Summary:  Something is seriously amiss at FBI
headquarters.  Some of the closest and most effective
partnerships in the Bureau are being systematically
destroyed, and Mulder and Scully are involved - whether they
want to be or not.
Category: X,S.  Please archive with my thanks.
Rating:  Probably R for violence, language and adult stuff.
UST, sorta.  Spoilers scattered around, but none from later
than Season 3. There are a few references to some of my
previous stories, but you don't have to have read them to
make sense of this.


PARTNERS  1/7

by Suzanne Bickerstaffe
Ecksphile @aol.com
December, 1996


The legal stuff:  The X-Files and the characters whose names
you recognize belong to Chris Carter (I'm still waiting for that
invitation to join your staff writers, Chris), Fox Television and
Ten Thirteen Productions.  I am borrowing them because I'm
harmless and not making any money from this, I don't have a
renegade Web site, and I'm relatively low on the food chain.
Everyone else and the plot belongs to me.  This story may be
archived, shared, spliced, diced, spindled, mutilated, copied,
and shredded, as long as no one makes any money from the
aforementioned activities, the substance of the story remains
unchanged and my name remains attached as author. Please
e-mail me with your comments, reactions, suggestions.



Prologue

Thursday night

	The door closed, leaving only his smoke hanging in
the air of the spacious, richly furnished room.  For a short
time, the ticking of the antique pendulum clock was the only
sound.  Finally, the silence was broken.

	"It would bring me the greatest possible pleasure to
eliminate that one personally,"  the swarthy man muttered,
his eyes narrowing as he stared at the door.  In spite of his
years and the extra weight, he was clearly more than capable
of carrying out such a threat.

	"No doubt.  But you'd be at the end of a long line
waiting for the opportunity."  His left eyelid twitched once
uncontrollably, then the tall, austere looking man pursed his
lips, struggling to get his emotions under control.  The man
who had just left had a genius for getting under his skin, for
pushing all the wrong buttons.  The S.O.B. would someday
learn that to his sorrow.  But if anyone eliminated the
supercilious bastard, it would be him; he'd been building up to
it for years.  But not now - not yet.  His tones were clipped.
"Unfortunately, he has a way of making himself extremely
useful - almost indispensible in our current endeavor.  He has
complete access to our target area and our target population.
For better or worse, he controls the fate of this project.  I
would not have chosen to place him in such a position, but I
was not consulted."

	"So, everything is in place?"

	The heavily accented English was beginning to grate
on him.  For God's sake, the man had been in this country
since the end of the war, what in hell was wrong with him?
He bit back a caustic remark.  "We are ready.  If everyone
does his job, we'll be underway in twelve hours."

			- - - - -

Tuesday, eleven a.m.

	Fox Mulder sat in the waiting room of the office of
Assistant Director Walter Skinner, fidgeting with the
magazine in his hands and trying not to appear like he was
eavesdropping on the raised voices emanating from behind
the closed door.  He was in for another of Skinner's patented
ass-chewing sessions, knew for certain that he was in for it.
Case reports were his Achilles heel, he was the first to admit
that.  There was no excitement in them;  everything had
already been discovered, explored, analysed.  Usually he
could talk Scully into doing them, but she had had a couple
days off and hadn't been with him on the Luchesi case, so he
had been stuck.  The case had been a complete waste of
time, and he hadn't been able to summon up the interest to
do more than a slap-dash job on the report.

	And if Skinner hates the report, just wait until he gets
a load of the expense vouchers, thought Mulder mournfully.
Maybe we can postpone this and I can get reamed for both at
the same time - it would be so much more efficient.

	The increased volume of the speaker behind the door
cut into his thoughts.  Even Skinner's secretary, normally the
most unflappable person imaginable, looked up from her
work to stare pointedly at the door.  She gave a short sigh of
annoyance, then turned up the volume on her dictation
headset as she continued to tap out a letter on her PC.
Mulder also was annoyed.  If Skinner hadn't already been in a
foul mood, he would be now.  He's going to eat me alive and
relish every bite, he thought.  Halfheartedly, he considered
what the job prospects might be at NICAP.

	Soon, however, as the volume of the conversation
remained undiminished, Mulder began listening openly to
what was going on behind the door.  Except for occasional
words, the voices were too unclear to get any but the most
general sense of the conversation.  One voice, deep and
male, was placating and was obviously trying to maintain
some semblance of both patience and professionalism.  The
female voice was strident, insistent, aggrieved.  After a few
minutes more, the door to Skinner's inner office was suddenly
flung open.

	"I don't give a shit about the Bureau, or how this will
look in the papers!  You do something about this, or I will.
But understand one thing - I will never work with that son of a
bitch again, and I want him charged!"  Rachel Martin stormed
through the waiting room to the exit, leaving Skinner framed
in his doorway.  She slammed the anteroom door on the way
out.

	No one spoke anything for several long seconds.
Then Skinner said softly, distractedly, "All right, Agent
Mulder, please come in."


	Please?  By the time Mulder had collected his wits,
dropped the magazine back on the table and followed him
into the office, Skinner was sitting at his desk, hands steepled
in front of him.  He seemed barely aware of the young agent,
who remained standing.   Skinner appeared lost in thought,
staring through him to the wall on the opposite side of the
room as if he weren't even there.  "Uh, sir?  If this is an
inconvenient time for you, I can come back,"  Mulder said
hopefully.

	Skinner shook himself from his deliberations.  "No,
now will be fine, Agent Mulder.  Have a seat."  Mulder sat
and clasped the armrests of the chair, bracing himself for the
tirade to come.  Instead, the silence once again stretched out
as the AD got to his feet and began to pace.  After several
laps between his desk and the door, he finally stopped, and
stood looking out his window.  Not even turning around, he
began to speak.

	"Agent Mulder."  The words, cutting through the quiet,
startled the young man, and he jumped slightly.  "Do you
know Agents Martin and Wolfson personally?"

	"Uh... I know them casually, yes, sir.  Last October,
Agent Scully and I attended a seminar in Denver on evidence
retrieval techniques.  Ron and Rachel are based there and
also attended the seminar.  Since Scully and Rachel were in
the same class at the Academy, we saw a good bit of them
during meal breaks and in the evening."  He left his own
question unasked -  why did Skinner want to know about
them?  Mulder waited patiently for the him to speak.

	The AD turned around and sat at his desk.  He
appeared to come to some sort of a decision.  "I...uh...
suppose you heard much of what Agent Martin was saying
anyway, so I don't feel I'm betraying anything here.  And I
know you'll keep it confidential..."  Skinner's dark brown eyes
glittered behind the spectacles, and Mulder got the distinct
impression he was waiting for an answer.

	"Of course, sir."

	"Very well.  Truth is, Mulder, perhaps you may be of
some help in this matter, with your background in
psychology."  Skinner finally returned to his desk and sat.
"Martin and Wolfson are in town for the recertification
program.  Rachel Martin called me at home last night over a
matter she found extremely... distressing, and came in this
morning to see me.  She had some very damaging
allegations regarding the behavior of her partner."
Hesitating, Skinner seemed at a loss how to proceed.
	
	"Professional behavior, sir?"  Mulder prodded.

	He sighed.  "Professional as it regards Wolfson's
duties or his interactions with the public, no.  Professional as
it regards his interactions with his partner, yes.  Agent Martin
said he's been behaving strangely for the last day or so."

	"Strangely?  In what way?"

	"She said that he had been making comments with a
lot of sexual innuendo, which she said is not like him.  I
mean, we all know that there are agents out there who are
not particularly enlightened regarding the status of women.
But those of you who have female partners were carefully
screened to make sure none of you had that kind of attitude,
or any other sort of bias that would make it difficult for you to
bond as partners."  This was news to Mulder. It showed a
sensitivity by the Bureau that he had never suspected.
Skinner continued.  "Anyway, she let him know that those
comments were not appreciated, and thought that would be
the end of it."

	"But it wasn't."  Intrigued, Mulder sat straighter in the
chair and gave his full attention to Skinner.

	"No, it wasn't.  The comments stopped, but he started
touching her."  Skinner's face held an expression of mild
distaste.  "She thought it was her imagination the first couple
of times, because she was still angry with him and possibly
might have been oversensitive.  Just brushing her hand or
arm when reaching for something, patting her shoulder,
things like that at first.  Then it got so that these...occurrences
...were obviously neither accidental nor benign. So she told
him to back off and keep his hands to himself.  That was
yesterday afternoon.  Last night at eight o'clock Wolfson
knocked on Agent Martin's hotel room door.  She answered it
and let him in because he said he wanted to apologize."
Skinner looked directly at Mulder.  "Once inside the room,
Wolfson attempted to rape his partner."

	Mulder let out a breath.  Whatever he had been
expecting, it wasn't this.  "Is she all right?  Did he hurt her?"

	"Fortunately she was still wearing her service
weapon.  He ripped her clothing, she got a few scratches,
then she pulled the gun on him and he backed off and left her
room.  She then called me.  I advised her to change hotels,
which she did.  Since I was hoping to keep this an internal
matter, I requested that she not contact the police at that
time."  He looked up, caught Mulder's glance and challenged
it.  "All right, I know.  After a bit of Monday morning
quarterbacking of my own, I came to the decision that that
may not have been wise.  But I hoped I might keep the lid on
this - like it or not, it's part of my job."

	From the look of disgust on his face, Mulder could
assume it was not the part of his job he was most fond of. He
moved on, carefully keeping his tone neutral.  "Where is
Agent Wolfson now, sir?"

	"Well, that's the damn question, isn't it?  I have no
idea and neither does anyone else.  There is a discreet
manhunt going on - if such a thing is possible,"  Skinner
finished bitterly.  "Agent Martin is still too upset to give us any
leads to where he might have gone, which is understandable.
Attempted rape would be traumatic enough for any woman,
but that kind of betrayal by a partner makes it even harder to
deal with.  Now, I need to know a few things, and maybe you
can help."

	"I'm happy to do anything I can, sir."

	"When you were with them in Denver, did you notice
anything between Martin and Wolfson that would indicate
anything other than a strictly professional relationship
between the two of them?  Any apparent attraction of one for
the other, anything like that?"

	Mulder thought back.  He and Scully had
shared a lot of time with the two Denver-based agents.
Wolfson and Martin had shown them many of the city's
nightspots and better restaurants in the three days they had
been out there.  The conversation had been of general
interest - politics, the Bureau, old 'war' stories of the
Academy.  Everything was very informal and casual.
Wolfson and Martin had appeared to get along well together,
not too intimate, not too distant.
							
	"Well, from what I understand, they've been a team
for a couple of years now. They're both single - Ron's a
bachelor, and Rachel was married but has been divorced for
several years. When I was with them in October, I noticed
nothing out of the ordinary in their relationship. They got
along quite well, but just what you'd expect in a good
partnership, nothing more than that.  In fact, Ron talked to
me about a woman he was seeing at the time, and I think
Rachel was confiding with Scully about her social life.  May I
inquire why you asked me that question, sir?"

	"Like it or not, I have to consider all possible angles,
Mulder, and revenge by a scorned woman is just one of
them.  It was remotely possible that Agent Martin was trying
to get Agent Wolfson in trouble for her own personal reasons.
Or it was possible that Wolfson had some feelings for his
partner and chose the worse possible time and manner of
expressing them.  I don't believe it either, but I had to ask."

	Mulder shook his head.  "No, I saw nothing to
indicate anything like that."

	"Did you notice anything about Agent Wolfson at the
time which would lead you to believe that he held negative
views regarding women, something the Bureau may have
missed in its initial assessment?  Any off-color jokes,
derogatory language about women?"

	"No, sir.  Absolutely not."

	"All right, Agent Mulder, you may go.  Do me a favor
and ask Agent Scully if she noticed anything.   Have her
report to me if she did."  Mulder was out of the chair and at
the door in a heartbeat.  His hand was on the knob when
Skinner again spoke.
	
	"Oh, and Mulder?  Your report on the Luchesi case
was unacceptable.  You have until tomorrow at nine sharp to
do it again and have it on my desk."

	Mulder looked to the ceiling and shook his head
slightly.  Well, he had almost gotten away with it.  "Yes, sir."

	As the door closed behind Mulder, Skinner reached
for the phone.

			- - -

	"You look relatively unscathed this time."  Scully
looked up from the stack of paperwork on her desk to smile
at Mulder as he entered their office and threw himself into his
chair.  "Skinner losing his touch?"

	"Well, you can't blame the guy - he was distracted
and couldn't give it his best effort,"  Mulder murmured
absently.

	"Speaking of distracted, you look like you've got a lot
on your mind, too.  What's up?"

	He looked over at her and sat up straighter in his
chair.  "When I got up there, a situation was brewing which
took some of the heat off me.  Skinner wanted your take on
this, too.  Apparently last night, after acting out of character
all day, Ron Wolfson tried to rape Rachel Martin."
	
	"WHAT?  That's not possible, Mulder.  They got
along great, and Ron seemed to be the perfect gentleman."
	
	"Well, that paragon of virtue is now on the run
somewhere, and I guess there's no doubt that he did try to
force himself on her."

	"Is she all right?  asked Scully, concerned.

	"Yeah, she's okay.  Upset, as you can imagine, but
she wasn't physically hurt.  I know - I find it hard to believe
myself.  When we were in Denver spending time with them,
he really seemed to respect Rachel.  They looked like they
had an ideal partnership.  Skinner wanted to know if you had
anything else to add."

	Scully colored, and appeared uncomfortable.  "Um,
anything I could add would require me to break a confidence,
Mulder.  I really would prefer not to do that unless it were
vitally important.  I can tell you, but I'd rather not go to
Skinner about it - it could mean Rachel's career."

	Mulder nodded slowly.  "I don't want you to say
anything you feel you shouldn't, Scully.  Would it help if I told
you what he was looking for?  He asked me if I thought that
either could be having...perhaps more than just the normal
feelings that partners have for one another."

	She smiled wryly.  "No, I can definitely say that that
was not the case.  Rachel liked Ron, found him easy to work
with, but she definitely did not harbor any romantic feelings
about him, and from the gist of our conversation, I didn't pick
up that he had any such feelings about her.  Ron has been in
a steady relationship with a woman for about a year."

	"And Rachel's relationships?"  He saw Scully
hesitate.  "Don't ask, don't tell?"  he said perceptively.

	Scully met his eyes, grateful that he had guessed and
she didn't have to divulge a secret.  "You know the damage it
could do if that got out.  Rachel has been very discreet. She
said that Ron was aware, and seemed to be both accepting
and supportive.  So unrequited love on the part of either of
them is extremely unlikely."

	He was silent while he considered what she had said.
Then he finally nodded.  "I agree - on all counts.  Well, when
they find Wolfson, maybe he'll be able to answer some of
their questions.  Why are they here, anyway?  Were they
transferred?  Skinner said something about a recertification
program.  What recertification program?"  He picked up the
top file and began shuffling through the reports.

	"Mulder, haven't you noticed?  The building is
jumping in agents.  They've been bringing in all of the field
agents on a staggered basis for over a week now.
Something about new measurable outcomes and standards
or something like that.  Anyway, the upshot is that everyone
is going to have to recertify annually on a list of what they're
calling 'critical skills'.  We haven't been notified because
we're based here.  I expect they'll get to us sooner or later."

	"Now that you mention it, I do remember seeing
some strange and some not so strange faces around.  Charlie
Hardcastle and Brian Holcombe, Myrna O'Boyle and John
Davies, Patty Johnson and Rick Fernandez, that dickhead
Warren Arnold and Lou Algigi.  So that's what they're all here
for?"

	"That's what they're all here for.  And Warren Arnold
is not a dickhead.  He's just very...rigid in his beliefs."

	"He's a dickhead,"  Mulder replied with finality.  He
shuffled the papers around on his desk.  "Hey Scully, have
you got the photographs from the Costas case file?"

	She passed him the photos from the case to which
they had just been assigned, an alleged case of satanic
possession.  Then she started in on the massive stack of files
on her desk which had been accumulating over the past
several weeks while they had been in the field.  Mulder
glanced at the pictures, which showed very little other than
the bathroom of an apartment, and a reasonably normal
looking little girl.  He set them down with a sigh and, bowing
to the inevitable, he started to rewrite the Luchesi report.



Wednesday morning

	The room was larger than it really needed to be.  One
corner had been sectioned off to make a spacious office, the
rest devoted to the equipment, counters, tables and cabinets
required by the work.  All of the equipment was the best
made, in some cases customized to their designs and needs
with no questions asked by the manufacturer, who charged
heavily for his silence.  In spite of the fact that this lab was
located some three stories below the ground, the air was
comfortable and fresh, thanks to the costly circulation and
filtration system humming in the background.  Even though
most of the really dangerous substances were mixed under
the laminar flow hood, there was no use taking chances with
the hand picked staff.  People as highly trained as these were
rare, who were not only bright and had the necessary
scientific training, but who also had the right sort of values,
thought the right way and knew how to keep their mouths
shut.  At the moment, there were few workers around.  Some
had gone on coffee break and a couple of others were having
their mandatory day off.  The ones who were there were
bending over microscopes or entering data into computers.
All except for two figures in white coats, who stood in the
doorway to the office, surveying the activity with a certain
satisfaction.
	
	"Things are proceeding well," said the shorter of the
two.  "Right on schedule, if the data we are getting back is to
be believed."

	The taller figure grunted.  "How did you determine
our target population?"

	"In a way, they determined it themselves."  Seeing
his companion's blank look, the shorter man chuckled and
continued.  "We had most of the DNA mapping already done,
using the tissue samples from the Files.  What wasn't in the
Files we acquired in a variety of ways.  Sometimes merely an
accidental scratch by a 'co-worker' would give us the cells
necessary to do the mapping.  Other times we would bribe
hospital workers to get samples if the targets were
hospitalized for any reason.  And often we got what we
needed in the course of their annual physicals.  It wasn't all
that hard."

	"You missed your century - you would have made an
excellent graverobber,"  the tall man commented drily.   "You
seem to have a talent for acquiring specimens."

	His companion snorted in amusement.  "Comes with
the territory.  In any case, who is affected is determined
entirely by genetics.  A certain recessive gene causes
absorption of the substance.  The dominant gene, present in
a much larger segment of the population, blocks its
absorption.  So we know in advance who will react - we had
to predetermine that in order to track the results.  What is
variable is exactly how that reaction will manifest itself."

	"There have been some...unforeseen occurrences,"
the taller man said after a few moments' silence.  "I assume,
at least, that they were unforeseen."

	The shorter figure completed a checklist on the
clipboard he was holding and signed his name with a flourish.
His tone was very matter of fact.  "Oh, we knew there was a
possibility of some breakage.  Yes, very unfortunate, very
tragic.  But we'll learn a lot from studying why those
occurances happened.  Possibly a more rapid uptake of the
substance than we had anticipated.  Or it could be due to any
of a number of other variables - diet, heredity, age, sex,
racial characteristics - who knows?  But anyway, like they
say, to make an omelette you have to break a few eggs."

	The tall man looked down his long, aquiline nose at
his companion.  "One of those occurrences was not part of
your target population," he said sharply.

	The short researcher shrugged. "C'est la vie.  I'm not
counting those results so it doesn't skew our data."

	The tall man, certainly not the most charitable or
sentimental of creatures, nevertheless shuddered slightly at
the callousness of the project director.  Stiffly, he replied, "I
trust the results will be worth the lives lost."
	
	"What?  Oh, yes, this data will be invaluable, quite
invaluable.  Whatever use it gets put to.  It's just unfortunate
that it can't be written up and published.  But then, I am being
paid well enough that I can manage to live with the fact that I
will never win the Nobel Prize for this research.  There are
always tradeoffs in life."  The project manager smiled, and
looked up at him companionably.

	"So you don't know what will be done with this?"

	"No.  I don't have to know."  He was abrupt, curt -
and no longer smiling.  "I don't want to know."

			- - - - -

Wednesday noon

	Against all odds, the cafeteria was beginning to take
on the atmosphere of a college reunion, as agents usually
dispersed all over the country ran into old Academy
classmates and former partners.  The rather stark, utilitarian
room was almost festive, the level of conversation several
magnitudes louder than usual.  Mulder met Scully just outside
the cafeteria as they had arranged.  He had been working on
paperwork all day while she had gone out to interview and
examine the child whose family thought was possessed.
Deftly avoiding the more boisterous of the groups clogging
the aisles, Mulder spied a free table in a relatively secluded
corner.  He led the way and moments later, they set their
trays down and sat gratefully.

	"So what did you find out about Bonnie Costas?"
asked Mulder.  He took a bite of the most revolting looking
chili dog that Scully had ever seen.  She shuddered, more
from Mulder's dietary choices than from his question.

	Their current case involved a ten year old girl, only a
few miles from where they now sat.  A model child and an
excellent student, Bonnie had been acting out of character for
a short time just before attempting to kill her baby brother.
They might never have known about the case, but one of the
Bureau LCSW's had been volunteering at Juvenile Hall
where Bonnie Costas had been taken following the attack on
her brother.  She was now being watched closely - no one
liked actually using the term suicide precautions when a child
that young was involved - because she was so upset about
what she had apparently done.   In one of her counselling
sessions, the social worker found out that although the child
had some memory of what went on up to a certain point, she
really couldn't answer any questions about what had
prompted her to try to drown the two year old in his bath.
Family members stated that Bonnie loved the baby, and if
anything, had a tendency to be doting and spoil him.  But the
day of the attack, she had been very short-tempered with
everyone in the household, and had been sent to her room
for an outburst of profanity that had shocked her parents to
their toes.  The baby was in the hospital but looked like he
would recover fully from his near-drowning.  The question
remained why Bonnie would have done such a thing.  The
deeply religious family was devastated and had even brought
in a priest, thinking that their daughter might be possessed.

	It was at that point that the LCSW, remembering
Mulder and Scully's work on the Calusari case, got in touch
with the two agents.  Scully examined the girl, then ordered
medical tests including toxicology screen, CAT scan and
EEG, which were being performed over the next twenty four
hours.  Until those results came in, there was little they could
do.

	Scully recapped her actions of the morning.   "She
seemed like a very sweet child. Very depressed at the
moment, I'd say clinically depressed.  They're watching her
carefully.  She repeatedly asked about her brother. Unless
she was a hell of an actress, I'd say her concern was quite
genuine."

	"Any clue as to why she tried to drown him?", asked
Mulder, munching.

	She shook her head.  "No.  The way Bonnie
described it was that she was helpless to prevent his being
hurt.  She remembers nothing of the actual attempted
drownng itself, but does recall events leading up to it rather
well.  At one point, she even had a sense of dissociation from
her actions, saying that it was almost like television, all she
could do was watch."  Her eyes met his.

	No one but Scully would have even noticed a
reaction, but he flinched ever so slightly, his eyes reflecting
the pain of a child helplessly watching as a beloved sibling
was endangered.  In a voice that was a hoarse whisper he
asked, "Is she getting counselling, Scully?  What about her
family - do they blame her?"

	"It's all right, Mulder,"  she said gently.  "Her family is
concerned and frightened, but has reassured her that it wasn't
her fault.  And there are psychologists and cousellors seeing
her a couple of times a day."  In an effort to lighten his mood,
she remarked, "Hey, isn't that Larry Heller over there?
Remember him from Seattle?"

	He appeared unenthusiastic.  "Yeah.  I'd have
thought that he couldn't find his ass with both hands. I'm
surprised he could find his way here."

	She nearly choked on her Caesar salad.  "You really
should be more charitable in your estimation of your fellow
agents," she said, jokingly.

	"Why?"  Mulder finished his chili dog and sat back to
sip on his iced tea.  "By the way, we got these."  He reached
into his jacket pocket to produce two envelopes.  "Our
invitations to the party.  Well, maybe 'party' is going a little
far.  Our summonses to attend the recertification program
tomorrow morning.  When are the results of the tests due
back on Bonnie?"

	"Late this afternoon - maybe,"  she replied.  "The
EEG I ordered was a sleep study, so they...."  Her voice
trailed off.  She turned toward the sound of shouting which
could be heard throughout the cafeteria over the cacophony
of the more sociable diners.  Mulder looked intrigued as
about thirty feet away John Davies and Myrna O'Boyle, a
team based in Louisville, faced each other, glaring.

	Myrna, a tall, big-boned redhead stood with her
hands on her hips, a deep flush staining her cheeks.  "And
what the hell do you mean by that, anyway?"

	Her partner was about her equal in height, and at the
moment, in temper as well.  "What the hell do you mean,
what the hell do I mean?  I made a simple comment.  I AM
entitled to my own opinions, aren't I?"  He, too, was flushed
and his blue eyes glittered with anger.

	"Not when they're as assinine as what you just
spouted off to me.  If you'd think with your brain instead of
with your...."

	"Instead of with my WHAT, you bitch?"  John roared,
his hands clenched into fists held stiffly by his side.

	The stinging slap resounded through the cafeteria, as
all conversation had stopped and everyone gaped at the
scene before them.  John brought a startled hand up to his
cheek, then in a blind rage pulled his right arm back.  From
nowhere, a large hand gripped his wrist like a vice, stopping
the forward momentum of his fist.

	"That will be enough!  Agents O'Boyle and Davies,
get to my office, now.  Don't say another word.  Sawchuck,
stay with them and make sure they don't punch each others'
lights out."

	"There's the right man for the job,"  murmured
Mulder.  "It's about all he's fit for."

	Scully made a face at her partner.  "Shhh!"

	Skinner looked around the abnormally silent
cafeteria.   "While I have your attention," he said in a husky
voice.  "I have the extremely sad duty to announce that
Agent Rick Fernandez of our San Antonio office was killed in
the line of duty early this morning.  I'm sure our thoughts and
prayers go out to his widow and baby daughter."  The AD
looked like he was going to continue for a moment, then he
simply said, "Thank you."  He strode between rows of
stunned agents toward Mulder and Scully, who exchanged
questioning looks.

	"When I'm through dealing with Davies and O'Boyle,
I want to see you two in my office."

	"Of course, sir,"  said Scully smoothly.  "Is it about
our present case?"

	Skinner looked around, then bent down, his arms
braced on the table, hands grasping the edge.  His voice was
low.  "I don't want this getting out...but it looks like Rick
Fernandez might have been shot deliberately by his own
partner."

			- - - - -

Wednesday, 2 P.M.

	"Come in."  Skinner's head stayed down as he
finished making some notes on one of the papers stacked
before him, as Mulder and Scully entered and sat in the
chairs in front of his desk.  Finally he looked up and pushed
his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose.

	"Thanks for coming.  What are you working on at the
moment?"

	Mulder cleared his throat.  "We have one case."  He
pushed the Costas file across the desk toward the Assistant
Director.  "We've had it for only a couple of days and it's a
local."

	"All right.  I want you to put it on the back burner for a
while and turn your attention to what's been going on here."

	Mulder and Scully exchanged looks.  "We've already
done all the preliminary work on the case, sir, and we're just
waiting for the results of some medical tests,"  Scully
explained.  "I'd like to be able to finish it."

	Skinner made no attempt to pick up the file.  "I'm
sure you would, Agent Scully, and it will be waiting for you
when you are finished with this assignment.  But what I'm
giving you right now has precedence.  Have I made myself
understood?"  He glared at her through his glasses.

	"Yes, sir."  She sat back, a slight flush to her cheeks.
Mulder looked over toward her sympathetically.  He was far
more used to being on the wrong end of Skinner's temper
than she was.

	"All right then.  I'm sure you will come to appreciate
the urgency of this matter when I explain what's been going
on.  Did Agent Mulder share with you what happened
between Agents Wolfson and Martin?"

	Scully nodded.

	"And I assume you had nothing to add?"  At her nod
he continued.  "I wish I could say it was an isolated incident."
Skinner got up and began to pace.  It was as if being in
motion gave him some assurance that he was doing
something, taking some sort of action to regain control of an
untenable situation.  "Over the past four days there have
been, to my knowledge, at least half a dozen incidents
among our personnel."

	"Half a dozen?"  questioned Mulder.  "We know
about Wolfson, and everyone saw the fight between O'Boyle
and Davies - I assume you're counting that?"  Skinner
nodded.  "And from what you said earlier, I would guess that
Rick Fernandez's death is also part of all this.  Who else?"

	"Bruce Grady and Sam Levitz - are you two
acquainted with them?  No?  They've been partners for three
years and are stationed in Las Vegas.  They ended up in a
fistfight in the middle of McCarren International Airport about
ten minutes after they landed yesterday.  Had to be broken
up by airport security, who saw the badges and called the
local office to go down and collect them.  Airline officials said
they had been arguing most of the flight back from Dulles, at
one point with such ferocity that the crew chief almost asked
them to hand over their weapons because she was afraid
they would use them on each other.  Neither can really say
what caused the fight.  Just a whole lot of 'little things'."  He
bent over his desk and shuffled some papers around, then
plucked one out of the pile, referring to it as he spoke.

	"Then last night two agents from St. Louis, Greg
Meinhoff and Randy Jeffries, had a brawl and reduced their
hotel room to rubble in the process.  It was stopped by some
of the other agents in for the recertification program who
were staying in the same hotel.  It was also the hotel where
Martin and Wolfson were staying, by the way.  Randy said
the precipitating factor was racial - that Greg had said he was
sick of having a quote goddamn nigger unquote for a partner.
For his part, Meinhoff wasn't clear about what he himself had
said, but accused Randy of calling him a quote fucking Nazi
unquote.  They've been together for six years and were
thought to have an exemplary partnership."  Skinner finally
sat down again and picked up another report.

	"Then late this morning I got word that there had
been a problem between Sandy Forchette and Jimmy Page
in Chicago - a potentially life-threatening problem.  Sandy
had been behaving strangely since leaving here on Monday
afternoon, Jimmy said.  Very suspicious, and increasingly
paranoid as time went on.  This morning she reported to the
Federal Building looking 'dishevelled and hunted', in the
words of one of the witnesses.  When Jimmy came in and
saw the state she was in, he asked to speak to her privately
in one of the offices.  As the senior partner, he wanted to try
to find out what was wrong and see what he could do to help.
She didn't look happy about it, but they went into the
conference room and closed the door.  Witnesses - all agents
and clerical personnel of the Bureau in Chicago - say a few
minutes later there was shouting.  Several people went to the
door, and someone opened it to find Sandy with her weapon
drawn and pointed at Jimmy.  He was attempting to talk her
down.  She was rambling about him always being out to get
her, just like everyone else.  As soon as she noticed the open
door and all the people standing in the doorway, she brought
the gun around to point at them.  The good news is that there
was another door to the room, and she was taken down from
behind.  The bad news - not before her weapon discharged,
hitting and slightly wounding one of the witnesses.  She's now
being held pending psychiatric evaluation.  Sandy and Jimmy
had been partners for two and a half years."  Skinner was
silent for several moments.

	Scully licked her lips.  "What happened with Rick and
Patty?" she asked in a shaky voice.

	Sighing, Skinner sat back in his chair and linked his
hands behind his head.  "Johnson and Fernandez had
finished with the recertification course here Tuesday evening
and were scheduled to leave this morning for San Antonio.
But last night we were notified of a kidnapping there.  The
M.O. fit one used by someone who has been abducting
children on an intermittant basis for almost a year.  None of
the victims has ever been heard from again.  Fernandez and
Johnson have been working on the case since the beginning
and have gotten close to the families involved.  This time
there was a break - there was a witness who not only saw the
kidnapping but also got the tag number of the kidnapper's
car.  We got word to Patty and Rick and they left last night to
join the manhunt.  Up to that point, nothing seemed wrong
between them.

	"At dawn this morning, the San Antonio police and
the FBI had surrounded the house where they believed the
kidnapper to be holed up.  Patty and Rick were in
Fernandez's car, about 100 feet away from the building.
Everyone was waiting for a signal to go in when a shot was
heard.  Assuming the shot to have come from the house, the
police and the agents rushed the building, nailed the perp,
and freed the kid.  Then it occurred to one of them that there
was no gun around, so the shot could not have come from
the house."  He sat forward, rubbing his face with his hands
as if he were exhausted, then carefully folded them on the
desk - but not before Mulder noticed the slight tremor.
Skinner was more shaken by all of this than he would admit.

	"They all started looking for the source of the
gunshot, and noticed that two people were sitting in a car
parked on the opposite side of the road.  When they looked in
the window, they saw Patty sitting there, catatonic.  A gun -
her gun, as it turns out - was lying on the floor. Sitting next to
her - leaning against her - was Rick's body. What was...what
was left of his head was resting on her shoulder."

	The hideous picture was all too vivid.  "Oh my God,"
gasped Scully.  Mulder closed his eyes briefly as if in pain
and shook his head a little, but remained silent.

	"Patty is now at San Antonio Medical Center under
heavy sedation.  No one has been able to question her yet.
She might have done it in self defence or in a rage, or Rick
may have pulled the trigger himself, we just don't know yet.
What we do know is that there was a devastating change in
the mental state of one or both of them in the ten or so hours
after they left Washington."  They all sat in troubled silence
for several moments.

	Quietly Mulder asked,  "What kind of explanation did
you get from O'Boyle and Davies? What's happening with
them?"

	"They're confined to their hotel rooms for the time
being and Sawchuck is keeping an eye on them.  What will
happen will be decided after we have thoroughly investigated
this matter.  I interviewed them separately.  Each accused
the other of being increasingly edgy and difficult to get along
with for the past couple of days.  Intentionally saying things to
incite an argument, going out of his or her way to interpret
things said as a insult, that sort of thing.  They were both
extremely defensive, trying to justify their actions on the
basis of real or imagined injuries perpetrated by the other."
Skinner leaned forward.  His voice was lower but lost none of
its emphasis.  "Now I don't know what's causing this, but we
have to find out, and figure out a way to stop it.  And we have
to do it quickly.  I'm getting all kinds of pressure from the
brass to put an end to it, or they'll do it their way."

	"Their way?  I'm almost afraid to ask,"  said Mulder,
grimacing and shifting in his seat.

	Dryly, the AD said,  "Well, one of their more
ingenious suggestions is to break up all the male-female
partnerships in the Bureau."
	

	"What?  Break up all the mixed partnerships? But
that's ridiculous!"  Scully protested.   She glanced over at
Mulder, who appeared stricken.  "Not all the incidents have
occurred in the mixed partnerships."

	"No, but by far the more serious ones have,"  Skinner
said patiently.  "And they're attributing the others to stress or
coincidence or both.  You have to understand, Agent Scully,
that a lot of the higher-ups were dead set against the idea of
mixed partnerships to begin with.  We're not talking about the
most enlightened or free-thinking individuals here. Some of
them are even staunchly against the idea of women agents,
but find it politically inexpedient to come out and say so.
They've been waiting a long time for something - anything -
to happen that would reflect badly on the concept of male-
female partnerships.  That's why we've had to be so careful,
both in making the assignments and in the conduct of the
partners as they do their work.  It is to the credit of the
Bureau and the agents involved that they have not had that
opportunity until now.   Personally, I think the brass are
completely wrong, but my personal opinions do not count for
much in this matter.  Make no mistake, unless a better
reason for this violence presents itself, they will see to it that
mixed partnerships are broken up, and yours will be no
exception."

	Mulder pulled himself together.  "Then we had better
find that reason,"  he said, softly but determinedly.

	There was a short silence.  Then, "Sir, I have a
suggestion, if I may," Scully advanced, far more tentatively
than she normally presented ideas.  "It involves the Costas
case and -"

	"The Costas case is not an issue here. I thought I had
made myself clear," said Skinner sharply.  "I'm used to a
certain amount of bullshit from Mulder, Agent Scully, but not
from you.  If this is an example of what mixed partnerships
do, maybe the brass is right."

	"SIR!  If you will allow me to finish."  The diminutive
agent's eyes were snapping, her cheeks were pink and it
occurred to Mulder that right now she would be a tough
customer in a fight.

	"It better be good."  Skinner leaned back in his chair,
an almost insolent look on his face, as if he were daring her
to challenge his authority.

	"What I was about to say - SIR - is that there are a
number of startling parallels between the Costas case and
this problem we are currently having in the Bureau."

	His eyes narrowed speculatively.  "How so?"

	Her voice had lost the angry tone now, and she
reassumed her scientific detachment as she brought him up
to speed on the story of Bonnie Costas.  "So you see, sir,"
she concluded, "that here we have someone who has
suddenly and mysteriously behaved totally out of character. A
short history of increasingly atypical behavior. And then,
almost immediately, an incident in which there was a physical
attack on someone with whom the attacker had an
extraordinarily close relationship. Exactly like the agents."

	"I'll grant you that point, Scully.  There do seem to be
some at least superficial similarities.  But how is a ten year
old child like a Federal agent?  What could possibly be
causing this that would effect both?"
	
	She shook her head and shrugged her shoulders
helplessly.  "I don't know, sir.  But I'm hoping that the results
of Bonnie's medical tests will give us a clue.  It will also put
us several hours ahead in coming to some sort of theory,
since I ordered these tests early this morning."

	Skinner turned his attention to Mulder.  "And I
suppose you agree with her?"

	"Yes sir, I do.  Unless of course you would like to
entertain the notion that first brought our attention to the case
- an assertion that the kid was possessed by demons."

	The AD sighed.  "I'm ready to entertain any notion at
this point, Agent Mulder, if it will get us to the bottom of this
thing.  All right, how do you two think we should proceed from
here?"

	Mulder nodded at Scully to go first.  "I think we need
to run tests on these people - the sooner the better.  I would
suggest a full toxicology panel, CBC with differential,  aerobic
and anaerobic blood cultures, urinalysis, CHEM-24, EEG -
preferably with sleep study, if it won't hold things up too much
- and CAT scan or MRI of the brain.  If we can get all the
results together within the next 24 hours, maybe we can
figure out what's causing this before more people are hurt."

	Skinner nodded and looked at her partner.  "Alright -
what do you propose to do, Agent Mulder?"

	Mulder looked grim.  "I want to go over the transcripts
of Scully's interview with Bonnie Costas, maybe even see her
for myself.  We need to find out exactly what you questioned
- how is a ten year old child like an FBI agent?  I want to talk
to Agents Martin, O'Boyle, Davies, Meinhoff and Jeffries in
person, and to Levitz, Grady and Page by phone.  I want to
hear their descriptions of how the symptoms manifested
themselves and how they're feeling now.   And while I'm
interviewing some of the agents, I'd like a full forensics team
to check out the hotel where they've been staying - food and
water samples, sweepings from the air ducts, check out the
signals from their cable tv's, the works.  It may be more than
a coincidence that all of the affected agents were staying
there.  Also someone has to find out if there have been any
more of these incidents anywhere among the general public.
While I believe Washington to be the focus of these
incidents, it wouldn't hurt to check the computer for reports of
similar incidents in the last couple of weeks elsewhere."

	Skinner looked from one to the other, then thought
for a few moments.  He exhaled sharply, then said, "Okay.
We'll make that our plan for right now.  I am going to make
the rounds of the other teams who are here for the
recertification course, ask a few pertinent questions, test the
waters.  See if I can spot some problems brewing and
separate the partners involved before real trouble starts.  I'll
also make the calls to arrange for the results of any tests
done on Patty Johnson, Sandy Forchette and Rick
Fernandez's body to get here on the double.  And I want to
meet with you two at 8 sharp tomorrow morning to touch
base."

	"Yes sir - oh!  Sir, we're scheduled for our own
recertification tests tomorrow morning, 7:30 to noon, " Scully
said.

	"Shit.  Those goddamn stupid things," Skinner
mumbled under his breath - but not softly enough to avoid
provoking amusement in his subordinates.  Louder, he said,
"All right, I can't do anything about that, they're supposed to
be top priority.  I'll see you immediately after you have
finished them.  We should have most of the medical test
results by then."

	"Yes, sir,"  they said together, and rose from their
chairs to leave.  They had almost reached the door when
Skinner's voice stopped them.

	"Agents Scully, Mulder?  This isn't to scare you... but
be careful and be alert.  You two may not be immune to
this... thing."

	They looked at each other briefly.  "Yessir."

			- - -

	They went immediately to their desks on entering the
basement office they had shared for almost four years. The
walk from Skinner's office to theirs in the bowels of the
building had been silent, each too wrapped up in his and her
own thoughts to communicate them.  Both too unsettled to
share what was racing around in their minds.
	
	Mulder stripped off his jacket and rolled up his
shirtsleeves.  He sat at his desk, stroking his lip as he
thought, his eyes focused somewhere in the distance.
This...sickness, madness, whatever it was.  The thought that
it could affect him and Scully, come between them as not
even imminent death had done.  The idea that he could ever
not trust in her implicitly - this, the only person he did
completely trust.  She had always been there for him - always
would be, if he had any say in the matter.  Losing that kind of
support was like losing his right arm.  Worse.  Like losing
himself.  No.  They had been through too much to lose faith
in each other now.  No.  It wouldn't happen to him and Scully.
It couldn't....

	Scully sat at her desk, pen in hand, ready to write
down the words that just wouldn't come.  As much as she
wanted to get started with the process of testing the victims
of this virus or whatever it turned out to be, she was too
shaken.  Too shaken to think about anything other than
Skinner's last words to them.  It wasn't possible.  After all, a
relatively small number of agents had been affected, and all
of them had been out-of-towners.  Maybe this was some
bizarre allergic reaction, to which she and Mulder would be
immune.  Or maybe it was something at the hotel -
something environmental there perhaps.  To suspect that
Mulder could turn on her, could harm her.  No.  She had
travelled that road once before, when she had been affected
by the subliminal signals on those damned video tapes. She
was still embarrassed by the madness that had overcome
her.  No, that would not happen again. Mulder was her
partner, closer than anyone to her, her supporter, her best
friend, the one she ....  With a much greater effort than usual,
Scully closed down that particular line of thought.  Mulder
was her partner.  Her partner.  Partners...what was happening
between the partners?  Mulder could never do that, do what
Patty might have done.  They would never end up screaming
at each other publicly, at each other's throats.  It wouldn't
happen to them.  It couldn't....

	"Mul-"
	"Scul-"

	They smiled a little, both self-conscious and acutely
conscious of each other.  He nodded to indicate that she
should go first.

	"Mulder, I don't have to tell you that I'll always trust
you.  You're my partner,"  she said simply, as if that
explained everything - as indeed, it did.

	The warmth in his eyes seemed to belie the gravity of
his expression.  "I know.  And I feel the same way about you,
Scully.  But we have to face the fact that each of those other
teams would have said exactly the same thing.  Before
whatever it is changed them, they would have been just as
resistant as we are right now to believe that they could begin
to hate their partner, or that their partner could hurt them in
some way."  He sat forward, his forearms resting on his
knees. He looked not at her but at the floor, and she had to
strain to hear him. "The thought that I could do something to
hurt you literally makes me sick.  But we have to understand
that it could happen.  We've been in situations like this
before."

	"You mean these people may not be who they are?"
she replied grimly, thinking back to their hellish time in the
Arctic.

	He nodded.  "We've seen some strange things on our
cases, Scully.  And now something is affecting those closest
to us, most like us, right here in Washington.  Something is
changing their behavior, making them do things that they
would never normally do.  Obviously, it's not what we were
dealing with in the Icy Cape. No one has made any mention
of black lesions, and there isn't the presence of ammonia
which was its natural habitat.  But I'm more than a bit
concerned over the possibility of tampering with whatever
might be coming over the cable tv's at the hotel," he said
gently, and she flushed.  He shook his head dismissively and
smiled, then became grave once more.  "But whether it's a
toxin, a living organism, some sort of subliminal programing
or whatever, it changes people and makes them act
irrationally."  He gave her a crooked smile. "And I'm not very
rational at the best of times."

	She smiled affectionately at him.  "You're perfectly
rational, Mulder - in an irrational sort of way."  The smile died
as she continued.  "I know what you say is true.  It's just so
hard to accept.  What are you suggesting?  That we seal
ourselves off from each other, work separately for now?"

	He looked a little shaken.  "Uh, well....  No, actually, I
didn't mean ....  Well, if you think that would be best.  It might
be the safest thing to do."  His hazel eyes stared into her blue
ones, waiting for her answer.  An answer which would mean
so much more than merely the words she spoke.

	For the first time that afternoon, she felt a sense of
certainty.  "No, Mulder.  Whether you're rational or not, I feel
safer with you than I do alone or with anyone else."

	He let out the breath he had been unaware of holding
and laughed shakily.  "Thanks - I think.  But we do have to be
careful, Scully.  We have to watch each other, as Skinner
said.  You need to get the hell away from me and let Skinner
know if I start acting weird."  He looked at her amused
expression and chuckled.  "Okay - weirder than normal."

	She nodded.  "It's a deal.  And you'll do the same if I
start acting strangely."

	"Oh, I really don't think that's going to be necessary.
If anyone gets starts showing the effects of this thing, it will
probably be me - "

	"Mulder, that is without a doubt one of the dumbest
things you have ever said.  We don't know who is more
susceptible to whatever it is.  In the instance of subliminal
messages, I was the one who...."  She shook her head, trying
to erase the ugly and upsetting images.  "Anyway, may I
remind you that the females in this case would definitely
appear to be the deadlier of the species?"

	His reply was cut off by the ringing of the phone on
his desk.  "Mulder."  His brows drew together in a frown.
"Yes, sir.  Immediately."  Scully looked at him quizzically as
he put the receiver down.

	"Your presence in requested in Autopsy Bay Three."

	She got up and began to gather her things together.
"And who is the guest of honor?"

	"They're bringing in Ron Wolfson's body.  He was
found hanging from a tree in a nearby park."  For a second
their eyes met in a look of concern and even fear.  Then she
was out the door.

			- - - - -


Thursday Morning


	The tall man walked down the middle of the aisle,
positioning himself as far as possible from the shrieking
rhesus monkeys in the cages which lined the walls of the lab.
He approached the project director who glanced up and then
continued to fill the water feeder from the small vial in his
hands.

	"They said I'd find you here."

	"They were right."  He hung the water bottle on one
of the cages and made a note of the date, time, and formula
on the clipboard which was suspended from a hook on the
wall nearby.  "We're entering a new phase of the experiment.
The first part was a broad approach - sort of like firing a
shotgun into a crowd.  Now we're narrowing things a bit."

	The tall man nodded silently, by now immune to the
callousness of the scientist's similes, and he peered around
the lab.  "Our chain-smoking friend tells us that they are
beginning to suspect something is wrong.  They have begun
investigating."

	"Let them.  By the time they figure out what's causing
the reactions, we'll be ready to close down anyway."  He
crossed back to his desk, seated himself and started making
more notes.

	"How does this formula differ?"

	The project director looked up, regarding the tall man
with amused contempt.  "I won't bother your head or waste
my time by attempting to explain the chemistry to you.
Suffice to say, the first phase of the experiment was seeing
what kind of reactions we could precipitate in humans.  We
knew what we could do in the monkey, and there do seem to
have been significant parallels, from what we have seen so
far in our human test subjects.  But now we have entered the
phase of the experiment where we will be trying to direct the
reactions.  In other words, to not only cause the reaction to
occur, but to cause the specific reaction we want for each test
subject.  This is critical to the success of the project.  We
have a number of teams selected, each with a particular
reaction that we are trying to elicit.  In fact, our smoky friend
has made some suggestions in that department.  Quite a
perverted sense of humor that man has - or maybe it's a well-
developed sense of the ironic."

	"Suggestions?  What do you mean?"

	"Oh, just some ideas about certain teams of partners,
and what sort of response to try to elicit."  Smirking, he slid
his eyes craftily up to meet his companion's. "Yes, a delicious
sense of the ironic."

	The tall man refused to follow that line.  He had
carefully shielded himself from most of the grim details of the
results of the experiments up to now.  He had no intention of
diverting from that strategy.  "But how are you going to
introduce the substance?  Won't this be more complicated?
We don't want any more accidents."

	"Already taken care of.  To answer your question,
yes, it is more difficult, but not an insurmountable problem.
It's a matter of timing..."  he chuckled "...Well, more a matter
of scheduling, I suppose you could say.  Don't worry, our
friend inside has done his job well.  And the data we'll be
getting over the next twenty four to forty eight hours should
be fascinating."  He returned to documenting in his research
logs.  "We have a real treat in store!"

	The tall man looked around at the monkeys.  Some
chattered excitedly, throwing themselves against the bars of
their cages.  Others cringed in a corner, and still others bared
their teeth and clawed through the bars at their neighbors.
"Unfortunately, not everyone can say the same."

			- - - - -

	Scully swallowed the dregs of her coffee with a
grimace and tossed the styrofoam cup in the trash as Mulder
approached.
	
	"Glad that's over.  What an incredible waste of time!"
he announced in a loud voice, only too aware that several of
the brass were standing nearby.

	Scully grabbed him by the sleeve and propelled him
down the corridor to the bank of elevators.   She stabbed the
up button and shot him a withering glance.  "Really, Mulder,
there are times...."  To be perfectly honest, she agreed with
him.  The tests had been ridiculously easy.  The thirty agents
had been split into five groups of six.  Her group had followed
his around the warm, stuffy conference room to the various
'stations' where they performed written and skills tests.
Mulder had amply demonstrated his characteristic impatience
and derision with all things bureaucratic.  If he hadn't scored
so perfectly, he probably would have been asked to leave.
As it was, he would probably be treated to another of
Skinner's 'attitude adjustment' speeches when the A.D. got
word of the agent's antics.

	"God, I never thought I would see the day when I
would actually PREFER to spend time in Skinner's office than
doing something - anything  - else,"  he observed acidly,
entering the elevator.  He punched the button for the third
floor.  "Compared to this farce, I would prefer getting my ass
chewed by Old Baldy - it has more entertainment value. And
at least there's ventilation."

	"Keep it up and you may be spending a hell of a lot
more time there,"  she answered drily. The doors closed on
his reply.


	"...Yes, I'm quite sure that his behavior was due to
the same problem that has afflicted several of our agents
lately....  Yes, I know.... The situation is being dealt with.
Thanks for your concern."

	Eyeing each other warily, Mulder and Scully closed
the door to Skinner's office and took their places in the chairs
in front of his desk.


	"Congratulations, Agent Mulder.  I've had four calls
complaining about your attitude during the recertification
session. That must be a record, even for you,"  the Assistant
Director observed drily.

	Glancing briefly at Scully in alarm, he turned widened
eyes to Skinner.  "Sir, I assure you!  I'm not under the
influence of that...thing.  I just-"

	"I am aware of that, Mulder.  Only too well aware.
Your contempt for the recertification process is in no way
atypical of your usual behavior."

	He sighed in relief.  "Then what -"

	"The conversation you overheard was the only one
I've received in the past hour that did NOT come from
someone you managed to piss off.  That call had to do with
Agent Thorssen."

	"There's been more trouble, sir?" Scully asked,
concerned.

	"I'm afraid so.  Thorssen and Bochs - I'm told you're
acquainted with Agent Bochs?"  At their nod, he continued.
"Thorssen and Bochs completed their recert yesterday and
were to fly out this morning back to Minneapolis.  All
afternoon, Bochs had noticed that Thorssen seemed
preoccupied, distracted.  Last night he heard him sobbing in
his sleep.  He called me at home - I had given my number to
handful of agents who offered to keep an eye on things at the
hotel."

	"How could you be sure the lunatics weren't minding
the asylum?" asked Mulder.

	"Well, I couldn't, for sure.  I just had to hope, on the
basis of my interviews and dumb luck, that I managed to
choose at least a few who wouldn't be affected by this thing.
When I spoke to Thorssen and Bochs, I noticed Bochs look at
his partner oddly a few times, as if he was startled by what he
was hearing.  Thorssen was very quiet, very subdued, for
him.  Normally, he has a reputation for being outspoken and
enthusiastic, the life of the party.  The man I interviewed was
anything but; he seemed tired, depressed, totally beaten
down by life.  As we know, there's nothing in the
recertification session that could cause that, and Bochs
assured me that Tony hadn't received any bad news from
home to account for his mood.  On a hunch, I asked Bochs to
keep a close eye on him.  Turns out it was a good thing that I
did."

	"Sir?"

	"When I got to the hotel at around five this morning,
Bochs had Thorssen in cuffs.  Evidently he had become
increasingly depressed, crying that everything was hopeless.
Bochs wrestled his service weapon away from him just as he
was trying to eat a bullet."

	"Is everyone all right?"  Scully asked anxiously. The
case bringing Donny Pfaster to justice in Minneapolis
undeniably had been a nightmare.  The only bright spot of the
case had been working with the odd, sweet-natured Agent
Bochs. Never in their work had they associated with an agent
so unusually open to strange ideas.  The consolation and
support he had given both of them that terrible, rainy night
would never be forgotten.

	"Yes, fortunately.  Thorssen's been taken to
Georgetown's Psych Unit."  Guessing what her next question
would be, Skinner added, "The bloodwork and other tests you
specified have been ordered.  Some of the results should be
in by this afternoon."

	Mulder sat hunched in thought.  "That's all we need,
another suicide."

	"Another?" questioned Skinner.

	"Yes, sir," replied Scully.  "Ron Wolfson apparently
killed himself.  The team investigating the site where his body
was found picked up a note in his handwriting a short
distance from where he was hanging.  By the time he wrote
the note, he had recovered from the effects of whatever this
thing is, but was overcome with remorse by what he had
done - almost done - to Rachel Martin. And evidently the
effects got worse before they got better.  We're working with
the Alexandria PD right now.  In his note, Ron said that he
remembers coming across a woman after he left Rachel. He
couldn't remember everything, but he was afraid he might
have raped her.  Were there any other agents that you were
concerned about, from the results of your interviews?"

	"A few.  Dylan Slowiski, a born-again and staunch
teatotler from the Birmingham office didn't wait for the
interview, actually.  Apparently put on quite a show in the
hotel bar yesterday. Fortunately, by the time he had stripped
down to his skivvies, he passed out in his rum and Coke.
That was as I arrived to take a look around.  That earned him
a trip to Georgetown too, where he's in for observation and
tests and nursing the mother of all hangovers.  A few others,
maybe.  They weren't exhibiting anything I could put my
finger on, they just didn't behave as I had expected after
reading their profiles and records.  Might be something, might
not.  In one case, there were two partners I was concerned
about - a mixed partnership, as it turns out.  Sawchuck and
Francine Mallory are seeing to it that the agents in question
report to Georgetown for testing."

	Scully nodded.  "I stopped by our office to get the
data from the Costas case and what's come in so far on the
other partners who were affected.  It's going to take more
than a casual glance at this stuff to be able to identify any
similarities.  How tight is the lid on this, sir?"

	"Pretty damned tight.  The brass know - most of
them, anyway - but very few others beyond those who either
were affected or who witnessed the behavior of the more
severe cases. Why do you ask?"

	"I'd like your permission to bring Agent Pendrell into
the loop on this.  I'm going to need his computer expertise in
going over the results to find any commonalities.  At least, to
do it quickly."

	"Mulder?"

	He nodded.  "Okay by me.  Pendrell's a good man
who's assisted us in the past.  He'll keep it quiet.  And the
faster we have an answer the better - we might even save a
few lives."	

	Skinner swung around to look at Scully.  "All right.
Brief Pendrell, tell him I said to put his other projects on the
back burner for a while.  When do you think you might have
something?"

	"It's hard to say, sir.  We have to correlate what the
medical test data gives us with what Mulder finds out as a
result of his investigations.  Hopefully we'll have some idea
by late this evening."

	"And how are your inquiries going, Agent Mulder?"

	He sighed.  "Information is not coming in as quickly
as I would have liked.  The hotel is being gone over with a
fine-toothed comb by forensics, so we should have
something from that soon.  But I've had a hard time catching
up with the agents who have already left town.  Of course,
wasting the entire morning -"

	Skinner glowered.  "I think you've made your
opinions about the recertification testing abundantly clear,
Agent Mulder. We'll meet back here at eight, then.  Both of
you do your homework to come up with a few theories that
might explain this mess."

	Taking that as a dismissal, they got up to leave.

	"And Mulder - try not to piss off anyone else.  You've
already bagged your quota for the month."

			- - - - -

	"Try the dim sum."  Mulder expertly plucked a tasty
pocket of dough from the container with his chopsticks and
brought it to her lips.  Her eyes held his for a fraction of a
second before she delicately bit off a piece and munched on
it.

	It had been a long, hard afternoon that wound its way
into evening.  Since leaving Skinner, Scully had shuttled
back and forth between their basement office and Pendrell's
lab, searching for answers.  Only ten minutes ago, her
partner had called for her at the lab, reclaiming her from
Pendrell and the work, leaving part of the Chinese feast for
the scientist as her price of freedom.  In less than thirty
minutes they were to have their meeting with Skinner, and
Mulder, for one, had no intention of going into it with an
empty stomach.

	"Mmm, good.  But I think I'll stick to the moo goo gai
pan."

	He shook his head in mock pity.  "No guts, no glory,
Scully.  You have no sense of culinary adventure.  What's
that over there - the General Tso's Chicken extra hot or the
mu shu pork?"

	"Um...mu shu," she replied, peering into the
container. "You want the pancakes?"

	"Please.  So what have your hours of drudgery this
afternoon produced?"

	"So far, the only thing we've found in common
among everyone affected is an increased adrenalin level."

	Mulder tore his attention from his food, his voice
sharp.  "You mean like that thing we ran into in Pennsylvania
that time - where the people were flipping out and obeying
messages in electronic readouts?  Hey, that might explain
things.  Do you think that's what we're dealing with here?"

	"Frankly, no."  She put down her cardboard carton
and frowned.  "Even in those agents who hadn't yet 'come
down', so to speak, from their episode, the adrenalin levels
weren't astronomical as they were in Franklin, Pennsylvania.
Somewhat higher than one would expect, even in a state of
stress or excitement, but not critically so.  But if anything, I
think those levels are an effect of the problem, not the cause.
Pendrell says he thinks he may have an idea where to look.
He'll join us in Skinner's office."

	"Don't count on it.  Poor guy's probably been
mooning over you so much he can't think straight."

	Scully blushed.  "Mulder!  Pendrell's been nothing
more or less than professional."

	"Yeah.  Professionalism's a curse," Mulder muttered,
a shade more loudly than he intended.  There was a short,
awkward silence.  "So what else did you find out?"

	"It's all negatives.  No toxin that we've identified, no
bugs, germs, or viruses - retro or otherwise.  No implants, at
least on the bodies of Wolfson or Fernandez."  She tossed
her hair, frustrated.  "I just hope the hell that Pendrell's got
something, because I've hit a wall. Now I know why I didn't go
into pure research. I realy can't get a handle on it.  I just
can't...fasten onto... anything, you know?  It's so nebulous,
so...frustrating."

	He nodded sympathetically.  He had divided his
afternoon between Georgetown University Medical Center
interviewing the agents being held there for treatment or
observation, and the hotel.  Then he had spoken to Bonnie
Costas' parents by telelphone.  His, too, had been a very full
and very frustrating day. "The only people I haven't managed
to contact by phone are the two agents from Vegas - Levitz
and whatshisname, Grady - the two from Chicago, and of
course Patty down in San Antonio.  I called down there and
found out that they're going to let her sleep off the sedatives
today and see what happens.  She'll be awake by tomorrow.
I did get some data from the interviews that I had here in
Washington.  Davies, O'Boyle, Thorssen and Slowiski are all
still pretty much under the influence and not able to talk
rationally about its effects.  Meinhoff and Jeffries, on the
other hand, seem to be better.  They've hugged and made
up, and can't understand what made them turn into
murderous bigots.  They're leaving for St. Louis in the
morning."

	"Mulder, do you think that's wise?  What if...what if
they're not over this, what if it comes back?"

	He shrugged.  "They want to get to the bottom of this
as much as anybody, Scully.  Christ, they're godparents to
each other's kids and they were ready to kill each other.
They're very shaken up right now.  They've promised to let
me know about it and check into a hospital if either one of
them gets so much as mildly annoyed with the other. I just
don't see any point in making them stay here."

	"I guess not."  She sighed.  "What about the hotel -
anything there?"

	"Zip, zilch, nada.  Outside of evidence of far more
insect and rodent infestation than you'd like to think about,
there was nothing.  The cable TV signals don't appear to
have been tampered with.  In fact, Meinhoff and Jeffries
claimed that they never even turned on the set in their room,
so the TV couldn't have been the source.  Samples of food
and water have been tested and turned up nothing.  And just
to top it all off, in three cases, two partners ordered the same
thing for breakfast and dinner, yet only one of them began
behaving abnormally.  So go figure.  Your guess is as good
as mine, and right now, I'm kinda stumped for even a guess.
Want some lo mein?"

	"No, thanks." She glanced at her watch.  "Well, I
hope we think of something on the way.  We're due in
Skinner's office in three minutes."

	He nodded and put down the chopsticks, buttoning
his sleeves and putting on his suit jacket.  "I guess we'd
better hope Pendrell was inspired."

			- - -

	The Assistant Director, too, looked the worse for
wear.  They sat at the conference table.  While awaiting
Pendrell's arrival, Skinner reported his activities.

	"Those partners I was worried about?  Both have
come down with this thing.  They're both at GUMC Psych,
one with severe paranoia, and the other delusional.  She
believes herself to be Lucretia Borgia and has been plotting
which poison to use to rid herself of her political enemies.
Good thing her partner was too paranoid to eat or drink
anything she gave him -  she might have killed him, " Skinner
finished drily.  "And, in an extra development, there have
been some men nosing around GUMC."

	"Men?  What men?  Were they Feds?"  Mulder
asked, glancing at Scully.

	"Supposedly, they showed Federal ID's.  Now we all
know what a crock can be - I don't think most civilians would
be able to tell the difference between a real FBI ID and a
bogus one. Of course, it might not have been FBI either.
This sounds like the sort of thing the NSA might be up to their
asses in. Anyway, they were asking a lot of questions, details
about the agents, trying to intercept some of the medical data
and so on.  I've slapped a complete and total information
blackout on the entire place, gagged everyone in the name of
'national security'.  I've instructed that no information is to be
released to anyone other than the four of us.  And I've held
the Adminstrator personally responsible for any leaks, either
to the press or whoever it is that's so damn curious over
there.  The poor guy probably won't sleep until the last agent
is out of there."

	Scully frowned.  "I really don't like the sound of that,
sir.  Who could these men be who are asking all those
questions?  And from what you've said - they're the sort of
questions that nobody would be asking if they already didn't
know a lot more than I'm comfortable with about what's been
going on.  Exactly how would they have that knowledge, sir?"

	"A very good point, Agent Scully.  It was the nature of
the questions being asked that struck me, too.  It apparently
also caught the attention of the nurse over there.  She said
the men with the ID's haven't been asking the sort of thing
that you'd expect - you know, how are they doing, when will
they be able to go home, that sort of stuff.  What they're
really interested in getting their hands on are the medical
records and the information from the computer regarding lab
tests and physician's consults, especially those of the shrinks.
Also according to the nurse, for non-medical people they
seem surprisingly comfortable and informed about hospital
tests, procedures and equipment."

	"Ringers," murmured Mulder, thinking back to the
man who loitered near Scully's bedside, who tried to steal her
blood samples.  He shrugged off the thoughts of those dark
times.  "Possibly even part of whoever or whatever's causing
this.  Well, if anything, that gives me a bit of encouragement
that there are indeed answers to be found in the patient
charts and in the lab results.  Have there been any attempts
to grab one of those guys?"

	Skinner shook his head.  "I don't know whether it was
the success of the information blackout, or the fact that some
of the nurses were beginning to take notice of their activities,
but they haven't been around for some hours.  We have men
there in case they show up again, but frankly, I think it's a
longshot."  His head turned toward his door, his eyes
narrowing suspiciously at a muted sound in his outer office.
Then the door opened and Pendrell edged into the room.
"Oh, Agent Pendrell, thank you for coming.  Please have a
seat."

	Scully smiled tentatively at him.  "You're looking
excited.  How's your theory going?"

	Pendrell returned a more enthusiastic grin.  "I think I
may have found something.  It's really early yet, but it looks
promising."

	"The cause of this...thing?"  Skinner's eyes glittered
behind his glasses.  "The sooner we can get a handle on this
the better.  I had to call Ron Wolfson's fiancee and Rick
Fernandez's widow today."

	The scientist looked sheepish. "Well, no, not exactly
the cause, sir.  Not yet.  But I think I may have discovered
how to pinpoint those agents who have a predisposing factor
- a predictor, if you will, of who will come down with this thing.
So far, I've just tested the tissue samples from the two
bodies, focusing on the genetic material in cardiac tissue.  In
samples from both Wolfson and Fernandez, there was
radically increased uptake of the tissue stain in one of the
genes in pair 16.  And, coincidentally or not, in both cases, it
was in a recessive gene."

	Skinner and Mulder looked blank, but Scully seemed
impressed.  "That pair is completely dominant something in
over 90% of the population," she exclaimed.  Pendrell
nodded, his eyes sparkling.  "Good work!  You see, sir," she
said, turning to Skinner.  "Pendrell may very well be on to
something here.The fact that this gene is behaving strangely
in the uptake of the dye is one thing, and interesting in itself.
The fact that a recessive gene is involved, in both cases the
same recessive gene, is...is enormously significant."

	"Significant for what?  Will it stop what's going on,
Agent Scully?"

	She frowned.  "No sir, it won't do that.  But it will
identify those who could end up as victims.  Potentially that
alone could save some lives.  And in the meantime, Pendrell
can concentrate on what's actually going on in those
recessive genes, maybe find traces of whatever it is that's
causing the problems."

	Skinner looked from Scully to Pendrell, then nodded
sharply.  "All right.  So what now? Do you suggest we do
genetic testing on every agent in the Bureau?"

	"No sir, " replied Pendrell.  "First of all, the testing is
very time-comsuming.  Secondly, it is also helaciously
expensive.  But the results of two such tests, while promising,
is not enough on which to base a theory, let alone try to
create a body of evidence that could be used in court."

	"So what do you want?"

	"I'd like to do maybe a dozen more tests among the
agents that were affected.  If I find what I think I'm going to
find - one recessive gene in pair 16 that takes up more stain
than it should - then I'll go on to the next phase.  That'll be
trying to find what that gene might be doing in conjunction
with an unknown substance, to alter people's behavior.  Once
we find out who the targets are, that may also give us some
insight on how the substance is introduced and who is behind
it."

	Skinner folded his hands over his trim abdomen,
apparently lost in thought.  Finally he asked,  "Does it have to
be cardiac tissue that you test?"
	

	Pendrell chuckled, then noted Skinner's scowl and
turned it into a cough.  "Excuse me, sir.  No, fortunately not.
I can't see a long line of volunteers if I had to punch a hole in
everyone's chest with a large gauge needle to grab a chunk
of heart tissue.  Cardiac tissue for this experiment works
faster and better, but I can use skin tissue."

	"What do you need to take the specimens?"

	"Uh...some alcohol, scalpel blades, small sterile
containers, and bandaids would probably do it, sir."

	"Go get 'em."

	"I-I probably have them with me, sir.  Just a sec..."
He began to pull an incredible assortment of articles from his
voluminous labcoat pockets and place them on the table.  By
the time the pockets were empty, he had more than enough
equipment for the testing Skinner implied, and possibly for
building a small nuclear weapon besides.

	Nervously, Mulder looked at Skinner, a sinking
feeling in his stomach. Hoping that his instincts were wrong,
he asked, "What's up, sir?"

	The AD frowned.  "We have to at least know that we
can trust ourselves and each other.  I want Pendrell to take
samples from the four of us, to check which of us might be
predisposed to this thing.  If we don't have the recessive
gene, then maybe the tissue can still be used, as a control of
some sort.  Where are you going to take the sample from?"

	Pendrell's expression was apologetic.  "Possibly I
could do it with tissue from the inside of your arm. But it's
really preferable to use very thin skin, exposed to the
elements as little as possible.  I'd prefer to get to the skin on
the inner thighs, groin, or very low abdomen."

	"I've gotten excellent results with that line myself,"
Mulder deadpanned.

	Skinner glared at Mulder, then his hands went to his
belt.  "You couldn't make this easy, could you, Pendrell?" he
asked drily.  "Okay, Mulder, Scully - out."

	"But, sir! I'm a medical doctor, and - "

	"I am aware of that, Agent Scully. That means you'll
be able to take the skin samples from Pendrell.  It doesn't
mean I'm dropping trou in front of you. In the meantime, you
and Mulder will sit in the outer office until it's your turn, and
discuss your next move."

	Mulder leaned in close to Scully's ear.  "My next
move will be hosing the kid down after he takes the sample
from you." As he opened the office door for her, he was ready
for the elbow to his midsection.

			- - -

	Fifteen minutes later, a blushing Pendrell had left
and they all nursed a raw spot on some portion of their
anatomies.  "All right, I hope you put your time to some use,"
Skinner said, looking at Scully.
	
	"Actually, we have little to add to Agent Pendrell's
information, sir.  We have not come to any sort of conclusion
about how this substance is being introduced or what it is."
	
	Mulder nodded, agreeing.  "In fact, not only have we
not come to any conclusions, we also don't even have any
good ideas."

	"So what do you propose to do now?" Skinner
demanded.
		
	"Well, sir," Scully replied.  "I'd like to fly out to San
Antonio to see Patty Johnson.  They're taking her off the
sedation.  Maybe she can explain what happened between
her and Rick.  Someone will have to take her statement, in
any case.  In view of the circumstances, it might be better if it
were one of the four of us."

	"And I think I should go to Chicago, to interview
Sandy Fourchette and Jimmy Page.  Same reason,"
Mulder responded.

	Skinner hesitated, then nodded curtly.  "All right.
Agreed.  We'll wait for the results of Pendrell's tests, then you
can fly out in the morning."

	"All due respect, sir, but I don't think we can afford to
lose that much time,"  Scully countered.  "It could be
anywhere from eight to twelve hours before Pendrell has the
results - more, if he stops to get some rest.  If we fly out
tonight, we'll be in place in the morning to get right to work
and can be back here by the afternoon."

	"It's too risky, Agent Scully. At the moment we don't
know if one of us could be affected by this thing.  I'm not
sending you into the field - "  The ringing of the phone cut
him off and he picked it up.  "...All right....  Yes, follow the
same procedure...."  His eyes closed briefly as if in pain and
he listened for some time without speaking.  "...When was
that?  No, no, that's all right....  Thank you for letting me
know."  He looked at Mulder and Scully.  "Two more agents
at the hotel have exhibited bizarre symptoms and are on their
way to GUMC Psych.  But that's not the worst of it."

	"Sir?"

	"Another team of agents left after yesterday
afternoon's recertification session and returned Portland,
Oregon late last night.  They went out on a routine
surveillance this morning.  This afternoon, only one of the
partners returned to the office, and was either unable or
unwilling to account for the absence of the other.  An hour
ago, they found the missing agent in the trunk of their car.
She had been strangled, and her partner was taken into
custody."  His gaze was somber.  "Unfortunately, you're right,
Agent Scully - we can't afford to lose that time."

	"Yes, sir."

	"All right.  I want both of you to stay in contact,
checking in with me or with Pendrell every four hours. Got
it?"

	"Yes, sir."

	"ANY behavior, any feelings out of the ordinary are to
be reported, do I make myself clear?"

	"Yes, sir."

	"Very well.  I'll notify you the minute we get Pendrell's
test results back.  We have to know if any of the four of us
are likely to be susceptible to this thing. Any questions?"  He
looked from one to the other.  "All right.  Have a good trip,
both of you.  We'll meet back here at five o'clock tomorrow
afternoon."


Friday, 3 P.M.
Dulles International Airport


	He paced the length of Gate 47, waiting for the
passengers to exit, waiting to see her, waiting to see for
himself that she was all right.  His heart had been pounding
since that morning, since that damned phone call from
Skinner....



	"Mulder?  I ...uh... I have the results of the tests
Pendrell ran on the skin samples from the four of us...."

	He felt his heart constrict, then start to thud painfully
in his chest.  Skinner's tone - it was the one he used when he
was breaking bad news.  "Mulder?  Are you there?"

	"I... yes, sir.  I'm here.  I... I have it, don't I?" he
asked bleakly.

	"What?"  Now the AD seemed startled.  "Why?  Are
you having symptoms?  Behaving abnormally - relatively
speaking, that is?"

	"No, I just....  I don't know....   You seemed like you
were about to pronounce a death sentence or something.
Oh, my God!  It isn't me, is it?  Scully!  It's Scully.  Sir, you've
got to bring her back, you have to - "

	Skinner sighed heavily into the phone.  "Mulder, I'm
sure she's all right.  When I spoke to her just now, she said
she was fine.  But... both she and Pendrell do have the
recessive gene in pair 16."

	She always says she's fine, Mulder thought
frantically.  That doesn't mean jack.   He forced his mind to
concentrate, forced himself to think rationally against the
upsurge in adrenalin.  "Is Pendrell sure that there's a link?"
	
	"He's reasonably certain that the recessive gene has
something to do with who's susceptible to whatever it is, yes.
So far all the samples from the affected agents have had a
recessive gene in that pair."  His deep voice turned softer.
"But it doesn't mean she was necessarily exposed, Mulder.
Pendrell's fine - I've been keeping my eye on him, and so far,
nothing.  Maybe the causative factor was something at the
hotel the agents were exposed to, something we missed.
And neither Scully nor Pendrell was at the hotel."

	"Yeah, that's true.  I guess it's possible.  I just don't
know what the hell we could have missed,"  Mulder replied,
trying to derive what comfort he could from Skinner's
reasoned tones.

	"What about your investigation in Chicago? Anything?"
	
	He sighed.  "Sandy is now 'with the program', so to
speak.  She can't understand why she behaved like she did,
just said the feeling of paranoia was overpowering.  Like the
others, she remembers only up to a certain point - the
increasing sense of paranoia, feeling pursued, feeling
victimized.  But she remembers very few details about her
behavior when she was fully 'under the influence'.  In fact,
there seems to be at least a twelve hour gap in her memory,
including any memory of the events in the conference room. I
interviewed both her and Jimmy exhaustively, right down to
where they ate and what they did and where they spent their
time every minute they were in Washington.  The one
advantage of having agents affected by this thing is that
they've been trained to be much more observant than most
people, and remember small details better.  Nothing really
stood out, but I don't suppose it will until I've had a chance to
go back over the interviews you and I did on the others."

	"When will you be back in Washington?"

	"I'm wrapping things up here now.  I have a flight that
should get in to Dulles from O'Hare at 2:50 this afternoon."

	"Scully's plane from San Antonio via DFW will land
at 3:25.  You might want to meet her to compare notes."  And
see what condition she's in - the unspoken words were at the
forefront of both their minds.

	"Yes, I'll do that.  And sir...let me know...if you hear
anything."

	There was a pause, then the rich tones of his voice
sounded, strong and reassuring.  "Count on it, Agent Mulder."


	
	Now he paced back and forth in front of the gate.  He
hadn't heard anything more from Skinner, so he could only
assume that everything was all right.  It's what he tried to tell
himself, anyway.  But where the hell were the passengers?

	The plane had landed some eight minutes before, but
only now were the first passengers beginning to trickle down
the jetway - those either flying in first class, or those swift,
unencumbered and ruthless enough to push their way to the
front before the others jammed the aisles.  Half a dozen
people came off, then the flood of humanity began in
earnest.  His eyes darted through the crowd, searching for the
auburn hair that had always drawn him like a magnet.  A tall
man whose hat bore the insignea of a co-pilot was in the
middle of the crowd, and obviously looking for someone.

	Mulder reached into his coat and pulled out his ID.
"Excuse me," he said to the co-pilot.  "I'm looking for my
partner - she was on your flight."

	"She wouldn't be a tiny redhead, would she?"

	He nodded, his mouth suddenly dry.

	"Come on back with me.  There was a little...uh,
trouble."

	Mulder's heart leapt into his throat.  "What kind of
trouble?  Is she all right?"
	
	The co-pilot looked at him peculiarly.  "Perhaps you'd
be the best judge of that."

	They fought their way back to the plane against the
flood of exiting travellers.  Several flight attendants and the
pilot stood at the entrance of the plane.

	Mulder showed his ID again.  "What's the matter?
Where's my partner?"
	
	"Uh, sir.  There was a bit of trouble on the flight.  I
don't really know how to put this...."

	He shook his head impatiently.  "Will someone
please tell me what the hell is going on?" he demanded.

	A tall blond woman read his ID and introduced
herself.  "Agent...Mulder?  I'm Lisa Stanton, chief of the flight
crew.  Agent Scully was seated at the back of the aircraft.
She complained about the heat repeatedly and seemed
flushed.  She was tense, restless the whole flight.  If she
hadn't been FBI, I would have been worried.  Her behavior
had all the earmarks of what we look for in people who may
cause trouble - bombers, hijackers, that sort of thing.
Anyway, her profession being what it is, I didn't think much
about it.  Well, not until we had a complaint from one of the
other passengers - "

	"Complaint?  What kind of complaint?  Where's
Scully?"

	"Sir, perhaps if you'd just let me explain.  The
gentleman said that Agent Scully had accosted him on his
way to the lavatory, brushing against him suggestively.
When he came out, she was waiting, and rather more ...
direct...in her intentions."

	His stomach turned over.  Oh God, Scully - what
have they done to you?

	"In view of her position, we handled it discretely,
Agent Mulder.  One of the flight attendants sat with her the
remainder of the flight.  We, uh, found it advisable to ask her
for her weapon."

	So Scully had not even escaped that indignity.  It
would have taken someone who knew him very well to see
the pain that came to his eyes. His tone, however, was all
business.  "All right.  What I'm about to tell you is classified
and goes no further, understood?  Some of our people have
been exposed to an unknown causative which is temporarily
altering their behavior.   This ...occurrence... is completely
out of character for my partner.  We didn't know that she had
been exposed to this causative agent, but it looks now as if
she was.  Don't worry, it's not communicable," he added, as
their expressions grew alarmed.  "But that's all I can tell you.
This is a matter of national security. There is a complete
information blackout on this.  You will not report this incident
and it will not appear on any of your flight records.  It never
happened.  Do I make myself clear?"

	"Yes, sir."  All the flight crew seemed to be taking his
words seriously and professionally - all except for one young,
pretty flight attendant whose face wore a knowing smirk. He
waited until the others led the way down the aisle to his
partner, then placed a restraining hand on the arm of the
woman so amused by his partner's predicament.

	The pleasant expression on his face was there only
with tremendous effort, and belied his murderous frame of
mind.  Softly, next to her ear he said, "Ms. ...Marvick, is it?
Unless you want the mother of all IRS audits - now and
every year for the rest of your tax-paying life - you'll wipe that
smirk off your face."

	Her head jerked around, as if she couldn't believe
what she had heard. Shocked, she blurted, "I - But I wasn't - "

	"Yes, you were.  Agent Scully is an outstanding and
courageous agent who deserves both respect and admiration.
What she doesn't deserve is your snide expression or dirty
mind.  If I even suspect that word of this has gotten out, the
IRS and I will be all over you like white on rice.  Got it?"  His
final words cut through the air like the lash of a whip.

	She stared at him, dumbfounded, but he was already
pushing past her to his partner.

	"Mulder!"  She was out of her seat and flying to him,
grabbing him around the waist and burying her face in his
coat.  His arm tightened protectively around her.

	"I'll see to it that Agent Scully gets medical attention
immediately.  Thank you for taking care of her."

	"You'd better take this."

	He took Scully's gun from the crew chief.  "Thank
you.  You did the right thing.  Please remember what I said -
not a word of this gets out.  To anyone."  His expression
grave, he looked at each one of them in turn, his gaze
returned by the suitably chastened flight crew.

	"No, sir.  Of course not, sir."

	He nodded curtly, then, arm around Scully, he led her
off the plane and through the airport.  Under his coat, her
hands were busy.  Busy unbuttoning, busy slipping into the
resulting openings to stroke the skin of his chest with burning
hot fingers.  Busy trying to pull his shirt from his pants.  He
quickened his pace, trying to get to the relative privacy of the
car before he lost the tenuous grasp on his control.

	He unlocked the door and forceably pushed her away
from his body and into the car.  He went around to the
driver's side and let himself in, gripping the steering wheel
and taking a moment to compose himself.

	"Mulder...."  Her voice was a soft purr, and very
unScully-like.

	"Scully, stop it!  You're not yourself!"  he said
sharply.  His resolve almost crumbled when he saw the hurt
in her eyes, but he went on, more gently.  "Scully, please.
You've been affected by this...thing.  Just... just sit there.  I'll
have you home as soon as I can."  He started the car and
moved into the flow of traffic.

	Mulder had already decided not to bring Scully to
Georgetown Medical Center.  He knew it would piss off
Skinner, but somehow he would make him understand.  What
this thing had done to Scully....  He swallowed hard as his
stomach lurched.

	Of all the manifestations that the madness could
have taken, this was the most undignified, the one that would
be the most painful to her, the most difficult for her to live
with.  Certainly the one that would be the most potentially
damaging to their relationship.

	God knows he had tried to keep whatever feelings he
had for her in control, to avoid stepping over that line that
would change things between them forever, whether for good
or ill.  And at times, when he dared to hope that she might
have the same feelings for him, he strongly suspected that
Dana made the same effort, the same sacrifice.  This....
God.  This could so mortify her that it could drive them apart
as no threat, no difference of opinion, no separation had ever
done.  If he took her to Georgetown, all the other agents
there would see, would know.  Not to mention the mysterious
men with their suspiciously intelligent questions.  No.  The
fewer people that knew about it, the fewer people that saw
her like this, the better his chances were of somehow making
it something she could accept, or forget.  The better chance
their partnership had of surviving.  He could only hope that
she, like the others affected, would remember little of her
behavior when it was all over.  It was the only chance they
had.

	"When we get to your apartment, we'll call your
mother - "

	"Don't be a child.  I don't want my mother, Mulder.
Just you."  Her pink lips pouted prettily and the color in her
cheeks was high.

	"I mean it, Scully.  Just sit there and don't move.  Try
to hold on, try to understand.  You have what the other
agents have.  Just ...different.  Fight it, Scully."

	She drew a long, quavering breath, and from
somewhere deep inside her, the voice of the real Dana Scully
emerged tense, like she was battling for control of herself.  "I
- I'll try.  For God's sake hurry," she rasped.

	They made it to her apartment in record time.

	Mulder had no more than gotten her through the door
to the apartment when her hands were delving under his
overcoat, rubbing against him, her eyes glazed.

	"Scully, please...." he croaked in a strained voice,
trying to control the reactions of his treacherous body.

	"But Mulder, you know you want me, you've wanted
me for a long time, like I've wanted you.  I can tell you want
me, I can feel how much you want me. Come on, let's - "

	"Not... NOT like this, Dana," he gasped.  He forced
himself away from her.  In a lightning move, he reached into
his pocket and withdrew his handcuffs, slipping one bracelet
onto her slim wrist and closing it lightly.  The other cuff he
clasped firmly around the doorknob.

	"Mulder, what - ?  Oh, you want to be kinky?  I can do
that. Fox, please, let's go into the bedroom where we can be
comfortable...."

	"Dana, listen to me.  Try to listen and understand.
You're being affected by this... this thing.  This isn't you."	

	For a heartbeat, the glaze cleared from her eyes, her
face a carved mask of concentration.  She was just about to
speak when the fragile hold she had snapped, and the
madness of lust returned to her eyes.  With her free hand,
she grabbed his tie, drawing him closer to her.  "Let me go,
Fox, please.  Let me go and we'll have fun, just the two of
us....  No one has to know, just us.... All your dreams, all your
fantasies...I can make them happen, Fox.  Please...."

	Shaking, fighting himself as much as he was fighting
her, he loosened her grip on his tie and moved slowly away
from her. Her voice became hoarse with fury.  "Fuck you,
Mulder.  Any man would want me, why not you?"  She
yanked at the handcuffs, trying to get to him.

	"Scully, don't.  You'll hurt yourself."

	"Fuck you.  What do you care?" she snarled.  She
pulled at the handcuffs, grunting in pain and frustration.
Then her tone became wheedling once more.  "Mulder, I want
you....please, Mulder."

	He continued to stand out of range, his face a portrait
of the soul-deep pain seering through him, pain she could not
recognize.  Not now, not the way she was.  Once more she
began pulling against the restraining cuff.  "Let me go,
Mulder. At least, let me out...."

	"No, Dana.  I'm sorry."  His voice was a hoarse
whisper.  Reaching into his coat, he pulled out his cellular
phone and punched some buttons.  His eyes never leaving
Scully, he backed into her bedroom, then cast a glance
around until he found his quarry - her black medical bag.  He
caught it up and brought it back into the living room.

	He spoke loudly to be heard over Scully's anguished
and outraged cries and the metallic rattle of the handcuff on
the doorknob.  "Rob? ...Yeah, it's me, Mulder.  Look, I need a
favor, no questions asked....  I need you to tell me what I can
give to put someone out for a while....  About - I don't know -
a hundred pounds maybe....  No, no drug allergies....  I have -
let's see - Demerol, morphine, Seconal, phenobarb, Haldol....
Okay, how much?  It's already in a syringe and says ...uh, 5
milligrams....  How do I give it?.... Jesus Christ, I don't want
to hurt her, Rob....  Okay.  Stand by, buddy, okay?"

	He placed the phone on the coffee table and broke
open the cardboard box.  He pulled the pre-loaded syringe
from it and removed the cap.  Pointing it toward the ceiling,
he squirted the air olut of the syringe as he had seen nurses
do more times than he wanted to remember.  Then he faced
her.

	"Scully, you're sick.  You're going to hurt yourself if
you don't settle down.  This is some medicine to help you
relax.  Please Scully, just let me give it to you, okay?"

	She said nothing, just stood there panting from her
exertions to get loose.  When he had drawn close, her free
hand went for his tie again.  "Please Mulder, I need you ...."
With surprising strength, she drew his head down toward
hers, and their lips met - his resisting, hers urgent and
hungry.  She didn't notice his hands peeling away her coat -
or perhaps, she thought she had persuaded him to fulfill her
need.  His hands roamed her bottom, pressing it to him,
sliding her skirt up to her waist, and she moaned deep in her
throat.  "Oh, yes. See, Mulder, see how good - "  She broke
off in an enraged screetch.

	He pressed down on the plunger of the syringe,
desperately trying to hold her still, scared to death her
twisting would break off the needle in her hip as she
struggled.  He pulled it from her flesh and tossed it across the
room.
	
	Her fist pummelled his chest.  "Goddamn you,
Mulder.  I need....I need...."  All control gone now, she burst
into tears as he held her close, smoothing her hair and
murmuring.  "It's okay, Dana.  It'll be all right now.  Let the
medicine work.... Let it make you sleepy."

	"But I wanted.... I have to....  It would have been so
good...." she wept brokenly.

	"I know... I know it would.  But not like this, Dana," he
murmured, his throat tight.  He held her until she began to
sag against him, then he lowered her gently to the floor,
propping her against the wall.  He picked the phone off the
table, cleared his throat and waited until he could trust his
voice not to shake.  "Rob - still there?  Yeah, she got it all.
So how long will it last?  ...Uh-huh....  Yeah, she has - let's
see - three more of those....  When?  ...Okay....  No, I think
we'll try to keep her here, if we can....  Yes, I'd appreciate it,
thanks....  Okay, Rob, thanks.  I owe you one."

	He punched the off button and put the phone down.
Slowly, quietly he approached Scully, now weeping dazedly,
her hand dangling limply from its restraint.  He crouched,
then sat cross-legged on the floor next to her, cradling her
body.  When he felt her breathing become deep and even, he
reached up and freed her wrist from the cuff, wincing at the
sight of the deeply abraided flesh.  He stood, then bent to lift
her in his arms.  Her head lolled against his chest, and he
held her more tightly as he carried her into her bedroom.

	Carefully, he set her in the middle of the wide bed
and watched until he was satisfied that she was deeply
asleep and would not roll off.  Then he went once more for
the black bag, pulling some antibiotic cream and dressings
from it.  Sitting next to her, he slathered the cream on the raw
skin of her wrist, then gently wrapped it in Telfa and gauze,
and secured the bandage with tape.

	Suddenly, he felt a tidal wave of exhaustion wash
over him.  He walked out to the living room, finally removing
his overcoat and suit jacket, taking off his tie and unbuttoning
the top buttons of his shirt.  Noticing the phone on her desk,
he unplugged it from the wall, as the need to shut out the
outside became a palpable ache.  He crossed back to the
bedroom.  Bracing himself by his forearms on the door jamb,
he silently watched the small, still figure on the bed.

	Oh Scully.



	He looked up from his notes.  Cocooned in the light of
the lamp, he hadn't noticed the darkness steal over the rest of
the room to claim it.  The pounding sounded again.

	"Agent Scully? Mulder?  Are you in there?"

	Opening the door, Mulder wondered absently how long
Skinner had been knocking.

	"Where is she?"

	Wordlessly, he gestured toward the bedroom, then
stretched out again on the couch with his notes.

	Skinner stood at the entrance to Scully's room.  Soft
light bathed the chamber, illuminating her as she slept.  His
eyes noted the demure nightgown, and the way pillows
supported her on her side.  Her hair, carefully brushed, shining
in the warm, buttery light.  He frowned, as he saw the bandage
on her wrist.  He went back into the living room and took off
his overcoat.  Beneath, he was wearing a dark sweater and
jeans, and his service weapon in a shoulder holster. The AD
sat heavily in the armchair near the couch, his gaze taking in
the exhausted young man.

	"You look like shit.  How was she - was it bad?"

	Mulder glanced up, his expression closed.  A second
later his eyes dropped down to his notes again.

	The AD hadn't really expected an answer.  The
wagons had circled, enclosing the partners and shielding them
from the outside, from friend and enemy alike.  He sighed.
"Next time, at least leave your phone on."

	"What time is it?"

	"Nearly nine.  If you remember, we were to meet in
my office at five.  When you didn't make it and I couldn't get
you on your cellular, I started checking around.  Finally
managed to get through to one of the flight attendants on
Scully's plane."

	"What'd she have to say?"  The words, the tone were
almost casual.  Someone else would have been fooled.

	"Nothing.  Just that you had met your partner at the
plane."  He was silent some moments, noting the young man's
muscles relax almost imperceptibly.  So... something had
happened on the flight.  He hadn't gotten anything out of the
flight attendant - he had seen Mafia hit men who were more
forthcoming under questioning. Christ knew what Mulder had
said to shut them up.  Hopefully nothing he'd be getting
complaints about in the morning.  The AD took a long look at
the young man, apparently so absorbed in his notes.  Gently
he said, "You know, Mulder - I'm not the enemy."

	The young man tossed the papers on the coffee table
and sat up. He ran his hands through his hair.   "I know.  It's
just....  Sorry, I know," he replied softly.

	"What happened?"

	Slowly, he shook his head.  "She has it... whatever it
is.  Somehow she must have been exposed to it.  You don't
need to know the details."

	"Her wrist is bandaged."  He stared intently at the
troubled young man, the unspoken question floating in the still
air between them.

	Mulder looked puzzled for a moment, then his
expression cleared and he waved dismissively.  "Oh, that.  No,
it was nothing like that, like what you're thinking.  Just some
scrapes."

	That, at least, had the ring of truth, Skinner thought.
The silence once more stretched out between them.  Finally,
he said, "Mulder, she should be at the hospital, at GUMC,"

	"No.  She stays here."  The eyes were hooded, the
mind all too clearly closed.

	"You can't take care of her yourself, you're not a
doctor.  Besides, she's your partner - you're too involved.  It's
not appropriate."

	"I have a friend who's a psychiatrist," he argued.  "He
told me what to give her to put her out, and how to give it and
what to watch for.  Fortunately, Scully carries around a
pharmacy in that bag of hers...."

	"Mulder - "

	"No!" he almost shouted.  "It's nothing more or less
than they'd be doing if she were at the hospital," he persisted.
"And as far as my caring for her being 'not appropriate' - well,
that's just bullshit and you know it.  After everything we've
been through, all the times she's been there for me, I can't
think of anyone more appropriate."

	"Just how long do you think you can keep her out?"

	"Long enough.  Pendrell said the worst of the effects
dissipate in 6 to 24 hours.  I should have just enough Haldol to
do that."

	"Mulder - "

	"She stays here. "  The words were quietly spoken, but
as firmly as if they were chiselled in granite.  "I'll call her
mother over tonight to help keep an eye on her."  Mulder could
see Skinner about to renew his protest, and took a different
tack. His tone took on a new urgency, his eyes almost
pleading for his position to be heard and understood.  "Look...
I've kept this under wraps so far. It's a miracle we got here
without someone noticing. Looking at the big picture - just
think about it for a minute.  Hasn't it made you wonder - why
us?  Why are FBI agents coming down with this thing, and not
lawyers or used car salesmen or postal workers?  Surely you
can't think that's a coincidence, that we just happen to be in
the wrong place at the wrong time."

	"No.  I'll grant you that much," Skinner replied.

	"We don't know what's going on.  Maybe someone is
trying to discredit the Bureau somehow.  Or at the very least,
undermine it severely, destroy confidence in it, destroy our
confidence in ourselves.  And the more agents we have being
admitted to GUMC, and the more 911 calls we put out, the
harder it's going to be to keep this a secret - both from
whoever's engineering this, and from the public at large."

	Skinner's eyes narrowed.  "That's all very well and
good, Mulder.  And I don't disagree with you.  But I know you
well enough to know that that's not your primary motivation
here."

	He moved down the couch, closer to Skinner.  After a
quick glance into Scully's room to assure himself that she was
still sleeping quietly, he said,  "So far no one knows that she's
been affected, sir.  If she goes to the hospital, others will find
out - maybe even others who have their own reasons to be
interested.  They'll find out not only that she has been
affected, but how she's been affected, the symptoms she's
been having.  I ... I have to think what all this could do to her
psychologically when the effects wear off.  What would
happen if all her symptoms were known, if people saw her
like....  I have to think of what the long-term effects could be
on her.  On her career.  And on our partnership.  I can't let this
destroy her.  Or us."

	So... it had been more than bad.  No one could know
Scully better than he did, no one could have Scully's interests
at heart more than he did. And Mulder did have training in
psychology, after all.  If he was this upset about the lasting
effects of whatever this was, then there clearly there were
grounds for concern.  What the hell had happened?  Skinner
hesitated for several moments, then sighed.  "All right, Mulder.
Assuming we can keep control over the situation and maintain
Agent Scully's safety, she can stay here.  But I'm staying too."

	"But, sir - "

	"Think of me as your backup if things get out of hand.
I can also cover your ass if the brass decides that keeping
Scully here wasn't such a good idea. Because there will be
fallout from this, I can promise you that.  Believe it or not, the
same men who would like eliminate male-female partnerships
would undoubtedly take a dim view of your staying with your
partner alone overnight and sedating her to the point of coma.
I'd like to do a little damage control before the storm hits."
There was no promise in the stony face that further argument
would be successful.

	Mulder nodded slowly.  It was the best deal he was
likely to get.  He really didn't want anyone there if Scully
became conscious long enough to start exhibiting symptoms
again.  But if he had to have a chaperone, he supposed he
preferred Skinner to anyone else.  In any case, he planned to
make sure that Scully stayed sedated until the worst of the
effects were likely to be over.  For both their sakes.

	He sighed.  "All right.  I guess I don't have much
choice."

	"That's right. You don't. Do you want to call her mother
or shall I?"

	"I'll do it."  He reached for his cellular and dialled the
number.  "Mrs. Scully?....  No - no, Mrs. Scully, everything's all
right....  I know, I do always seem to be bringing you bad
news.  But look, Dana's feeling a bit under the weather and
she was wondering if you could come over to spend the night
here....  No, it's just some bug that's been going around." He
grimaced at Skinner.  "Yes, no emergency, take your time. I'll
be here.  Any time you can make it is fine....  Okay, see you
then."  He pushed the standby button.  "I didn't want to tell her
over the phone.  There's no use upsetting her, and you never
know who could be listening.  I'll explain when she gets here."

	Skinner nodded.

	A rustling sound from the bedroom caught Mulder's
attention, and he started toward it.

	"Need help?"

	"No.  Thanks."  The 'no' was firm, the 'thanks' an
afterthought, the message as clear as if a huge 'Keep Out'
sign had been posted in front of Skinner's face.  The door to
the bedroom clicked shut behind him.

	Scully was stirring restlessly in the bed.

	"Dana?  Dana, let's walk you to the bathroom, okay?"
He helped her to sit, steadied her when her head swam.
"Okay, ready now?  Let's go."  She leaned heavily against him
as he half-carried her to the bathroom adjoining her bedroom.
Even semi-conscious, her hands were moving, touching him
everywhere she could reach.  He matter-of-factly raised her
nightgown out of harm's way.  "No, none of that now.  Just sit.
That's it."  He waited until she was finished, then helped her to
stand.

	"Mmm...Mulder...."  Her arms went around his waist
and she nuzzled into his chest.  "Mmm... nice...."

	Well, that answers that question, he thought bleakly.
Time for more Haldol.  He handed her a glass of water and
she drank it thirstily.  Then he took the empty glass from her
and helped her back to bed.

	"Lie down with me, Mulder.  Come to bed with me....
Lotsa room."  She smiled up at him a little drunkenly.

	"No, I don't think that would be a very good idea at the
moment.  Come on, roll over and let's get you comfortable."
He stuffed pillows behind her to keep her on her side as Rob
had instructed.  Her eyes were open now, open and glazed as
she reached for him, grabbing the leg of his pants.  Driven by
urges she was powerless to control, she becoming more alert,
exhibiting more symptoms, with every passing second.

	He opened the cardboard box, slid out the syringe and
prepared the injection.  This time he used alcohol to cleanse
the site on her hip.  Hands trembling slightly, he inserted the
needle with a surprisingly deft move and injected the contents.

	She frowned.  "Oww...."  Her bottom lip quivered.

	"I know, Scully.  I'm sorry."  He massaged the site to
work the medication in.  "Shall I stay with you until you fall
asleep?"

	She nodded sleepily, reaching for his hand.

			- - -

	He swung his feet off the couch and sat up, casting a
glance at his watch as he did so.  A little after one.

	"Welcome back to the land of the living," a deep, dry
voice rumbled.  Skinner peered at him over the tops of his
glasses.

	"How's everything been?"

	"Quiet.  Margaret's stretched out next to Scully.
They're both asleep."


	Mrs. Scully had arrived a couple of hours before, her
face lined with the anxiety and grief she had worn almost
continuously for the past three years.  Carefully Mulder had
explained the cause of her daughter's illness, though not her
symptoms.

	"Jesus, Fox, what next?  When will all this ever stop?"

	"I know, Mrs. Scully.  But it's not just Dana this time.
And we know the effects are temporary.  Those agents who
were first affected are already better and have returned to
duty."  Those that were still alive.

	"But I don't understand.  If it's just temporary and not
all that serious, then why does she have to be sedated?  I'm
here. I can take care of her."

	Mulder had been patient, reasoning.  "I didn't want to
do it either, Mrs. Scully.  But it really was the only way to
control the symptoms."

	"What symptoms?  What's this sickness doing to her,
Fox?"

	Mulder looked a little helplessly to his boss, who
chimed in smoothly on cue.  "If it's any comfort to you, Mrs.
Scully, this is exactly the way they've been treating the other
agents in the hospital, at GUMC.  Sedating them during the
worst of it.  Agent Scully should improve by sometime
tomorrow, " he added reassuringly.

	She had searched Mulder's face, then Skinner's,
certain they were holding something back from her.  But she
had learned to trust this complex young man when Dana was
missing, and had depended on Skinner's support when Missy
had been shot.  "All right.  I know you would never do anything
that would hurt Dana.  I'll go sit with her."

	Mulder nodded.  "I promise you... having her sleep
through this is the best thing.  Let me know if she gets
restless.  She should be okay for a while, but she can have
more medication if she needs it."

	She hadn't needed it, and Mulder had succumbed
finally to the exhaustion that had been tugging at him for
hours.  Comforted himself by Mrs. Scully's presence, and
perhaps even by Skinner's, he had slept for a short time.


	"Your turn for the couch, if you want to stretch out for
a while," he said, turning to Skinner.  His boss's stockinged
feet were propped up on the coffee table.

	"No, thanks.  I'm all right.  Feel like getting brought up
to speed on what's been going on here all day?  Maybe we
can try to get a handle on the causative agent or source of
exposure."

	"Yeah.  Just let me check on Scully and grab some
coffee."

	"Grab some for me while you're at it."

	Mulder silently pushed open the door to Scully's
bedroom.  Margaret was curled up facing away from the door,
her back to Scully.  He watched as Scully breathed slowly and
deeply.  His fingers went to the side of her neck and the
strong, steady pulse they found there comforted him.  He kept
the door partially open when he left.

	Minutes later, he plunked a steaming mug down in
front of Skinner.  "I made fresh."

	The AD sipped the strong brew appreciatively.
"Ready?  There's a lot I have to catch you up on."

	"Shoot."

	A slight smile played at the edges of the lips of the
otherwise stern face.  "Don't tempt me, Mulder.  I'm armed."
He shuffled some notes.  "All right.  First, an update on the
latest death, the one we heard about last night.  Natalia Gorski
had been partnered with Richard Scott for about three years.
Both married, neither with kids...fortunately, I guess, as things
have turned out.  Some of their colleagues in the Portland
office said theirs was an ideal partnership.  But a couple of
them reported that Richard was acting weird yesterday
morning.  No one thought too much about it, chalked it up to
jet lag or something.  Until he came back from their
surveillance assignment alone.  He talked a lot of nonsense,
called Natalia a 'Desdemona', asserted that she had been
flirting with other men, and so on.  He was acting so bizarrely
that the Bureau chief out there sat on him for a while and sent
a couple of guys out to the surveillance site to take a look
around.  They didn't find anything, but then one of them had
the bright idea of looking at the car that Richard had signed
back in.  Natalia's body was in the trunk.  She had been
manually strangled....  As you can imagine, when he's able to
comprehend his actions, the guy's going to go through hell."

	Sickened, Mulder swallowed hard and nodded.  While
Scully's symptoms were probably her worst nightmare, what
Richard Scott had done was his.

	"He's in a local medical center in Portland.  When the
Bureau chief reported the death to me, I briefed him on what's
been going on out here.  In retrospect, maybe I should have
let the Bureau chiefs know to watch for any signs of odd
behavior in the agents returning from Washington. I don't
know.  The agents themselves were briefed.  It looks like that
wasn't enough."  Unusually pensive, the AD broke off, his face
drawn.

	Mulder was moved and not a little startled by what for
Skinner amounted to a shocking display of vulnerability. "We
couldn't risk a panic,"  he replied reasonably. "The more
people that know about this, the greater the chances of it
becoming known to the general public, and who knows what
could happen. Besides, relatively few of those who have come
to the recertification sessions have been affected.  If what
Pendrell theorizes is true, possibly less than five percent of the
agents are even at risk. You can't blame yourself."  Even as
he spoke, Mulder knew Skinner wasn't buying it.  He wasn't
sure he would buy it himself.

	"Tell that to the Portland Bureau chief," Skinner said
glumly, pushing his glasses higher on his nose.  "By the time
he got through with me, it's amazing I had any ass left to sit
on.  I can't blame him - he's lost one, maybe two of his most
promising agents.  Anyway, Scott's having the tests Agent
Scully specified, including the genetic tests.  They're being
reported to Pendrell as soon as the results come in.  By the
way, that's just one more reason Scully should be in the
hospital.  She should have the tests done."

	Mulder shook his head dismissively.  "We weren't
getting anything valuable from those test results anyway.  And
she's already had the only test that is telling us anything, the
test of the genetic material.  So what else is going on?"

	"There have been four more agents who have come
down with symptoms, two of them partners.  They're at
GUMC."

	"You have the files?"

	Skinner leaned over and tossed four files Mulder's
way.  Together they worked steadily for the next five hours,
not even glancing up when Margaret refilled their mugs with
fresh coffee when she rose at five o'clock.

	"That's it.  That's gotta be it!"

	"Mulder?"

	"Sir, take a look at the time element here."  He passed
Skinner the time line graphs he had been working on.  "The
first symptoms appear anywhere from six to eighteen hours
following recertification attendence.  Now granted, that's a big
window.  But look what happens with these agents, who came
into town anywhere from one to three days before their
scheduled session.  Exactly the same thing.  Even though they
were in Washington, even though they were in the hotel up to
forty eight hours longer than everyone else, the symptoms still
took place in that six to eighteen hour window following the
recertification session."
	
	Skinner stared at him.  "What are you saying,
Mulder?"

	He ponted to the graph impatiently.  "Don't you see?
Sir, they're being exposed at the recertification session. They
must be, there's no other explanation."

	He perused Mulder's graphs and charts for several
moments, trying to decipher the familiar but difficult scrawl.
"All right.  But what about Bonnie Costas?"

	"I don't know."  He shook his head.  "An aberration
perhaps.  Obviously the mode of transmission isn't the same,
but somehow she got into contact with it. We can check into
that later.  But as far as the agents go, the evidence if clear."
He reached for the phone and punched in some numbers.

	"Pendrell?  Sorry, did I wake you?...  Look, I need you
to do a favor for me.  Get down to Conference Room Three
and se if by any chance the coffee urn from yesterday's
session is still there.  It's a longshot, but we might get lucky.  If
it's there, take a sample and work on it in your lab.  It's, what,
close to seven o'clock now.  If it's empty, someone will be
setting it up for today's session soon.  Try to stick around....  I
don't know - just check out who's setting it up, what goes into
it, if anyone else is hanging around, that sort of thing.  Also,
see if you can get someone to check out the air vents to  that
room - quickly but quietly....  Okay, thanks, Pendrell.... Yeah,
everything's fine... Scully?  Oh, she's sleeping....  Yeah, no
problems....  Yeah, bye."

	"What was that all about?"

	"There has to be some vehicle for exposing the agents
to whatever this is.  Now, I noticed one of those big fifty cup
coffee urns in that conference room.  In fact, I know Scully
had some coffee from it.  That's the most obvious mode of
transmission.  But maybe this thing is airborne.  That's why I
asked Pendrell to check the air vents."

	"So you think, what - that someone is using these
recertification sessions as a staging ground for some kind of
experiment?  Using agents as guinea pigs?"  Skinner
demanded.

	Mulder shrugged.  "It wouldn't be the first time they
had used an unwitting population - school kids, colege
students...recruiting the kindly town doctor to do their dirty
work - for a price.  Why not here, why not us?"

	"You think it's the Pinck Pharmaceuticals guys at it
again?"

	"It's their M.O., isn't it?  An unsuspecting target
population, total disregard for human life....  I'd say it was an
educated guess.  They pretty much disappeared after
Lewiston, but we knew we hadn't heard the last from them."

	Skinner looked thoughtful.  "By the way, I bumped into
that chain smoking SOB last night as I was leaving.  He made
it a point to ask after your's and Scully's health, 'in view of all
the disturbing occurrences in the Bureau lately'."

	Only Skinner or Scully would have seen it, the
reaction was so cloaked, so controlled.  Mulder's jaw tightened
almost imperceptibly, and his eyes....  Skinner watched as the
warm hazel eyes changed in a heartbeat, becoming as cold,
as hard, as lethal as black ice.

	"Do you think he's involved?"  His voice was
deceptively soft.

	"What do you think?"

	They were silent for some time.  Then Skinner started,
and demanded, "Pass me the phone."

	Mulder handed it to him.  "What's up?"

	The AD was about to respond, then held up a hand.
"This is Assistant Director Skinner.  The recertification
sessions scheduled for today are to be cancelled immediately.
...Yes, I am aware that the first one is to start in fifteen
minutes....  On my authority, that's whose," he snarled.  "And I
want all the exam papers from today's session confiscated,
wrapped in plastic and delivered to my office. If they're not
there in five minutes, you're out of a G-17 job, got it?"  He
punched a button and his fingers dialled another number.
"Kim?...  Saggett will be bringing a package to my office....
No, don't touch it.  Have him put it into the bottom drawer of
my desk.  Lock it, and then my office and stay there until I get
in.  Don't let anyone in or out. And call me on Mulder's cellular
if he doesn't get there in five minutes....  Thank you, Kim."  He
switched the phone to standby.  He glanced up at a puzzled
Mulder.

	"I thought of another way of introducing the substance.
Maybe I've been reading too many spy novels, but there's a
chance something could have been impregnated into those
exam papers, something that could be absorbed through the
skin."

	"Better living through chemistry,"  Mulder muttered
bitterly.

	"Is there a room I can use?  Someplace private?"

	Sounds came from Scully's room, and Margaret called
out, "Fox!  Can you come help me?"

	"Coming!" he called, standing and stretching.  "Looks
like you'll have this one to yourself for a while.  Why?"

	"This recertification program was my boss's brainchild,
and there's gonna be hell to pay for cancelling it.  Now I have
to call him and try to explain the wisdom of my actions."

	In spite of everything, Mulder grinned.  "Now you know
how I feel most of the time."  He padded to Scully's room.
"Good luck," he called over his shoulder.

	"Yeah, well... fuck him, if he can't take a joke,"
Skinner murmured.  He heard Mulder's chuckle disappear
behind the door to Scully's room, as he sat down and dialled
the phone.  "...Yes, sorry to disturb you so early on a Saturday
morning, sir...."



Saturday, 9 A.M.


At first glance, the flurry of activity appeared chaotic.  
On closer examination, the tall, distinguished man saw 
that it was anything but disorganized.  Every computer 
was in use, the data being moved from the hard drives to 
DAT, then the programs themselves deleted, leaving 
monitors staring mindlessly into the center of the 
laboratory.  One team of workers, clad in gowns and 
heavy-duty gloves, moved from cage to cage, 
administering lethal injections to the monkeys that had 
somehow survived the experiments.  Another team 
followed a few minutes later, carefully packing the 
bodies in styrofoam and dry ice for dissection and further 
tests later.  Still others were boxing the hard copies of the 
records of the experiments.  He threaded his way through 
the lab to the director's office.

It was clear the scientist was in a foul mood.  A sour 
expression on his face, he was going through his desk 
drawers methodically, sorting the contents into two 
cartons.

"It seems they have tumbled to your little experiment a 
bit sooner than you had planned."

The scientist glanced up briefly, glaring, then returned to 
his task.  "You seem to have a genius for stating the 
obvious.  We're kind of on a tight schedule here, so I'll 
carry on doing what I'm doing, if you don't mind.  Why 
the hell are you here, anyway?"

"Oh, I just came by to offer a hand, and see to it that 
there's nothing left for anyone to find."

"Thanks but no thanks.  Do you think you're dealing with 
a bunch of amateurs here?  In another hour, there won't 
be anything left but some equipment that's outlived its 
usefulness.  There won't be so much as a paperclip or a 
speck of dust left that will tell anyone anything."  He 
slammed the last of his drawers shut.  "Keenan!"

A white-coated laboratory assistant appeared in the 
doorway.

"This box goes with us, the other one goes to the 
incinerator.  For God's sake don't mix them up."  He sat 
down and watched the assistant push the boxes from the 
room.

The tall man sat in the other chair.  "All this must be a 
terrible disappointment for you," he began pleasantly.

"The data have been irrevocably skewed," the scientist 
declared disgustedly.  "We really needed this last group 
of test subjects, especially in view of all the interference.  
That Assistant Director - Skinner? - loused it up for us 
two days ago when he started checking out the teams of 
agents, separating them, sending them off to the Psych 
ward.  Many of the test subjects never had the 
opportunity to run the full gamut of the effects of the 
substance.  Their early symptoms were identitifed for 
what they were, and they were sedated before we could 
gather all the data we were looking for.  To add insult to 
injury, our access to information from the hospital was 
effectively blocked. Then, finally, calling off today's 
session....  All I can say is that it destroyed a shitload of 
work and millions of tax dollars."

The tall man smiled thinly.  "Nice of you to be thinking 
about the taxpayer, at a time like this."

"Fuck the taxpayer.  All those drones out there are a 
necessary evil for financing really important work - like 
ours."  He sighed.  "In retrospect, I will have to say that 
we made a poor choice of test subject.  FBI agents are too 
high profile, too sharp.  Aberrations in their behavior are 
discerned too quickly by their partners and co-workers.  
We have our cigarette-smoking friend to thank for that."

"Really?  It was his idea?"  Ah, a chink in the armor, 
another black mark against the SOB.  Enough of those, 
and maybe he could be eliminated after all.

"Well...not entirely, perhaps," the scientist admitted 
grudgingly.  "But he enthusiastically supported it.  
Indeed, it seemed to bring him a certain satisfaction.  But 
in the future, at least for this particular experiment, we'll 
have to stick to prisoners.  Prisoners have their drawbacks 
- usually we're not dealing with the most intelligent of 
subjects, and chronic drug use makes interpretation of the 
test data difficult sometimes.  But at least no one makes a 
federal case out of some fights and a few deaths."

The tall man stared at the scientist, repelled by his callous 
disregard for those who died in the course of the 
experiment.  Granted, it was necessary to kill sometimes, 
but only one's enemies, only those who stood directly in 
the way of one's objective.  Not like this, not a faceless, 
honorless, pointless  death.  "So did you get anything out 
of all of this?" he demanded sternly.

"Oh, yes, especially earlier in the week.  I must admit 
though, that their finding the genetic link so soon was a 
shock.  I really thought that that would buy us the time 
we needed.  Suffice to say, if there's ever a next time, 
there are certain people who will be among the first test 
subjects, rather than the last.  That damn geek Pendrell, 
for one, and of course Agents Scully and Mulder.  We 
still have a longstanding score to settle with those two."

"What about the Assistant Director?"

"Him too.  Although I believe that without the others, he 
wouldn't have taken action soon enough to stop the tests.  
But with Pendrell, Mulder, and the mysterious Doctor 
Scully...."

"Mysterious?  Certainly intelligent, courageous - even 
dangerous.  But mysterious?  How so?"

"Ah, then you haven't heard!  Looks like your web of 
informants is not quite as efficient as mine," the scientist 
gloated.  "Yes, our cigarette-smoking friend was most 
disappointed.  She was one of the later test subjects, and 
should have experienced quite an ...interesting... reaction.  
Our friend himself suggested it, as a matter of fact.  But 
for whatever reason, we don't think she had a reaction.  
She and Mulder were spotted briefly leaving the airport 
yesterday, and nothing apparently was wrong then.  They 
were followed to her apartment, and there's been all sorts 
of activity there overnight.  Mulder's been there ever 
since - which we expected," he said with a smirk.  "But 
Skinner also showed up and apparently her mother also 
came to visit.  Now if she had the reaction we had 
planned for her, well... let's just say two would have been 
company, and four definitely would have been a crowd.  
Also if she had had a reaction, chances are she would 
have been transported to GUMC with the other agents.  
But instead - nothing."  He looked reflective, and said 
almost to himself, "Of course, there is the off-chance that 
they may have discovered a way to prevent the reaction 
from occurring.  But we're not even sure we can do that 
yet."

"So what now?"

The scientist smiled unpleasantly.  "If you don't mind, I 
think I'll keep that to myself for the time being.  I'm still 
more than a little suspicious about how they could have 
made the genetic connection so quickly.  It's possible that 
there's been  leak, so under the circumstances...."  He 
stood and moved to the door.

"My dear doctor, surely you don't suspect me?"  The tall, 
austere man got to his feet and followed the scientist out 
into the lab.  It was now deserted, save for a team in 
cleansuits who were wiping down every surface to 
obliterate any fingerprints.

"My dear sir, surely you don't think I'm going to answer 
that?"  The scientist laughed shortly.  "Don't worry.  This 
is just a temporary setback.  We'll be back.  We always 
come back."


- - - - -

Saturday, 4 P.M.  

Mulder jolted into wakefulness and looked at his watch, 
focusing with difficulty.  He swung up from the couch and 
went to the door, opening it on an exhausted Skinner.

"You look like I feel, Mulder.  Everything okay?"

"Yeah."  He collapsed again on the couch, settling against 
the soft cushions and stretching his legs out across the 
coffee table.  "Scully's mom went home a couple of hours 
ago."

"How's Scully?"

"I think she's sleeping it off.  She woke up a little just 
before her mom left.  Mrs. Scully handled it - said she 
seemed pretty out of it, asked for some water, and fell 
back to sleep.  According to what Pendrell said, the worst 
should be over."

Skinner nodded.  "Let's hope."

"Feel like something to eat?  Mrs. Scully cooked after you 
left this morning."

"Right now I'm so tired I don't know what I feel.  Yeah, 
sure, why not."

The men went into the kitchen, Skinner seating himself at 
the pale oak dining table while Mulder started the 
microwave and got out some bowls.

"Smells good.  What is it?"

"Beef stew I think.  Something like that, anyway."  He 
scooped some of the steaming stew into the bowls and set 
them on the table with a basket of crusty rolls and two 
bottles of beer.

"She baked, too?"

"Defrosted.  They were in the freezer already."  The 
started eating, slowly at first, then with more enthusiasm 
as they realized how hungry they were and how wonderful 
the home-cooked meal tasted.  When they had finished, 
Skinner sat back in the chair, relaxed and satisfied, while 
Mulder poured coffee.

"So - aren't you going to ask me about my day?"

"Okay.  How was your day?"

Skinner's lips twitched in what, for him, constituted a 
smile.  "As you know, I was summoned to the Grand 
Inquisition this morning, the Director being unhappy with 
my decision to cancel today's recertification sessions.  I 
think I finally got through to him, but I didn't exactly win 
any brownie points, either."

"More fool, him,"  Mulder muttered.  He hadn't meant his 
thought to be voiced, and louder, he said, "No disrespect 
intended, sir."

The lips twitched again. "No, of course not.  Anyway, then 
I paid a visit to Pendrell.  He looked like shit, too.  He 
worked all night, finally fell asleep over his electron 
microscope until your call woke him.  From the samples 
he took of the affected agents, he's been able to get a line 
on the substance.  Still can't reproduce it or identify it, 
precisely.  He started explaining all the chemistry 
involved, but I'm afraid I didn't follow it all that well.  In 
any case, apparently he found enough traces of foreign 
substances to start making an analysis."

"Did he find the mode of transmission?"

"Yeah.  That breakthrough came at about noontime.  By 
that time the kid was out on his feet, but fortunately his 
brain was still chugging away.  Earlier this morning, he 
went down to Conference Room Three.  There was no 
sign of the coffee from yesterday, but it had been set up 
for today's session.  He saw someone he didn't like the 
looks of hanging around, but didn't recognize him.  He got 
himself a cup of coffee - for analysis only - then he spotted 
Sawchuck.  He told Sawchuck to keep an eye on the guy, 
and follow him if he left, but discreetly.  Well, Sawchuck 
being Sawchuck...."

"Let me guess.  The guy knew Sawchuck was on to him 
and managed to lose him."

"You got it."

"Sir, off the record - why hasn't a fuckup like Sawchuck 
been bounced from the Bureau?"

"Because - off the record - he's the Director's wife's 
nephew."

Mulder sighed.  "That figures.  Okay, did the coffee 
sample show anything?"

"Unfortunately not.  If the guy was loitering with intent, 
Sawchuck obviously spooked him before he got a chance 
to spike the coffee."

"Then how - "

"The test papers.  I picked them up in my office and 
brought them to Pendrell's lab.  He had the answer 
amazingly quickly.  When he first tested the papers, they 
turned up clean.  But I have to give the little guy credit, 
he's like a pit bull when he has an idea.  He tested the 
papers after applying a solution to them - a solution 
chemically similar to perspiration.  As soon as he did that 
- Bingo!"

"So, it was designed to be absorbed through the skin of the 
hands.  Especially in a warm room."

"That's right.  And Pendrell said the room was very warm, 
something about the ventilation being broken.  Now, there 
may have been some of the substance in the coffee in 
previous sessions, we have no way of knowing.  I suppose 
they could have been hedging their bets.  They couldn't 
rely on everyone sweating, and they couldn't be sure 
everyone would drink the coffee, so they introduced the 
substance both ways."

Mulder nodded.  "They may also have been testing the 
better mode of transmission - absorbed versus ingested.  
But it could be that those who both drank coffee and 
absorbed the substance through the test papers had the 
more severe reactions.  And I'd be willing to lay money on 
the fact that the people running the experiments always 
had a man inside - taking notes, keeping track of the 
agents and what they did."

"Very likely.  Anyway, at that point I sent Pendrell home 
to bed.  His lab is locked up and a guard posted, with 
orders to open up for no one other than Pendrell, myself, 
or you."

"Any explanation about how Bonnie Costas could have 
come into contact with the substance?"

"Oh, yeah.  Mystery solved.  Turns out her class at St. 
Ignatius went on a field trip a week ago Friday, and guess 
what?  They toured the J. Edgar Hoover Building."

Mulder's eyebrows rose.  "There's the connection, then.   Is 
the rest of the class okay?"

"Discreet phone calls haven't turned up any other cases of 
odd or violent behavior.  The kids didn't have 
refreshments on their trip - they were at least spared a visit 
to the cafeteria," said Skinner dryly.  "But if the mode of 
transmission is absorption, she could have just touched 
something with the substance on it and been exposed 
accidentally.  Both Bonnie and her brother went home this 
morning, by the way.  So far, everything seem fine."

"So what happens now?"

"What always happens," Skinner responded bleakly.  "We 
pick up the pieces and we go on."

"What?  We're not going to try to find them?  Make them 
pay for what they've done?"  Mulder shoved himself away 
from the table and stood, his hands on his hips.  "I can't 
believe we're just going to go on like nothing happened.  
Christ, people DIED.  Good people.  And others may 
never get over what that substance made them do.  Look at 
poor Ron Wolfson - he killed himself because he couldn't 
live with having tried to rape his partner.  And what about 
that poor bastard in Portland?  What about Patty Johnson 
down in San Antonio?"  He leaned down, glaring at the 
Assistant Director.  "I can't believe we're going to let those 
monsters conduct their experiments with impunity against 
unsuspecting people."

"I didn't say that."  Skinner's voice was loud, harsh.  "Of 
course we'll try to find them.  But realistically speaking, I 
don't think we'll find anything.  We've tried this twice 
before, remember?  They vanish like smoke.  What do you 
suggest we do?"

Mulder let his arms fall to his side and sat down heavily in 
the dining chair.

More softly but no less intensely, Skinner continued, 
"Look, Mulder, I'm not any happier about this than you 
are.  Probably less so, because I have a responsibility to 
each and every agent out there.  But Pinck 
Pharmaceuticals obviously has friends in very high places.  
Friends who don't appear to be held to the laws of this 
country," he added bitterly.  "So realistically speaking - 
what would you suggest we do?"

Stomach churning, Mulder just sat there.  What Skinner 
said was true.  And behind the AD's stony exterior, Mulder 
could tell he was seething.  Seething and in pain.  These 
experiments had been conducted without his knowledge 
on HIS people, on HIS turf.  That had to hurt.

"You know, I never thought of myself as a particularly 
naive person," Skinner said reflectively.  "Not after Nam, 
not after twenty-odd years with the Bureau. But after some 
of the things that have happened in the last couple of 
years...."  He shook his head.  "I don't know, sometimes I 
wonder what I'm knocking myself out for."  He sipped his 
coffee.

"Probably the same reason the rest of us do," Mulder 
quietly responded.  "The belief that there's more good than 
evil, and that it's worth preserving.   A belief that evil can't 
be allowed to triumph."

"Yeah. Maybe,"  Skinner said tiredly.  He drained his cup 
and stood. "Look, if you can handle things here, I'm going 
to go home and crash."

"We'll be okay."

The AD nodded.  "My phone's at my bedside.  Don't 
hesitate to call if you need to.  If I have to, I can be here in 
thirty-three minutes - I've timed it, " he added wryly.  
Mulder followed him to the door.  He was on his way out 
when he said over his shoulder, "Eight A.M. sharp 
Monday morning.  My office.  Both of you, if Agent 
Scully is up to it."

"Okay....  And...thanks, sir."

The AD turned to look at him, his face devoid of 
expression.  "What for, Mulder?  I'm just doing my job."  
He closed the door behind him.

- - -

He sat at her bedside.  She had been stirring more 
frequently as the unconsciousness induced by the drug 
yielded to normal sleep.  He could only hope that he had 
the wisdom to say the right thing when she awoke.  He 
could only hope that their partnership was strong enough 
to endure this nightmare.

Staring unfocused into the darkness of the room, he 
suddenly felt her eyes on him and looked down.  "Scully?"

"I'm awake.  And I'm...me.  Mostly, anyway."

Neither said anything for a long time.

"Oh, God, Mulder, I'm so embarrassed."  Her voice was a 
whisper.

"Why?  You wouldn't be embarrassed if you had had a 
high fever, would you?  Or if you had come out in spots?" 
he asked reasonably.

"No.  But I didn't have a fever or spots.  I...oh, God."  She 
was silent for a while, then seemed to gather herself and 
she sat up.  Almost coldly, she said, "Mulder, thanks for 
being here, but you'd better go now.  I'm fine."

He watched her gravely.  "Don't push me away, Scully.  If 
you start pushing, you won't stop.  I know you - maybe 
better than you know yourself.  We need to get this out in 
the open and then lay it to rest forever.  Pushing me away 
right now won't help."

She shook her head sadly.

He changed to a less threatening line of conversation.  
"What happened in San Antonio?  What did you find out 
from Patty?"

Scully sighed.  "She's devastated.  Rick killed himself, 
Mulder.  He was increasingly despondent on the trip back 
from Washington.  From what she said, he exhibited the 
same symptomatology as Thorssen, Agent Bochs' partner.  
But she had the recessive gene, too.  In her case, the 
symptoms seemed mild, but in view of what happened....  
She grew more aloof, more cold and distant and uncaring.  
Now she feels that when her partner needed her most, she 
wasn't there for him.  She's going to need counseling, 
Mulder - lots of it.  She may never be the same."

"That's the really tragic part of all this - the people who 
will never be the same again."

She nodded.  "Anyway, after I talked to Patty I checked 
her medical records and the test results.  That's when I...I 
started having feelings, symptoms.  Right about then, 
Skinner called.  I...I know I should have told him, but I 
just couldn't tell him, Mulder.  He's our boss, and...well, 
you know how he is...."

"I know," he replied.  "He'd understand, but he doesn't 
present the most sympathetic demeanor in the world."

"That's an understatement," she said, with a flash of the 
old "Scully" spirit.

"But he does care, Dana.  He was concerned enough about 
you to spend the night here."

"Skinner - here?  Oh my God, Mulder, he didn't see me 
when - "

"No!  No, Scully.  You were out cold the whole time he 
was here.  I called a friend, a psychiatrist, who told me to 
give you Haldol to put you out, so you'd sleep through the 
worst of it."

"Is that why my butt's so sore?" she asked wryly.

" 'Fraid so.  But if it's any comfort to you, my technique 
was improving by the third dose.  Your medical bag will 
need some restocking, though," he smiled.  Then he grew 
serious once more.  "Both Skinner and your mom were 
here, but nobody saw you when you were having 
symptoms.  No one but the three of us even know you had 
a reaction at all. And nobody knows what the effects of 
the substance were, what kind of symptoms you were 
having."

"Nobody but you."

"Nobody but me," he agreed, watching her reaction to his 
words.

"Oh God.  I can't remember much, but what I do 
remember....  Oh God.  In a way, I'm glad it was you.  No 
one would have protected me like you did, not taken 
advantage of the situation, would have seen to it that no 
one else knew....  But in a way, I wish it had been anyone 
else BUT you.  It just... it just seems like such a mockery 
of what we are to each other."

"And don't think for a moment that that little irony wasn't 
intended by the monsters who ran these experiments.  I'm 
pretty sure HE was involved - Cancerman."  

They were silent, lost in their own thoughts for several 
moments.  Then he reached out and took her hand.  "Dana, 
have I always been rational?  You've seen me sick, raving, 
crazed by drugs put into my water, terrified and shaking 
from nightmares.  You've been there for me when I've 
acted like a lunatic, and when I've been in tears.  Has it 
made a difference in how you feel about me as a partner?"

She looked thoughtful.  "A difference, yes, Mulder, it has.  
I've gotten to know you better, know what drives you, 
what makes you tick.  What scares you, what piques your 
interest, what makes you laugh and cry."

"But a difference that makes you uncomfortable, so 
uncomfortable that it would undermine our partnership?"

"No.  Never that.  Nothing you did could do that."

He shrugged.  "Well?"

Her fingers tightened on his.

"Dana, let's not add ourselves to the list of people who will 
never be the same.  The partnerships that have been 
broken or irrevocably damaged by this thing.  You're 
stronger than that.  Our partnership is stronger than that.  
We can't let the people who carried out this abomination 
win.  And if you and I can't get beyond this, they will win."

She was silent for a long time as she thought about what 
he said.  Then she smiled - one of her rare but beautiful 
smiles.  "We won't let them win, Mulder.  We can't - 
there's too much work to be done."

He smiled back - an equally rare occurrence.  "Are you 
hungry?"

"Starving.  I just want to get up and washed and throw 
some clothes on, okay?  Then... let's talk over dinner. I 
want to know more about what happened.  I NEED to 
know more if I'm to put all this behind me."

"Sure, anything you want, Scully.  Dinner will be ready 
when you come out.  Need any help?"

"No, I'm fine - really," she smiled again.

"Okay.  Holler if you change your mind."  He squeezed her 
hand once more and left, closing the door behind him.

She slid to the side of the bed and sat there for a moment.  
What Mulder said was true, she thought.  They had seen 
the best and the worst in each other, innumerable times.  
And it didn't make a difference.  Not to her, anyway.  And 
it would be no different with Mulder.

They were partners.


End of Partners