actually be about to happen?

He'd felt himself being overwhelmed by a dreamy sense of unreality,
as if he'd been falling from a great height and now the ground was
finally rushing up to meet him. It all seemed so abrupt; it was 
hard to remember that the events leading to this moment had been
building for more than half a century.

And that his own father had contributed to bringing it all to pass.

His mind had skittered hastily away from that line of thought. 
That was what had led him to the brink of disaster in Diana's 
apartment in February, and he couldn't afford to let it happen 
again. There was too much at stake now, and too little time. He 
had to maintain a grip on himself; he had to stay in control.

A part of him deep down inside, the part that just wanted to give
up and die, was screaming against any attempt at self-control. 
That part yearned for the darkness, wanted to embrace the darkness
and be embraced by it. As recently as 36 hours ago, after the bee 
attack at the Riverwalk in Columbus, that part had ruled him. But 
not anymore. 

Not since Scully had thrown him a lifeline.

Scully. Just the thought of her was enough to make him abandon the
memories of his fatalistic tendencies and bring him back to the 
present. It had worked earlier that morning, allowing him to doze
for nearly a half-hour.

And it worked again now.

He briefly took his eyes off the road to glance at her as she 
dozed in the passenger seat next to him. Her window was cracked
slightly open, and the breeze gently ruffled her hair as a lover's
fingers might. Her features were calm and relaxed, and a slight
smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

He wondered what she was dreaming about.

She had come to him around dawn that morning, not saying a word as 
she slipped into his room like a shadow and slid into bed next to 
him. He had not questioned her presence, just gathered her into 
his arms and held her. Neither moved nor spoke, and he simply lay 
quietly, listening to her breathing and her heartbeat.

At length her body had begun to shake, but still she had made no
sound, and he had cuddled her in a little closer, matching her 
silence with his own as she buried her face against his shoulder 
and wept. 

Finally she had seemed to wind down, and within a few moments more
they had both fallen sound asleep.

"It's the next left."

Mulder was jerked back to the present again, this time by the 
sound of Andy's voice. His eyes flicked briefly at the rearview 
mirror, and he saw that the reporter was now awake and leaning a
little forward, her hands resting lightly on the back of his seat.

Mulder nodded in acknowledgement of her instructions and powered
the car through the turn she'd indicated. 

Two more turns and fifteen minutes later he brought the vehicle to
a halt in the parking lot of the Great Lakes Shipwreck Historical 
Museum.

==========

6:31 p.m.

Scully inhaled deeply as she stepped from the car and into the 
misty air of the lakeshore, only partly in an effort to shake off
the last vestiges of sleep. She turned immediately toward the 
water, drawn as if mesmerized by the sound of the waves gently 
lapping against the rocks.

She had always loved the water, in every form, and the lack of salt
in the air here did nothing to lessen the feeling of calm she felt,
simply from looking out across the wind-chopped water. She was the
child of a sailor, Starbuck to his Ahab; and whenever her soul
needed restoration, she was always drawn to the shore.

The circumstances of this trip might be different, but the effect
was the same.

She heard Mulder walking up behind her, could feel his eyes on her
before they shifted to look out across the lake. His large hands
settled gently on her shoulders, rubbing her stiff muscles
lightly, and she smiled.

His head dipped lower and he murmured, "Beautiful" in her ear
before moving to rest his chin on top of her head. She was about to
respond when he continued, "And the lake's nice, too."

Her smile widened briefly into an abashed grin before she brought
it under control. She lifted her right hand to her left shoulder,
slipping her hand into his, and turned to face him. He kept his
free hand on her as she moved, dragging his fingers along her back,
then sliding them down her arm to grasp her other hand.

He was smiling gently at her when she met his eyes. "You should
live on the shore," he said softly. "You're in your element here,
aren't you?"

Scully chuckled lightly and squeezed his hands, glancing back over
her shoulder at the water. "I guess I am," she said.

She released his hands just as Andy joined them, holding the huge
road atlas they'd bought at the Sault Ste. Marie airport when they
landed.

"Okay, Wonderboy, what now?" Andy asked. She'd adopted the teasing
nickname for Mulder during the flight up from Detroit, after
hearing a few of Scully's comments about his often bizarre but
usually correct leaps of logic. Scully knew Mulder had been a
little wary when Andy had first used the moniker, so used to
hearing derogatory comments from other agents. But he'd soon
recognized Andy's teasing as good-natured, and he'd come up with
his own rejoinder.

"I don't know, *Mon Capitaine*," he shot back, grinning. "Any
suggestions from the peanut gallery would be greatly appreciated."

Scully couldn't help it. She laughed out loud, and two pairs of
eyes, one hazel and one bright green, focused on her, then moved
to regard each other.

"What's up with her?" Andy asked, as if put off.

"Who ever knows what's up with *any* woman?" Mulder shot back with
a grin, reaching out to snatch the atlas from Andy's hand.

"Oh, you better watch it, Wonderboy; you're outnumbered," Andy
replied, her voice teasingly ominous. "And we're armed."

"Ooh, I'm scared," Mulder said, still grinning as he opened the
atlas, flipping pages until he found the section focused on the
Upper Peninsula of Michigan. Scully stepped up beside him as he 
spread the book on the still-warm hood of the car and started 
scanning the map intently.

Scully watched his eyes move for a moment before she spoke. "What
are you looking for?" she asked, curious.

"A clue," Mulder said absently, bringing up one finger to run
across the paper and following it with his eyes.

Andy was leaning over from his other side by then. "Like what?"
she said. "As far as I can tell, we've exhausted our clues. The
question and the song got us up here; what's left?"

Just then, Mulder's finger stopped. "A-ha," he said lightly. "A
clue."

Scully turned her attention to the map, then bent down and squinted
slightly to see what he was pointing out. His finger rested on a
small bay northeast of them, on the Canadian side, called
Batchawana Bay.

Scully looked up at Mulder, confused, but before she could ask,
Andy let out a short laugh, drawing both Scully's and Mulder's
gazes. "I get it," Andy said, her eyes dancing. "What that guy
said to you, right?"

"Yep," Mulder said, turning back to look at Scully. "'Betcha wanna
find them,' remember?"

Scully rolled her eyes in exasperation at herself. "Okay, so I'm
a little slow today," she said grudgingly. "Just the kind of thing
we expect from Krycek."

"Yep," Mulder repeated, planting his palms on either side of the
atlas and staring down at it again. "Question is, what do we do
about it now?"

"Ignore it."

The voice came from behind them, and the trio spun around in
concert, only to come face-to-face with Jeffrey Spender.

==========

6:48 p.m.

Mulder felt his eyes widen as he realized who had spoken. It was 
one thing for Scully to have told him of Spender's visit the night
before; it was something else again to see the man standing in 
front of him, whole and alive.

If it really *was* Spender.

For a few seconds no one moved or spoke, and Mulder found himself
studying the other man, trying to discern his identity. It 
certainly *looked* like Spender -- the same thin, hawklike 
features; the same understated chin; the same curly black hair ...

And yet there were changes, too. The man in front of him seemed
leaner and more self-assured than Mulder remembered, and there was
something hard and bitter in his eyes, something Mulder did not
remember seeing there before. That *could* just be a sign of rough
treatment, of course -- or it could mean --

"What the fuck are you doing here, punkass?" That was Andy, 
breaking the silence and striding aggressively forward to invade
the newcomer's personal space. "I thought you'd said what you had
to say last night!"

Spender's lips quirked, and Mulder caught a flash of something he
could have sworn was admiration in the other man's eyes before 
they flicked over to Scully. With a sour look on his face -- but 
without giving ground, Mulder noted -- Spender asked, 
sarcastically, "Can't you put a muzzle on this thing?"

Mulder didn't even try to follow what happened next. Andy and 
Spender went down together in a flurry of arms and legs, and when
the action slowed a few seconds later Spender was lying prone, with
Andy straddling his hips and grinding his face into the dirt.

Part of Mulder wanted to cheer -- even as another part of him
almost felt sorry for the poor bastard.

"The next time you got something to say to me, punkass, you say it 
to *me*," Andy snapped, leaning down so that her mouth was only 
inches from Spender's ear. "You got that?" She waited a few 
seconds, and when he didn't answer she jerked his head sharply up
by the hair, and then slammed it back down into the ground again --
not all that hard, but enough to make her point. "I asked you a
question, shithead!"

Spender hesitated a second longer, then nodded sharply -- but still he
did not speak. Andy reached carefully underneath his body with her
free hand and disarmed him, then climbed off him and backed away
slowly, covering him with his own weapon.

"You can get up now, Ferret Face," she said. "Oh, and if you've got
another one of those icepick thingames, just toss it on the ground;
it'll save me the trouble of taking you down again." She glanced
briefly at Scully, and added, "I thought you guys had to go through
Quantico. Punkass here wouldn't last three days at Parris Island."

"My name is Spender," the agent said angrily, glaring at Andy as 
he struggled back to his feet and dusted himself off. "Former 
Special Agent Jeffrey Spender, *Captain* Baker. And if you're 
quite through showing us all how big your dick is, I do have some
business to transact."

Andy's eyes narrowed, and for an instant Mulder thought she was 
going to attack again. But then she snorted and shook her head, 
and ejected the clip from Spender's weapon.

She spun on her heel toward the water, and Mulder realized she was
barely keeping herself from scaling the gun out into the lake. She
paused a moment, then shot one last murderous look at Spender
before saying, "He's all yours, Wonderboy." 

Mulder watched as she stuffed Spender's gun in the waistband of
her jeans, then turned and stalked over to stand next to Scully, 
arms crossed in front of her chest. He looked at the two women for
just a moment longer. Andy was still fuming, and he could see that
Scully was struggling to keep a smile from her lips. Mulder didn't
know which had amused her more -- seeing Spender get his 
comeuppance, or watching Andy's reactions to the other man.

Methinks the lady doth protest too much, he mused. 

Finally, he set aside his thoughts and turned back to face the
other man. "So, Jeff," he said easily. "I see you took my advice 
and enrolled in that Carnegie course."

Spender shook his head wearily. "Let's cut the crap, shall we
Mulder? None of us have time for this." He glanced quickly at 
Scully and Andy and then back at Mulder. "I presume Agent Scully
gave you my message from last night."

Mulder nodded, then shrugged. "She gave it to me. What she didn't
tell me was why we should trust you -- or what we could do about it
even if we *did* believe you."

Spender rolled his eyes and took a step towards Mulder -- then 
stopped abruptly as Andy moved sharply forward to cut him off. 
"Jesus," he muttered under his breath. Then, to Mulder: "Look, 
don't you people ever listen? I said follow the bodies. Follow the
fucking bodies. This ... " His voice trailed off, and he waved an 
arm to take in the surroundings. "This is just a red herring. 
You're following someone else's agenda." He locked eyes with 
Mulder. "Again."

Mulder felt a prickle of anxiety at the accusation, but quickly
suppressed it. He couldn't afford to fall victim to self-doubt, he
reminded himself. Not now. Scully. Focus on Scully. He took a deep
breath and shook his head, but before he could speak Andy had
intervened, once again stepping up into Spender's personal space.

"'Follow the bodies,'" she mimicked. "'Follow the bodies!'" She 
gave Spender a little shove, but again he stood his ground, and 
his eyes flashed, with anger and maybe something else. "Tell me, 
*former* Agent Spender," Andy continued. "You say we're following
someone else's agenda? Well what's *your* agenda?" 

She shoved him again, and this time he staggered slightly.

For a moment Spender stood perfectly still, glaring at Andy and
making a visible effort to control his breathing. For her own part,
Andy seemed poised, almost as if she were spoiling for a fight,
leaning forward on the balls of her feet, arms held out slightly 
from her sides.

As Mulder looked at them, he had a sudden sense of something akin
to deja vu. No, he hadn't lived this exact scene before, but he
*had* seen two people in a similar situation. As in, Scully and
him. On more than one occasion.

And he supressed another smile at the thought. He knew what lay
as the foundation of every heated discussion he and Scully had 
ever had, and it wasn't hate, or even anger.

Passion, however ...

At last Spender broke the silence, shifted his attention away from
Andy and back to Mulder and Scully. "Look," he said, an undertone
of pleading seeping into his voice. "You have got to listen to me.
You are wasting your time up here, and you haven't got any to 
spare. You have got to --"

"Why us, Spender?" Mulder glanced back as Scully spoke for the 
first time, stepping forward and crossing her arms across her 
chest. "You seem to be following us around, backseat driving our
investigation, telling us we're on the wrong track. Why us? 

"Why don't *you* follow the bodies?"

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

==========
Chapter 14
==========

7:03 p.m.

When Spender didn't reply immediately, Scully pressed on, her 
voice growing more sarcastic. "Come on, Spender, why aren't *you*
tracking the victims? You seem to have resources." She shrugged 
one shoulder. "You certainly haven't had any trouble keeping an 
eye on us. Surely you can find a few bee sting victims."

Spender shook his head. "Believe it or not, I don't really have
that many resources," he said quietly, his low tone a sharp
contrast to his previously confident air. "It's taking just about
everything I've got just to keep an eye on the two ..." -- his
eyes flicked to Andy, and he corrected himself -- "... *three* of
you. And I certainly don't have the contacts you do within the
government."

"You still haven't answered the question," Scully persisted. "Why
us? And what do you really expect us to do about all this?"

Spender sighed, then flicked his gaze around them, taking in the
surrounding area. "Listen," he said, his voice growing urgent. 
"I'll tell you everything I know, but not here. We're too exposed.
We need to get under cover, and fast."

Almost against her will, Scully found herself looking around, as 
Spender just had. They were in the middle of a large, open area, 
the only cover nearby their car and the structure of the museum 
itself a hundred yards away, the old lighthouse tower looming 
above the building. The museum was closed anyway; the sign at the
entrance had listed the opening date for the season as May 15, 
still two days away.

She swung her head back around to look at Mulder. "He's right,
Mulder," she said, forcing herself to push down the frisson of
pleasure that welled deep within her as his gaze locked onto hers
unerringly. "We're too exposed out here. We need to find some
place a little more secure to continue this," she said.

Mulder nodded slowly and turned toward Spender. "In the car," he
said, jerking his head in that direction.

Scully was almost surprised when Spender didn't speak, just
followed orders. And then she saw the expression on Andy's face,
and she ceased to wonder. The younger woman looked as if she'd
like nothing better than for Spender to give her a reason -- any
reason -- to take him down again.

Scully knew the look. She'd used it on Mulder enough, to get him
to back down. Only when it was important, of course, and it nearly
always worked, even early in their partnership.

Seemed as if Spender learned quickly, too.

The four were in the car in a matter of minutes, Spender and Andy
in the back, Mulder driving, Scully in the passenger seat. Scully
turned to the side to keep an eye on the man in the back, even 
though she doubted Andy would need any assistance if he were to 
try anything.

Mulder waited until they were off the museum grounds and back on
the road south to speak. "Okay, start talking," he said, glancing
at Spender in the rear view mirror.

Spender looked at Scully, and she merely raised an eyebrow. He
did not, she noticed, look at Andy.

"All right," Spender said, his eyes still on Scully. "I can't look
for the victims because I don't have access. I'm not even supposed
to be in contact with the two of you. You're not even supposed to
know I'm alive."

"Why not?" Scully prompted.

Spender sighed and closed his eyes, exhaustion and resignation
clearly written in the web of lines on his face. "You know
something happened in the basement," he said, his voice soft. "You
saw the blood; you know it was mine. But you don't know the whole
story. Hell, you don't know *any* of the story."

"So fill us in," Andy interjected. Her voice was closer to normal,
and Scully glanced at the younger woman.

Andy sat half-turned in the seat, her eyes intent on Spender's
face. She held her body rigidly, as if reining in her emotions to
keep herself from reacting. But her face was calm, and she seemed
more open to Spender's explanations than she had earlier, as if
her anger had been either sated or exhausted.

Scully nearly smiled in relief. She didn't know why Andy had
reacted so violently to Spender, but she hoped she was past it.
They needed to stay rational about this, and lashing out wasn't
helping anything.

She realized Spender was speaking again and focused on what he was
saying.

"He was in the office when I got down there, after I left that
meeting," Spender said, his eyes still closed. "He was sitting at
the desk, smoking, as usual. He said something cryptic about me
disappointing him, I don't know, I guess because once I realized
what was going on, I refused to go along with it. I told him to
get out, he stood up ... and he shot me."

Scully felt her eyebrows lift again, but before she could speak,
Mulder broke in. "And, what, you just walked out of there?"

Spender's eyes snapped open to meet Mulder's in the mirror. "Hell
no," he snapped in reply. "He shot me in the chest at point-blank
range. I wasn't walking *anywhere*."

Scully felt the hostility rising in the air again and tried to
diffuse it. "Okay," she said calmly. "Then what happened?"

Spender turned his gaze to her, then took a deep breath and
exhaled before answering. "I was on the floor ... and he just
stepped over me and left," he said, his voice dropping to a near-
whisper. "I was dying, and I knew it." He paused, then said, "But
then another man came through the door. He stood there and looked
at me for a minute, then came over and squatted down next to me.
He put his hand on my chest, right over the wound ... and then I
passed out."

Andy let out a snort of derision. "And when you woke up, it was
just like you'd never been shot," she said sarcastically.

For the first time since they'd gotten in the car, Spender swung
his head around and looked Andy in the eye. "That's exactly what
happened," he retorted. "I woke up in what I thought was a hospital
bed, with a hell of a headache but no chest wound. I thought at
first I'd dreamed the whole thing."

Mulder cut in this time. "What convinced you otherwise?" he asked.

Spender's gaze drifted back to meet Scully, and somehow, she knew
the answer before he spoke. "Because the first person I saw when
I opened my eyes was my mother."

==========

Southbound on Michigan State Highway 123
7:27 p.m.

At Spender's words Mulder's head snapped around, and for just an
instant he found himself staring the former agent full in the
face -- until the blare of a horn yanked his attention back to the
highway, and he had to swerve and brake sharply to avoid a head-on
collision. By the time he'd regained control of the car and resumed
his previous speed, Scully was speaking.

"Your mother? Cassandra? She's alive?"

Mulder wondered if anyone in the car other than himself could
detect the note of hope that underlay the overt disbelief in his
partner's voice. He knew that Scully and Cassandra had become close
during their brief acquaintance the previous year, and that their
friendship had been reinforced when Cassandra had resurfaced a few
months ago during the crisis leading up to the El Rico massacre.

He also knew how hard Scully had taken it when Cassandra had been
presumed dead after the slaughter at the air base -- and for the
first time in years Fox Mulder lifted a wholly sincere prayer: 
That the woman he loved was not having her hopes raised without 
good cause.

Spender, if it was really him, had better be telling the truth.

"That's right," Spender said, and in his mind's eye Mulder could
almost see the man nodding sharply. "She's alive. I'd like to say
she's well, but that's not entirely true."

"What do you mean?" Scully asked.

A mirthless chuckle came from the back seat. "My mother is fine,
Agent Scully. Physically fine. And she sends her regards -- or she
would have if she had known I was going to be here."

Spender fell silent, and Mulder took his eyes off the road long
enough to see that his partner was giving the other the cool,
expressionless gaze she usually reserved for suspects -- and then
he heard Andy stirring in the backseat, and the former agent was 
speaking again. 

"Physically, my mother is fine," Spender said. "In other ways, 
she's not so great." He hesitated, then added, all in a rush, "To
put it bluntly, she's a prisoner."

Mulder glanced at Scully again, just in time to see her eyes widen
slightly. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"Just what I said," the former agent replied, a note of irritation
in his voice. "She's a prisoner. And so am I, sort of." Before
anyone could interrupt he hurried on. "I told you she was the 
first thing I saw when I woke up. What happened was that when 
the ... killings ... happened at El Rico, she was spared. They 
took her prisoner, instead. We don't really understand why, but 
what we *do* understand is that they need her for some purpose of 
their own. And because of that ..." His voice trailed off, and 
when he resumed he spoke so quietly Mulder could barely hear him.
"Because of that, she was able to bargain for my life."

"Who are 'they'?" Andy asked, her voice floating forward from the
backseat. Mulder glanced in the mirror, and saw that the reporter
and Spender were now turned slightly towards each other.

"That's a difficult question to answer," the former agent replied.
"I don't know how much Mulder and Scully have told you --"

"They've told me enough," she replied, her voice surprisingly soft
to Mulder's ears. "They've told me about the shadow government, 
and the plans for a takeover. And some other stuff. I haven't 
decided how much of it I believe, though."

"You can believe it," Spender said, his voice flat and imperative.
"It's all true. And there's more: There's also a, a resistance
movement. Covert, of course. Partly human and partly ... not. The
resistance group works in opposition to the ones you've been told
about. Unfortunately, the motives and ultimate goals of the
resistance are not clear. But they're the ones who have my mother."

For a moment or two it was silent in the car, as each person seemed
to contemplate the significance of Spender's words. Mulder's 
thoughts flew back to the previous year, and the events following 
the mass killings at Ruskin Dam -- and he shuddered as he 
remembered how close he had come to losing Scully that time. 
Instinctively he reached out and took her hand and squeezed it 
gently, and she squeezed back; a quick glance at her face told him
she was remembering the same things.

Mulder cleared his throat, and said, "Krycek said something to me 
once about a resistance movement. Are these the same people?"

There was a snort of disgust from the back seat. "You cannot trust
*anything* you hear from Alex Krycek," came the reply. "But yes, he
was probably talking about the same group. As I said, it's a sort
of loose alliance between certain humans who are in the know and
have chosen not to cooperate with the Colonists, and another alien
species acting from motives no one really understands."

"Jesus," Andy said, very softly. "Just when I think I've heard it
all ..." Her voice trailed off, and Mulder could hear Spender
shifting in his seat again.

"Believe me, Captain Baker," the other man said, his own voice
softening to match hers. "This is just as hard for me to accept as
it is for you. Three months ago I didn't believe *any* of this. I
thought it was all crap -- and I wound up trusting the wrong people
and I did some pretty terrible things as a result."

There was another long silence, and when Mulder glanced over at
Scully he saw that she was watching whatever was happening in the
backseat with an intensity she normally reserved for the autopsy
suite.

At last: "Andy. My name is Andy."

==========

Border Crossing Motel
North of Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario, Canada
10:41 p.m.

Scully shut the bathroom door behind her, dropping her clean
shorts, underwear and T-shirt on the closed toilet seat and moving
to turn on the water. She adjusted the temperature, gathered
towels, undressed and stepped into the bathtub and started washing,
all without conscious thought.

Her mind was elsewhere. Too much had happened over the past four
days, and she was still trying to process it all.

Right now, her mind was still stuck on hope -- hope that Spender
was telling the truth about his mother being alive, mainly. She was
still justifiably wary of the former agent and his motives, but she
somehow doubted he'd lie about Cassandra. Through everything that
had happened, his love for his mother had never wavered.

She still wanted to see Cassandra, of course, to believe it. After
the discovery of the burned bodies at El Rico, she had been
convinced that the woman had died with others. She'd been taken
from her bed at Fort Marlene, without her son's knowledge or
consent, and she hadn't been seen since.

Scully's eyes closed as she recalled her -- and Mulder's -- frantic
attempts to rescue Cassandra, going so far as to stand in the way
of a freight train. When they'd finally made it to El Rico, it had
been too late.

But if Cassandra was alive ...

Scully shook her head. Whether Cassandra was alive or not mattered,
but it wasn't crucial to their investigation at this point. The
rest of what Spender had told them, however, was.

Scully believed her recovered memories from Ruskin Dam now -- or,
at least, some of them. She's said as much to Mulder before they
spoke to Cassandra in the hospital. She'd seen the "faceless men"
with their flamethrowers, and seen the carnage at Skyland Mountain
and El Rico firsthand.

But she had thought those men were the enemies. Now she was being
told that they were on the same side, despite theIr unsavory
methods. Cassandra had said something to that effect, but somehow
it was more convincing to hear the same information coming from
the mouth of someone who not so long ago was even more of a skeptic
than Scully had ever been.

Scully sighed and forced herself to stop thinking as she rinsed 
the last of the cheap motel soap off her body and shut off the
water. The four of them were in two tiny, adjoining rooms in
another rundown local motel, and Mulder had gone out to get dinner
while Scully showered, leaving Andy to keep an eye on Spender. 
None of them trusted him enough yet to leave him completely 
unguarded.

When Scully had headed into the bathroom, Andy and Spender were
sitting on the room's two beds, on opposite sides, and Andy had
been flipping through the half-dozen channels on the television.
Scully didn't know what to expect when she emerged -- the same
scene, the aftermath of a fistfight ... or a makeout session in
progress.

Scully shook her head, her mouth twisting into a wry grin. She 
knew full well what was happening between those two. She didn't 
know how far it would go, or if it was simple infatuation or the 
start of something deeper. But Andy and Spender were undeniably 
attracted to one another, whether they liked it or not. Not that 
Scully was complaining; at least it meant they weren't at each 
other's throats every second any more.

Dried and dressed, Scully made a little extra noise opening the 
door just in case and stepped out of the steamy room. Looked like
option number one; the pair were still sitting on opposite sides 
of the beds, although the remote had been discarded and they were
talking in low voices.

Andy looked up and grinned. "Feel better, Dana?" she asked in a
teasing tone.

"Much," Scully replied, flopping into the one straight-backed chair
in the room. "Your turn."

"Good," Andy said, hopping up and grabbing her own change of
clothes from the top of the dresser. She turned toward the
bathroom, then paused and glanced back over her shoulder. "You 
guys save me some dinner, now," she said, though she was looking
only at Spender, who smiled at her in response.

Scully bit back another grin as Andy disappeared into the bathroom.
Before she could even come up with something to say to Spender,
though, she heard a noise in the next room and was instantly on
alert.

"Mulder?" she called, picking up her holster from the edge of the
dresser and sliding her weapon out. "Is that you?"

"Mmmmph," came the reply, and Mulder walked in, two bags in one
hand, a drink holder in the other, and a third bag clamped in his
mouth.

Scully laughed as she set her gun down and walked over to help him.
"You could have made two trips, or gotten one of us to help, you
know," she chided lightly.

Mulder shrugged. "Hey, I made it, didn't I?" he said, his eyes
roaming the room before landing back on her. "Where's Andy?"

"Shower," Scully said, setting the drinks on the dresser.

Mulder's eyes flicked back over to Spender. "You gonna run out on
us?" he asked.

Scully looked at Mulder, then realized what he wanted -- a few
minutes alone. She glanced at Spender, raising an eyebrow.

Spender got it. "No," he said shortly.

Mulder hesitated, as if uncertain, then nodded once and grabbed one
of the bags. "Yours and Andy's," he said to Spender, nodding at the
remaining bags. "We'll be back when we're through."

Spender nodded, and Mulder looked back at Scully, who was already
holding two of the drinks. He offered a half-smile and stepped to
the side to allow her past, his hand falling to the small of her
back as they crossed into the other room.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

==========
Chapter 15
==========

Border Crossing Motel
North of Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario, Canada
11:08 p.m.

For a moment the two partners stood just inside the closed
connecting door, and Mulder was suddenly acutely aware both of the
woman standing next to him, and of the two beds which filled most 
of the room. He cleared his throat, trying to find some witty 
comment to make, but before he could speak he felt Scully's body 
shift slightly under his touch, and he thought better of it.

He looked down at his partner and saw that she was already looking 
up at him, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "This is 
pretty silly, isn't it?" he offered.

She nodded, and her smile broadened. "Yep."

Mulder nodded in return, and despite continuing feelings of
awkwardness he applied slightly greater pressure to her lower back 
and guided her over to the small table next to the window. He 
quickly and efficiently laid out two cheeseburgers and a package of
French fries for himself, and a chef's salad for Scully. Without 
looking up from these arrangements he took the two drinks from her
and added them to the impromptu place settings.

For a moment or two he fiddled nervously with the food, trying to
concentrate on it rather than on the woman standing less than a 
foot away. He wasn't sure why he was suddenly so jittery; this was
no different from what they had done countless times in the past, 
in countless motels scattered around the country. 

But it *was* different.

At last he took a deep breath and turned to look at his partner. 
She was standing just slightly closer to him than he was accustomed
to, looking back at him with an expression that could only be 
described as amused nervousness.

For another moment or two they both remained motionless, and Mulder
tried to think of something to say that would move the moment 
forward again. But it was Scully who finally broke the silence.

"You know," she said, seeming to choose her words very carefully,
"when I was little my father always used to give my mother a kiss
before everyone sat down for dinner each night. It was sort of a
family ritual."

Mulder swallowed and nodded. "A kiss, huh?"

"Yeah."

He smiled, and said, "Well we wouldn't want to let that tradition 
go by the boards, now would we?" And he took her in his arms and 
kissed her, and for a moment the rest of the world went away.

After a timeless interval their lips parted, but they did not 
release each other, and Mulder found himself falling into her eyes.
He could get lost in those eyes, he realized, and he marveled that 
it had taken him so long to discover that.

Finally Scully stirred slightly in his arms and he let her go, and 
they sat down at the table to eat.

The first part of the meal passed in silence, as each of them
concentrated on the food in front of them. As Mulder had expected,
Scully stole nearly half of his French fries, a tradition that
stretched back to the first year of their partnership, and which 
he'd become so accustomed to that he now barely noticed it -- 
except, of course, that he noticed everything about Scully.

At last she pushed the remains of her salad away and leaned back 
and stretched. Returning her hands to rest on the table in front of
her, she said, "So. What do we do now?"

Mulder smiled. "Are we talking about the case?"

She smiled back, a happier and more mirthful smile than he could
remember seeing on her face in years, and said, "Yeah, Mulder -- 
the case. What's our next step?"

He shrugged. "Batchawana Bay, I guess. First thing in the morning.
It's not like we have leads coming out of our ears."

She chewed her lower lip for a moment, as if she were trying to 
think how to phrase something. Finally she shook her head. "It's 
not enough, Mulder," she said. Before he could reply, she hurried 
on, "I don't mean we shouldn't check out Batchawana; we're here, 
and it *is* the obvious thing to do, and it won't take very long."

She took a deep breath, and continued, "But it *isn't* enough,
Mulder. We need more. And I'm beginning to suspect Spender may be
right -- that we *are* being led on a wild goose chase. I mean,
suppose we go out to Batchawana Bay and suppose we do find C.G.B.
Spender and Agent Fowley. What will that give us, really? Do you
think they're just going to tell us what we want to know?"

Mulder shook his head. "No. So what do you suggest?"

Scully shrugged. "I don't know. What Spender said, I guess: Follow
the bodies."

"Easier said than done," Mulder replied. Then something clicked, 
and he cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner. Maybe he 
really hadn't been getting enough sleep. 

Without explanation, he pulled out his cell phone and punched 
speed dial number three.

==========

11:31 p.m.

It took Scully about three seconds to catch up with what, exactly,
Mulder was doing. She'd seen what number he'd punched, and it took
her brain that long to remember that the first two programs on the
phone were her home and cell numbers. And that the Gunmen were 
number three. 

Shit. She couldn't believe both of them had forgotten to call the
Gunmen back.

Mulder was talking by then, apparently to Frohike. "Yeah, we're 
fine. It just hit me that we never called you guys back." He
glanced at Scully and grinned briefly. "We were hoping you might
have something by now."

He lifted the phone away from his ear as soon as he finished
speaking, and Scully could hear Frohike's indignant voice. "Have
*something*? Man, we could have gotten you every single military
flight in the country by now. What do you think we are?"

Scully stifled a chuckle, and Mulder was still smiling as he
brought the phone back to his ear. "Calm down, Frohike," he said.
"I was just yanking your chain. So what DID you find out?"

Mulder tucked the phone against his shoulder and looked up at
Scully, pantomiming writing. She nodded and stood, stepping over
to the dresser to dig Mulder's pad and pen out of his overnight
bag. She handed them to him, then automatically started cleaning 
up the remnants of their meal as Mulder listened and scribbled.

The conversation lasted a good fifteen minutes, but Mulder did 
very little talking, so Scully didn't get many clues. She was 
getting impatient by the time he finally ended the call, and she
jumped in as soon as he punched "end."

"Well?" she demanded, sliding back into the seat across from him.

Mulder grinned at her, but his eyes were distant as he spoke.
"Eager, aren't we," he said, his voice not quite achieving the
casual, teasing tone he was apparently trying for.

She frowned at him in warning. "Mulder ..."

"Okay, okay," he said, lifting one hand as if fending her off, then
leaning forward in his seat, one hand idly twirling the pen he
still held between his fingers. "Here's what they found out, so 
far. Numerous flight paths from both Columbus and Cedar Rapids,
heading north, apparently ending up at Camp Grayling, a National
Guard reservation in north central Michigan. More flights from
there, all heading generally northeast. Many, many more flights in
all three cases than the airfields would normally see."

Scully nodded. "And from there ...?"

Mulder shrugged, his eyes intent on her face. "Nothing," he said.
"All those flights disappear from the records after Grayling. They
dug up some air traffic control records showing them on Toronto
radar, and then nothing after that. They're working on some
projected flight paths based on last-known speed and trajectory,
but that's gonna take a while."

He paused, as if hesitant to say what came next, but one sharp
look from Scully seemed to free his tongue. "There's more," he
acknowledged. "Grayling has been receiving increased traffic not
only from Iowa and Georgia but also from farther west. Oregon, it
looks like. Frohike said they're running several online searches,
using some of the same keywords your search did, to find anything
similar in the Northwest."

Scully felt a leaden weight settle low in her stomach. "Another
attack?" she asked.

Mulder nodded slowly. "It looks that way," he said. "Probably
another ballpark and a similar coverup to the two we've already
seen." He dropped the pen and picked up the notebook, flipping 
back a few pages. "I wish we could have gotten our hands on any of
those medical records," he said. "Or a victim. Even a bee. 
Something to do some testing ..."

His voice trailed off, and his eyes shot up to meet Scully's. She
saw the same gleam in his eyes she knew he could see in hers, and
she grinned.

"I seem to remember something about a bee," she said, putting on
a falsely casual tone. "I believe I have it in my briefcase, if 
I'm not mistaken."

Mulder chuckled briefly. "Maybe we really DO need to start getting
more sleep," he said, shaking his head. "I can't believe we forgot
about that, too."

"Me either," Scully said, sobering. "And we were going to test my
blood, too, and yours, to check for similarities -- antibodies, if
we're lucky -- since we've both been given the vaccine."

Mulder nodded again, using his teeth to pull one corner of his
bottom lip into his mouth. "So we need to find a lab, get the 
blood samples, and get them somewhere trustworthy for testing," he
said musingly. "I'd say the Gunmen would be the best bet; I don't 
know if I trust the Bureau labs with this. Or we could do both, 
although we only have the one bee."

"The question is, how do we get the samples to DC?" Scully asked.
"I wouldn't want to ship them; anything could happen en route. But
we can't very well pick up and go back to DC in the middle of 
this."

"No, not now," Mulder agreed. He hesitated, deep in thought, then
went on. "I don't think that's the most crucial thing at the
moment," he said. "The primary goal of that kind of testing would,
I assume, be to develop a vaccine. That's going to take time, no
matter what, and I don't believe a day or two will make that much
difference. What we're tracking now is much more immediate, and we
do have a deadline -- if we can believe what Jeffy in there tells
us."

Scully leaned back in her chair. "I agree," she said softly. "A
vaccine would in all likelihood take much longer than two weeks
to develop, and distribution would be a nightmare. Not to mention
proving that the virus actually exists and is a true threat. We
don't have time for that now. If we get past this, *then* we can
worry about the vaccine."

"Okay," Mulder said. "So we hold off at least a couple days on the
samples, and stick to our plan for tomorrow." He shot her another,
slightly lopsided, grin. "Anything else we have to work out
tonight?"

Scully arched one eyebrow. "Yeah," she said. "Call Skinner."

==========

Thursday, May 13, 1999
2:11 a.m.

Mulder leaned back against the headboard of his bed and flicked
through the channels on the TV remote. His partner lay curled up 
on the bed next to him, her arms wrapped loosely around his waist 
and her head resting against his hip. She was sound asleep.

They'd talked for a few more minutes after the phone conversation 
with Frohike, but reached no further conclusions, other than to 
decide that there was nothing of such urgency that it would justify
calling the A.D. at home when it was nearly midnight. That call 
could safely be deferred until morning.

Scully had then gone into the adjoining motel room, intending to 
kick Spender out and go to bed -- but she'd returned only seconds
later, a wry look on her face.

"They're asleep," she'd announced. "Both of them."

Instinctively, he'd shot her a muted leer. "Separate beds?"

"Yes, separate beds," she'd said, rolling her eyes before focusing
back on him, her demeanor serious but a little edgy. "Do you think
I should wake them?" she'd asked.

It had taken Mulder only a few seconds to realize what question she
was really asking, and he'd cleared his throat and asked, "Do you 
want to sleep in here?" 

Scully had nodded solemnly, and without another word she'd climbed
into bed, curled up next to him and dropped off to sleep in less 
than a minute.

Mulder had been sorely tempted to join his partner in slumber, but
something had told him that the investigation had reached the stage
where it would be prudent for someone to stay awake through the
night. And so he'd settled down and started flicking through the
channels. But the television had failed to hold his interest, as
inevitably his thoughts strayed back to the investigation.

Oregon. Another attack in Oregon. He'd been shocked by Frohike's
news, and he could tell that Scully had been shaken, too. In
retrospect he knew they should have been expecting it; the 
Colonists -- or their human allies -- had been ruthlessly efficient
in covering their tracks, and the agents should have anticipated 
that there might have been additional incidents which had been 
completely hushed up. 

But still he had been shocked.

Why had he ever thought that they really had a handle on this case?
Let alone been in some sort of control? It was becoming clearer 
with each new lead they unearthed that Scully had nailed the 
situation perfectly when she'd said that perhaps Spender was right
after all, and that maybe the two of them *were* being led around 
by the nose.

It was almost like the final minutes of a football game, he mused,
with the team in the lead simply trying to run out the clock.

He was drawn from his reverie by a slight motion at his side, and 
he looked down in the gloom to see that Scully's eyes now were 
open, and she was looking up at him. But her gaze seemed oddly 
unfocused, almost as if she was not really seeing him -- or as if
she did not recognize who he was, if she *did* see him.

Mulder hesitated a moment, hoping that she would close her eyes and 
go back to sleep, but she continued to stare at him. After a few 
more seconds he gently stroked her hair and whispered, "Shhh. It's
okay. It's just me. You must have had a dream or something."

His partner's brow furrowed, as if she were concentrating on his
words, trying to parse out their meaning. At last she slowly shook
her head, and finally her eyes cleared. She licked her lips, and 
when she spoke her voice was rough with sleep ... and something 
else.

"Mulder?"

"Yeah, Scully. It's me." He continued stroking her hair, letting 
his fingers run gently through the silky tresses, trying to soothe
her with his touch. "It was just a dream, Scully."

She shook her head again, and then struggled to a sitting position.
"I ... I don't think it was," she replied, her voice a little
stronger. She sat next to him on the bed, staring up at him 
intently for another minute or two, taking slow, shallow breaths.
At last her gaze drifted away, until it fell on the door to the 
outside -- and Mulder felt a chill race down his spine as her hand
slowly rose to the back of her neck.

"Mulder," she whispered -- and now there was an edge of fear in her
voice. "Mulder ... I, I think it's happening again." Her eyes flew
back to meet his. "Like last year. At Ruskin Dam."

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