From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: 6 Aug 2006 01:54:36 -0000 Subject: Project Truthseekers - Chataqalan II (1/2) by: MaybeAmanda by MaybeAmanda Source: direct Reply To: maybe_a@rocketmail.com Project Truthseekers: Chataqalan: Part 2 (1/2) by Amanda Wilde (MaybeAmanda) Rating: PG Category: S, A, MSR Disclaiming all: Chris Carter owns M&S; Fox owns The XFiles; I own this story. No infringement intended. Archive: Sure. Email: maybe_a@rocketmail.com Thanks to: Amy, Weyo, Joanna, and Euphrosyne for enduring months and months and months and months of whining, Tess for infinite patience, the BTT gang for the inspiration and opportunity. :~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~: Something hurt. Something hurt a lot, actually, and the more she thought about it, the more certain Reyes was that she was that something. She slowly opened her eyes, squinting. "What-?" she began, not sure what else she was going to say. "Dr. Scully," she heard a voice call. "Agent Reyes is waking." There was a brief flurry of footsteps scuffling through dirt, and then Scully, looking concerned, was peering down at her. "Monica, good. How are you feeling?" Monica took a deep breath. Ouch. "Like crap," she answered, finding her throat dry and her voice rusty. She swallowed, which helped a little, but not nearly enough. "Please tell me I'm just really really hung-over." "No such luck." Scully smiled. "Do you know where you are?" "Hell?" Reyes ventured. "Close," Scully deadpanned. "Not hell? Must be grad school, then." Reyes groaned. "What the hell happened?" She moved to sit up, but Scully's hand was on her shoulder, applying just enough pressure to hold her down. "Hang on a second," Scully said. "Don't try to get up too fast. You've been out of it for a while and you're bound to get dizzy. You may have a concussion or-" "I'm fine," Reyes answered, waving Scully off and pulling herself into sitting position. In protest, her head and stomach simultaneously began swimming in opposite directions. Hunched over her knees, she held her middle and closed her eyes, waiting for the sensation to pass. "Nausea?" Scully asked. Reyes took a deep breath. Her ribs were a little sore, but they'd been worse. She had badly skinned knees, but someone had cleaned them and she could tell by the smell, applied antiseptic. So how long had she been out? More to the point, why had she been out? "Monica?" "A little." She lifted her head, which didn't make things worse. "Actually, it's passing," she said, hoping it really was. She inhaled deeply again, and found that she had told her friend the truth - it 'was' passing. "Ribs are pretty sore. I must have fallen hard on something." "You've got a big bruise on your side, but nothing appears to be broken," Scully said. "How's your head?" Monica hoisted one brow. "Insert punch line here," she said. Scully rolled her eyes. "I can't imagine why you and Mulder don't get along better," she muttered, "considering you share the same sense of humor. Really, how is your head?" "Fine. Really. I've had concussions. This doesn't feel like a concussion. This is more like being run over by a tequila truck." "A pleasure I've never had," Scully assured her. "Shame." Breathing deeply again, Monica found she really was feeling better. "Your x-rays came back clear, but, as I am sure you know, they don't always show everything. Lucky we had the portable x-ray machines and the power to run them." "Yeah, lucky," Monica agreed absently as she examined her hands. The palms were tender, the heels, bruised. She'd fallen, and fallen hard, and had apparently tried to break her fall. Scully sat carefully on the corner of the cot. "Here, look at me," she said, gently taking Reyes' chin in her hand. "Follow my finger." Reyes complied. It didn't hurt, which she took as a good sign. "Your pupils look better now," Scully said, dropping her hand to her lab coat pocket. "They looked like saucers for a while there." She pulled out a penlight and pointed. "Look up there." Reyes looked upward as her friend directed, her mind trying to piece together what had happened to her. Scully clicked the flashlight off. "I think you mostly got the wind knocked out of you, but you shouldn't be moving around too much," she added. "You'll need to be thoroughly checked out when we get back to civilization tomorrow, but in the meantime, I think you'll live." "Comforting words from a pathologist," Monica said. "Mulder always used to say I sounded so disappointed when I said that," Scully said, offering Monica a wry grin and a bottle of water. "Drink." Monica had had enough injuries to know the drill, so she took a small trial sip. The tepid liquid went down easily and hit bottom with no ill effects, so she did it again. They were in the meeting tent, she realized, the one that was open on all four sides, and a coolish breeze was blowing through, which meant it was probably early evening. A few cots had been brought in, but she saw there were very few of them occupied. "Wait - tomorrow? What's happening tomorrow?" "It's been decided it's too dangerous to stay here any longer, but tomorrow is apparently the soonest they can get us all out. They want us leaving under very heavily armed escort." "What exactly happened?" "What do you remember?" Scully asked. Monica rolled her eyes. "Dana, don't doctor me." "Under the circumstances, I don't have much choice," Scully replied matter-of-factly. "What do you remember?" "I'm not sure," Monica answered finally. "You and I were talking, then I was talking with Irina-" Scully nodded. "Go on." "And I talked to DuFour - no, I talked to DuFour first, then to Irina. Then Irina and I were going to talk to you." "You had an envelope with you," Scully said quietly. "You were going to talk to ASAC Perez, and you had an envelope-" Monica nodded. "Right. I dropped it when I was talking to DuFour. He told me that Bobby had gone to investigate the ambush, right? The ambulances they sent this morning, it wasn't an accident, they were ambushed -" Scully nodded. "Simon told me that's what they suspected." Monica nodded. "So what happened?" "An explosion," Scully answered. "Several explosions, in fact. I thought we were being shelled at first, but it turned out they were just bombs." "*Just* bombs?" Monica asked. "Incendiary devices, actually." "Ah," Monica said. "A little exploding and a lot of burning? How many?" "Equipment tent, records tent, the morgue trailer, and Vetkova's tent." "I was with Vetkova," Monica said. "Is she okay?" Scully gave a non-committal shrug. "You went down before her tent went up, but she got hit by the full impact of it. We couldn't rouse her and we couldn't get any good pictures. I'd guess she has a severe concussion at the very least, possibly some internal bleeding. She was evaced to Veracruz." Monica winced. "And it was safe to send her out? What about-" "Agent Perez and some soldiers accompanied her," Scully explained. "They were better prepared this time." "Bobby came back? What did he find out?" Scully shrugged. "We didn't exactly have time to chat. He stopped by briefly to see if you were okay before he left. And Simon told me they were able to call back to the camp and say they'd arrived at the hospital." Monica nodded. "So the comm stuff is working now?" "No," Scully shook her head. "Not mine, anyway." "You've tried to call Mulder since all this began?" Scully nodded. "Still no luck." Monica nodded. "Were there many other serious injuries?" Scully shook her head. "You were knocked unconscious, a couple of people caught shrapnel, a bunch got hit by flying glass and debris, but nothing life threatening. A broken arm, I believe, a couple of sprained ankles, but those were mostly from people running around in a panic. Most of these people are not field agents." "All those explosions and that's it, casualty-wise? Me, Vetkova, and a broken arm?" "You, Vetkova, a broken arm, and just about every speck of useable equipment and evidence." "Evidence. Right." Monica said. "I put it down on the camp table. I forgot it so I was going back. Vetkova grabbed me by the arm and -- ouch!" She looked at the spot she'd just touched. Angry bruises met her gaze. "You okay?" Scully asked, peering at Monica's upper arm. "Bug bite, I guess. Just bruised," Monica replied, intent on piecing her story back together. "Okay, so she grabbed me and then, um - " Monica closed her eyes tight in concentration. "And then - and then nothing," she finished with a frustrated sigh. "Dr. Scully," a voice called. "Can you come look at this leg? I think it might be broken." "Sure," she replied. "Just let me finish up here." Scully glanced around before leaning in. She put her index finger below Monica's left eye and gently pulled the skin down, as if she were examining her. "This probably isn't the best place to discuss this, but I was talking to Mulder before all hell broke loose." She switched to examining Monica's right eye. "His research implicates her as the infiltrator." "Her? Vetkova her?" Scully nodded slightly and continued her examination. Monica pulled back. "I don't think so." "Excuse me?" "She told me she and Drew are working on the same side." "It's not like we haven't suspected Drew's mixed up in this somehow." "No," Monica shook her head. "She told me the people who were massacred, the Quetua, are really the Huecha. Those are the same people Mulder and John met on that oil rig, right? The ones with natural immunity?" Scully nodded. "Mulder figured that out, too." "Irina's part of a team working on developing a vaccine." Scully shrugged. "She very well may be," she answered, palpating the glands in Monica's neck for cover. "We know there have been several groups working on it for the better part of almost sixty years. That doesn't mean her intentions are exactly honorable. You know as well as I do that anyone who can develop and control this vaccine can essentially rule the world." "I know," Monica said, "and Irina said the same thing." "Misdirection," Scully suggested. "That's how I'd do it." "I don't think so." Monica sighed. "She told me Drew's with Interpol-" "Interpol?" Monica nodded. "He's involved in an internal investigation at Scotland Yard. Drew's apparently one of the good guys." Scully seemed to consider this. "That doesn't quite track," she said at last. "Considering he's missing and has been since before these bombings began, and by his reaction to- " "I know, I know," Monica said. "But she claims she's one of the good guys too," Monica continued. "She knows a lot about the X- Files, Dana, a lot about you and Mulder, a lot about-" "That information isn't hard to come by if you know where to look," Scully said, "or if you're trying to build up a nice thick layer of protective coloration." Monica paused. Everything Scully said made sense. And yet, she couldn't get over the feeling that they were missing the big picture, somehow. Vetkova was telling the truth, or at least what she understood to be the truth; Monica was certain of that. But how could she explain to Scully what her gut just knew. "She's got a chip," Monica whispered finally. Scully's eyes widened. "A what?" "Like yours. A chip." Scully stopped even the pretense of an exam, and swallowed hard. She looked flustered, Monica noted, but only for the briefest second before she recovered her composure. "I wasn't under any illusions that I was the only person in the world with one," she said evenly. "Neither am I," Monica answered. "But-" "It doesn't mean anything," Scully interrupted. "That doesn't make her any more or less likely to be telling the truth." "I know, but it makes her more likely to be invested one way or the other, don't you think?" "Monica-" "No," Monica interrupted. "She said she had proof. Tangible proof. Proof she could show me." "Proof that conveniently got blown to bits?" Monica sighed, feeling suddenly deflated. "I don't know. She said she would show me. She said - oh!" "Oh?" "The egg," Monica explained. "The toy she gave you for William. She asked me if you had it. I said yes, and she said then she could show me the proof. I think there must be a connection. Do you have it on you?" Scully shook her head. "No." "Did it get blown up?" "No," Scully said, "but -" "There's something about it, Dana, something important. We have to examine it, figure out-" "Monica, think about it. It's probably another bomb." "Wouldn't it have gone off when the others did? If the idea was to do you some harm, wouldn't it have exploded?" Scully shrugged. "Maybe it was designed not to. Maybe it's just sitting there waiting for someone to touch it or drop it or look at it the wrong way. " She swallowed hard. "Maybe the whole idea was to kill my son." Monica closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "It's not," she finally said. "Irina was giving it to you for safekeeping. I can't explain how I know it, but I know it." Scully stood. "You need to rest, Monica." "Where is it, Dana?" Scully shook her head. "It's too dangerous." "Is it still in the camp?" Monica asked. When Scully didn't answer, she went on. "If it's a bomb, and it's still in the camp, then by your own argument, we're all in danger. Doing nothing is worse than at least getting it well out of the camp." Scully hesitated. "But -" "But nothing," Monica said, seeing her opening. "You know I'm right." "Doctor Scully, please," a plaintive voice called, "are you almost done? There's a piece of glass or something in this wound." "Just finishing up," Scully answered. "Dana-" Scully looked at her. "The work tent we were in today," she said quietly. "Number four metal cylinders, on the third shelf. It's sealed. Get it out of the camp." Monica nodded. Then a little louder, Scully said, "Well, I'd say you're good to go, Monica. Lieutenant Currie," she called to the corpsman who'd been assigned to help out in the casualty tent, "can we spare a couple of T3s for Agent Reyes?" "Yes ma'am," came the reply. "I'll give you a couple of pain pills, you can take them if the ribs are bothering you when you're ready for bed. I suggest you go back to the tent and pack for the trip home in the morning." Monica stood, steadied herself, willed herself not to wince when her ribs twinged. "I'll do that," she said. :~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~: Two hours later, having examined what seemed like every cut, scrape, and twisted ankle in the western hemisphere, Scully made her exhausted way back to their tent. She was ready for some food, a tepid shower, and about 48 hours continuous sleep, which, she thought, was starting to sound more like her motto than her desire. Instead, she found Monica with a boot raised over her head, with her intended target, the pysanky egg keyring, on the ground in front of her. "Monica!" Her assault interrupted, Monica looked up. "What?" "'What!?'" Scully said. "Have you lost your mind?" Monica shrugged. "It's possible." "You said you were going to get that thing out of the camp," Scully admonished. "What the hell are you thinking?" Monica scooped up the keyring and dropped down on to her cot, glaring at the object in her hand. "I've been abusing this thing for - " she glanced at her watch "- well over an hour. If it was going to do anything really interesting, I think it would have done it by now." Scully felt herself gape at her friend. "Just how the hell hard did you hit your head?" she asked. Monica shrugged again. "There's something in here, Dana," she said. She held keyring to her ear and shook it. Despite herself, Scully flinched. Oblivious to Scully's discomfort, Monica clarified, "It's some kind of liquid." "Liquid explosive, maybe? For God's sake, I thought we established that that thing was dangerous and that we had to get it out of here." "We did," Monica agreed. "Sort of." Scully regularly found Monica frustrating, but she was beginning to think there was some sort of competition Monica was enrolled in, and her friend had decided she was flat-out going for the gold. "Sort of? What do you mean, sort of?" Monica looked up. "Shhhh. Keep your voice down. You have your flashlight? Come look at this," she said, gesturing to the bruise on her arm. Scully pulled the penlight from her pocket and peered at the spot on Monica's biceps. "What am I looking at?" "I thought it was a bug bite, but since the swelling's started going down, it looks more like it was made by a needle." Monica hissed as Scully probed the area. The skin around the injection site was mottled purple and blue, but clearly, it -was- an injection site. And a botched one, at that. "You're right," she agreed. "A corpsman would have done a better job of giving a shot than this, right? Or one of the med techs?" Scully nodded as she sat. "William would have done a better job of it." "So Vetkova must have done it," Monica concluded. "When she grabbed my arm, somehow, Vetkova must have drugged me." "I guess that makes sense." Monica let out a long sigh. "Only, really, no, it doesn't make any sense. I mean, if she drugged me, why?" "To get you out of the way, I assume." "Out of the way of what, though?" Monica questioned. "If she knew her tent was going to explode and she wanted me gone, wouldn't she have been better off just letting me walk back into it?" "Not if she didn't want you hurt," Scully countered. "Maybe, for some reason, she was trying to keep you out of harm's way." "But if she didn't want to hurt me, why drug me? Why not just say, 'Hey Monica, don't go back in there, that's one of those tents that likes to blow up'?" Scully considered the possibilities. "Maybe -- maybe she didn't know it was going to blow up," she said. "Maybe the two are unrelated. Maybe she was planning to drug you, say you'd fainted or fallen or something, and the tent blowing up was coincidental." Monica's brows rose. "I thought we didn't believe in coincidences?" Scully let out a long breath. "We don't," she said, massaging the back of her neck. "At the moment, however, that's all I have." Monica looked down at the intricately decorated keyring in her palm. "I wish I knew what the hell was going on around here." "Honestly," Scully said, "I am very, very rapidly losing interest. I just want to go home, spend some time with Mulder and William, and take a long, hot bath or two." Monica sighed. "That bath part sounds pretty good." "Doesn't it?" Scully held out her hand, palm up. "In the meantime, we have to get that thing out of camp, Monica." Monica nodded. "You're right." She handed it over and began putting her boot back on. "I am," she agreed and slipped it in her pocket. "Hello?" A voice called softly from outside their tent. "Agent Scully, Monica?" "Hey Bobby," Monica called. "Come in." "How you doing, Monica?" Bobby asked as entered and resealed the tent flap. "Agent Scully here told me you got banged up pretty good." "Nah," she answered. "You should see the other guy." "I was under the impression the other guy was a bomb," he said. "It was." Monica gestured for him to sit in the camp chair opposite. "What's your point?" Perez chuckled as he sat. "Good to see your sparkling wit survived intact." "Good to see you survived at all," Monica said. "How'd the investigation go?" Perez shrugged. "It wasn't much of an investigation. It was definitely an ambush. There were charges set in the road meant to act as landmines - hell, they might actually have been landmines, but no kind of landmines I've ever seen - but who or why, that I can't tell you from looking at a bunch of craters in a road." "Was the site looted?" Scully asked. "Med supplies were taken," Perez explained, "and the guns and ammo, of course. Beyond that, there wasn't much to see but a lot of twisted metal, a lot of flies and a lot of blood. It wasn't pretty." "Did you have any trouble getting Dr. Vetkova through?" Scully asked. Perez shook his head. "No. They'd sent a unit ahead to look for any more booby-traps, but the rest of the road was clear. Which is something, I guess." "How is Irina?" Monica asked. Perez sighed. "Massive trauma to the chest and abdomen, concussion, broken leg, a bunch of medical stuff I didn't quite catch. The prognosis, from what I understood, is not great." Scully nodded. Perez's recitation of the diagnosis matched what she'd gathered from the med techs and corpsmen who'd worked on Vetkova in the camp. Perez continued. "She regained consciousness briefly in the ambulance, then again briefly at the hospital before they took her into surgery. Which, in part, is why I'm here." "How's that?" Monica asked. "Both times," he explained, "she asked for you two by name." "She did?" Monica asked, her surprise sounding genuine. "Yes she did." "Maybe she was just disoriented," Scully suggested. "She'd been with Monica right before the explosions began, and they had been coming to speak to me." "I don't think so," Perez said. "She didn't say much of anything, granted, but the impression I got was that she had something important she wanted to talk to you two about. Something urgent. So, with that in mind, I've come to ask you two to come back to the hospital with me. " "But-" Monica began her objection. "I've already cleared it with DuFour and Castillo, and they both think it's a good idea, " he assured. "We've got an armored vehicle, two specially trained soldiers and a driver going with us. The route is as secure as it can be. And I can get you both body armor if you want it. In fact, scratch that, I'm getting you both body armor." "You said she was in surgery, though." Scully said. "Considering her injuries, she's likely to be in there for hours." "True," he said. "But given the fact that she was the only one who had her tent blown up, she might have some information that we could use. That we need. Since you two are the people she wants to talk to, I'd like to make that was easy as possible for her." "Agent Perez -" Scully began. "Please, call me Bobby." "Bobby then, we're supposed to ship out tomorrow," Scully said. "I have a family to get home to and it could be days before Dr Vetkova is fully conscious again." "We're hoping that isn't the case," he answered. "The doctors treating her didn't think it would be. Either way, we'll fly you home at the Bureau's expense in forty-eight hours. How's that?" "First class?" Monica asked. "Business," he countered. "Monica was injured in the explosion, too, " Scully reminded them. "It's probably best if she takes it easy." "We'll put you up someplace decent in Veracruz," Perez said. "More than decent. Someplace where the beds don't need inflating. And if anything should go wrong, well, you'll be closer to the hospital, won't you?" Monica dry scrubbed her face. "You really think she can tell us something vital?" she asked. "I really do," Perez replied. "I don't want to order you, and I won't, but I'd really appreciate you both helping us out on this." Monica turned to Scully. "What do you think?" What did she think? Scully was so tired she wasn't sure she could think anymore. "I think anything that gets me one step closer to my own bed and my own bathtub is probably a good thing," she said. "I'm in." "We're in," Monica said. Perez smiled. "Terrific," he said, rising to his feet. "Pack your gear, since we won't be coming back." "Right," Monica agreed. "Our ride is up behind the mess tent," he said, unzipping the flap again. "And, oh, we should probably keep this quiet," he added. "People are jumpy enough around here without them getting some notion the rats are deserting the ship. See you shortly." ******* Every time she wore it, Scully was reminded that, no matter what the manufacturers claimed, body armor had not been designed with the female physique in mind. Sandwiched between a sweaty slab of granite cleverly disguised as a UN peacekeeper on one side of her, and a sweaty Monica, in her own Kevlar straitjacket and with her own side-of-beef bookend on the other, Scully decided she was at least as uncomfortable as she'd ever been in any dark, fully-clothed, non-life threatening situation. "How you doing back there?" Perez called over his left shoulder. "Swell," Monica answered. "We're just about fully marinated." "Damned thing doesn't have any air conditioning," he said, stating the all-too-obvious. "Think we should ask for a refund at the rental desk?" The soldier next to Scully shifted in his seat, the movement underscoring how tightly the four of them were packed in. Scully tried to shift herself, but it was almost impossible, and she found she was pushed even closer to her friend. She and Monica exchanged a look, the same one, she thought, that the sardines probably exchanged as they went into the can. "I've been wondering about something, Monica," Perez said a few moments later. "You said you and Vetkova were heading to talk to Agent Scully just before the explosions?" "Right." "What were you going to talk to her about?" Monica was silent a moment. "Is this something we can discuss in mixed company?" Perez nodded. "Absolutely." "Oh. Okay, well, Irina had some theories about the missing evidence," she said. "About who might have been taking things, destroying things, like you and I had discussed. She wanted to discuss it with Dana." "Did she?" he responded. "Do you know who she suspected?" "She floated a couple of possibilities past me," Monica hedged. "Like who?" "Well," Monica hesitated, "Dr. DuFour, for one." "DuFour? You're kidding." "Nope." "Did she say why she suspected him?" Monica shook her head. "No. I think maybe that was what she wanted to discuss with Dana." "Interesting." The soldier next to Scully shifted again. She was about to explain to him, in no uncertain terms, that no one over the age of two was allowed to sit in her lap without an engraved invitation, when Perez addressed her. "You have any theories, Agent Scully?" "About Dr. DuFour? No." "About the sabotage," he corrected. "About who might be behind it." "I don't have a lot of data to go on," she began. "There are forty-odd people in the camp, plus civilians, soldiers -" "But if you had to hazard a guess?" Scully didn't like hypothesizing ahead of evidence. And she didn't like discussing this matter in, as Monica had put it, mixed company. From what Monica had said, Bobby suspected simple sabotage. He didn't know the connection between the Qetual and the Huecha they'd made, or the significance of the Huecha in the work she and Mulder were involved in. But, then again, she and Monica had been about to bring Bobby into the inner circle when all hell broke loose. And Monica trusted Bobby implicitly, which was good enough for her. "If I had to hazard a guess, I'd have two contenders. Dr. Ng-" "Who?" "Drew Ng," Monica supplied. "He's from Australia but he's working with Scotland Yard." "Ah, right, I think I know who you mean," Perez said. "And who's your other candidate?" "Vetkova," Scully answered. "Really?" Perez half-turned in his seat. "Isn't that interesting," he said. "Interesting how?" Monica asked. The soldier moved again, effectively pinning Scully's arms to her sides. "Well," he said, "for what it's worth, I'm pretty damned sure it's not DuFour, Monica. And, Agent Scully, I'm pretty damned sure it's not Ng or Vetkova, either." "Why are you so sure?" Monica asked. In unison, the soldiers flanking Scully and Monica moved. Before she could tell this guy to get off of her once and for all, Scully felt a sharp stinging pain in her thigh. "Ow!" Monica yelped beside her. "What the fuck?" "Monie, honey, I'm pretty damned sure the Qetual infiltrator everyone's been looking for isn't one of those three," Perez said just as Scully tasted metal in the back of her throat and was slammed with sudden, debilitating dizziness, "because I'm pretty damned sure it's me." :~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~: Monica decided that if they ever got around to holding a referendum, she was going to vote a great big 'no' to waking up dazed, drugged, and disoriented more than once every twenty-four hours. Clearly, she thought as she came uneasily to consciousness, it was becoming an issue of great personal importance. "Monica?" she heard Dana's familiar voice coming from somewhere to her left. Monica opened her eyes, and saw nothing in the blankness but the thinnest slice of light under what had to be a door. "Um, yeah?" "I don't want to tell you how to live your life," Dana said, "but if I were you, I'd be crossing Agent Perez off my Christmas card list right about now." Monica sighed. "I will definitely take that under consideration," she replied. There was nothing particularly surprising about realizing she was bound hand and foot in a hard metal chair. Disturbing, yes, but surprising, no. "First, though, I think I might want to shoot that son of a bitch in the head, but then, yes, you're right, no more Christmas cards." "Excellent plan. So how are you feeling?" "Like a second tequila truck came by," she said. "And maybe a third. How long, um, how long have I been out of it?" "Not sure," Scully replied. "I'd estimate about a half an hour longer than I was, but counting heartbeats can be an unreliable method of telling time under the best of circumstances, and these particular circumstances." "Yeah, I'm getting that." Monica looked around, or tried to at least. With no light to speak of it was difficult for her to get any sense of where they were being held. She hated being in the dark like this, unable to see the walls or ceiling or even the floor. She could be anywhere, from a gigantic enclosed stadium twenty-five school buses long to a box no bigger than - She took a deep breath. No need to go there, she assured herself. None at all. "Do you have any idea where we are?" "You mean beyond literally and metaphorically in the dark?" Dana asked. Monica levered herself up, trying to find a more comfortable position, one that would make it easier to expand her lungs. The motion set her head spinning, though, and for a moment she thought she was going to throw up. "Yes," she said after one then two long, slow breaths, "beyond that." "Mexico," Dana said. "Beyond that, I've got nothing." "Great." Monica twisted her arms one way, then another, the way she'd been taught, hoping to loosen the ropes holding her arms snugly behind her back. Focus, she thought. Focus on this task, focus on getting free, focus - "Whoever tied those knew what he was doing," Scully said. "Save your wrists, Monica. We might need them." Monica gave the rope another sharp twist, getting nothing but a warm trickle of blood down her palms for her trouble. "Shit," she snarled, giving one final, futile tug at her restraints. "Yeah, that just about sums it up, " Scully agreed. Panicking wouldn't do any good, Monica knew. It would actually do a lot more harm than good, and she knew that, too. Oblivious to these facts, her body was under the impression a full-blown panic attack was a terrific idea, and was preparing accordingly. Deep, rhythmic breathing, she thought, fighting down the fluttery feeling of terror squeezing her lungs like a vise. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slow, steady breaths. "Monica?" "I'm good," she answered the unspoken part of her friend's question. "Just a little, a little claustrophobic. But I'm okay. Really." "You sure?" Monica nodded, then realized Scully couldn't see her. "Yeah." "I got stuck in an elevator during a blackout once," Scully said after a moment. "All by myself. Longest half hour of my life." She paused. "Well, until today, at least." Monica chuckled, grateful for Dana's attempt, however lame, to lighten the mood. "So," she said, eager to change the subject, "in the extra half-hour of lucidity you've enjoyed, have you been able to figure out what the hell is going on?" "Not a clue," Scully replied. "Your buddy Agent Perez claims to be the infiltrator-" Monica winced. "So I didn't dream that?" "Afraid not," Scully answered. "He claims to be the infiltrator, but why he's involved, how he's involved - no matter which way I work it, it doesn't make any sense." "He must - he must think we have something or know something or, or think we can be traded for something." Monica said. "I guess he must," Scully said, none too helpfully. Monica didn't want her friend's agreement; she wanted some answers. There wasn't any particular reason why Scully should have those answers, but Monica wanted her to, just the same. "Well, do we?" "Do we what?" Scully asked. "Know something? Have something? We might. If we had some idea what the subject was, that might make things a little clearer. As far as trading us, I don't know. I guess. Maybe." Monica frowned in concentration. "I guess it depends who he'd want to trade with and what he'd want in return." "Which takes us back to -" Scully began, but the sudden thrum of quick footsteps and raised voices outside the room caught her attention. "Looks like someone's figured out you're awake," she whispered. "And they don't sound too happy about it. Can you tell what they're saying?" Monica strained to listen. Three voices, she thought, all muffled, all male, one of them angry, the other two calmer, conciliatory. Someone was mad, two someones were catching hell because of that. The voices grew louder and more distinct as they drew nearer. "I don't think that's Spanish," she said, puzzled. The voices grew louder still, until shadows breaking up the strip of light under the door told her their captors were right outside. "No, definitely not Spanish. I don't know what the hell that is." Scully sighed. "Another mystery. Just what we need." "No," Monica said, mentally shoving away the panic that was threatening again and doing her best to focus on something, anything - other than the terror that was trying to engulf her. "We need a plan. A plan. Quick, Dana, God, we need a plan." "No need, " Scully replied, entirely too calmly. "We've already got a plan." "We do?" "Yes," Scully said. The discussion in the hallway had stopped. Metal scraped metal as one lock then two tumbled open. "We get through this alive." :~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~ End part 1/2 Chataqalan: Part 2 (2/2) by Amanda Wilde (MaybeAmanda) Rating: PG Category: S, A, MSR Disclaiming all: Chris Carter owns M&S; Fox owns The XFiles; I own this story. No infringement intended. Archive: Sure. Email: maybe_a@rocketmail.com Scully knew the light would be blinding when it came, and she was not disappointed. Even through closed lids, the sudden jump from darkness to fluorescents was almost overwhelming. "Jesus Christ!" she heard someone - Agent Perez, she thought - snarl. He followed this up with something she couldn't understand. "And that's not Spanish either," Monica said. "Bobby, what the fuck is going on?" Scully squinted, waiting for her eyes to grow accustomed to the light. They were in a windowless, unpainted cinderblock room, perhaps fifteen feet square. The decor would probably best be described as 'Early Bunker' - fluorescent strip lights, a large practical-but-ugly desk that appeared sturdy enough but had seen better days, utilitarian metal and wooden chairs that had been scratched, scraped and scarred in every possible way, bookcases filled to bursting with books and file folders. Three well- armed, solidly-built men stood by the steel bomb door, managing to look simultaneously menacing and chastised. The two wearing fatigues were vaguely familiar, and Scully suspected these were the soldiers who had shared their ride. "I am so sorry Monica, Agent Scully," Perez said. Scully turned to her right, where Perez was on one knee cutting Monica free of her bonds. "I told those idiots to take care of you two - " he turned to speak to the other three "- *take care of*-" he emphasized, "and make sure you didn't do anything crazy, like try to run," he said, slicing through the rope holding Monica's ankles. "This is not what I meant." The tallest of the three answered Perez, his tone both conciliatory and slightly whiney. Scully didn't know what his words were, but his meaning was clear - "But you SAID not to let them get away!!" Perez dismissed the man's comment with a sneer. He was careful to stay out of kicking distance, but not, Scully thought, as careful as he maybe should have been - as careful as, say, she would have been. He either had some reason to expect that Monica wouldn't lash out at him, or he was inexperienced when it came to holding captives. Or, she thought, he wanted them to believe he was inexperienced when it came to holding captives. Whichever it was, he was still the one with the large knife and the heavily armed heavies, so she hoped Monica wouldn't make any unnecessarily foolish moves. "Reliable goons are just so hard to find, aren't they?" Monica answered instead. "Now, now, that's not nice. They aren't goons. Morons, maybe," he said, rising and circling to the back of Monica's chair and crouching low, "but not goons. Goons, by definition, have higher IQs. Jesus, Monica, you've chewed up your wrists but good here." He raised his head and rattled off some instructions to one of his not-goons and the man headed hastily out the door. "Hector's going to get you some first aid and a bottle of water," Perez said, slicing through the thick cords as if they were no sturdier than spider's webs. "The bleeding's stopped, but you're going to have an infection if we don't get something on those." Monica brought her arms forward, hissing from the pain. "Your concern is touching, Bobby, really." "This is probably going to be hard to believe, all things considered, but I didn't want you hurt," Perez replied. Grimacing, he gently took hold of Monica's arms just below the elbows and examined the wounds. Monica hissed again and, very gently, he let go. "I don't want you hurt. I really don't." Feeling bold, Scully said, "You have an odd way of showing it, Agent Perez." Perez looked up, his expression suggesting that, for a moment, he'd forgotten Scully was even there. "That may be, Dr. Scully, but it's still the truth." He crossed the five or so feet from Monica's chair to where Scully was seated, and knelt before her brandishing his knife. He paused a moment, carefully making eye contact. "I'm going to cut you loose, Dr. Scully," he said, turning the blade just enough for light to race along its edge. "I strongly suggest you hold still." Scully gave one sharp nod in reply before looking away. She was out-manned and out-gunned and she knew it. The only chance she and Monica had of gaining an advantage was by first gaining Perez's trust. In the short term, at least, pretending to be intimidated might pay off. And listening to what Perez had to say might tell her all she needed to know, and with luck, maybe more. Hector came through the door just as Perez stood and circled Scully's chair. Perez said something and Hector moved forward, placing a first aid kit and three bottles of water on the desk. "What language is that, Bobby?" Monica asked. She still sounded groggier than Scully would have liked. Monica might have been putting it on, trying to make herself seem harmless, but Scully knew she couldn't bank on that. Until she had evidence to the contrary, she'd have to consider Monica at least slightly out of commission. "That," Perez replied as he easily sliced through the ropes holding Scully's wrists, "is Huecha, but you have always been a smart cookie, Agent Reyes, and I'm thinking you've already guessed that." The ropes fell away, and, grateful, Scully brought her arms forward. Pins and needles raced up and down her limbs, so she shook them, trying to jump start her circulation. "Huecha was in my top three," Monica conceded. Perez pushed aside some papers and propped himself on the corner of the desk, sheathed and then secured his knife and placed it on the desktop. "Oh? What were the other two?" he asked with an unsettling grin. Monica shot him glare. "Are you going to kill us?" she asked, sounding thoroughly fed-up. Perez sobered. "Absolutely not," he said. "Monica-" "Are you just going to annoy us to death?" she interrupted. Perez leaned forward. "No, smart ass, I'm not planning to annoy you to death, either." "Then can we cut to the chase?" "You bet," Perez answered. He picked up the first aid kit. "Agent Scully? Would you mind? I think Monica might prefer if you handled this." He tossed the kit to her. The kit was what she expected - gauze, tape, blunt nosed scissors, alcohol wipes, antiseptic cream, and, disappointingly, no firearms at all. Confused by the way this scene was unfolding, she decided to concentrate on what she did know, and rose on slightly unsteady legs to examine her friend's wrists The wounds, she was relieved to see, looked worse than they actually were. "Okay," Perez began, "the chase: We want your help. We might even need your help." "My help?" Monica said. She drew in a sharp breath as Scully wiped alcohol on the abrasions. "You could have just - ow - you know - ouch - asked." "Yours and Agent Scully's," he corrected. "How could I possibly help you, Agent Perez?" Scully asked, not looking up from her task. 'And why,' she added silently, 'would I even want to?' "You know who the Qetual are," he said. "And the Huecha. You know what sets them apart. And you know their potential significance to, let's say, certain mass vaccination projects." "What if we do?" Scully wrapped gauze around Monica's left wrist. "You've also figured out that someone, or some group of someones, is systematically eliminating them." "And that would be you?" Monica asked. Perez blinked. "Me? God no. Look around this room, Monica. Those three, myself, maybe three or four dozen here in Mexico, two or three dozen others scattered around the US and Canada, a handful down into Belize, Costa Rica, Panama maybe - we're it. We're all that's left." "You're Huecha?" Scully asked. Perez's features were decidedly more European than Indigenous North American, and all her research during the Galpex-Orpheus case supported an undiluted Huecha gene pool. Perez nodded. "My mother's side, but I'm one of the very few, if you'll excuse the expression, half-breeds you're going to find." Scully tied the end of the gauze, then cut the ends neatly, contemplating her next move. "So, you're immune?" Perez nodded. "So are my brother and two sisters. All my sisters' kids are immune. None of my brothers are." "Your son?" Monica asked. "Peter?" Perez shook his head. "No." "So how and why do you need our help?" Scully asked. "And what makes you think kidnapping us was the best way to get it?" Monica added. "Don't think of it as kidnapping," Perez said with a dismissive wave. "It's more like, I don't know, having to take a reluctant witness into protective custody. They give you a hard time, but it's for their own good." Monica cocked an eyebrow. "Excuse me?" "They tried to kill you today, Monica, or hadn't you noticed?" "Me?" Monica scoffed. "They blew up Vetkova's tent, Bobby. Maybe they were trying to kill her, but -" Perez nodded. "Her too," he said. "And I have no doubt that you, Dr. Scully, would have been next." It was Scully's turn to scoff. "You think all those explosions were simply intended to get rid of us?" "Not solely, no." "But I'm not even supposed to be here," Monica said. "Their main objective, I'd say, was to get rid of evidence, to complete the cover-up," he said, "and, yeah, Monica, you are. You're here because I wanted you here. I just made it look like it was a mistake because I was trying to cover my tracks." "But why?" Monica asked. "Because despite the fact that you're stubborn as a mule and crazy as a freaking loon half the time, you're an excellent field agent and just about the best investigator I know. I needed back-up and you were the obvious choice." Monica blinked at him. "Flattery will get you nowhere," she deadpanned. "And, of course, you're in this up to your neck," he added. "What? Up to my neck in what?" she asked. Scully had finished tending Monica's injuries. "Who is this 'they', Agent Perez?" she asked. "They?" "The people behind the bombing. The ones who want the evidence destroyed. That 'they'," she clarified. "Oh. Them." Perez paused a moment, scratched his cheek. He let out a long slow sigh of frustration. "That's an excellent question, and one I don't have an easy answer for." Scully went back to her chair. "Feel free to go with the hard answer, then," she said as she sat. Perez sighed again. "The Germans? The Japanese? Taiwanese? Brits? It could be any of them. It may even be none of them." "That's helpful," Scully assured him. "Well, okay, fine. Let's start from the start. Aliens are planning to colonize the planet, right? We're all agreed on that?" Scully nodded. It was strange to hear anyone else say it out loud, but that was the fact of the matter. "Um, okay, yeah," Monica agreed, sounding a little uncomfortable with having to acknowledge it. "Okay, good. That's usually the hardest part of this whole thing to sell," he said with a grin. "Okay, so, their plan is to do this by way of something roughly analogous to a virus, which sets up in the host body and uses that body as an incubator for a bouncing baby alien, killing the host in the process. For about the past sixty years, a number of different groups have been attempting to develop something like a vaccine. So far, results have been mixed. There have been some marked successes -" he said with a pointed look at Scully - "but a hell of a lot more failures." Monica nodded. "Go on." "It's generally assumed that whoever gets there first will have all the power imaginable. They'll not only be able to rebuff an alien invasion, but they'll have control of the ultimate weapon." "Which is a pretty good assumption, don't you think?" Scully asked. "It's a fantastic assumption." Perez nodded. "Having a nuke will mean nothing once you've got control of both the disease and the cure. So, enter my people," he continued. "For reasons no one is entirely clear on, our immune systems have evolved in such a way that they fight off most infections, bacterial and viral, with ease, but they also slough off the alien virus with no ill effects whatsoever. There's no thickening of the blood or hyper- production of T-cells or other collateral damage that's usually been the issue. Back in the mid-1960's, two World Health Organization workers, Viktor Vetkov and Zhenya Koslov, were trying to eradicate polio in the Huecha Valley, only to discover that there was no polio - or much of anything else - to eradicate." "Vetkov?" Scully asked. "Irina's parents?" Again, Perez nodded. "Yeah. They figured out pretty quickly exactly what they were looking at, and just as quickly that there wasn't much of anyone they could trust with that discovery. The Cold War was still in full swing and they knew their own government couldn't be handed that sort of information, and they doubted any other government could be, either. Viktor was a brilliant young researcher at the time, and had consequently been exposed to the alien vaccine research the Russians were doing, which he found appalling. His greatest fear, as I understand it, was that someone less scrupulous than himself or Zhenya would find out that the Huecha are essentially germ fighting machines and try to domesticate us like livestock." He paused. "Or do something worse." "Worse?" Monica prompted. "That someone would figure it out and try to create a scarcity by wiping out most of the Huecha population," Scully said, seeing the pieces slip into place. "Which is exactly what's happening here." "Exactly what's already happened here," Perez corrected, seemingly fighting to keep emotion from his voice. "For thousands of years, the Huecha have considered Chataqalan a place of power and refuge, a safe haven. They believed no harm could come to them there. Somehow, sometime in the last six months, someone lured just about all of our people back to Chataqalan, and then slaughtered them like sheep. We went from a population of several thousand to a few dozen overnight. My aunts, uncles, cousins, even my abuela - all of them - gone. And now someone is trying to cover it all up." A heavy silence filled the room. "God, Bobby, I'm so - " Monica began. "Why the hell should we believe you?" Scully interrupted. Perez blinked in surprise. "What?" "What proof do we have that you aren't actually the person, or one of the people, responsible for the massacre?" "Dana-" Monica sounded horrified. "Think about it," Scully said. "Say he is Huecha. Say he and his friends here really have immunological gold pumping through their veins. What's to stop them from wanting to corner the market, especially when they are among the very few who know there's a market to corner?" "No!" A voice came from the doorway. "No no no! You have everything wrong. It is not like this, even a small bit of it." "Irina!" Perez jumped to his feet rushed to the door. "You are not supposed to be out of bed," he admonished, gingerly wrapping an arm around her to lend her support. Vetkova definitely looked worse for the wear, Scully thought, but no where near as bad as Perez had made it sound. For one thing, she was up and walking, albeit a little unsteadily, and with a large cast on her ankle. For another, this was definitely not the surgical suite at the hospital in Veracruz. "I was listening," she said. "Dr. Scully, Dana, you do not understand." "No," Scully agreed. "I guess I really don't." "Bobby is telling you the truth. For many years, Bobby and I have worked together, trying to keep the secret of the Huecha , trying to find the vaccine," she said, swaying. Perez led her to a chair close to the other two women and helped her lower herself. "We want to find this vaccine, we want to distribute it freely, for everyone. This is all we work for." "So you say," Scully said. "But this elaborate ruse -" "There's no ruse, elaborate or otherwise," Perez said, dropping himself back on the corner of the desk, but keeping a watchful eye on Vetkova. "If Doctor Casselman and Doctor Richards hadn't been killed, it might have been months before anyone discovered what had happened. Since they were high profile and disappeared in an area under UNESCO scrutiny, UNESCO, like any great unthinking bureaucracy moved in. DuFour hasn't got a clue, and Castillo, well, he's no more or less corrupt than you'd expect. No, whoever is responsible for the massacre didn't have time to bury all the evidence, and now they're trying to make it all go away, using drug runners and warlords and rival gangs as cover." "And you just happened to get assigned to the case?" Scully questioned. "Of course not," Perez said. "I volunteered as a way of doing damage control. And I volunteered Monica while I was at it, and then I volunteered you." "Me?" Scully asked. "Well, Irina volunteered you," he replied. "I just did what I was told to do." "It is a good thing in a husband, no?" Vetkova asked. "Husband?" Monica asked. "What? You two are married?" "Three years now," Perez replied. He smiled fondly at Vetkova. "It seemed to make some kind of sense at the time." Scully turned her gaze on Vetkova. "Why me, Irina?" she asked. "You and Mulder, you are trying to create a vaccine also, yes?" Taken aback, Scully didn't know what to say. She really didn't think anyone had been paying attention. Her mouth opened, but no words came out, and she shut it again. "We know you are, Dr Scully," Perez said. "Trust me, we go out of our way to find out who else is in the game." Cautiously, Scully said. "It's something we're considering." "And you know the problems?" Scully nodded. "Some of them." "Everyone thought it would be an easy thing to do, to vaccinate against the Black Cancer, to engineer immunity. Enough money, enough manpower, enough human guinea pigs - anything is possible, yes? For every advance that has been made, though, there is a new problem," Vetkova said. Sometimes more than one new problem. Sometimes the new cure is many times worse than the disease." "That's what our research has shown so far, too." "Yes," Irina said. "For a long time, it seemed to everyone that you and Mulder, you were like us, interested in free distribution, in making the vaccine available to all, yes?" As far as Scully knew, that was still their aim. "Go on," Scully said, uncertain where this was going. "Recently, you are bringing more people in, and there have been incidents. We have seen - Bobby, you have the pictures, yes?" Perez shuffled through a folder. "Here," he said, extending two photos to Scully.. "Do you know these people?" Scully looked at the first photo. It was a surveillance photo of J.D Crawford and Phoebe Green, taken from high above the street they walked down. Probably from when J.D. was in England, she surmised. The second showed Phoebe and Simon Fisher sitting across from one another in an outdoor cafe. Scully handed the photos back, and Perez passed them to Monica. "Yes," she said, feeling her stomach knot. "I know them." "Phoebe Green's been on our radar a long while," Perez explained. "She's been associated with a group that's made a lot of progress on the vaccine for several years now. What their actual aims are is still a little murky, but let's say she and her group are of special interest. This guy - " "That's J. D. Crawford," Monica said. Perez nodded. "And word has it that he's working with you and Mulder now, Dr. Scully." Scully nodded. "But the other man, Simon. I only met him here. How does he fit in?" "Drew works with us, yes, but also for Interpol," Vetkova began. "This is the man he is watching at Scotland Yard." "Why is he watching him?" Monica asked. "Simon's got a lot of access, and a lot of connections, but he's been associated with some of the less savory vaccine research groups, including Ms. Green's," Perez explained. "And he's a long-time associate of this man," he handed her another photo. "Do either of you know him?" Scully looked at the photo and shook her head, passed it to Monica. "No idea," Monica said for both of them. "His name is Stephen Strughold. Ring any bells?" "Strughold?" Scully sighed. "Entirely too many." "Strughold's group is about as dirty as they can be on this and, as I am sure you know, Dr. Scully, several other things." "Corn," she said. "Bees. Smallpox." "To name just a few," Perez said. "Because of your association recently with Phoebe Green, there are certain people, people who are thinking you and Mulder, how do you say? Have gone to the dark side, yes?" Irina said. "Which is ridiculous," Monica all but spat at her. "I told you that before." Scully's brows shot up at this. "Before?" Monica nodded. "She told me Drew thought you were the infiltrator. I told her Drew was wrong." "We think Drew's wrong too. We haven't quite convinced him of that yet, but we're going to." Perez said. "I've known Mulder for years, followed his work. He's always been a complete boy scout, he's always done the right thing, even when it wasn't in his best interest. Mulder wouldn't acknowledge the dark side if it bit him on the ass." In spite of herself, Scully grinned, just a little. It was an apt description. "So what do you want from us?" she asked. "We want, for lack of a better word, to form an alliance, Dr. Scully," Perez said. "A syndicate of our own." "Meaning what, exactly?" Scully asked. "Whoever is responsible for this massacre is either desperate or cocky. I'm guessing desperate, but either way, they've stepped up their game and we've got to step up ours accordingly. In short, we want your help to develop the vaccine," Perez said. "We want your help, and we want to help you." Scully frowned. "You appear to be light years ahead of us on that one, so what do you need us for?" Perez took a deep breath, and let it out. "You and Mulder have something we need. And we have something you need." Scully shook her head in confusion. "What do we have- " "Oh god," Monica said. "William? That's it, isn't it? William?" "No, not William," Perez said, holding up a forestalling hand. "Of course not William. Just - just a few of William's antibodies. Just a little blood - a very little blood." Scully felt her mouth fall open. "Are you insane?" "There is no harm," Irina said. "A small amount of blood, maybe two or three times each year." "No," Scully said flatly, her pulse racing. "No way." "Do not say no so soon," Vetkova said. "We will trade, yes? You give us antibodies from William, we give you antibodies from Nadya." "Nadya?" Monica asked. "That's -" "Our daughter," Bobby said. "Both she and William are immune, both have naturally occurring immunity. Nadya appears to have gotten hers from me, defying all the evidence that shows transmission in the Huecha is through the mother. Irina has told you, Monica, that she was an abductee, that's she's chipped, and that may have something to do with what's happened in Nadya's case, but who knows." "But-" Monica began. "Dr Scully was given one form of the vaccine when she was in Antarctica. Mulder was given another form when he was in Russia. The two immunities combined to somehow prove Lamarck right. Your acquired immunity and Mulder's acquired immunity got passed on. As a result, there's a lot of knowledge to be had. We think we're the ones who should have it, Dr Scully." "No way." Scully shook her head. "My son isn't going to be anyone's science fair project. Forget it." "Dr. Scully, if we have figured this out, don't you think others have?" Perez asked. "Don't you think maybe one of the other groups - the Germans maybe, or the Japanese, or hell, the Mumbai group - don't you think maybe they'll make the connection, put two and two together, and not bother to ask for what they want? If William is like Nadya, you'll know when they're coming, sure, but a child kicking up a fuss won't stop them forever. The sooner we join forces, the sooner we get to the finish line on this, and the sooner both our children will be out of harm's way." Scully's impulse was to say no again and damn the consequences. She didn't appreciate coercion, however gentle, and she didn't appreciate threats, however thinly veiled. William wasn't going to be a pawn in anyone's game, not if she could help it. The only problem with all that was, she realized, was that if Perez and Vetkova were telling the truth - and the more they said, the stronger their case became - they were right. Right bout everything. Which meant - "How do you know that?" she asked at last, her voice small and shaky. "How do you know he's immune? How did you find out?" "There isn't much you or Mulder do that flies below the radar, Dr. Scully. Not for years, now." Perez sighed, but it was a sympathetic sound. "Welcome to the big leagues." Scully took a deep breath. She'd known this, of course. On some level, she'd known, always known, that there were people taking notes, watching them through pinhole cameras, listening at every keyhole - Listening - "That's what you meant," Scully said to Irina. "When you said there were noisy bugs in my tent. You meant we were being bugged, that someone was listening." Irina nodded. "It was not us, but someone, yes, someone was listening. We tried to block transmissions, but that made all the communications equipment not to work also. What you said, whatever it was, these people heard you. It was enough to make them try to remove you." "I see," Scully said. She swallowed, finding her throat dry. "I can't - this isn't something - it's not a decision I can make alone, I mean. It's not - it's not mine alone to make." Perez nodded. "Of course." "I'll need more to show Mulder," she continued, "something more than photos and supposition. Something to prove -" "You have proof," Irina said. "In the egg." "In the-?" Scully's hand flew to her pocket. She pulled out the Pysanky keyring Irina had given her and cradled it in her palm. "A gift for William?" she said, remembering what Vetkova had told Monica. Vetkova nodded. "A vial of blood. Nadya's blood. The key to a free world, perhaps. It is a good gift for any child, no?" Scully nodded, comprehension dawning. Irina had risked everything to get this to her, had even bucked members of her own team, and at that point she hadn't asked for anything in return. She was just another mother who wanted a better world for her child, one way or another. In that, she and Scully were exactly alike. "Yes," she said. "Yes, it is." "Take that," Perez said, "and this -" he handed her a flash drive "- and show them to Mulder. Let him look it all over. Test what's in that vial. Figure out what's what. Then you two can decide if you want in or not. We'll respect your decision either way, of course, but we'll consider you rivals if you choose to be out." "Just like that? Monica asked. "You're just going to let us walk out of here with something this potentially important?" Perez nodded. "Yes we are. It's your decision to make, but I'm pretty confident you'll make the right one. When you've decided where you want to be, in or out, tell Skinner to contact me about, I don't know, let's say the Lamarck case. We'll take it from there." He stood. "Okay, so, anyone else tired?" he asked. "I have you two booked on an eight a.m. flight out of Veracruz, and it's already after two am. What say we all hit the sack? Or would you rather spend the night in those chairs?" "Bobby, wait, " Monica said. "I - what - how do I fit in here? You said I was in this up to my neck, but -" Perez nodded. "You are," he said. "How?" she asked. "You're very closely associated, for good or ill, with Mulder and Dr. Scully. If you aren't already on everyone's radar, you soon will be. Therefore - - " He let the sentence hang as he helped Vetkova back to her feet. "Oh," Monica said. "That's it?" "Well, no, not exactly." Perez shook his head. "I think maybe we're family. Distant cousins, at least." Monica frowned. "What are you talking about?" "You were adopted," he said. "By my paternal grandparents," she said. "After my parents died." Perez shook his head. "Before that." "What? Before that? What?" "Monica," Perez picked up another folder. "You're going to want to read this." Scully found Mulder in the study, all bed-head and crumpled tee- shirt and boxer briefs, peering through his glasses at the computer screen. "Hey," he said. "Sorry if I woke you." Scully cinched her bathrobe belt a little tighter. "S'okay," she said with a yawn. "It's past time I was up, anyway." "It's barely six-thirty," Mulder replied, "and it's a no- school day for you, Skinner's orders. His lordship is still sleeping, and I can handle him when he finally does wake up. Go back to bed, Scully. You still look beat." Scully dropped down onto the couch, and, in spite of herself, yawned again. She'd been home three days, but yes, she was still tired. "I'm fine," she said. Mulder rolled his eyes and turned back to the screen. "I am," she said. "Really." "Okay," he said. "There's coffee in the carafe if you want some. It's not too old. And don't say I didn't offer on the extra sleep thing." "I wouldn't dream of it," she said. "You going through the data again?" Mulder nodded. "This is amazing stuff. Years of work. I can't believe they just gave it to you." Scully shrugged. "I know, but -" "No," Mulder interrupted. "I mean I really can't believe they just 'gave' it to you. I keep thinking there has to be a catch." "There is a catch." Scully frowned. "They want to use William as a pin cushion." Mulder stopped scrolling. "Not exactly," he said. "As much as anything, they want to share information. They wouldn't want any more blood than we've been talking about drawing anyway. And they've already been down a lot of avenues of research that we haven't even thought about. And from what I can tell, we have information that would complement theirs quite nicely. Partnering with them could save us both a lot of time and grief. And Bobby, he's always been a stand-up guy. It just seems, I don't know, a little too generous." Scully nodded. "Perez said he thought some of the other factions were getting desperate. Irina and he want to protect their daughter. Their generosity is probably motivated by enlightened self-interest." "Isn't just about everything, in the end?" Mulder asked. "This is wild about Monica." "Yeah," she said, take a moment to stretch. "No one had ever bothered to tell her she'd been adopted. Or, well, they told her, but they figured telling her once covered all instances, I guess." "So she's Huecha," Mulder said. "And she's immune. And she's been right here, being her weird little self, all this time." "Half-Huecha, but fully immune, yes, and willing to be stuck like a voodoo doll. Excellent qualities in a friend. And you've got some nerve calling anyone weird." "It's a small, strange world, Scully. And it seems to be getting smaller and stranger." "Just when I was beginning to think there was no stranger for it to get." "And surprise! Phoebe's dirty," Mulder mumbled. "Or her associates are. Who didn't see that coming?" "You didn't," she answered. "Yeah, but you did, so at least our bases were covered," he replied. She slumped back into the sofa, and, tilting her head back, stared up at the ceiling. "So what do you think we should do?" Mulder turned in his chair. "Have breakfast," he suggested. "I'm jonesing for some French Toast. I'll even cook." "Goof. I meant about Perez and Vetkova." "Goof? Goof?! Me? How dare you." It was Scully's turn to roll her eyes, so she did. "You're nuts." Mulder's brows rose. "I am? Gee, no one's ever even suggested that before." "Go figure." She was struck again by how nice it was to be able to sit like this, trade quips and make small talk and discuss saving the world in the comfort of their own home, with dirty dishes in the sink and their son sleeping just a few feet away. Sometimes she still felt like she should pinch herself, like she should be pinching herself every minute of every day. They'd been through plenty, sacrificed plenty, but they'd gotten plenty in return. She'd forgotten that, occasionally, but she didn't plan to forget it again. "Seriously," she said after a moment. "Seriously, Scully, despite my minor misgivings, I think we want to be in. Or at least want to explore being in. I think we should contact Bobby. I think we need to talk." "Me too," she said. "Then we're agreed," he said, "French Toast now, saving the world after breakfast." "Sounds good," Scully said as she stretched again. "And who knows," she drawled, "maybe we can, I don't know, find time to squeeze a little something in between the breakfast and the world-saving, hmmm?" Mulder's brows rose, then he closed his eyes tightly and crossed his fingers. "Please don't let her say laundry, please don't let her say laundry, please don't let her say laundry," he chanted. He opened his eyes, looking at her expectantly. "Laundry!" Mulder glowered. "You are a cruel, cruel woman, Dana Scully." She nodded. "I am. But you love me anyway." "More than anything," he said sincerely, his words bringing a sudden surge of emotion. 'But you know that." Scully swallowed. "I do," she said. "So feed me, already, and then we can get to the good stuff." Mulder didn't have to be told twice. The End.