*****************************************************************************

     This author's email address has changed to: partous@parkpub.com

*****************************************************************************

From: Madeleine Partous <partous@total.net>
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW: The Puppet Masters (Preface/Disclaimer)
Date: Thu, 13 Jun 1996 11:51:19 -0700


THE PUPPET MASTERS (INTRO/7)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net

PREFACE/SUMMARY/DISCLAIMER

Hi! Sorry to go on like this, but it'll take care of everything in
one fell swoop.

This is the sequel to "Shadow Puppets," the second in a
three-part series, the third of which will be called
"Colonization."

In "Shadow Puppets," I tried to explore the idea that a
physical relationship between Mulder and Scully didn't need to
mean a lack of UST, clever banter, or an actual X-File -- all
the things we love about the series. As it happens, I'm a firm
believer in the lack of a relationship on the show proper, but I
definitely do not see M & S as having a brother/sister
relationship -- sorry.

So what I'm continuing to explore here, between friends, is
"what if" their relationship was actually a strange kind of
mystical strength, one that frightens the powers that be, one
that could actually help them in their quest for the truth?

DEDICATION: For Shalimar, for her support and patience,
and for all the people out there who wrote to me and actually
got me hooked on my own story.

RATING SYSTEM: I rate my stories rather ruthlessly, for 
safety's sake: "R" is used if I feel that anything in the
section might be disturbing based on standard North American
WASP mores, regardless of the reader's age. NC-17, for me,
includes anything with graphic or semi-graphic sexual
descriptions or "perverse" -- and I use the term loosely --
points of view which may be shocking to certain sensibilities
and unsuitable for younger readers. I'll also commit to posting
warnings, when appropriate, that specify the kind of material
the reader or guardian can expect to find. If no warnings are
present, readers should assume that what follows is PG-13, in
that nothing I write here is particularly appropriate for
prepubescent kids...

Sorry to go on at length about this, but I just want to ensure
there are no misunderstandings, because things may get weird
along the way.

SPOILERS: There are many, and I'm not even sure what they'll
be at this point. Expect at least a slew of third-season
spoilers, with possibly a few references to the first and second
season.


"SHADOW PUPPETS" SUMMARY: It's not crucial that you read
"Shadow Puppets" to understand what happens next, although
it sets the mood, fleshes out the characters and establishes the
scenario in a big way. For those who can't be bothered -- and
God knows I sympathize -- here's a summary of events so far:

Mulder, driven by a need to understand what really happened
to his father, decides to head back to the silo (Piper Maru) to
find Alex Krychek, who he's convinced he heard crying out
when he and Scully were there.

While he and Scully are fairly certain no evidence is still lying
around, Mulder feels that Krychek, who was inhabited by the
"oil creature," may have been left there because no one really
knew how to deal with him -- after all, the creature managed to
survive for decades under water.

It turns out Krychek is calling to him, and we surmise it's
partially because Krychek was attracted to his former partner,
which is also the reason he spared Mulder's life when their car
was driven off the road (Piper Maru). Krychek has been
altered by the presence of the creature in him, and although
the thing has left his body, it's also left him in a shocking
state of disrepair with psychic powers to boot, which he uses
to get to both Mulder and Scully.

Meanwhile, the attraction between M & S continues to grow,
and Mulder gradually realizes that he can't keep shutting
Scully out because that's ultimately the only way she'd leave
the X-files. He struggles with this because he's consumed with
a need to protect her, even though he knows this isn't
appropriate in light of the fact that she's his partner.

He finally breaks down, admitting his own self-destructiveness
and guilt. It becomes clear to him that the link between Scully
and himself is their single greatest strength.

A confrontation with what's left of Krychek in the silo leads to
a potential rape on Mulder's part -- Krychek's doing -- which
is transformed by Scully into an affirmation of the bond
between them. It's their first sexual encounter and, as it
turns out, is witnessed by Cancerman.

Cancerman shoots Krychek and states that all of them are just
shadow puppets being manipulated by a higher force, the
"puppet masters". He implies that Mulder and Scully -- along
with Samantha -- are the only ones who can stop the alien
colonization that's already well underway. He doesn't reveal
how, or why, except to say they have to find Samantha, who
knows the truth. He goes on to suggest that even the
relationship between M & S was orchestrated before the two of
them met, as was the very conscious decision to abduct
Samantha and leave her bother behind. Mulder tries to get CM
to reveal whether or not he's his father, to no avail. When
confronted, he admits only to being both an enemy -- and a
friend.

Mulder is left with the idea that Cancerman might actually be
on their side while X, on the other hand, is one of the *real*
enemies.

The story ends with M & S "consolidating" their relationship,
but with Mulder wondering how they're going to deal with what
they've learned.

************************************************************
DISCLAIMER: All main characters are the property of Chris
Carter and Fox. They have been lovingly borrowed, with no
money-making intent, just because it's summertime and the
living is easy. Thanks to David Duchovny and Gillian
Anderson for making them as irresistible as they are.
************************************************************


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

From: Madeleine Partous <partous@total.net>
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW: The Puppet Masters (1/7) *** NC-17 ***
Date: Thu, 13 Jun 1996 11:52:00 -0700


THE PUPPET MASTERS (1/7) *** NC-17 ***

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net

"Will Work For Feedback"


DISCLAIMER IN PREFACE

*********************************************************
WARNING: This chapter rated NC-17 for profanity and
explicit M/S sexual descriptions. 
*********************************************************


Dana Scully had dropped him off at his apartment; it was her
turn to renew the rental on the car.

Fox Mulder hadn't particularly wanted to leave her there. He'd
opened the trunk, shouldered his bag and slammed the door
down almost angrily. From where he'd stood on the street, he
could see her hair and the straight line of her back against the
seat.

They hadn't discussed any of it.

Not the case, not Krychek, not Cancerman, not his sister, not
even the love they'd made.

And they'd made love -- Jesus. He wasn't a sexual neophyte,
and he was the first one to grant that maybe his own attraction
to her had clouded his judgement, but none of that really
mattered.

He'd actually screamed.

In the past, with other women, Mulder had moaned, groaned,
grimaced, gasped. He'd said the word "love" at the moment of
orgasm, even when it wasn't true -- which was almost always.
He'd talked dirty and he'd bit a neck or two.

But no one had ever made him scream.

He'd thought he'd lose his mind inside her.

And the thing was that the cool collected Agent Scully had
climaxed louder than he had.

She'd come again and again, under his tongue, his lips, his
hand, his hips, his nose even, once, or at least that's how he
remembered it. She'd wrapped herself around him and howled
her pleasure, her head tossing against the sheets, her hips a
blur against him.

There'd been nothing cool about her then.

They'd made love all morning, without condoms because she'd
told him she was on the pill, which had sent a sliver of jealousy
through him until she'd explained that her periods were
difficult and this was the only way she'd found to control
them, that she'd been on the pill for years, for no other
reason, and she'd laughed, touching his face.

And he'd thought thank you God, because that means I didn't
knock her up against the wall in front of the Krychek beast
and that chain-smoking son of a bitch, and we don't have to
deal with the advent of a love child conceived amid that
particular horror.

He'd told her without words how miraculous it was to flood her
without latex between them, just her flesh tight around his,
her tissues absorbing his anxious offerings without fear,
without trepidation, the two of them united by their fluids,
their sweat, their passion, their love.

Then they'd awakened and she was already far away, without
denying what had happened but without acknowledging it
either. She'd murmured some words and sent him back to his
room to pack, something about how they had to get back, that
Skinner would be expecting some kind of report by now.

He'd left obediently, although his mind kept saying but isn't
that more or less what men are always accused of saying the
morning after?

And now, hours later, she sat bolt upright against the seat,
not cold, exactly, but distant, distracted, her eyes far away.
He'd tried to talk to her and she'd looked at him politely,
nodding, smiling, but her eyes were thinking about something
else, and he'd felt like someone in a line at a supermarket
being told by the cashier to have a nice day.

He held his bag over his shoulder and looked at her through
the window of the car.

At least she'd lowered it.

"So..."

Her hand was already on the ignition.

"Uh... can I call you?"

It worked, after a fashion. She stared at him.

"Mulder, we'll be in the office less than 12 hours from now."

"Right." He shrugged.

And then she actually smiled, and he saw her in there, Scully
herself, the real thing.

She shook her head.

"Mulder..." She actually laughed.

He looked at her.

"I just need to be alone for a few hours."

"Okay."

He stood there, clutching his bag, feeling like Anne of Goddam
Fucking Green Gables.

She got it exactly and laughed again.

"I need to think about this, Mulder. In the best possible way."

"Okay."

She chuckled and turned the key.

"And for God's sake, Mulder," she said as she checked her
mirror for oncoming cars.

"Get a bed. For both our sakes."

He stood and watched as she drove away.

Jesus, he thought, when had he become such a wuss? As he
headed for his building, he realized he couldn't stop grinning
like a complete idiot.




Scully was already at her desk when he arrived the next
morning.

"Hey." He shot her a quick smile.

"Hey yourself." She looked up, her reading
glasses glinting in the shadows; her eyes lingered
on his form for a moment before she turned back to the
keyboard.

Oooooo, Scully, he thought. See anything you like? 

"Aren't you done?" was all he said as he threw his jacket on a
pile of files and watched with a kind of clinical detachment as
the towering mountain of paperwork leaned over slowly and
collapsed to the floor, taking his jacket with it.

Scully started, threw a glance at the heap on the ground,
sighed and kept typing.

"Nope."

"That's hardly the efficient Dr. Scully I know."

"I wasn't in the mood to write up a field report last night." Her
fingers flew over the keys.

"Hmm."

"Anyway, why is it I'm always stuck doing these damn
things?" She scowled at him.

"You're not."

"I write most of them."

"That's just because you don't trust my ability to do them
myself."

"I trust that you'll do them. I just don't trust they'll make any
sense."

"That's because you think I'm a flake. You were sent to spy on
me, remember?"

She guffawed. "Right. I doubt even Cancerman's senile maiden
aunt would consider me a reliable informant these days."

"What about Skinner?"

His face was serious. She looked at him.

"I think Skinner's as clued out as either of us. If anything,
you're one of the few people he still has any faith in."

"You too."

She shrugged.

"By extension, maybe."

"No." Mulder shook his head. "I think he always trusted you."

"Whatever. But he'd do well to reconsider. These days, I see
conspiracies in shadows."

"That's where they live, Scully."

She said nothing and kept typing.

Mulder sat on his chair and took a breath.

"So. Scully."

Taptap. "Yeah?"

"It's the morning. Do you still respect me?"

The typing stopped. She turned and looked at him
thoughtfully. Despite the smile that played around his lips,
his eyes were solemn.

"Well, as it happens..."

She hit the save button.

"I never respected you, Mulder."

She grinned.

The phone suddenly brayed, and he grabbed it.

"Mulder."

"You're back."

He looked up at Scully and mouthed the word "Skinner".

"Yes, sir."

"And?"

"You haven't heard anything?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"Should I have?"

"I was just wondering."

"I'm expecting a report, Agent Mulder." The A.D.'s voice was
tight.

"We're wrapping it up now, sir."

"When can I get it?"

Mulder glanced over at Scully; she was leaning forward,
looking at him.

"You know, sir, it's been ages since we've had lunch."

"What?"

"I think we should have lunch, sir. Just you, me and Scully."

He smiled at her. She rolled her eyes. 

Another pause.

"All right, Agent Mulder. Today." It wasn't a question.

"Great idea, sir."

"I'll meet you outside at 12:30."

Mulder heard a click.

He glanced at Scully as he hung up the receiver.

"Don't say I never take you anywhere."




CONTINUED IN PART 2 


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

From: Madeleine Partous <partous@total.net>
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW: The Puppet Masters (2/7)
Date: Fri, 14 Jun 1996 10:53:54 -0700


THE PUPPET MASTERS (2/7)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net

*** Rated "R" ***


They'd spent the rest of the morning arguing about the "facts"
in the bogus field report.

Mulder had read it and clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

"Nope, Scully. This won't do."

"What do you mean, it won't do?"

He'd glared at her. "You're making me look like a complete
asshole."

What was driving Mulder especially crazy was the fact that
they had to talk about it as though it were a real case instead
of something he'd concocted to get out to the silo in the first
place. There was little doubt that their office was bugged; for
as long as they'd both tacitly agreed to trust no one else,
they'd got into the habit of speaking for an audience when
they were down there.

In this case, it was making him ballistic. She'd written up the
damned thing as if he was a space cadet on Ecstasy.

"I'm *not* making this up, Scully. There've been reports of
cattle mutilations all over the area."

He slid his hand behind the antiquated slide projector
and flicked the switch. A familiar hum filled the office,
and the smell of burning dust.

Scully groaned and clutched her face.

"For Christ's sake, Mulder, anything but the bloody slide
projector. I've seen those damn slides a thousand times."

He stood up, his hands on his hips, and started rocking from
foot to foot.

She glared at him.

"And stop rocking! Why do you always have to rock back and
forth like that?"

He froze.

"I do not rock back and forth."

"You *always* rock back and forth, Mulder, and you always
get that same defiant look on your face when you do it."

She pointed at his hands. "And you always do that."

"Do what?"

"You always put your hands on your hips exactly like that just
before you start rocking back and forth."

He pursed his lips and ran a hand through his hair.

"That's a load of crap."

She stared at him. "*You're* the psychologist, Mulder."

He expelled an explosive breath and leaned over her.

"Look, Scully. Just because we didn't find any sign of
mutilations this time around doesn't mean they're not out
there. Those guys were covering something up."

He looked at her beseechingly, thrusting his chin towards her
computer screen.

"Big time."

She just looked at him.

He pointed silently to the screen.

"It was so obvious, Scully. Even you said so."

"Me?" Her eyes were beginning to twinkle.

"Yeah. Don't you remember? You said Mulder, these jerks are
obviously trying to hide something."

"*I* said that?"

"You did." He was close enough to smell her.

His eyes closed for a moment as he allowed himself to
breath her in. When he opened them again, she was gazing
at him with a very strange expression which, until a
couple of days ago, he would have had a hard time
recognizing as desire.

He smiled sweetly.

"Of course, you were pissed out of your mind at the time."

"What?" Her eyes widened, then blazed.

"I warned you not to drink all that bourbon, Scully. Especially
not in a bar like that one with all those cowboys giving you the
eye."

She seemed incapable of speech. Her lips parted -- oh God, it
made him want to go in there -- and curled in a way that
managed to convey both amusement and extreme danger.

He shuddered.

Her eyes travelled down his body to his crotch, and he made
no effort to hide what was going on down there.

He slowly put his hands back on his hips and jabbed his crotch
at her with an evil grin.

She smiled as her eyes fluttered back up to his face.

"Well, I had to do something, Mulder," she murmured
innocently. "I mean, I figured I may as well get some relevant
information out of these guys while you tried to negotiate a
deal with that $20 hooker."

Mulder choked. She leaned back against her chair and looked
insufferably smug.

He stopped coughing and stared at her as she licked an index
finger and swiped it at the air, her eyes glittering.




Finally, with hand gestures, muffled giggles and shameless
double entendre, they'd managed to hash out something that
Mulder felt he could safely present to Skinner. The whine of
the printer came just in time; it was 12:23.

The A.D. was waiting for them outside the building.

Mulder took him in; he looked haggard, shrunken, he'd been
looking drawn for months, since before that bizarre prostitute
case. And although he was now apparently reconciled with his
wife in that his wedding band glittered on his left hand once
again -- Mrs. Skinner was still in the hospital, still frail,
although out of danger, according to Skinner --
Mulder sensed that the incident had proven intolerably
humiliating to him, irrevocably damaging in some way.

There was something tragic about the A.D. these days, as
though he were already being haunted by the ghost of
something that hadn't quite died yet.

Skinner's eyes raked over both of them quickly, dropped and
then rose again. He fixed Mulder, then Scully, with a
speculative look.

Mulder felt his stomach tighten. He glanced at Scully just as
she turned to him for a split second.

You really couldn't fool the bastard.

He knew.

He'd looked at both of them and figured it out in a flash.

The A.D.'s face was absolutely without expression.

"Sir." Mulder avoided the older man's eye. Scully moved
restlessly next to him.

"Where are we going, Agent Mulder?"

"Someplace busy, sir."

Scully cleared her throat. "Someplace far."

The A.D. nodded.

"We'll take my car."

With a sudden rush of panic, Mulder realized he hadn't
discussed with Scully how much they'd reveal.

He trusted her. He just didn't know how far he trusted
himself.




They drove out to Alexandria, not far, in fact, from where
Mulder lived.

He guided them towards a busy pub he was fond of, a place
he'd spent many a Saturday evening when he'd felt the need
for the press of people around him, anonymous faces and
bodies involved in lives other than his own.

He'd found sanctuary there many times, even a few encounters
here and there over the years, women who he'd realized even
at the time, through a haze of slow beers, looked a lot like
Scully.

His default type tended to range along taller, lankier, blonder
lines, but when his soul and body ached he'd been finding
himself increasingly drawn to tiny women with hair the colour
he'd learned to identify as Scully's, what people who weren't
colour-blind called red, what for him was a dazzle of rich
amber-dappled browns, alive with light.

He'd gravitated only to those with tailored suits and full,
pouting lips, and none of them were Scully, but in the twilight
of their rooms, he'd made love to them with eyes half closed,
so that from certain angles they took his breath away.

And he'd tried as best he could to bring them to the same
release he craved himself, because he'd recognized their
loneliness, their own incalculable sense of loss.

But now, at midday, the place bustled with Yuppies and Gen-X
geeks whose rapid-fire speech hung like a frantic cloud over
the place.

There was enough noise to drown out their conversation, and
they were far enough away from the habitual FBI haunts to feel
that they might actually say what they were thinking for a
change.

Mulder had never taken Scully there, and he fought the
discomfort he felt at bringing her to a place where he'd spent
quite a few evenings looking for her twin. It was bright there
now; the sun streamed through the windows as a haze of dust
motes danced in the light.

They ordered sandwiches and drinks -- Skinner asked for
bourbon, which led to a chortle from Scully, although she
recovered quickly and coughed delicately into a cocktail
napkin.

"Something funny, Agent Scully?" Skinner peered at her
through his glasses.

"No, sir."

The A.D. turned to Mulder. "I thought you were going to do
this alone."

Scully stiffened beside him.

Mulder poked at his napkin and shrugged. "It seemed... unwise."

He felt her relax, and Skinner actually smiled tightly.

"Yes. I'm sure you're right."

There was something on the A.D.'s face which Mulder, if he
hadn't known better, would have described as affection.

"So. Did you bring the report?"

Mulder nodded and looked at Scully. She handed it to the
assistant director, who pored over it for a few moments.

Finally, he raised his head.

"What monumental crap."

Mulder looked away and shrugged.

"No more than usual, sir. At least I'm sure that's what some
people would say."

"You mean the people who can't tell when you're doing good
work or not."

Mulder met his gaze evenly.

"Something like that."

Skinner peeled his glasses from his face and rubbed his eyes
with one hand. As he hooked them behind his ears once again,
he turned to Scully.

She tensed.

"Agent Scully. Tell me what really happened."

Mulder opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again.

He could certainly understand why the A.D. would focus on
Scully. For one thing, she was incapable of lying. Her eyes
gave everything away.

It was her only weakness, and it was a dangerous one.

It was also one of the things he loved most about her.

She glanced at Mulder for a brief moment before turning back
to Skinner.

"Krychek was there, sir."

The A.D. nodded.

"He was... changed by his encounter with whatever was lying
under the sea."

"What happened?"

"He... it tried to take over our minds."

Skinner's face was stone.
 
"It tried to hurt Mulder. To hurt me."

"So what did you do?"

Scully looked at Mulder, smiled, and deliberately traced his
lips with one finger.

Mulder drew back and sucked in a breath.

He shot a glance at Skinner, but the A.D. was staring at
Scully, mesmerized.

"Mulder." Her voice was soft.

She wanted Skinner to know. She wanted him to know
everything, although he still wasn't quite sure why.

He owed her much more than this.

He breathed and turned to their superior.

"We whipped his ass, sir."

The A.D.'s eyes met his, reluctantly, it seemed.

"Together. You're together now."

Mulder nodded.

"And Krychek's dead."

"Yes, sir."

"Did you kill him?"

"No."

"Did you?" His gaze returned to Scully.

"No, sir."

"Then who?"

Mulder found himself echoing Cancerman, even though it
appalled him.

"I think you know who, sir."

Skinner closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

"Jesus."

Mulder waited.

The A.D.'s eyes opened. They were brittle.

"Sweet Jesus."

"Who is he, sir? What's his name?" Mulder leaned across the
table.

"I already told you, Mulder. I don't know."

Skinner shook his head.

"All I know is he's in serious trouble. He's been in serious
trouble for some time."

"Why?"

"Because he does what he wants. And more and more, that's
unacceptable. More and more, no one even understands what
that is."

They were silent.

Finally, Mulder spoke. "Do you?"

"No."

Mulder leaned back, his arm instinctively reaching around
Scully's chair.

"Whose side is he on, sir?"

Skinner played with the fork in front of him.

"Whose side are any of us on, Agent Mulder? "

He looked up.

"And how do we know?"




CONTINUED IN PART 3


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

From: Madeleine Partous <partous@total.net>
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW: The Puppet Masters (3/7)
Date: Mon, 17 Jun 1996 09:27:01 -0700


THE PUPPET MASTERS (3/7)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net

"Will Work for Feedback"

**** Rated "R" ****


They'd eaten half-heartedly, picking at their food in almost
complete silence.

Mulder knew that the silence was produced by fear, by a
realization on all their parts that what lay ahead could rip
apart the very fabrics of their lives, of everything they'd held
sacred, each in their own way, until now.

Samantha was alive. 

He'd seen her. He'd believed that what he'd seen was her, and
then, with time, he'd believed that what he'd seen was a
cunning replica.

Now there was no way of knowing whether even this had any
bearing on the truth.

How could they possibly have found a way to clone viable
sentient reproductions of living human beings?

Living. Or maybe dead.

And if so, how would he ever know the difference?

Did it even make a difference?

Who was Samantha, now? 

Even if he found her, the original model, the mold herself,
what would she have become?

When she'd been ripped from her family, she'd been too young
to have much of an identity.

Except that he'd known who she was.

He was her older brother.

He'd known her better than anyone.

His little sister, a big pain in the ass, butting in when he
wanted to play with his friends, always hanging around,
getting in the way.

But he'd loved her.

He could never please the adults, but with Samantha, he didn't
have to do anything, anything at all. She just followed him
around, her eyes wide with adoration, her little hand reaching
out for his...

"Foss." She hadn't been able to pronounce his name until she'd
started school.

The quick brown fox...

"Foss." He could hear her, even now.

"Don't call me that, Sam."

"Foss?"

He'd smiled despite himself, even though he was only eight,
because even though she made him crazy, even though the
other boys made fun of him because she was always there,
she'd been the only thing he'd had.

His father lived in silence.

His mother, over the years, had retreated into another corner
of the same silence.

He was supposed to protect her.

He'd tried to protect her, until that night.

Until...

...........* a flash of light he couldn't move oh god he
couldn't reach her he tried he tried he tried he couldn't and
then she rose up in the air no one can do that mommy her
nightgown hanging floating backlit in the light the incredible
light the searing light he hated light just shadows and
darkness he sought shadows and darkness anything to fight
the light and then the window opened but then the peace the
incredible feeling of everything was okay she was safe she
would be returned to him in time she would be okay oh
god...........* 

And although no one had ever accused him, no one had ever
actually said they blamed him, he'd known.

He'd failed.

The silence had grown, had settled around him, an only child,
the only one left, but his childhood had been taken away from
him, and no one, not his parents, not his teachers, not his
friends, had ever told him why, had ever told him he was
forgiven.

"I even made my parents call me Mulder," he'd told Scully
when Tooms was up to his old tricks again.

Not true. A lie. His parents had just stopped calling him
anything at all.

He lay his head in his hands.




Mulder felt their eyes on him, their question.

"A bit of a headache," he said, because it was the first thing
he could think of, and he felt Scully's body against him, her
hand brushing quickly against his forehead.

He drew up and looked at them.

"It's okay. Really. Residual Krychekism." He forced a smile.

He saw Skinner look at Scully and just missed the expression
on her face. Whatever she'd done, it worked. The A.D. turned
away from him.




The woman he'd seen had claimed to be Samantha.

Mulder had studied her face, her form. When she'd first
vanished, she'd had no defining shape, no texture.

She was a child.

He'd been a child. At one time, he'd been a child too.

But this woman before him had had something that echoed his
mother...

Mulder's mind skittered away from memories of his mother.

She'd had something of her father.

Hadn't she?

Mulder could hear threads of a conversation between Scully
and Skinner, something about Krychek, about what the
Cancerman had said, about Mulder himself. He felt Skinner's
eyes on him, sensed his concern like a slap against his chest,
but most of all he felt her presence, her electricity.

Scully.

His hand convulsed and reached for hers under the table,
clutching her thigh until her fingers landed on his, stilling
them, grasping them, until his hand was quiet against her.

There was no escaping it.

She'd had his nose, his features, even his manner of speech.

Mulder's eyes closed.

His nemesis, that Cancerman.

That black-lunged bastard was Samantha's father.

That's why he wanted her saved.

That's why his own father had allowed her to be taken away.

She wasn't his.

That was the real reason behind the silence in his house.

Maybe the cigarette man had orchestrated the whole thing
himself.

Dear God -- maybe his parents had known all along where
she'd been taken.

Cancerman might have wanted to have something to say in the
fate of his daughter. Maybe he'd even raised her.

But something had gone terribly wrong. He'd felt it in the silo,
when he'd held him in a vice grip against the wall.

Cancerman lost track of her along the way.

Mom.

That bastard had loved his mother. And maybe, because of his
mother, he'd tried to protect her husband's son. Her son.

Mulder tried not to let his face show anything, but his hand
gripped Scully's and he knew she knew.

It was too bizarre, too depraved.

The same man who'd seen him take her against a silo wall had
fucked his mother.

He'd made Samantha.

But he hadn't made him. Mulder knew he hadn't made him.

Whatever else the Cancerman was, he wasn't his father.

But he was the father of his quest.

Oh, God.

For the first time in a long time, at least consciously, he was
glad his father was dead.




CONTINUED IN PART 4


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

From: Madeleine Partous <partous@total.net>
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW: The Puppet Masters (4/7)
Date: Mon, 17 Jun 1996 09:27:47 -0700


THE PUPPET MASTERS (4/7)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net

"Will Work for Feedback"

DISCLAIMER IN PREFACE


**** Rated "R" ****



Finally Mulder realized that the other two had stopped talking
and were looking at him.

"Are you all right, Agent Mulder?"

"Sir?"

He glanced at Scully. She didn't look as worried as the A.D.
did, but that was because she could read him like a book.

When had that started to happen?

"I'm fine, sir." He shrugged. "I just can't think and talk at
the same time."

The older man blinked at Scully.

"You've certainly demonstrated that a number of times, Agent
Mulder."

"Samantha's alive, sir."

Skinner's eyes settled on him again.

"I know you think so, Mulder. But what makes you think that
man told you the truth?"

Mulder said nothing.

"I mean, what if he was just trying to get to you? To send you
on another fool's errand? Surely you've considered the
possibility."

He hadn't.

It had never occurred to him.

But that was because he'd seen Cancerman's reaction, the
expression on his face. He believed she was alive.

And at this point, that was good enough for him.

"I have to find her."

"I don't think so, Agent Mulder. Not on Bureau time."

The A.D.'s eyes were cold, but there was a shadow of
something else behind them.

"Then I'll do it outside business hours. Or I'll quit. Whatever
it takes."

"I won't accept your resignation. I didn't before and I won't
now."

Mulder slammed a hand against the table; Scully jumped and
the A.D. eyes turned wary.

"Dammit, sir. You can't force me to stay. And you can't stop
me from looking for her. I have got to do this. And I'll do it
with or without your permission, with or without a badge."

Skinner looked down and shook his head.

"Look, sir." He reached across the table and lay a hand on the
A.D.'s own. The older man tensed and Mulder expected him to
pull away.

He didn't.

"I don't really know what that man knows. I don't know if he
was telling me the truth, or whether he's just a lunatic living
out some paranoid fantasy. But I'm convinced that he believes
it's the truth. And on the off chance that what he says is
actually true, that Samantha is out there, that she's tied into
all this in some way, and if all of it is as sinister as he would
have us believe, then I have to pursue it."

He paused.

"It's the X-file to end all X-files, sir. It could solve hundreds
of cases in one fell swoop."

Skinner was silent for a moment as Mulder brought his hand
back to his lap.

The A.D. raised his head.

"What about you, Agent Scully? What do you think? And I have
to have an unbiased answer. You need to tell me now if you're
incapable of giving one."

She glanced at both of them before staring at her hands.

"Nothing that I can think of, sir, nothing at all..." she looked
up at him pointedly, "...would ever lead me to give you an
assessment coloured by my personal feelings. My conclusions,
whether they've suited your purpose or anyone else's, have
always been based on a rigorous adherence to scientific
method."

The A.D. nodded.

"And?"

"People are often unwilling to accept what's at the heart of
scientific method, sir, and that's the obligation, the
responsibility, to let go of comfortable theories if they don't fit
the facts. This also entails a willingness to consider
unorthodox hypotheses when they're the only ones that seem
to work. And that's always been Agent Mulder's strength. In
this case, sir, I have to remind you that I saw and heard what
he saw and heard."

She paused.

"Under the circumstances, I have to agree with him.
Regardless of what the truth may turn out to be, there's no
doubt in my mind that this man absolutely believed he was
telling the truth. He believes in a hidden agenda. He believes
it's being implemented by a higher authority, the puppet
masters, as Mulder calls them. He believes in colonization. He
also obviously believes it's happening right now. And as far as
I'm concerned, there isn't a shadow of a doubt that he thinks
Samantha Mulder is still alive."

Mulder gazed at her determined profile, amazed for the
thousandth time at her effortless authority, her precise
eloquence. She said so little otherwise.

At least to him.

Hadn't they talked all the time at the beginning? Mulder
remembered laughter and late-night conversations when they'd
sit in her motel room and tell each other their lives, their
fears, she lying in bed, he sitting on the floor with his head
back against the mattress, a pattern they'd established on that
very first case almost five years ago.

When had they stopped talking?

Scully used to laugh. Her face used to light up all the time.
Now he barely ever saw her smile.

The abduction.

The abduction had changed her.

She'd come back closed, cautious somehow, her young FBI
agent eagerness tempered. She was more efficient than ever,
better at what she did, and she'd already been very good at
it.

But the joy seemed to have gone out of it for her.

She'd closed herself from him, hiding her fears, her dreams,
even, while at the same time they grew closer in a mysterious,
non-verbal way he couldn't define or entirely understand.

United by their loss.

It was his fault. He'd done it to her. He'd taken everything
from her until she'd had nothing left except him. Just so he
wouldn't have to be alone. Just so he wouldn't have to face
each morning without her.

Wasn't that what had really happened?

She should have left him then, right after she returned,
turned her back on the madness of the X-files and gone back
to her Quantico buddies.

He could hardly bear to dwell on what she'd given up, both
professionally and personally, to stay with him in that
basement.

And now they were lovers, and the fact that she seemed to
want him took his breath away, but he wasn't sure he
understood it.

He wasn't even sure it was good for her.

He closed his eyes.

He had to talk to Scully.

He had to get her to talk to him.

"Agent Mulder."

His eyes snapped open. Jesus. He had to stop doing that.
Skinner was starting at him with a strange expression.

"He's just tired, sir." It was Scully. "We both are."

Skinner nodded.

"We'll talk about this again tomorrow. Don't do anything until
I've had a chance to check up on some things."

"We may not have much time, sir." Mulder fought to keep the
anxiety from his voice.

"One day more won't make much of a difference, Agent Mulder.
If you want my support on this one..."

He stood.

"...then don't act behind my back. If you do, I'll wash my
hands of you." He looked down at Scully for a moment. "Both
of you. Is that clear?"

Mulder and Scully exchanged a look.

"Yes, sir."

"Are you coming?"

"Agent Scully and I need to talk about this, sir, and we can't
discuss it at the office. Last time I looked, there were at least
five bugs around the place."

The A.D. nodded and tucked the report under his arm.

"I can't wait to explain my way out of this one. It's a good
thing they already think you're a crackpot, Mulder." 

Mulder smiled ruefully.

"One more thing."

They looked at him.

"I'm not going to dwell on what's obviously happened between
you two. You know the regulations as well as I do."

He felt Scully shift uncomfortably in her chair.

"Quite frankly, I'm not even sure I disapprove."

Mulder's eyes widened.

"Be discreet, for all our sakes. If word gets out, I won't be
able to help you. Understood?"

Mulder swallowed and nodded once.

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me yet. If I see any sign, any at all, that your
work is suffering because of this..." he trailed off.

"We understand, sir." Scully.

The A.D. turned without another word and wound his way
through the crowd towards the door.




"That man is full of surprises."

"Mulder..."

He took a deep breath.

"Scully, we have to talk."

"I know."

"I need to know how you feel."

She looked up at him.

"You already know how I feel, Mulder. You just don't trust
it."

He knew he looked stunned. "What do you mean?"

"You don't believe it's possible. You're so embroiled in your
own little unhappy universe that sometimes you don't even see
what's going on in front of you."

Still he said nothing.

"It's strange, because you know everything about me. You
know me better than anyone. You can anticipate my every
move, what I'm about to say... unless it concerns you. Then
you can't read me at all."

She paused.

"They broke something in you. And now you're incapable of
accepting that anyone could love you,"

His heart was pounding. Why was his heart pounding?

"You think you don't deserve it. Even though you're just a
poor confused schlep, a talented schlep, mind you, trying to
make his way through life, like the rest of us."

His eyes began to fill with tears and he wiped at them angrily
with the back of his hand.

"You haven't done anything wrong, Mulder. Not to me, not to
Samantha, not to anyone. In fact, you've saved dozens of
lives. Your guilt has made you noble; it's made you a tireless
defender of the little guy. But now it's time to see that your
guilt isn't helping you anymore. It's blocking you, cutting you
off from other people. From me."

She lay a hand on his arm.

"I'm here, Mulder. That's all. Don't expect flowery speeches
from me, or endless declarations of eternal love, because
that's not the way I am."

She smiled.

"I'm afraid I'm not terribly romantic."

He stared at her lips. He desperately wanted to touch them.

"But you shouldn't be so surprised that I care for you. If you
gave yourself the benefit of the doubt, you might even start to
understand it. From my point of view, you're incredibly
brilliant, extremely funny, profound and sensitive to a fault,
tormented, it's true, but that goes with the territory, and
anyway, it's sexy. You're kind to strangers and children,
tall, dark and handsome, and now it turns out you're a great
lover. I mean..." 

He waited, mesmerized.

"...what's not to like?"

Mulder just looked at her.

"Then you factor in how we spend all our time together, how
much we've shared over the years, heavy stuff, not the kind
of crap you sit chitchatting about over a cup of tea, and it's
not surprising we're drawn to each other."

He finally opened his mouth. "You're logical about everything,
aren't you?"

Scully graced him with a rare smile, the kind that showed her
teeth.

"I yam what I yam, Mulder."

They were quiet for a minute. He could feel the pulse of her
through her hand on his arm.

"So," she said at last. "Did you get a bed?"

Her question went straight to his groin.

"I've always had a bed, Scully. I just don't use it much."

"I brought a change of clothes, just in case."

God. She always thought of everything. He could feel himself
stirring already.

"My apartment sucks, Scully."

"I like your apartment. It's a lot like you: oddly impersonal
and totally weird."

"If you like that, you're the one who's weird."

"How come you've never shown me your bedroom, Mulder?"

"It's a non-event. I hardly ever go in there."

She gave him a mischievous look.

"So maybe it's time we put a little life into it."

He shifted a little and let her see what this kind of talk was
doing to him. She grinned.

"I certainly hope you didn't dandy the place up on my account,
Mulder." 

"Me?"

"No flowers, no champagne chilling?"

"Uh... I did change the sheets."

"Good. Because I really hate mushy stuff."

He laughed. "You're the perfect woman, aren't you?"

"I like to think so."

"So you're suggesting we go back to my place and fool around
during office hours, Agent Scully?"

Scully suddenly looked serious. "You're right, Mulder. It's
not a habit we should get into."

"What habit, Scully?" He did *not* want her to back out now.
"This is brand new. The novelty'll wear off soon enough."

Her eyes glittered. "You're probably right. Actually, I think
I'm beginning to feel a little bored already."

He smiled and leaned towards her until their lips were almost
touching.

"I don't believe you," he breathed.

She shivered.

"In fact, I bet you're sitting in a pool of your own liquids as
we speak."

"Mulder..." she murmured, leaning her forehead against his.

He chuckled, brushing his lips against her cheek. Her breath
was silk against his ear.

He drew back reluctantly and arranged the front of his pants.
"You'll have to walk in front of me, Scully, or they'll never let
me in here again."

She rose and looked down at him. "I don't know. I kinda like
it."

"You're biased."

"Mmmm. Can we get there in five minutes? Otherwise you'd
better have money for a cab."




CONTINUED IN PART 5


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

From: Madeleine Partous <partous@total.net>
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW: The Puppet Masters (5/7) ***NC-17***
Date: Mon, 17 Jun 1996 09:28:51 -0700


THE PUPPET MASTERS (5/7) *NC-17*

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net

"Will Work for Feedback"

*********************************************
WARNING: Rated NC-17 for explicit M/S sexual
descriptions.
*********************************************



It was already dark when they came up for air.

Mulder slid out of bed and padded naked down the hall,
picking up bits of Scully's clothes as he went.

He smiled. Her things were scattered like a trail of
breadcrumbs. He folded them carefully and placed them on his
sofa.

His suit. He should at least hang up his suit. Finally, he
located his jacket and pants, stared at them for a moment, and
threw them over the back of a chair.

Mulder yawned. The streetlight was streaming in through the
cracks his blind. He wandered over to his living room window
and raised the blind a few inches.

He picked up the roll of tape that lay on the table next to his
computer, ripped a piece off with his teeth and stuck it against
the pane on the lower right. 

Then he did it again.

X.




His bedroom was a desolate sight, just a futon, a large one, a
dresser and one chair up near the window. It looked a little
like a prison cell, except for the size of the bed.

But as he leaned against the door frame, he found that he
actually liked the room for the first time in years.

For one thing, it smelled alive, musky with the odour of sex
and sweat, the rich sea scent of semen and juice.

For another, he could see her sprawled across the futon,
utterly relaxed in sleep, her hair mussed, glinting in the light
from the street. She lay as though he were still next to her,
her arms curled around the indentation in the sheet where he'd
been lying a few moments earlier.

Scully stirred, as if she realized he'd gone, as if she knew she
was being watched.

"You already looked for bugs, Mulder," she murmured
sleepily. "Come back to bed."

He lowered himself onto the futon and pulled her into his arms,
wrapping his body around hers and burying his nose in her
hair.

Even her hair smelled like him.

"Aren't you hungry?" His voice was muffled against her.

She snuggled tighter. "Yeah. I just assumed you wouldn't
have any food."

He propped himself up on an elbow and looked at her as she
muttered and reached for him.

"I'll have you know I can offer you a fine selection of
microwave frozen dinners."

"How fabulous." She nuzzled against his chest.

"I also have iced tea, one beer, and a bottle of ketchup."

"A veritable cornucopia of culinary wonders."

"You mock me, madam."

"I knew we should've stolen some of those meal shakes from
Modell's fridge."

"Those things can kill you, Scully."

"Maybe. But you'd die healthy."

He sniggered and pushed her down to the bed with one hand
on her shoulder.

She brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes and looked at him.

"I must say you're remarkably energetic for an old man,
Mulder."

He growled and lowered his mouth to a nipple, squeezing it
gently, rhythmically, between his teeth.

She moaned and clasped his head.

He looked up at her. "Must have something to do with madam's
apparent insatiability."

"Shut up and keep doing what you were doing."

"What's the magic word?"

"You bastard."

He smiled and drew his fingers down her belly.

"That's two words."

"Jerk."

"Very true, but that's not it."

He ran a finger along the line of her pubic hair. She shivered
and arched her hips.

"Mulder!"

"That's my name, Scully. I'm touched you think it's magical."

He made an "o" with his thumb and middle finger and began
softly, lazily, flicking her clitoris.

"Oh, God..."

"Gee. Now I'm really flattered."

"Mulder, please..."

He smiled and rolled over between her legs, sliding his arms
under her knees to part them further. Her eyes were closed
and she bit her lip. He lowered his mouth to her as his hands
claimed her breasts.

His tongue danced and he watched, spellbound, as she writhed
under his hands and mouth, her moans filling the room.

He could get used to this.




Scully saw the x on the window the following morning.

"Mulder."

She was standing at the threshold of the livingroom in one of
his shirts. It went down past her knees and Mulder thought
he'd never seen anything sexier in his life.

But she wasn't smiling.

She pointed at the window and fixed him with blazing eyes.

"What's that?"

He'd poked his head out of the bathroom as he wiped the last
bits of shaving cream off his face.

"You know what it is, Scully."

"You heard what Skinner said. What the hell is wrong with
you?"

He shrugged and stepped out into the hallway. Suddenly he
wished he was wearing something, because the look she gave
him shrivelled his balls.

"Skinner doesn't know the extent of my communication with
X."

"He's vowed to kill you. He almost killed you last time."

"I pissed him off, Scully. But for some reason, I don't think
he's ready to kill me. Not yet, anyway."

"Why not?" Her arms were crossed over her chest.

"I don't know." He rubbed his wet hair vigorously. "To be
honest, I don't even know how I know. And anyway, it's fairly
unlikely the tape on the window will work this time."

She exhaled sharply and stared at the floor.

"I don't know if Cancerman's right, Scully. All I know is that
the last few encounters I've had with X have raised a lot of
questions. He's become ominous, somehow. Before, he felt like
he might've been on my side, even though he always acted like
a bastard. There's an edge to him now."

She looked up. "What do you mean?"

Mulder shrugged. "I dunno. It's as if the plan's speeded up
and he's fallen behind. There was something desperate about
him the last time I saw him, like he wanted me to do something,
to play a role of some kind. I never gave him a chance to tell
me what it was."

She studied him coolly.

"Maybe it's all happening faster than he anticipated, Scully. I
just want to see if he'll come to me. And if he does, I want to
hear what he has to say. I want to ask him about the puppet
masters."

"What if he shows up just to shoot you?"

"You know and I know that he could've killed me already. I
don't think he's the kind of guy who'd wait around politely for
an invitation."

She lowered her arms and glanced at the clock on the VCR.

"I have to take a shower." She sighed. "And I'm starving,
Mulder. But this conversation is far from over."

"I've got cereal."

"Whatever. Just pour it in a bowl for me, will you?"

"Anything you say."

She smiled fleetingly. "Milk?"

"No problem."

"I made some coffee while you were in there."

"Great."

As she walked towards the bathroom, she reached up to pat his
face with her hand.

"You're a nice boy."

He smiled down at her.

"Thank you, m'am."

"That's why I'd like to see you survive until the weekend.

"I know. I promise I won't do anything without you."

"Cross your heart?"

"Yeah. But I can't say hope to die, Scully, because I don't.
Not these days."

He kissed the top of her head quickly.

She shook her head and walked into the bathroom.

"Next time we're staying at my place," she said as the door
clicked shut behind her.




CONTINUED IN PART 6


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

From: Madeleine Partous <partous@total.net>
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW: The Puppet Masters (6a/7)
Date: Wed, 19 Jun 1996 09:44:38 -0700


THE PUPPET MASTERS (6a/7)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net

(You've gotten quiet. Is this still working? I mean, at this point,
I'm hooked anyway, but still...)


DISCLAIMER IN PREFACE

**** Rated "R" for violence and profanity ****


It was 8:20. They sat shoulder to shoulder in a taxi as it
weaved its way through traffic towards downtown DC.

"You think anyone's bugged the cab, Scully?"

"I'm sorry. I'd love to answer the question, but I'm still
reeling from the fact that you're willing to spring for a ride all
the way to work."

"You really think I'm cheap, don't you?"

She shrugged and looked out the window.

"Not cheap, exactly. Just... parsimonious."

"Don't try to blind me with big words, Scully. I know just as
many as you do."

"Yeah, but most of the ones *you* know are positions."

He leaned over her.

"You weren't such a smartass last night. In fact, as I recall
you weren't exactly exhibiting a... how shall I put it? A
rigorous adherence to scientific method."

She smiled at him. "That's where you're wrong, Mulder. What I
demonstrated last night was the basis of the scientific method,
which as I explained earlier is the ability to put aside rigid
hypotheses for the sake of a bizarre theory that fits the
facts."

"I'm to surmise from all this that the bizarre theory you're
describing is me?"

"I didn't actually say it."

"Meanwhile, I don't remember hearing any complaints at the time
about my rigid hypothesis."

She actually tittered.

"There was nothing particularly theoretical about your
hypothesis last night, Mulder."

He stretched dramatically and casually dropped his arm around
her shoulder.

"Mulder. This isn't a movie theatre."

"All the world's a stage, Scully. Don't you read anything
besides medical journals?"

She chuckled and leaned against him.

He sat and relished her warmth for a moment.

"Scully."

"What."

"We never talked about what happened at the silo."

He felt her tense, and then relax.

"What's there to talk about?"

"What I did."

She moved against him.

"I think what you did isn't nearly as fascinating as what I did,
Mulder."

He brushed his lips against her hair.

"What you did was phenomenal."

"Exactly."

His eyes squeezed shut as he pressed her against him.

"How can you forgive me?"

"That's precisely your problem, Mulder. You're always looking
for forgiveness."

It was his turn to tense.

She pulled away from him and caught his hand as he drew it
from her shoulder.

She held it in her lap.

"There's nothing to forgive. I accepted you. It's true the
circumstances weren't ideal, but quite frankly, Krychek was
dripping slime and crawling around in his own refuse at that
point, so it was hard to feel particularly bashful in front of
him."

Mulder shook his head and looked at her. She was
unbelievable.

"Anyway, he instigated it, Mulder."

"He didn't entirely instigate it."

"Fine. Whatever. I still prefer to believe you would've taken
me out to dinner first if it hadn't been for him."

She looked at him before moving her mouth to his ear.

"And I also choose to believe you'd never rape me," she
murmured.

His breath caught in his throat. He raised her hand to his lips
and kissed it.

"What about Cancerman?"

She snorted. "Give me a break. It's probably the most exciting
thing he's seen in years. Anyway, I don't think anything can
shock that guy."

"Did you give any thought to what he meant when he said they
were waiting for us to do this? To get together like this?"

She looked at him gravely. "I've thought about it a lot. And I
don't think I like any of the possibilities I keep coming up
with."

He nodded. "It's like way creepy."

She smiled. "Way."

Mulder suddenly stuck his jaw out and gave her a defiant look.

"Fuck the bastards, Scully."

He bit her palm, his eyes still locked with hers.

"I want this anyway. I want you." It was barely a whisper
against her wrist.

She said nothing.

He continued to mouth the words against her wrist, her palm,
her fingers.

She closed her eyes.

"Excuse me. I hate to interrupt such a touching moment, but
the lovebirds have landed."

Mulder stared at the cab driver, who was leaning over the
seat, grinning.

"You're a funny guy."

"Yeah, well, driving people like you around kinda makes ya
cynical in a fuzzy kinda way. Oh, and let the lady pay,
buddy. From what I understand, you're parsimonious."




"You think that guy was legit, Mulder?" She said as they
collected their things after the security check.

He looked over at her. "Jeez, Scully. You're getting more
paranoid than I am."

"I've learned from the best."

"I think he's a cab driver. Period. As important as we are," he
continued as he helped her on with her jacket, "even I
wouldn't infer that everybody in DC is out to get us."

The security guard was looking at them. Mulder nodded at
him, clipped his badge to a lapel and put a hand on the small of
Scully's back.

"Let's go."

She turned her head to look behind them.

"What?"

"Nothing. You're paranoia's catching."

"How can you possibly catch a disease you're already dying
from, Mulder?"

"Let's just go downstairs."

As they approached the corridor near the A.D.'s office,
Mulder suddenly stopped in his tracks.

"Shit."

"What is it now?"

"Gimme the car keys, Scully. I left some files in the trunk."

She fished through her purse and pulled them out.

"Back in a flash."

"You're gonna let me walk by Skinner's office alone?"

He turned back, grinned and waved.

"I know you can handle it, Scully."

She sighed and kept walking.




His footsteps echoed through the garage as he peered through
the half light in search of their Taurus.

Jesus. Everyone who worked here had a fucking Taurus.

Finally he recognized the dregs of burger wrappings against
the back seat, a couple of plastic cups.

He reached into his pocket for the key.

The blow to his back happened so fast that he slammed against
the side of the car before he knew what had happened.

By the time it sank in, his gun was gone.

He put his hands in the air instinctively just as he realized he
couldn't breath, and he turned slowly.

A familiar dark face loomed in front of him.

X.

"What is it with you and underground parking," Mulder
gasped, keeping his hands up.

"You have a lot of nerve, Agent Mulder."

Scully.

His mind reached out to her blindly.

The other man's fist connected with his chest. Mulder folded,
his breath whistling, fingers of agony racing along his ribs
into his lungs. He pulled himself up as fast as he'd gone down,
and swung.

Scully...

The other man ducked him easily. His hand wrapped itself
around Mulder's chin as he shoved him brutally back against
the car.

"Foiled by the element of surprise..." Mulder wheezed.

"How dare you try to summon me, you little shit?"

The man's hand tightened around his throat, causing a
rainbow of colours to explode against his eyelids.

"You're a crazy man, Mulder. A crazy, very dead man."

His fingers wrapped around Mulder's nose and twisted.

Mulder heard the snap of bone seconds before blinding pain
shot up his sinuses. He saw only blackness for a moment
before he registered something warm running down his face.

He tasted it, metallic against his lips.

Blood.

Mulder's lips parted as it slowly dawned on him he still couldn't
breathe.

"I..." His gasp bubbled through blood.

Mulder watched as the man's red hand pulled away from his
face. He felt him wipe it against his shirt, felt as it rubbed
against his nipple. He moaned. Jesus.

"...need to talk." He wasn't sure how the words got out.

Scully... please.

X slapped his nose.

He screamed and clutched his face.

The other man grabbed his hands away and slapped his nose
again. Mulder felt bile rise to his throat and retched.

X shoved his head to the side and held it. Mulder continued to
heave as he tried desperately to see.

The informant had always been edgy, but this time it looked like
he'd finally snapped.

Mulder really was a dead man.

This was it.

The bastard had him.

Scully was right. He'd been waiting for an excuse to kill him.

And Mulder had invited him in.

He could feel the man's palm against his face, pressing, and
then a sensation around his testicles that felt at first like
pleasure.

Then distress.

Then appalling, mindnumbing pain.

The son of a bitch had his balls in a grip. Through a
kaleidoscope of flashing lights, he felt a hand lift him up by
his crotch against the body of the car.

He wanted to vomit, to pass out, to die.

"How's that, Mulder? Does that feel good?"

He moaned.

Oh God. Scully.

"Please..."

"Are you begging, Agent Mulder?"

The grip tightened and Mulder could see nothing at all, could
just feel nausea move through his belly as the pain rolled
through his body.

"I said, are you begging me, Mulder?"

"Let him go."

Through the whiteness Mulder heard an unmistakable voice, a
high, husky voice.

He gasped.

Scully.

He felt the hands tighten around him as X swung around, his
palm against his face, his other hand still gripping his groin.
Mulder moved with him helplessly, clutched against the other
man's body.

He couldn't see her. He could only feel the other man's hand
against the mass of pain that had once been his nose, teasing
it, sending shards of excruciating agony through his head.

"Don't get involved, Agent Scully."

"Let him go or I'll shoot."

"Through his body?" Mulder cried out as he felt the other man
lift him like a rag doll.

Humiliation stung his eyes.

He felt degraded, helpless, lost.

"If I have to."

Consciousness blurred.

"I swear it. I'll kill you, you bastard."

Mulder felt the man's laughter rumble in his chest.

"Kill me? I'm dead already. So is he. So are *you*."

He laughed again, and this time, even through the sheer red
curtain of his pain, Mulder could hear the insanity ring.

"It's too late. Too late for all of us."

The death grip on his groin eased and he slid down, then
moaned as the man propped him against his stomach by his
face. Through a haze he heard the sound of a gun being pulled
from a holster, then the click of a safety.

He knew X was pointing his gun at Scully, but he couldn't
move.

The pain was all there was, and he slowly collapsed against the
other man's body until he lay, doubled over, at his feet.

"Don't you see, Scully? We're all dead. He wants to find the
puppet masters? Believe me -- they'll find him. They've
already found both of you. And now they're on their way."

Mulder barely registered a kick to his ribs, although he
coughed and felt a spray of blood leave his lips.

As his consciousness slipped away, he heard a shot in the
darkness.

No.

Scully...



CONTINUED IN PART 6b


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

From: Madeleine Partous <partous@total.net>
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW: The Puppet Masters (6b/7)
Date: Wed, 19 Jun 1996 09:45:35 -0700


THE PUPPET MASTERS (6b/7)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net

"Will Work for Feedback"

DISCLAIMER IN PREFACE




The first thing he saw was a cold round sterile light. He'd
seen it many times, and he recognized it.

Hospital.

He turned his head as fingers of pain shot down his neck. He
was breathing through bandages.

The second thing he saw was Scully.

Scully.

He breathed.

He was breathing through his mouth. His lips were dry and
tight.

She sat next to him, her eyes dark.

Slowly he realized that the solid warmth he felt in his hand was
her own.

His lips cracked as they spread in a smile.

"Guess I'm still not dead."

She bowed her head for a moment before she shook it, her hair
stirring. Her hand tightened around his.

"What happened?" He said it this time.

"I killed him."

Mulder looked at her.

"It's okay. Skinner took one look at you... But we still don't
know who he was."

He waited.

"He was nuts, Mulder."

"Interesting choice of words," he said with a weak smile.

Her eyes closed for a moment.

"Meanwhile, are mine okay?" He wanted to know. He felt
nothing through the haze of painkillers.

"Fine," she murmured. "You're fine. A few bruises. No
permanent damage. Two broken ribs. Your nose, on the
other hand..."

"Yeah?"

"It looks like you'll finally have the classical profile 
you've always wanted."

"How do you mean?"

"He broke it so badly that you had to undergo reconstructive
surgery just so you'd be able to breathe through it again."

"I got a nose job, Scully?"

She smiled at him. "I told them to make it beautiful."

"Jesus. Just tell me I won't look like Michael Jackson."

"No. I gave them a photograph of you and told them to match it."

"That's beautiful?"

She squeezed his hand.

"It is to me. I told you, Mulder -- I think you have a great
nose."

He groaned.

"My big chance, Scully."

"Don't worry. I'm sure they weren't able to match it
perfectly."

He turned his head and gazed at her.

"You had a picture of me?"

"Mulder..."

He laughed, even though it hurt.




When they removed the bandages, all he could see was a mass
of blue and black.

"Christ, Scully. I look like a professional boxer."

"It's the swelling. It'll go down."

"And then what?"

"Then we'll see."

He leaned back against the bed.

"When can I leave?"

"They're releasing you later today."

He stared at his hands. His balls still felt tender,
compromised, empty somehow.

"They still hurt, Scully."

She knew what he meant.

"They'll heal. Don't worry."

"But I..."

She smiled and shook her head. "You'll have to wait."

His eyes pleaded with her.

"Not long. You're still very much a man, Mulder."

He relaxed against the headboard.

"I don't particularly feel like one, Scully."

He meant it on more than one level, and she knew it.

"I'd love to prove it to you, Mulder," she said, patting his
arm, "but it would only hurt you right now. No fooling
around. Doctor's orders."

"That's a tall order when you're in the vicinity."

She lay a finger against her lips.

Right. Shhh.

Is that what they had to look forward to? No word on the
subject in public places for the rest of their lives?

He wasn't sure he could bear it.

Although God only knew that the rest of their lives
might not be very long at all.

"Scully."

She met his eyes.

"How did you know? How did you end up in the garage in the
nick of time?"

Scully looked at him as she reached for her purse. He opened
his mouth and stopped as she shook her head.

She fumbled around and finally pulled out a notepad and a
pen.

"Just a coincidence, Mulder. A lucky one, as it turned out."
As she spoke, she scribbled hurriedly.

"Really? Wow. What are the odds."

"Yeah. I know. I was looking for a sweater. You know, the
beige one? I thought maybe I'd left it in the car."

He looked at what she'd written.

**I heard you calling out to me.**

"Why in God's name would you need a sweater in the middle of
this heat, Scully?"

He took the pen from her.

**How?**

He handed the pad back to her.

**I just heard your voice in my head.**

"They crank the air conditioning, Mulder. You know that."

"Poor baby."

**I did call out to you. In my head. Many times.**

"Oh, right. You're too big a man to even shiver, aren't you?"

**It was like physical pain, Mulder. I felt sick. I could even
see parts of it as it happened.**

"I'm a country boy, Scully. I'm used to cold."

**See it how?**

"You think you're tough, don't you?"

**I could see X. I saw him break your nose.**

He gaped at her.

**You saw that?**

"Actually, no, Scully. Not these days."

**It's like we're linked somehow.**

"Take my word for it, Mulder. You'll be dating again before
you know it."

**I didn't feel you, Scully. I didn't see or hear you.**

"You know my only passion is my work, Scully."

**Maybe I'm linked to you.**

"Yeah, right. That doesn't explain your video library."

He lay the notebook on his lap and looked at her for a long
moment.

"You know there's no one else but you, Scully."

He said it aloud and meant it.

Mulder didn't need a piece of paper to read what her eyes were
saying.

What now?

He just kept looking at her.

They're coming.

And he knew by the expression on her face that she'd heard him.




CONTINUED IN PART 7


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

From: Madeleine Partous <partous@total.net>
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW: The Puppet Masters (7a/7)
Date: Thu, 20 Jun 1996 13:28:01 -0700


THE PUPPET MASTERS (7a/7)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net


DISCLAIMER IN PREFACE


They'd lost four days because of his little sojourn in the
hospital, but Mulder couldn't help thinking it made no
difference anyway.

Whoever the puppet masters were, wherever they were, and
however they were coming, they weren't about to show up in a
busy downtown DC hospital.

Mulder knew, as he packed up the things Scully had brought
him, that leaving the hospital was the best way to call them.

He could feel them coming; the air crackled with it.

The time had come.

Samantha.

He knew, somehow, that he was finally going to see Samantha.

His sister.

The real one.

But the thing that grabbed at his throat, his heart, was the
guilty feeling that he didn't care about it nearly as much as he
once did.

She'd been his quest, his only obsession, for more than 20
years.

Because she'd been all he had.

And now, he thought as he gazed at his discoloured face in the
mirror, that was no longer true.

He had other obsessions now.

Mulder knew he wasn't exactly the most courageous guy on the
planet, and that under the circumstances it was ironic, even
revealing, how often he put himself in situations to get the
crap beat out of him.

But today, for the sake of these other obsessions, it was time
he put his need for punishment aside and become a man.

He remembered his Bar Mitzvah, which he'd undergone for his
parents' sake, his parents who seemed even more embarrassed
by the whole thing than he was.

In actual fact, if left to his own devices, he would've found
nothing embarrassing about it.

There was something beautiful about the idea of a rite of
passage into manhood. He'd kind of liked it. He'd liked the
idea that his circumcised cock stood for something in the end,
that he himself stood for something ancient, primal, enigmatic,
some ancient pact to appease a wrathful God.

Less than a year after the disappearance of his sister, he'd
needed all the help he could get.

He'd studied for it and delivered his lines flawlessly, with
feeling, even, because he'd understood what he recited, the
grandness of it, the freedom of it, so that even the Rabbi had
come up to him in the rain of candies afterwards and grasped
his shoulder, shaking him, repeating "mazel tov, Fox; today
you are a man," and meaning it.

He'd liked the order and ritual of his ancestral religion,
despite the fact that his parents, though unwilling to turn
away from it altogether, had also tacitly taught him it was
archaic, unacceptable, mortifying in a contemporary American
setting. 

So he'd turned to Jung, in the end, because Jung had taught
him that spirituality lived inside the self, that the universe
was filled with constants that didn't immediately meet the eye.

Archetypes. His world was built around them. They were what
had given him a freedom he'd only dreamt of as a teenager.

They were what had opened his mind to the vast range of
possibilities he saw as prosaic today, but which most people
considered outrageous, flakey, futile.

They were what gave him his particular edge as an
investigator.

They'd also shown him that faith was the key, regardless of
where he might decide to place it.

Mulder believed anything was possible. Anything at all.

And now he had two obsessions. The truth. And Scully.

Little Irish Catholic Scully, with her gold cross around her
neck, the cross he'd worn against his own skin during her
interminable absence.

He liked the order and ritual of Scully, her precise adherence
to meaning in the face of chaos.

Even the importance of the truth faded in comparison.

And he'd wanted for so long to lose himself in her, it was the
only place he wanted to be, dammit, and now it seemed she'd
wanted it too, and when all was said and done, that was all
that mattered.

Everything else was secondary.

Even Samantha.




"Take me to your place."

Scully glanced at him as she wound her way through the rush
hour traffic.

He lay his head back against the headrest and caught a glimpse
of his misshapen nose in the rearview mirror.

"Please, Scully. Take me home."

She adjusted the mirror and said nothing, but Mulder saw that
she took the turnoff towards Maryland.




Her apartment was so cozy, so warm. It smelled like her. She
shut the door behind them as he felt a surge of pain and
pleasure through his groin.

She saw the strained expression on his face and didn't mince
words.

"Don't even think about it, Mulder," she whispered. "You're
still badly bruised."

He nodded and limped to all the places where listening devices
generally lay.

He explored the lamps, ripped off their backings, tipped over
tables and pulled frames off the walls, his fingers probing. He
could feel her eyes on him as he went through every object in
the room, disappearing into shadows like a hungry ghost.

It took him half an hour to comb the whole apartment. By the
time he got back to the kitchen, everything was back in place
and she'd made a pot of tea.

"They don't even care what we're up to, Scully."

"You didn't find anything."

He shook his head.

"Why am I not surprised?"

"I think what we talk about, what we know, is irrelevant to
them, Scully. It's us they want."

"So we're just going to sit here and wait for them. Is that it?"

"Yes."

She looked at him. For a moment, he saw terror in her eyes,
and then it was gone.

"Shouldn't we try to get away?"

"They'd find us wherever we went."

"And you think they're coming tonight?"

"I know it."




They sat together on her couch in silence. At one point she'd
curled up next to him and wrapped her arms loosely around his
neck, laying her head against his shoulder.

He'd pulled her close and said nothing.

They waited.

His senses were alive, filled with the smell of her, the feeling
of her body against his. He could hear the clock tick in the
kitchen, the slight hum of the lights, the rustle of their
clothes as they shifted. Even his fingertips seemed to pulse
with life, and he focused on his breath, the pulse of blood
through his body, through hers.

Every object in the room seemed fraught with meaning, with a
deeper significance.

They were part of a complex ritual, he could feel it. It was a
rite they couldn't see, but it was unfolding around them.

And it was getting closer.

"I'm scared, Mulder." Her breath stirred his shirt.

His hand caressed her hair.

"Me too."

And then there was a soft tapping at the door.




Mulder froze, gripping Scully to him. He looked down at her
pale face and suddenly laughed.

She stared at him, wide-eyed.

"I never thought they'd knock first, Scully."

He gently removed her arms from his neck and rose.

"Mulder."

"Shhhh. It's okay."

He heard the sound of her gun. It was useless, but he knew
she needed to have it.

The tapping came again, a little louder this time.

"God, Mulder."

He limped to the door and swung it open.

She was standing there in the hall's half light, looking
altogether normal, completely ordinary, as though they'd said
goodbye that very morning.

She smiled.

"Foss?"

He made a little sound as his eyes filled and the tears spilled
over. This time, he didn't try to stop them.

"It's really you."

"Yes. What happened to your nose?"

He pulled her to him and held her fiercely, his face against her
neck as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

Then she drew away and he saw her smile at Scully.

"Agent Scully. I've heard so much about you."

Scully just sat on the couch with her gun in her hand and an
indescribable expression on her face.

He laughed and Scully looked at him incredulously.

It was too bizarre. He laughed again, but he wasn't sure how
sane it sounded.

"There isn't much time." Samantha looked at them both. "We
have to go."

"Go where?" Scully's voice was tight.

"Just between us," his sister said amiably, "sitting around
waiting for them isn't such a great idea."

He chortled.

"Mulder, stop that."

"He sent you, Sam. That.... Your father."

She looked at him evenly.

"Believe it or not, Fox, he's trying to help."

He shrugged. "So where *are* we going?"

"Come on. I'll explain on the way."




CONTINUED IN PART 7b

 


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

From: Madeleine Partous <partous@total.net>
Subject: RE: Puppet Masters Part 7b


THE PUPPET MASTERS (7b/7)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net


This is it for part two. The real horror, in case you didn't
read the preface to this one, is that it's a trilogy. I'm afraid
so. Sorry.
Thanks for your ongoing support. Feel free to comment,
criticize and advise; it can only help improve the inevitable.


*** Rated "R" for Violence ***


DISCLAIMER IN PREFACE


Mulder drove. His sister sat next to him to direct him, and
Scully shifted uneasily in the back.

As they'd walked to the car, he'd looked over at Scully to see
how far this link between them went.

He'd tried to concentrate as he touched her shoulder, and she
looked up at him.

Do you trust this?

She looked down again for a moment.

Then she shook her head.
 
Mulder felt his pulse speed up. My God. She could really hear
him.

It had started after they'd had sex in the silo, hadn't it?

Telepathy, but only in one direction. He broadcast, she
received.

My God. That meant she knew everything about him.

And he knew next to nothing about her, comparatively.

How ironic that it should happen to her. He believed in it. He
believed in all of it. So why did these kinds of experiences
always seem to happen to her instead of him?

She was almost always the one who saw things, heard things,
brushed up against the tangible unknown.

He believed. She didn't.

He wasn't remotely psychic. It turned out she was. Big time.

What kind of justice was that?

It had to have something to do with the implant. With the thing
they'd stuck in her neck.

It had left a residual trace, had given her some kind of power.

And the most ironic thing of all was that he'd kill for that
power and she'd probably do the same to have it taken away.

As he unlocked the back door for her, he thought grimly that
he'd do almost anything to have access to her head.

The last thing anyone sane needed was access to his own.




As Mulder swung the car onto the highway, he stole glances at
the woman next to him. The street lights strobed across her
body, showing flashes of her in a way that seemed almost
ominous.

His mind turned away from the thought. He knew beyond a
shadow of a doubt that this was Samantha. His sister. The one
and only. The original, in the flesh.

She would never do anything to hurt him.

Mulder cleared his throat.

"Your father said we had to find you, but it would appear he
didn't need to worry. You found us."

She said nothing, and he could feel Scully tense up behind
him.

"I'm just wondering why he didn't seem to know where you
were."

"Don't you trust me, Fox?"

He shrugged. "Well, you know. You never call, you never
write. Judging by how easily you tracked me down and the fact
that you showed up at Scully's door without so much as an
escort, it seems to me you might've contacted me before."

He fought the faint stirrings of resentment in the pit of his
stomach.

"I mean, I've been kind of worried about you for, oh, say,
about 23 years."

"I couldn't contact you before. Now I can."

"What about the clones, Samantha? Do you know anything
about them?"

She looked at him. "We're in danger, Fox. All of us. The first
thing to do is to get to safety. Then we'll talk."

"You said you'd explain it on the way." Scully's tone was curt.

"I've come to help you as best I can. Why won't you believe
that?"

Scully lay her hands against Mulder's headrest and peered at
his sister.

"A guy we knew told me just before he died that we should
trust no one. It's nothing personal."

She leaned back warily.

"As it happens," Scully continued, "he was double-crossed by
the puppet masters, I assume, shot in cold blood and left to
die on a rainy stretch of road. I figured he knew what he was
talking about."

"They're ruthless, Agent Scully. They know what they want
and they'll do anything to get it."

"What do they want, Sam?" He glanced at her quickly.

"And how do you know so much about them?"

Mulder frowned and focused his mind on the back seat. Don't
push, Scully. She's still my sister.

Scully was silent.

"You wanted the truth, Fox. Well, you're in for a treat. But
you know the old saying: be careful what you wish for -- you
just might get it."

"Is that a threat, Ms. Mulder?"

"Call me Samantha. Please."

"Is it?"

His sister sighed and closed her eyes.

"I guess I can't blame either of you for being cautious."

"No." Scully's voice rose. "After all, how many times does
your brother have to see women who look and sound exactly
like you get snuffed before he finds one that isn't a Xerox?"

He sucked in his lip. Scully, don't. He couldn't quite block his
anger, and she flinched.

"Where are we going, Sam?"

"To a place where there are others like me."

"What does that mean?"

"Others who were abducted and never returned."

"Alive?"

"Yes. Most abductees are eventually found near the place
where they were taken. Not all, but most of them. You know
that, Fox." She turned a fraction and looked into the back
seat. "You too, Agent Scully."

"So I'm told."

Mulder heard the edge of sarcasm in her voice and was
appalled by a sudden urge to stop the car and slug her.

Jesus, you asshole. Get a grip.

She was mistrustful, rightly so.

She was just doing her job and he was letting his personal
feelings get in the way. As usual.

"Scully was abducted too, Sam. She was gone for three
months."

"I know, Fox." Her voice was soft.

"Know anything else about it?"

Her voice was sharp and this time Mulder exploded.

"Dammit, Scully, shut up!"

A stunned silence greeted his outburst. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel.

He took a deep breath and threw a look in the rearview mirror. 

"You're right. Scully's right, Sam. There are too many
unanswered questions."

"You'll get the answers you're looking for. Both of you."

"May I speak, Mulder?"

He winced. That tone could chill a six-pack in 30 seconds flat.

"Of course. Of course you can, Scully."

"I'm just curious about why you can't give us answers right
now... "she paused for a split second, "uh, Samantha."

"I'm not..."

"Authorized?"

Mulder's shoulders knotted.

"Programmed? Willing?"

"Scully..." He said it through clenched teeth.

"No. I'm not the one with the answers."

"Who has the answers?"

"Soon. You'll know soon, Agent Scully."

She insisted. "Why can't we know now?"

A blaze of lucidity suddenly burned through Mulder's growing
fury.

The thing was, she was right.

It was true that Scully was being a bitch. But she was often a
bitch. It was one of the things he actually found exciting about
her.

As long as she was doing it to someone other than himself,
preferably a man, preferably a man with delusions of
grandeur.

As long as she wasn't doing it to his sister.

It was also true that Samantha was being the complete
opposite: gentle, understanding, conciliatory.

But the words. The words were the important thing.

Samantha's words didn't ring true. If she was there to help
them, her unwillingness to explain what was going on didn't
make any sense.

And Scully's words were trying to cut through that, to expose
it.

He knew it.

But he couldn't deal with it right now.

Not with his sister.

Not when he'd just found her again.

"That's enough." Both women turned to look at him.

"You sound like Daddy, Fox."

He glared at her and just managed to close his mouth before he
said "whose?"

But Scully heard him. He could feel her eyes on him. Jesus.

It was starting to give him the heebiejeebies.

No. No no no. So she could read his mind. But he could invade
her just as thoroughly in other ways, claim her, make her his,
and he was willing to bet it was a lot more fun than his
innermost thoughts could ever be.

He loved her. They'd find a way to deal with this thing,
whatever it was.

He looked at her for a moment as she flickered like an old movie
in the light from the street.

Hear that? I love you, Scully. There. He'd said it, hadn't he?
Not out loud, but it was a start. Anyway, she'd never said it
to him.

As a finger of streetlight touched her lips, he saw her smile.

"We'll talk about this later," he said. "Now both of you --
behave."

We're already committed to this, Scully. Drop it. For now.

He heard a rustle as she disappeared into the backseat
shadows.




Samantha told him to stop the car near an abandoned factory a
few miles outside Annapolis.

Mulder was sick to death of abandoned factories.

"You know, I think if we ransacked all the old factories across
the country, we'd expose every conspiracy in America. I
mean, think about it, Scully. With enough agents, we could do
it in a weekend."

She chuckled. Samantha just looked at him.

"You really think so?"

"Mulder always makes jokes when he's nervous."

"I know. I remember. He used to do it when we were kids. But
I was too young to get them in those days."

"Looks like you still have the same problem," Scully muttered
under her breath.

Mulder smiled sweetly. "Did your father raise you?"

She nodded. "More or less. When he was around."

"Certainly explains the lack of humour."

"Scully," he murmured dangerously.

"Who took care of you when he wasn't there?"

She shrugged. "Other people."

Mulder felt his stomach lurch.

There was something wrong here. She was inaccessible,
somehow; flat. Almost as if she'd been...

"Programmed?" He jumped as Scully's voice came close to his
ear. Jesus, he wished she wouldn't do that.

He could barely bring himself to think about it.

The bottom line was, he had no idea what his sister would look
like if she were alive.

It was true that this woman looked like a combination of his
mother and the chainsmoker. Probably many people did.

But the real problem was, he felt it in his gut.

His gut told him this was Samantha.

What made him feel almost nauseated was that he believed his
gut was telling him the truth.

And in that case, there was something very wrong with his
sister.




They followed Samantha towards the dark looming shell of the
main building. His groin muscles sang and his ribs were
starting to ache.

"Your gun, Mulder."

He nodded and took it out.

Samantha turned. "You won't need those. You're among
friends."

"I guess I'm just shy," Scully said coolly.

Mulder shook his head. She was never this flippant. What the
hell had got into her?

They stopped at the entrance, just as Samantha slid open the
door and stepped inside.

He put a restraining hand on Scully's shoulder and she looked
up in surprise.

"Uh, no. I don't think I want to go in there, Sam."

She looked at him.

"Come on, Fox. It's *me*!" For the first time, she actually
seemed animated.

"I know. But I'm still not ready to go in there. Scully's right.
We don't know what's going on here."

"I'm trying to help you, dammit! At one point, you have to
trust someone. I did, and that's the only thing that saved me."

"Who?"

"Come and you'll find out."

He shook his head. "No."

"Agent Scully, you've got to make him understand... you
could both be dead in a matter of hours."

"But I agree with him."

"Fools!" she hissed. Mulder stared at her, feeling his pulse
race in his throat, and thanked God he was too numb to feel
much of anything at all.

She tossed her head contemptuously. "Frankly, I don't
understand how you've managed to survive this long."

"I think maybe we'll leave now," he said.

There was the unmistakable sound of a rifle bolt being pulled
back.

Judging by the loudness of it, Mulder calculated that the
business end of the gun was about one foot away from the back
of his head.

Scully almost turned, but he wrapped his hand around her
neck and kept her looking forward.

"Drop your weapons." A deep voice, male. He didn't recognize
it.

Scully's gun landed with a clatter moments before his own hit
the asphalt.

He wondered tiredly why people always managed to sneak up
on him like that.

Samantha stood and looked at them. Her eyes glittered, iron
cold.

"I'm sorry, Fox."

She didn't particularly look like she meant it.

"I guess you're father wasn't our friend after all."

"What I said was true. He's trying to help."

She rapped briskly on the metal door of the building.

"But I, on the other hand, am not."

Mulder looked up as a shadow yawned through the doorway. A
few precise steps later, he was staring at the elegant man from
Central Park.

The British gent with the perfect nails and immaculate hair.

"Well, Agent Mulder. Agent Scully." He nodded politely at his
partner.

"How unfortunate that you wouldn't cooperate. I hate to use
force; it's so vulgar somehow."

Mulder smiled thinly. "Been awhile. How the hell are ya,
anyway?"

"I'm fine. Unlike you."

Mulder nodded.

"You've been brought here because you're needed. Both of
you. Your sister assured us she could get your full
collaboration."

He said nothing.

"She has a soft spot for you, Agent Mulder. Quite frankly, it's
the only thing that's kept you alive."

Mulder refused to look at Samantha.

"You wanted to meet the puppet masters, as you so
picturesquely call them."

"Yeah. But I'm a little disappointed. It's pretty much what I
expected and you know how much I love a surprise."

"Well, as it happens, we're mere employees, in a manner of
speaking. Actually, there's only one puppet master."

"Who is he?"

"You mean she, Agent Mulder. And you've already met her."

Mulder's stomach flipped over as he heard Scully inhale
sharply.

Samantha.

She smiled at him before covering the few steps that separated
them. She stooped over and picked up his gun, weighing it
thoughtfully in her palm.

"You've embarrassed me in front of these gentlemen, Fox. I
told them you were a good boy and now they think I'm a liar."

She shifted the gun from hand to hand.

"I need your help. But you've never been very good at helping
me, have you?"

He stared at the gun, paralyzed. Heat climbed up the back of
his neck.

Oh God. Not this. Anything but this. He'd go completely
insane if she did this.

"I mean, I was only eight, but you just sat there cowering,
didn't you?"

She gazed at him.

"You let them take me, Fox."

"Stop. You know that's not true. Don't do this to him."

Scully.

Samantha studied her with the same analytical, oddly kind
expression Mulder had seen on her father in the silo.

Then with lightening speed she slapped her. Hard.

He heard her cry out.

Mulder lunged and felt his arms pinned suddenly behind him. 
He looked desperately at Scully. As she looked up at him, her
hand against her cheek, Mulder bit his lip.

The look of her face had nothing to do with her own pain and
everything to do with his.

Jesus. What was she hearing? What was he saying?

Samantha's eyes drifted back to his face.

"Would you hit me, Foss? Your own baby sister?" 

She was mocking him. She was making fun of him.

Not this. Not her. Not now.

He felt something bend inside his mind.

The quick brown fox quick brownfoxbrownfoxfoxfox...

"Take them inside."




END

COMING SOON... PUPPETS 3: COLONIZATION