Date: Thu, 18 Jun 1998 12:38:34 -0700
From: EPurSeMouve@goplay.com
Subject: Soap and Eggs IV - Suds and Shells (1/8)



TITLE: Soap and Eggs IV - Suds and Shells
AUTHOR: EPurSeMouve
CATEGORY: S R A
RATING: PG-13 - strong language warning.
SPOILERS/TIMELINE: Spoilers for episodes up to "Demons."  Having read "Soap
and Eggs I - III" (available through the Gossamer archive or myself) is
pretty essential to understanding the events herein
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully romance.  Alternate universe.
SUMMARY: Sometimes, it's hard to decide when to settle for life's leftovers.
DISCLAIMER: This story contains characters and mythology spawned by The
X-Files, a show copyrighted by CC and 1013 Productions. The other cultural
icons mentioned belong to their respective creators, but the actual plot
and text are mine.  Video store clerks don't earn enough for decent legal
defense, so please don't sue me over anything within.
DISTRIBUTION: Please forward to A.T.X.C.  Archive anywhere you like - but
let me know (just because I like knowing where my stories are) and keep my
name with it.
DEDICATION: To the Great Potato and the beta-readers: my father, Whitney
Cox, Firelynx, Nicole Perry, Katherine Ross, and Ingrid Guillaume.  This
story wouldn't have been finished without you all, and wouldn't have been
readable, either.  I mean that.
FEEDBACK: Goes to EPurSeMouve@goplay.com.  Consider it a farewell letter
to the Soap and Eggs series.  Because after this, it really is up to your
imaginations.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yes, you read that right.  This is the last of the Soap and
Eggs stores.  I've enjoyed playing around in my little alternate universe,
and I still don't feel like I've answered all the little questions that
continue to plague me.  But there are some stories that are best left
untold.  And only a few that really seem to be worth the telling.



Soap and Eggs IV - Suds and Shells
By EPurSeMouve

Prologue


"Mommy," said the little girl, tucked away into bed.  "Tell me a story."

The woman smiled kindly, stroking some errant hair away from the girl's
face.  "Okay, sweetheart.  What kind of story would you like?"

The little girl's face squeezed together with thought.  "A true story.  But
not a real true story.  A story that could be true, in real life."

"A story that could really happen, then.  What should it be about?"

"I dunno."

"Should it have adventure in it?"

"Yeah.  I want an exciting story.  With lots of stuff happening."

"Should it have people who are very bad and people who are very good?"

"Yeah.  Good guys and bad guys.  But the bad guys can't be too bad, and the
good guys can't be too good.  They should be real kinds of people."

"Do you want a prince and a princess?"

"No!  Princes and princesses aren't real.  But there should be a boy and a
girl in it.  They should be the good guys."

"And how should it end, sweetheart?"

A pause for thought.  "I don't really think that I want a happy ending.
Happy endings don't always happen.  They don't always feel real.  And I
want a story with an ending that does."

"So, you want an exciting adventure story that could really happen, with
people who are good, but not too good, people who are bad, but not too bad,
and with a boy and a girl.  And it should end in a real way.  I think I
know such a story."

"You do?  Really?"

"Yes - do you want to hear it?"

"Does it have adventure?  Do the boy and girl do interesting things?"

"Yes, they do."

"Do the bad guys lose?"

"Sort of."

"Huh?"

"Well, they don't win."

"Do the good guys lose?"

"No.  But they don't win, either."

The girl looked proud.  "That's a real ending.  What about the boy and
girl?  Are they real people?"

"They're as real as possible.  They're good, decent people.  But not too
good or decent.  They have problems and flaws, just like everyone else."

"Do they like each other?"

"Very much so.  In fact, they're in love."

"Oh.  It's THAT kind of story."   The child was not pleased.  "I bet it has
a dumb sappy ending."

"Oh, no!  The boy and the girl love each other very much indeed.  But it's
not the most important thing."

"Then what is?"

"The Truth."

"The Truth?"

"Yes.  The Truth about everything.  Shadows and light, illusion and fact,
wrong and right.  About awful things people have done to other people.
About lies people have told to cover up those awful things.  About what
goes on behind what we see every day.  The Truth about everything bad and
good that has ever happened."

"Oh.  I like the Truth, then."

"So do the boy and the girl.  That's what gets them into so much trouble."

"Okay, Mommy.  I wanna hear it.  Tell me the story."

"All right, but listen carefully, sweetheart.  It's a long one."




Chapter One

"That which is not expressly forbidden is destined to occur."
                      -Lawrence Krauss



The dream is the same as always.

A dark room, walls (limits?) concealed with gray nothingness.  The soft
thuds of dress shoes (two pairs?), on the floor, moving closer (closer to
what?).  The absence of anything else.  No touch, no sight, no...

Nothing.

Nothing except the shoes and the room of shadows.

The shoes begin to circle in, closer and closer, with two different
click-clacks audible.  The heavier thuds (supporting the weight of someone
tall, supporting the weight of the world?) mesh with the sharp reports
(elevating someone short, in a futile attempt to see more - reach more than
was normally visible?) into a eerie, beautiful symphony.  The theme music
for the long walk.

The shoes are almost there, their circles growing tighter and tighter as
they begin to realize where they need to go, where they aren't supposed to
go.  Where almost everything they desire lies in wait.  And they're almost
there, almost in sight of the brass ring, the real McCoy, all the
marbles....

And then they are there.

And there is light.

Not the light that nurtures and soothes and restores.  Instead, harsh,
blinding light, a coarse beam coming from the top and hitting the bottom,
enfolding the sound of the shoes.

It is not a pleasant embrace.  But it's what they want, what they were
moving towards all that time.  All those long years of circling in the
dark, waiting for the light, ignoring everything else until they could
reach it -

(even ignoring each other)

- all of it was for the light.  And there they are, and the light is as
bright as they had imagined.

And then it consumes them, and the pain begins, stronger than it was all
those years in the dark.

They are alone, in the light.

Their past in the dark beckons.

They reach, but are unable to step back.  The light won't go away.  And it
has a death grip on them both, pulling the heavy thuds away from the sharp
clacks.

The music of their footsteps is gone.  They are separate.

And each is alone with the light.

Which offers no comfort.



There is a time difference of three hours.  Almost four thousand miles of
civilization.  And many other physical boundaries.

But they are all absolutely meaningless.

Ex-Special Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully always dream their dream
together, always wake up at the same time.  Their breathing always heavy,
their eyes always wide.

And their thoughts always with the other.



One of these dream-filled nights was the hot June night that marked the
beginning of the end.

But the man who was registered in a Floridian fleabag motel as Justin
Pequod didn't know it.

Weighing most heavily on his mind, instead, was the woman who was hopefully
asleep in another hotel room, far away.  He wondered about her, as he
managed to do about forty times a day.

Was she happy?

Was she safe?

Was she watching her back?

Was she under attack by the hidden forces of Them?

Was she a brunette?

He pondered her, imagined her, profiled her, dissected her in a million and
one ways.  Took her apart and marveled at her perfections.  It was how he
usually comforted himself, after The Dream.  And it was enough to combat
his fear.

That is to say, it was normally enough.  But there was a slight
complication that night, distracting his normally intense focus and
starting to tread on nerves already worn too thin.

He was glad that the couple next door was having a good time.  He really was.

He just didn't want to HEAR it.

And he was losing any choice in the matter.

Thumping on the wall separating his bed and their bed hadn't worked.
Putting a pillow over his head might send him off to Nod again, and a
repeat of The Dream wasn't a welcome idea.  There was no TV in the room,
and the radio only picked up the world's most annoying frequency of static.


The worst part was that his imagination was connecting the dots between the
groans, moans, and thumps, and it was starting to make him feel a little
bit...  intrigued.  And it simply wasn't appropriate.

Sighing, he reached for his t-shirt and jeans, then tennis shoes with no
socks.  He wasn't planning on being gone all that long - just a quick walk
next door to knock on the door and ask the happy honeymooners to stop being
so... happy.

That's why he left the DAT tape in its hiding place, shoved into the base
of a wicker lamp.  Where he was sure it would be safe.



That same night, the woman registered in a Californian fleabag motel as Lea
Flask was also awake.

The Dream had woken her up - it seemed to do so more often these days - and
with the duo next door having a very active time and the TV on the fritz,
she was miserable.  Bored.  And lonely.

Reaching beneath the bed, she pulled out her backpack and retrieved her
copy of _Moby Dick_, flipping through it in an attempt to hit a favorite
scene or two.

However, all she came across were  Melville's dissertations on cetology and
"Heaven have mercy on us all - Presbyterians and Pagans alike - for we are
all somehow dreadfully cracked about the head, and sadly need mending."

She grimaced and put the book down.

She was alone, and weary.  The Dream had reminded her of what was, and the
couple next door was reminding her of what might have been.  The contrast
was having unbearable effects, and there was only one real solution for
that problem.

She sighed and broke an often-violated rule.  She imagined HIM.

Imagined HIM in their old office, a devilish glint in his eyes as he handed
her another goose-chase case file.

Imagined HIM asleep in the car seat next to her, a few locks of hair over
his brow begging to be pushed back

Imagined HIS arms around her as she cried into HIS chest, hands running
smoothly over her back, giving her the comfort she hated craving.

Imagined HIS hands moving slowly across her skin, memorizing beloved
territory as they began to encroach upon...

She got off the bed and started pacing, hoping to burn off some of her
new-found... energy.  But it was difficult to concentrate on pacing when,
next door, squeaky bedsteads and human groans were gaining in volume.

An especially loud moan broke the camel's back.  She pulled on wrinkled
khakis and a sweater, not bothering to tie her shoes as she slammed her
feet into their worn canvas.

Her most important possession remained hidden in the overhead lighting
fixture.  She saw no need to retrieve it.

After all, she would only be gone for a few minutes.



Despite the boundaries, it has been said previously, Mulder and Scully were
always together.  This is not an inaccurate statement

For Mulder and Scully were unable to be truly separated in any other way.
They saw each other in a thousand and one different strangers.  They
cherished small gifts that bore the memory of the other's touch.  And their
thoughts were always, consciously or unconsciously, concerned with the
other's well-being.

At some level, they had never really parted.  For, long ago, intangible,
indescribable bits of their individual essences had been mixed together,
and were now inseparable.  Mulder might have said that their astral spirits
had joined in a sort of nexus.  Scully might have turned to her
long-neglected spiritual beliefs and considered it a bonding of their
souls.

However, they weren't consciously aware of the phenomenon, and were for the
most part only clued into the fact that they missed each other an awful
lot.

The connection, though, was definitely there.  And although it did not make
itself known most of the time, it had the ability to show itself upon
occasion, sending vibrations along an invisible thread like two cans
connected by a string.

It hadn't ever been utilized fully, because there never been a need for a
message to transcend physical boundaries.  Only once, in fact, had hints
been made of its presence.

*I've come back from the dead to continue with you...*

And that had been a long time ago.

But forces, both of the physical and the spiritual world, were stirring.
And the connection, almost its own entity, could sense those forces,
knowing something with the knowledge of eons.

It was possibly time to make itself known.

For its help would be needed.

That, it knew for sure.



On that late June night, known as the beginning of the end, things began
happening simultaneously.

Two hands, large and small, knocked loudly upon two different hotel rooms.
Annoyedly.

The doors to the hotel rooms opened up after a few seconds.  Long enough
for guards to drop infinitesimally.

Beefy fists, too large to be described as hands, reached out and grabbed
the people who had knocked upon the doors.

They were thrown into the rooms, where guns were being drawn and cassette
players were still emitting sounds of passion.

And, as thugs approached them with syringes extended,  the two people
hugging the floor had a simultaneous thought.

*Oh, shit.*



"Mommy, why did the bad people grab the boy and girl?"

"Because they wanted something back.  Something the boy and girl had."

"But what was that?"

"Information.  The closest thing to the Truth."

"What's the difference?"

"Well, information doesn't do much good to anyone if it's kept secret.  And
the boy and girl had no way to let people know what the Truth was.  All
they had was the information, which was all right.  But not what they
wanted."

"Yeah.  They wanted the Truth."

"Right."

"But did the bad people want the Truth, too?"

"No.  They just wanted to make sure that the information the boy and girl
had didn't become the Truth."

"So that's why they took them?"

"Well, it really wasn't the only reason.  In fact, there was a lot more to it."



End 1 of 8


Soap and Eggs IV - Suds and Shells
Part 2/8


Chapter Two

"The best proof of love is trust."
                      -Dr. Joyce Brothers


Ka-thump-ka-thump-ka-thump-KA-THUMPA........

Mulder, shaken out of sleep by the speed bump, struggled to consciousness
slowly, rolling onto his back to take inventory of his surroundings.

He found himself looking at the roof of a van.  Not a very fancy one, with
unpadded dirty metal being the chief decorating scheme.

He also found himself looking at a group of blank-faced individuals, all
leaning over his prostrate form.

"Where are we going?" he choked out.

Another syringe was his answer.

Ka-thump-ka-thump-ka-thump-ka-thump.......

Then nothing.



Daniel Dunn liked his job.  It was interesting, and the work he did had an
impact upon lots of people, which gave him a good feeling at the end of the
day.  There were parts that were unpleasant - there always are - but the
messy bits were never that awful and someone always came by fairly promptly
to clean up.  He got along all right with his coworkers, and never found
himself bored with the day-to-day procedure.  After all, something new was
always bound to show up.

Like this morning, when he had come into the office to find quite a name
waiting for him - an almost legendary case.  Smiling a little at what this
showed about his current status in the organization, he calmly took the
assignment form, reviewed the supplementary information, and made his own
judgments on the intended goal.  Even plotted out a few strategies.

Everything said that this would be a difficult one.  But he knew what he
was doing.

Still smiling that little smile, he unlocked the small room where the
subject was waiting.

He stuck his head inside, then the rest of his body.

"Hi Miss Scully," he said cheerfully.  "Rest well?"



Ka-thump-ka-thump-ka-thump-ka-thump......

The drive from Florida to Nevada is a long one, but can be made in about 48
hours if you keep your foot on the accelerator and your eyes on the
horizon.

The battered van making its way across the country was well on its way to
making the trip in 24.

Ka-thump-ka-thump-ka-thump-ka-thump......



"So you see, Miss Scully, my job here is fairly simple.  I just sit here
all day and I listen to people talk.  I've always been a big listener, see,
and it's nice to be able to use that talent.  I'm very good at it, you see?"

The small woman did not appear to see - her eyes instead remained focused
on the handcuffs that kept her wrist close to the chair's padded arm.

But Dunn kept going - as he had for a while now.  "But it makes my job
difficult when the person I'm working with won't talk."  The frustration
was starting to show, his sentences coming out harsher every minute.
"Especially since I've made it clear to her that her not talking is a
pretty bad idea.  For me and her."

He had been throwing conversation openers at her for about an hour, with no
reaction.  And he wasn't worried - it had once taken him three days to
establish contact with an especially important and taciturn young man.  The
information that had been provided in that coup had kept a war from
starting.

Nobody knew about it, of course - no one ever did.

Sometimes, he considered that the best part of his job.

This opening of communication, though, could be the worst part - so many of
his subjects were unwilling at first.  Wrong in their reasons for keeping
silent, but devoted to them, devoted to remaining loyal to some cause.

All there was to changing their minds was making them look at their reasons.

First, however, they had to talk back.



Ka-thump-ka-thump-ka-thump-KA-THUMP.

The van pulled into the complex.

Its cargo was unloaded.

And things began moving even more quickly.



"Miss Scully, we really don't have time for this.  I've got some deadlines
to meet, and I need your cooperation in order to at least come halfway.
It's a simple question, really, and I know you can answer it."

No response.

"Come on, Miss Scully, work with me here.  Tell me who besides yourself
knows about the tape - knows anything about the information on it."

No response.

"Okay, Miss Scully - let's play a game.  Confirm or Deny.  I'll say
something, and all you have to do is tell me if I'm wrong or not.  Yes or
no."

No response.  At least, he mused, she was consistent.

"All right, Miss Scully - first statement.  In college, your senior thesis
was on the mise-en-scene implemented in Marx Brothers films.  Confirm or
deny?"

She said nothing.

"Second - you were never a real redhead.  Confirm or deny?"

Ditto.

"Third - your mother knows what's on the tape."

At least this time, she blinked.

"Confirm or deny, Miss Scully?  Huh?"

And her face grew even more stony.

"First two aren't that important, Miss Scully.  But the third one is."

She was definitely reacting now, her fingers twitching almost violently.

"And have you ever heard the saying 'Silence is consent under the law?'
Silence can only confirm statement number three.  And I have a feeling that
you respect the truth enough to confirm or deny what could be a bald-faced
lie."

No reaction, except for the fingers.  And the tapping of her feet, pounding
out a nervous rhythm.

"You realize that if statement number three is true, Miss Scully, then your
mother will have to be dealt with.  Nothing personal, you understand - but
she will be a loose end.  A loose end that we'll have to take care of."

She looked right at him then, her blue eyes doing their best to pierce
through his skull.  And he knew what she was saying.

"Yes, Miss Scully, I would dare.  It's the way things work - you know that.
Leaky pipes have to be plugged.  Otherwise, there'd be a big mess."

The anger in her eyes was - for a split second - overshadowed by fear.
Then she lowered her head, letting light brown hair sweep over her face.

He threw some papers on the table next to Miss Scully's chair, then walked
out into the hallway.  He'd give her some time to look them over.

After all, to the untrained eye, a hit contract can be hard to decipher.

No doubt about it.  He really liked his job.



Through the window of her small office, Esther Finn watched the unconscious
body roll inside, sighing somewhat.  She wished that They wouldn't drug her
subjects up so much - it always meant a good wait before the poor souls
were cognizant enough to provide any information.

And then They would go on and on about The Project and how this person's
cooperation was absolutely ESSENTIAL to it and They needed the information
right THEN and if They didn't get it heads would ROLL.  But, no, They never
thought about things like that when her subjects were en route.

Dumb thugs.  Put needles in their hands and they'd turn a human being into
broccoli.  Then point guns at you when the results took too long, claiming
that you would ruin everything.

Bullshit.  She had been doing this job for a long time.  And the world
hadn't ended yet because some guy cracked at one A.M. instead of midnight.

Well, this gave her some time to review the notes on this guy - find the
one pressure point she'd have to squeeze.  And Daniel was working today.
He might need someone to play bad cop with his current assignment.  She'd
keep busy - she always had before.

She started the coffee maker and reached for Mr. Mulder's file.



Daniel walked back into the dark room to find the young woman at attention
and waiting for him.

And she spoke.  Quietly, firmly.

"It won't work."

Not much, Daniel knew - but it was a start.

"What won't work?" he replied blandly.

"Threatening my mother."

Perfect.  Just perfect.  "Who says I was threatening her?  I was just being
honest with you, Miss Scully.  If she knows anything, then she has to be
dealt with.  It's a simple fact."

Silence.  She stared at the handcuffs again.

"Of course, Miss Scully, if she *doesn't* know anything, then there's
nothing to worry about, is there?  She'll be fine.  No threat to her
whatsoever.

"So, Miss Scully, if you were to tell me if she knows anything, I'd be able
to call the people who were given the original of that contract-" he
gestured to the papers on the table "-and tell them to lay off."

"How would you know I was telling the truth?" she muttered softly, not even
really directed at him.  Her eyes still on the handcuffs.

"Because I've heard of you before today.  And I know what the Truth means
to you."

She smiled at that.  "So you'd trust me?"

He ignored her smirk.  "Yes, I would.  But you have to trust me als-"

Her hair falling in her face, Miss Scully's laughter filled the room.
Thick with bitterness, it wasn't a pleasant sound.

"We find ourselves at an impasse," she deadpanned as she regained sobriety.
"I can't trust anyone."

"Anyone?" Daniel questioned.

And, seeing the look on her face, knew he had simplified the problem.

"My mother doesn't know anything."  It came out in a whisper, and he knew
how difficult it was for her to say that.  "She just knows that I'm not
dead."

He smiled.  "Good.  Now, let's move on, shall we?"



Esther looked over Mr. Mulder's file, almost laughing at the emphasis being
placed on him.  The information They wanted was so simple, so unnecessary -
and yet he had been rushed here at undoubtedly illegal speeds, pumped full
of drugs, and placed on the top priority list.

It made no sense whatsoever.  But she had never been one to shirk her
responsibilities.  It might turn out to be the most obnoxious waste of time
in her career, but she'd do it - and do it well.  Never let anyone say that
Finn didn't finish up.

"Esther?" a passing orderly called out as he passed by.

"Yeah, Marc?" she replied amiably.

"He's ready.  Room 2."

"Thanks," she said briefly, collecting her papers.  "Hey, Marc?"

He stopped.  "Yeah, Esther?"

"Who's in room 1?"

"Daniel and his buddy.  You might consider teaming up with him at some
point - he's got this guy's better half."

She gaped.  "They gave *her* to *Daniel*?  She'll tear him apart!"

"Well, he's done well enough, braving the lion's den."

She smirked at him.  "Keep it in the churchyard, Marc.  This is business."

As she walked out of her small office, she reached up and gave him a peck
on the cheek - a ritual they'd started a few months ago, and had enjoyed
since.  "But after business hours..." she murmured suggestively.

He looked a little uncomfortable.  "Esther, hold on a sec.  I need to talk
to you."

Esther gave him a half-serious, half-playful look.  "About what?"

His face grew more pinched, an expression Esther recognized as worry, as he
tried to find the words.  "Watch yourself with this new guy."

She raised her eyebrows. "Any real reason?"

He shrugged.  "I don't really know.  The whole thing just doesn't give out
good vibrations."

She picked up on his concern, but tried to be rational.  "In what way?
You're always a little paranoid about these things, but we do some pretty
weird stuff on a day to day basis, and we're none the worse for wear."

"It's just that when I was watching Them wheel him in, it felt like the
morning before a typhoon, when you know that there's going to be a rainy
sunset.  I can't really explain it - I just feel like something's going to
happen.  Something big.  And we'll be the cause of it."

She grinned up at him, hopefully reassuringly.  "Well, let's hope you're
wrong."

He returned the smile, halfheartedly.  "Yeah.  Let's."

They met in a quick, chaste kiss, then broke off, Esther starting to move
down the whitewashed corridor.  "I'll see you later - gotta make sure
Daniel's keeping unchewed," Esther said.

Marc called after her, "Yeah.  But Esther?"

She stopped.

"Be careful," he said softly.

She smiled in agreement and moved out of sight.



The cliched one-way mirror idea had been renovated long ago by Them, and
now subjects under observation could be viewed unawares, via the miracle of
modern technology.  The cameras were hidden, the signals transmitted to a
locked room in another building - it was the perfect arrangement for the
interrogator who needed to see behind the attitude copped while "under the
light."

Daniel took advantage of said miracle whenever he could, often crouching in
front of a monitor in between sessions to decipher his current subject's
secrets.

Currently, he was nearly going cross-eyed as he focused intently upon Dana
Scully eating dinner.

They hadn't fed her since she had been taken, almost twenty-four hours ago,
but she only picked at the chicken and peas, sipped the tall glass of
water.  It baffled Daniel.

"Finicky, isn't she?" came a voice from behind him, the sound of a closing
door accompanying it.  A cool, confident, slightly coarse voice.

Daniel recognized it.  Everyone who worked in this facility could recognize
it.

It had been a few months, though - Daniel was surprised that this man
hadn't arrived sooner.  After all, everyone knew that these two were HIS.

His responsibilities.  His pains-in-the-ass.  His playthings.  Whatever.

"Yeah," Daniel answered, not turning around.  He'd always been a little
terrified of the higher-ups among Them.  Generally, that was a healthy
attitude, but his fear at a rough voice and the faint scent of tobacco was
overwhelming him in this instance.   "She's barely touched it."

The voice floated back to him.  "Correction.  She hasn't touched it at all.
Spits back the water, hides the food under her napkin.  The classic tricks
of the anorexic.  Or the paranoid."

Daniel, shocked, watched her a little more carefully, and found that he was
right.  Nothing was actually staying in her mouth.  "She thinks we poisoned
it.  Or added some sort of truth serum or hallucinogen."

The voice chuckled a bit.  "Perhaps.  She's probably only half-conscious
she's doing it, though.  Habits like the ones she's built up are hard to
break."

At this, Daniel found the courage to turn around, and ask the one question
that had been bothering him.  "Sir, why are we holding them?  Her and the
other one, I mean."

The wrinkled eyes crinkled at the question.  Daniel hoped that it was in
amusement.  "To ask them questions.  You were told as much."

"But, sir, we're just supposed to ask about Them."  Daniel knew that the
man knew what he was referring to.  "And we already got most of that
information from that document we found and the interrogation of that
woman...  What was her name?

The man smiled.  "Mannes.  Her name is Mannes."

Is.  Daniel would have to remember that.  "So, sir, what's the point?" he
finally asked, fairly boldly despite the octave his voice had jumped.

The man took it in stride, though.  "Well, we..."  He smiled.  "*Talked* to
Mannes in April.  That was two months ago - and there may have been changes
in the status quo.  One of Them may have tried to contact them again.  And
we need to know if the tapes have gone into the open since then, as well."

Daniel nodded slowly.  "But those are all little things.  And definitely
not worth the treatment we've been giving them."  He looked sharply at the
man, trying to keep his voice from squeaking.  "What's REALLY going on?"

The man laughed.  "Daniel, you are an exceptional young man."

Daniel hadn't known that the man knew his name.

The man's  eyes stopped twinkling, and he began to speak softly.  "Back at
the beginning, when our two guests were only Agents Mulder and Scully, they
were certainly a threat, but one we believed we had under control.  We
could pull strings and twist arms and keep them in line - keep them from
finding out too much.  And, because we had them under control, we felt
secure in letting them have their little liberty."

His eyes grew harder, his voice picking up energy.  "When we became too
lax, they got too close.  They got too close on several occasions, in fact.
And we took appropriate actions to try and prevent too much damage from
being done."

The man's attention suddenly switched to the monitor, Daniel following his
lead.  They watched silently as the woman examined the large bottle of
pills that had been brought with her dinner, checking the seal, sniffing
the contents.  It frightened her.  That was apparent.  But eventually she
dry-swallowed one tablet, shuddering as the medication she needed to live
entered her bloodstream.

Daniel turned away from the screen, not relishing the idea of watching this
woman writhe in agony.  The man's eyes averted as well, and he began
speaking again.

"But we didn't do enough.  We let them get away with too much.  Let them
get too far in their search for the Truth.  We thought that, no matter
what, we'd always be able to keep them under control.  And we were wrong."

He turned his eyes fiercely on Daniel now.  "They got too much information.
They got too much evidence to prove it.  Not exactly the Truth - but more
pieces of the puzzle than most of Us have, even.  And when their boss-"  He
thought for a second, then restarted.  "And when a close friend of theirs
died under suspicious circumstances, they got scared.  And we lost them.

"Mulder and Scully are dangerous.  They have the information, and therefore
they have the power.  When they worked on the X-Files, we had some control.
But we lost it all four years ago."

He smiled.  "And now we have them back.  You, Daniel, and your colleague -
Esther, isn't it?"

Daniel nodded.

"You and Esther will be asked to determine as much information about Mannes
and her little organization as possible.  Then, you will need to find some
way of .... convincing Mulder and Scully that continuing in their quest is
pointless.  That it is useless to fight against something that cannot be
beaten.  That what we do is for the best of everyone."

He smiled.  "And then, they shall be taken care of.  I don't assume you'll
have a problem with any of that?"

Daniel could only nod.

"Then, I shall leave you to your observation.  Good day."

The man nearly danced out of the room, but Daniel wasn't surprised.

After all, four years is an awfully long time.



End 2 of 8


Soap and Eggs IV - Suds and Shells
Part 3/8



The sound of a crashing chair greeted Esther as she opened up the door to
Room 2, causing her to immediately shut it as her mental safety checks
warned her that it would be unhealthy to enter.

She overrode them in no time, though, and walked in a second time.

"Hello, there, Mr. Mulder," she stated blandly.  It was by luck that her
voice didn't reflect exactly how she was feeling.

He was a mess - long hair falling in his eyes, clothes rumpled and
disarrayed.   The shaggy beard disguising his jaw line and nose was bushy
and unkempt.

The best label was Cro-Magnon Mulder.  Right down to the crouching form,
hunched over the fragments of a table.

Geez.  Sometimes she really hated her job.

"Would you care to sit down, Mr. Mulder?" she said in the same tone of
voice, nodding to the chair that was handcuffed to his wrist.  "We have an
awful lot to talk about, after all, and I wouldn't want you to be
uncomfortable."

He stared at her for a few seconds, then, nodding in acknowledgement,
pulled the chair into a reasonably upright position.

The hair fell from his eyes at this point, and she saw, through the anger
and fear, a very civilized mind.  She revised her previous impression.

He was no Cro-Magnon.  He was just very, very upset.

Understandably so.  Same circumstances, she'd be worse.

She took a chair from the corner and sat down across from him, crossing her
legs and propping a file folder on top of them.

"You're curious about it, aren't you, Mr. Mulder?" she said coolly,
watching him eye the assorted papers that were stuffed inside.  "Oh, don't
worry, it's yours.  Birth certificate, transcripts, personnel files, some
of your old reports for the Bureau.  A copy of the Werber regression
therapy tapes, even - though that took some doing."

"Who are you?" he asked.  His voice, which she knew must have been
screaming inhuman anxieties an hour ago, was raspy, uncertain.

"One of Them.  Hadn't you figured that out by now?  Your intellect is
famed, you know - but I'd hoped for better than this."  She was doing this
just right, projecting the calm and confidence that she'd always considered
the epitome of the capable interrogator.  She was on fire, and it felt
great.

"Sorry - I'm still a little under," he murmured.

"Oh, yes, the sedatives.  They were necessary, you understand - couldn't
have you raising a fuss en route.  But, hopefully, they're mostly out of
your system."

He seemed to ponder this.  "How long has it been?"

"Excuse me?"

"How long ago was I grabbed?" he said, a bit louder.

"Hard to say - they don't tell me everything, you know.  A day or two."
This was perfect.  She loved this part - loved the control, the power.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Information, Mr. Mulder.  Nothing too important.  Then, we'll be done."

"And then what?"

"That, Mr. Mulder, may depend on how much you help me here."

And she smiled.

Louise Fletcher, eat your heart out.



Daniel stepped back into Room 1, catching the subject staring, aimlessly,
at the wall across from her.  "Am I interrupting something?" he asked
politely.

She started and focused upon him.  "No," she said quietly, almost visibly
clamming up.

He knew that she didn't know who was on the other side of the wall.  As far
as she was concerned, her ex-partner was elsewhere, safe and sound.  And
he'd gone to great lengths to encourage that idea, not even mentioning his
name to her.

But still, he wondered.  Wondered if she knew exactly who was on the other
side of the wall.

"So, Miss Scully.  We have plenty to talk about, and daylight's burning."

She looked at him sharply.  "It's daylight?"

He shrugged.  "It's just a saying.  I have no idea, personally.  I don't go
outside much when I've got a -"

"A what?  A prisoner?  A convict?"

He smiled kindly.  "A subject.  Calm down, Miss Scully.  You're in no
danger here.  We just need to ask you some questions, and then we'll be
done."

"Questions about what?  We haven't talked about anything!  All you've done
is threaten my mother and watch me eat!"

His eyebrows shot up.  She *was* good.  "I was waiting until we'd built up
a relationship before we got started on the serious stuff.  And now that
we've gotten a rapport going, I can proceed."

She leaned back, frustrated as hell.  Finally losing her cool.  He'd
wondered what it would take, how much he could put her through before she
just gave up the pretense and practically begged for some action.  Looks
like all he needed to do was make her wait.

He had thought she'd be more patient - everything in her file suggested
that she had a carefully maintained control over herself.

But years can change a person.  He was seeing that right here.

"Miss Scully, do you know the name Tessa Mannes?"

She glared at him.  "No."

"Have you ever been approached by anyone offering you safe travel to the US
border in exchange for the tape?"

"No."

"Have you given out the information on the tape to anyone?"

"No."

"Do you have a copy of the tape hidden away somewhere?"

She turned an odd shade of pale.  "No."

"Have you described the contents of the tape to anyone?"

"No."  She looked at him oddly.  "You can't tell me that you don't have the
tape.  Even your guys aren't that dumb."

He reached into a pocket and placed a small rectangle onto the table.  "Your-"

"Kidnappers?  Abductors?"

He smiled again.  "Your *escorts* did make sure to check your room for all
of your belongings before they brought you here."

"Where is here, anyway?"

He felt generous.  "Here, Miss Scully, is Nevada.  A small facility in the
southern region, to be exact."

She was quiet for a second, then the room was filled with the harsh sound
of her guffaws.  "Oh, God.  I'm in Area 51."

"Something like that.  Our part of the complex certainly isn't the chief
reason for its existence."

Her laughter slowed down a bit as she wiped a few tears from her eyes.
"Sweet Jesus, that's hilarious.  Can't imagine how he-"

"Who, Miss Scully?" Daniel asked immediately, jumping onto the bread crumb
she'd dropped.

The merriment draining from her tired blue eyes, Dana looked at him -
REALLY looked at him - for the first time.  Acknowledged who he was, what
he was trying to do, why he was doing it.  He felt a chill go down his
spine.

"No one.  An old friend."

"Not that old, Miss Scully.  We both know better."

She dipped her head in acknowledgement.  "You're right."  Then her eyes
focused on him again.  "Those questions you asked - I have no idea what you
were talking about.  And I haven't been able to give away any of the
information on the tape - there simply wasn't time at first, and I-"

He looked at her.

"*We* knew that it was too dangerous to share anything until the timing was
right.  So no one knows anything, including me, really.  The tape fills in
a lot of blanks - but it doesn't paint the big picture."

"But what about him, Miss Scully?"

She just looked at him.

"What does he know?  How much more or less?  How much more of a threat is he?"

Her face turned paler than before.  Her eyes grew more furtive.  Her whole
manner took on the form of a skittish colt.

And she wouldn't say a word.



Esther regarded her subject as calmly as before, though her insides were
beginning to twist.  With the curse of experience, she was recognizing all
the signs that told her the end was in sight.  That was the bad part of the
whole thing.  And for some reason, it felt even worse than usual.  "You've
been very cooperative, Mr. Mulder.  We all appreciate that."

He looked at her funnily.  "We?  Who would that be?"

"Oh, you know."  She motioned dismissively with her hand, keeping the tight
feeling in her stomach carefully controlled, doing her best to ignore it.
"Them.  That's all I am, really - just one of Them.  To overemphasize my
role within the organization would be pointless.  I'm just a nameless face."

"So, when you say 'we', you really mean just yourself?"

"No, I told you.  We all appreciate it - I'm just the only one who's
concerned with it."

He rubbed his face with his un-cuffed hand.  "Oh, great.  I'm being
interrogated by a Borg drone."

She smiled, unruffled.  "One of those Communist robots on Star Trek?  I
think not.  Besides, you're the concern here, Mr. Mulder.  It's your status
that we're all worried about."

He looked like he was about to get out of the chair, but ended up just
jerking at the handcuffs.  "Well, I've answered all of your questions," he
replied in frustration.  I haven't been approached by Mannes or anyone else
since February.  The information on the tape hasn't been copied or
dissipated."

"And believe me, your cooperation is appreciated.  But there's more to all
this than that."  She glanced at her notes, scattered in between this man's
insurance records and credit card bills.

"Why did you start all this?" she asked calmly.  "Why did you open the
X-Files, pursue leads so furiously, uncover so many secrets that should
have been left alone?"

He shrugged.  "Why not?"

"Well, as far as I can see, the why nots include things like looking for
justice, moral responsibility, a duty to the American people - at least,
they weren't the starting motivation for your little quest.  I've always
believed, personally, that you started it all in a search for your sister.
She was eight when she was abducted, wasn't she?"

"Yeah," he murmured.

"Did you know, Mr. Mulder, that the experiments she was involved in only
lasted for three years?"

His eyes grew darker, his face cooler.  He hadn't expected that, but was
covering it well.  "Really?" he muttered, fairly calmly, given how he
looked about two steps away from becoming Cro-Magnon Mulder again.

She pretended to read from the file, though it was all coming from memory.
"They were actually planning to return her to your family when some
political reorganization within the organization occurred.  It suddenly
became... inconvenient."

That same dark look, the hands shaking a little more.  "You don't say," he
replied, as carelessly as he was able.

Esther wasn't fooled.  No one would have been.

She kept reading.  "So, instead of rejoining your family, she became a ward
of the state of South Carolina at the tender age of eleven.  New name, new
birth records, the whole nine yards."  She spoke these facts as carefully
as possible, measuring her timing, keeping her voice at a low hum.  This
only had one shot, and she couldn't botch it up.  Not if she was going to
do what she had to do.

Meanwhile, he was straining under the pressure, almost visibly.  He knew
she was going to tell him something awful - he just didn't know what, and
that alone was killing him.

She certainly didn't like this part of the job - the actual breaking of the
man - but she knew it was a part of the deal.  And she had her duty, same
as everyone else.

"She had a chance for a new life, Mr. Mulder, a happy one - except for the
fact that the foster home system in America is not the best run or
maintained.  Horror stories of children being abused - psychologically,
physically, and sexually - float freely around our society.  And Samantha
wasn't an exception to the rule."

He nearly growled.  "Get to the point, already."

She really didn't like this part.

"By 1982, around the age of nineteen, she was working in a bottomless bar
in South Florida, unable to make the rent or the costs of a steadily
growing substance abuse problem.  And a 'movie' producer came by the bar
one day, saw her, and presented her with a more attractive offer than
taking off her panties in public."

Esther stood up, walked to the door of the room, and knocked three times.
On that cue, Marc rolled a TV/VCR unit into the room, not making eye
contact.

He had told her once, after a particularly memorable night, that he had
fallen in love with everything about her - except her job.  He knew she did
the things she did because she felt obligated, because it was her
responsibility.  And he didn't disagree with her about her reasons.

He just hated this part as much as she did.

Marc plugged the unit into the wall and left quickly, while Esther turned
the screen on and hit the play button.

She'd carefully chosen the scene to play, scanning through the
hour-and-a-half tape twice to find the perfect way to accentuate the shape
of the lead actress's nose, the curliness of her hair.

Groans and moans filled the room.  Flesh moved against flesh in a
syncopated rhythm.

As Mulder looked on, horrified, Esther pressed a small cardboard box into
his hand.  It was a videotape case.

The cover read "Once Upon a Secretary."  There was an appropriately
suggestive picture below it.

And it starred one Foxy Samantha.

She stood over him, watching for the telltale signs of mental collapse, and
was amazed when he raised his head.  Slowly, maybe, but still with
strength.

And through the tears in his eyes, the anguish in his gaze, Esther was able
to see exactly what had kept this man going through all the years.

"It won't work," he said, in the same manner as he had raised his head.
"You can't get me through her."

She tried to stop the question, tried to keep the reaction down, but lost
the struggle.  "Why?" she asked, in a voice that destroyed every calculated
question she'd asked him this whole time.

And he looked up at her, saw deep within the humanity Esther always bottled
up during this part of the job, and whispered to her soul.

"Because I gave up on that battle a long time ago.  I had to.  I couldn't
win it."

She left the room before the tears came.



"Tell me, Miss Scully, why do you keep on struggling?"

She finally looked at Daniel, breaking the silence that had been between
them for the past ten minutes.  Her quiet "What?" sounded deafening in its
wake.

"What I mean is, why bother?  It's a conundrum, you know.  The sixty-four
thousand dollar question.  Why would you, an attractive young woman with
her entire future ahead of her, throw away everything?  Why did you keep on
investigating the X-Files, even as they slowly took away everything that
you valued?  Why did you go underground for four years - FOUR YEARS - when
you could have just returned the tape and resumed your life?  Why be so
difficult, even now, when it's obvious that your best solution is to just
surrender?"

She gathered up what little sense of humor she seemed to have and looked
him straight on.  "Lots of questions.  Damned if I have the answers."  She
even smirked a little.

His respect for this woman's endurance went up a notch.

"Just try," he coaxed.

She shrugged.  "Hope, I guess.  I just kept - keep - thinking that things
had - have - to get better than they were.  And it was - is - enough."

"But hope for what, Miss Scully?"

She didn't answer.

He had figured out a while ago that she clammed up when she wasn't sure of
the answer.  So he tried clarifying.

"Did you hope that the work you were doing would change the world?  That
you would make everything better?"

No answer.

"Did you hope for a normal life?  One that could take place as soon as you
had done the duty God had put before you?"

Nothing.

"Or did you just hope to get by?  Just hope that you would survive to see
the next stage of your life?"

Nada.

"Somehow, Miss Scully, I don't think it was hope.  I think that all those
questions can be answered by another noun.  A name."

She looked at him sharply, and he noticed that her eyes were welling up.
"Don't play games," she said harshly, her voice nearly breaking.  "I know
who you're talking about.  I know what you're implying."

He cocked an eyebrow at her.  "And?"

She sighed.  "And it's partially true."

"But Miss Scully, even then, it's pointless.  Because what does the future
hold for you now?  What do you have waiting for you?"

She looked at him painfully, and let the words spill out, just like the
tears spilling down her cheeks.  "Victory.  Our grand triumph over that
which eludes us."

"And then what?"

"A house.  A small one.  On the beach.  No television, no phones, nothing.
Just us."

"No children?" he asked.

Take an open wound, then place a small bandage on it and let the blood and
mucus seep into the cotton until it scabs up.  Let it dry.  Then rip the
bandage off, with no mercy.

Almost comparable to Dana Scully's reaction to Daniel Dunn's question.

"You asshole!" she screamed.  "Your fucking file has the goddam answer to
that one!"

Something in Daniel, a something he had to ignore when he went into these
rooms with these orders, heard her more clearly than the rest of him.

And it was that something that pushed him out the door.



Suddenly alone, the two occupants of Rooms 1 and 2 found it within
themselves to wipe away the tears and stand up, moving to the one wall that
they both had been eying ever since they had been shoved inside.

They heard scraping sounds - but that was just his

(her)

chair, fastened as it was to her

(his)

wrist.

Right?

Almost without knowing it, he

(she)

raised

her

(his)

other hand, placing it on the wall.

And then, suddenly, he

(she)

knew.

"Mulder," she whispered.

"Scully," he whispered.

"I'm here."



In the corridor that Rooms 1 and 2 opened onto, Esther looked at Daniel.

Daniel looked at Esther.

And they both knew that it couldn't go on.



"Mommy, I'm confused.  Why did Esther and Daniel not want to hurt the boy
and girl any more?  I thought they were the bad guys."

"Well, Kathleen, calling them the bad guys is a little harsh.  Esther and
Daniel were just decent people doing bad things."

"Huh?"

The woman tucked the coarse potato-sack blanket a little tighter around the
little girl.  "Sometimes, sweetheart, we end up doing a job that we don't
want to do, but keep doing for various reasons.  Sometimes the wrong ones.
Esther and Daniel were stuck doing a job that did more bad than good at
times, but doing it because they didn't know what else to do."

"But they should have done something, especially if they knew that they
were doing lots of bad stuff."

"It takes a lot of strength to go against everything you've ever known,
though.  You have to stop caring about what will happen to your job or your
family and take a stand.  A lot of people can't do that."  The woman
sighed, the sound echoing off the rough stone walls.  "They need a reason
that makes the loss of everything else not important, and it has to be a
big one."

"Mommy, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Kathleen."

"Okay."  The girl was not convinced, but moved on.  "But at least the boy
and girl know where they are.  And they know that they're both okay."

"That's right."

"But Mommy?"

"Yes?"

"This is a really sad story."

"Yes, Kathleen - it is."

"Are you sure you're okay, Mommy?"

"Yes, I am.  It's just a hard story to tell."

"Can you finish it?"

"I'll try, sweetheart.  I'll really try."



End 3 of 8


Soap and Eggs IV - Suds and Shells
Part 4/8


Chapter Three

"Nothing deters a good man from doing what is honorable."
                      -Seneca



The plan got worked out surprisingly easily, given the top-notch security
of the facility.

It was simply a matter of finding the root of the problem.

Or in the case of Esther and Daniel, what supplied it with power.

The arrangements were made in a day - supplies acquired, covers deduced.
They did not return to Rooms 1 and 2 during that time, only going near the
rooms to make sure the two were fed and, in Scully's case, given their
medication.  They wrote in their reports that they had hit a wall in
communication.

There is a saying that those who live inside the system know best how to
make it crumble.

Daniel and Esther had worked inside the system long enough to know how to
circumvent it.



"Mr. Mulder," Esther stated calmly as she walked into the room that
evening, setting down a file on his new table, "I'd like to thank you for
your cooperation and your patience in waiting all this time.  I trust you
were fed?"

He nodded slowly, if at all.  Esther recognized the signs of withdrawal in
his eyes, and hoped he would be able to understand exactly what she would
be saying next.

"Although I'm sure you are as anxious as I am to resume our talks, I'm
afraid that they will have to wait until tomorrow - I just wanted to come
in and tell you good night."

No response - she had hoped the previous session hadn't completely numbed
him, but it was always a possibility.

She tried again.  "I'm actually going home," she said with a touch of a
smile.  "There's a movie marathon that starts at 11:00, and even you
wouldn't want to miss it."

Come on, she willed.  Come on.  Get a clue.  Catch on...

He lifted his head a bit more, and she thought she saw a glimmer of
consciousness in him.  "What kind of movies?" he asked slowly.

She smiled fully this time, the Nurse Ratched act be damned.  "A Steve
McQueen film festival."

A slight tilt of her head indicated the folder on the table.

She spoke slowly, but carefully.

And this time, he really listened.

"They're starting with 'The Great Escape.'"

He looked at her carefully, gauging her.  "That's a good movie," he said at
last.  "But I personally really don't trust people who promise things that
seem too good."  His stare grew more pointed.  "Especially when every bit
of reason says that they're the bad guys."

"Mr. Mulder, we sometimes find ourselves in situations where there is no
alternative but trust."

"This isn't necessarily one of them.  Especially given the circumstances."

"However, sometimes people make mistakes.  And, if you gave them a chance,
they might be able to redeem themselves."  She stared deeper into his eyes.
"You might be surprised what happens if you open your mind."

His tone grew more desperate.  "Don't you understand?  The obvious answer
isn't always the right one.  And I can't believe in what's just handed to
me anymore."

Her face hardened.  "Mr. Mulder, I understand it may not make you very
comfortable, having to go out on a limb like this.  But I'm afraid that you
really don't have that luxury.  This is a one-time opportunity.  There
won't be a second chance."

"I can't just do this," he muttered.

"But Mr. Mulder, you don't have a lot of other options.  And I would really
hate to see you miss this prospect."

He shrugged some.  "There doesn't seem to be much point in it.  There isn't
a lot out there for me."

It was an act - they both knew it - and she nearly lost her temper, but
regained control.  "There might not be a lot out there, Mr. Mulder.  But I
imagine that there's something in here that might be worth the leap of
faith."

Her eyes flickered to the wall - THE wall - and he caught on.

"She's twice as stubborn as you.  You're our best chance," Esther muttered
quietly, harshly.  "The circumstances aren't ideal, Mulder - but sometimes
you just have to settle for the leftovers."

Then she left the room, schooling her features into a careful mask.

He was smart.  She knew that.  And she knew that he wouldn't touch the
folder.

At least, until it was safe.

And he was smart enough to figure out when that would be.

If he gave it a shot at all.



Esther walked quickly to the video room, and found Daniel waiting inside.

"I've got the tape cued up," he said without preliminaries.  "Should I do it?"

A brisk nod on her part, and he pushed the appropriate buttons, erasing the
incriminating ten minutes of footage.  He turned to her.  "Good job in
there.  I think it worked."

She shrugged.  "All I had to do was mention the secret word.  He'll do it.
It's astonishing how much they care for each other."

Daniel looked a little wistful.  "It's truly amazing to me.  If I could
have half of that with someone someday, I could die happy."

The video editing program beeped appropriately, and his face grew darker.
"You do realize, Esther, that when They find out about this, and They
examine the video thoroughly, They're going to be able to trace the deleted
parts to us.  We'll either be dead or refugees."

Her eyes met his, and she spoke with the anger that she normally kept
locked away.  "I know that.  And we knew it was dangerous when we started."
Her voice seemed to fill the room with fierceness.  "But I can't do this
anymore.  Not to them."

Daniel nodded at that.  "I've been working this job for five years - and
none of those people ever made me feel like this."

She nodded thoughtfully at that.  "I just have this feeling about Mulder,
like he's pure, that he doesn't deserve any of this.   And it's never been
like that with my previous subjects.  I always knew that what I was doing
was right.  And I don't know if that's true now.  They don't deserve this,
and I'm not going to let anyone else do the job I can't do any more."

He looked nervous.  "I agree with you.  It's all just a little scarier than
I would like it to be."

She placed a light brown hand on his darker one.  "We'll be long gone
before they start analyzing the tape."

His forehead crinkled.  "But can we stay under?"

She patted his hand reassuringly.  "Why not?  They did, for longer than
anyone ever anticipated.  And they were much more of a threat than we'll
ever be."

And to that, there was little to say.

They both looked at the clock on the wall.  10:30.

They reviewed plans, precautions.

And mentally started the countdown.



She had tried pacing the circumference of the room - a hard thing to do
with the chair cuffed to her wrist.

Had tried tapping out the percussion portion of "Ride of the Valkyries" on
the nearby table.

Had tried listing the Latin names of various muscle groups.

But she still couldn't ease the panic she was feeling.

It was legitimate panic.  After all, They had her.  The man who had been
interrogating her had been gone for hours.  There had been mentions of
"moving on" - God knows what that meant.

And HE was there.  On the other side of the wall.  She was sure of it,
though how she knew wasn't clear.

But if she just focused a little, she could almost see him - could almost
imagine him trapped in a little room like hers with his hand cuffed to a
chair, eyes searching the wall....

Her head slumped in disappointment.  What was she doing?  This was
impossible, and she knew it.  HE might be on the other side - but there was
no way she could know about it.

At least, that was what her rational side was saying.  The rest of her was
disagreeing.

After all, it was HIM.  She knew it was HIM - not all the science in the
world could tell her that she hadn't been able to feel him there before.
The past had often encouraged her to believe in the impossible where HE was
concerned.

It was just so hard to actually believe that he was in her predicament as
well.  In fact, she would immediately toss away everything she had ever
believed in if it meant that HE was free.

Skeptic warred with believer and scientist argued with spirit as she sat
quietly in her chair, waiting.

For something was going to happen.

That, she knew for sure.

What would happen, though - that was what left her uncertain.



He tried to imagine what was inside the file folder he had been left.

He tried to imagine what magical event was to take place at 11:00.  What
exactly had planned.

And he looked at the wall and tried to imagine HER.

Was SHE sitting or standing?  Cuffed in the same way as him?  Hungry, sick,
tired?  It all seemed so trivial at first, yet it was HER.  And that made
it important.

Especially since the only confirmation he had of her presence was the
innuendo of a woman he was having a hard time trusting, and his own ...
intuition.  And her presence would make a big difference when it came to
making any sort of decision like this.

That was the important thing, because deep down he wasn't sure what to do.
Wasn't sure whether to take the initiative, take the folder - or ignore the
opportunity the interrogator

(his savior?)

had presented and take his chances with the status quo.

Do nothing and remain safe or do something but take a risk.  A choice he
wouldn't have had any difficulty with four years ago.

Except that this wasn't four years ago.

And he just didn't know if he could take the chance.  If he still had the
ability to make those kinds of decisions.

He wanted HER input on it.  Wanted to know what she would think, wanted to
know what SHE would suggest.  And yet that was impossible.

Four years ago, he wouldn't have hesitated to make the decision for both of
them.

But this wasn't four years ago.

Insecurities warred with each other as he sat quietly in his chair, waiting.

For something was going to happen.

That he knew for sure.

What he would do, though - that was what left him uncertain.



And in a dark office in the same building, another man sat, smoking calmly
as he dug through paperwork.

He rarely smiled - only for effect, for the most part - but an uncommon
grin was threatening the corners of his mouth, and his eyes were twinkling
in an almost youthful manner.

He certainly wasn't young anymore, but he felt it.  Felt alive and powerful
and secure in his role among Them for the first time in years.  It was a
potent feeling, this sense of victory.  And he relished it.



Marc slipped into the power room cautiously, though he was confident that
he hadn't been spotted.

The breaker switches for the interrogation building were labeled clearly.
His flashlight was by his side.

He checked his watch.  10:55.

Minutes left.  Only minutes....



The flavor of whiskey mixed with the harsh taste of nicotine as the man
indulged himself in a little nip.

It was time to celebrate, after all.  The agents were back under his
control.  The information was contained.  It was enough to make him want to
do a little jig.

What was the expression?  Oh, yes.

Ahab had found his whale.

The only damper on his little victory party, though, was that young man
Daniel - there had been something in his eyes that had given him something
to fear.  It was hard to explain, for the most part - but it would seem
that those who had brought Daniel among Them had made some serious lapses
in judgment.

No doubt, Daniel was excellent at his work, and received no amount of
satisfaction from it.  But something about the man spoke of other people
who had been unable to embrace The Project.  Those individuals who had been
unable to fit into their roles.  Daniel's slight sense of horror at the
woman's condition had betrayed him in that respect.

Now that he thought about it, there was something of Agent Fox Mulder about
him - the naive and optimistic Agent Fox Mulder from that first year of the
X-Files.  Before the shutdown and Agent Scully's abduction, when he saw
mysterious shadows but trusted in an often-deceiving light.

It was almost nostalgic, with a sort of twisted humor to it.  After all,
the man mused, which side Daniel was on now?

But he thought about it some more - remembered how much of a danger Mulder
had become when the blindfold had been pulled away and he had seen
conspiracies in everything except a petite red-haired woman.

If he held to form, Daniel might go the same way, especially given the
proper encouragement.

The joy in the man's eyes died at that thought.

He stood up and dug through a filing cabinet, pulling out the personnel
file of Esther Finn.

Skimming over phrases like "brilliant," "headstrong," "our best
interrogator in years," "will do what she thinks is right," and
"potentially dangerous - but too good to lose," he began to feel a sinking
despair, deep in his stomach.

He decided to go downstairs, check the reports being regularly logged in
regards to any progress being made.  It was probably an overreaction on his
part, but he did not like the idea of this suspicion coming back to haunt
him later.

Checking his watch - 10:59 PM - he began to move to the door.  But he
stopped when he suddenly couldn't see the door any more.

Everything had gone black - a power outage or something, he imagined.  Not
a cause for concern, he told himself.

But the gears that had already been mulling over Daniel were starting to
put everything into place.

And everything suddenly became clear.

The man stepped carefully to his desk, searching blindly for the flashlight
he always kept nearby, but couldn't seem to locate now.

His mind held only one thought, undignified but eloquent.

*Oh, shit.*



Things started quickly enough.  And once they began moving, they really
picked up speed.

When the power went out, Daniel Dunn and Esther Finn were standing by Rooms
1 and 2, waiting and watching.  Flashlights in hand, backpacks loaded with
the essentials.

There was some discussion from the other people present.  Some attempts to
find lanterns or torches, or to try and activate the emergency lights.  But
Esther and Daniel had taken care of all that long before.

Everything was black, pitch black.  Nothing was visible.

The perfect lighting for a jail break.

A gentle touch on her shoulder informed Esther that Marc had rejoined them.
A silent brush of his cheek confirmed his presence.

Daniel reached out, gesturing in the direction of the rooms, but she
stilled his hand.

If necessary, she would drag Mulder's ass out of there by force - but she
didn't want to.  And he'd probably cause such a fuss that it would ruin
everything.

It would go much more simply if he just went along with the plan.

She gritted her teeth and shifted the weight of her backpack onto her hips.

In silence, the three of them watched the door of Room 2.

And waited.



In the dark, a hand moved.

Slowly at first, then, when the force behind it had made up its mind, with
absolute certainty.

A palm sought out the flimsy cardboard of a manila folder.  Found it quickly.

And shook out a small key.

Shaking, excited fingers examined the shape frantically.  Determined it a
match.

And slipped it into the keyhole of the handcuffs.



Hand free, Ex-Special Agent Fox Mulder's dark form stood up slowly,
measuring his bearings, mentally calculating his position.

His fingers guided him to the door, keeping him from tripping over table
and chair.

And surprisingly, the knob turned.

He took his first free steps tentatively, then readjusted his mental map.
Deduced which way he was to go.

Which way he *had* to go.

His hands, one wrist strong and one wrist weak, found another door.  And
the knob turned easily.

Still grasping the handcuff key - he somehow knew he'd need it - he entered
the other room.



The darkness had troubled her.  The noise outside had frightened her.  And
when the door opened, the fear she normally tried to suppress rose up in
great waves.

She was about two seconds away from picking up her chair and thrusting it
blindly forward when she smelled *it*.

And, after a few seconds, she knew *it* was HIM.

Looks like the believer in her had been right after all.



End 4 of 8


Soap and Eggs IV - Suds and Shells
Part 5/8



Their hands connected first, grasping clothing, faces, shoulders, arms in a
manner too needy to be considered gentle.

Then their fingers interlinked, and his hand reached out with the key.  A
few seconds of manipulation and she lifted her arm up from the chair for
the first time in days.

Bodies pressed against bodies, hungrily seeking contact.  Their hips rubbed
against each other.  Their noses brushed.  Their lips made desperate
sucking noises together, as if they wanted to inhale the other's soul.

They pulled apart at the same time, and he grasped her hand firmly, leading
her to the door.

Not a word was spoken, but everything that needed to be said was
communicated in those few seconds.

*I missed you.*

*I was worried about you.*

*Thank everything holy you're all right.*

*We're going to be okay.  We have to be okay.  We'll be okay.  You're here.*

*Oh, God.  You're here.  Thank God you're here.*

Hands still firmly joined, they stepped outside.



Esther, Marc, and Daniel sighed with relief when they heard the faint
noises of two sets of footsteps moving out of Room 1.

They listened carefully, trying to gauge what exactly to do.

And the hesitation of the heavier footsteps gave them their opportunity.

Moving quickly, they were able to sense the two people, small and tall,
their hands clasped tightly.

Esther grasped one forearm - whose, she wasn't sure - and tugged gently in
the direction of freedom.

After only a moment's hesitation, the arm let itself be pulled.

She began to lead the way, trusting her memory of the building to guide
them through the dark.

Their steps were careful, and once more, no words were exchanged.  But they
still made good time.

By 11:30, the five refugees of the darkness were packed inside the small
car Daniel had planted in the closest available parking spot of the tiny
underground garage.

Marc drove quickly and recklessly, tires squealing as the sedan burned its
way outside.

Mulder and Scully looked at each other for one long, heartfelt moment.
They took in the changes, reveled in the similarities.

Scully lifted her lips to his, and they shared a kiss that spoke more than
words ever could.

Then, she turned to the three individuals crammed into the front seat.

"Who the hell are you people?"



He hadn't been able to find his flashlight in time.  That's what the man
blamed the escape on.

Of course, the orchestraters of the escape had been remarkably careful and
remarkably clever.  And with the breakers powered down, power had taken
thirty-two minutes to restore.

There were many places for fault.  But the man put most of it on himself.

And as he took in the sight of unlocked handcuffs and open doors, he was
struck by an immense feeling of loss.

Somehow, in all the years of searching, he had forgotten.  He had forgotten
how fond he had grown of the agents as they had pursued their goal with an
endearing faith in its eventual success.

Granted, he had taken a great deal of pleasure in thwarting them.  But it
was the pleasure that came from the defeat of a worthy enemy.

Granted, his life would have been considerably easier had they never
existed.  But who asked for life to be easy?

Standing in the empty rooms, he suddenly felt very lonely.  It wasn't an
unfamiliar sensation, but new given the circumstances.

His affection for them was without question twisted into something
abnormal.  But it was still affection.

Besides, there were greater issues to worry about.  In the space of an
hour, two of The Project's greatest threats had disappeared, along with
some very valuable employees.  And he would admit without question that it
was all his fault.  He hadn't been able to find his flashlight soon enough.
And that was why he had lost his two long-astray lambs.

Again.

A tear nearly escaped the far corner of his eye, but tightly woven control
held it back.

"I'll find them," he vowed fiercely to the empty room.  "They're mine.  And
I'll get them back."



Sometimes, it seems that everyone today is a little bit insane.
Psychiatric disorders are common in society and generally are
well-accepted.  In fact, an unstable mental state can be found in almost
anyone if you look at them in the right light.

So, when the cigarette-smoking man finally saw himself going over the edge
of sanity, he was simply following a path laid out by many individuals over
many years.

Everyone's a little bit insane.  He just went a step past the norm.

Unfortunately, it was a big step.

Soon to be followed by others.



The Nevada desert surrounded the small car buzzing down the highway, and
though it was pretty, in a desolate sort of way, Daniel didn't like it.  He
would have much preferred to be somewhere under cover.  Out in the open
like this, there was far too much danger for his taste.

It was still night, and they were making good time, but it still made
Daniel nervous.

Shrugging the thoughts away, he returned his attention to the conversation.

At least, conversation was one word to describe it.

Fracas was another.

"I STILL don't see why we're supposed to trust you," his ex-subject was
saying, with the kind of stubbornness that just made you want to slap her.


"Well, Miss Scully-" Esther started with much-tried patience, turning as
far as she could in her seat.

"I'll say it again.  Call me Scully.  Or Dana.  ANYTHING but Miss Scully."
Apparently, that was an issue with her.   She probably had been too numb to
comment on it before.

"Look, *Ms.* Scully," Esther continued, an edge of sarcasm in her voice,
"Right now is a funny time to start talking about trust.  We just helped
you escape from Them.  We've put our lives in considerable danger, not to
mention the welfare of any of our family and friends.  We've put everything
on the line to preserve your physical and mental health.  Have you
forgotten about any of this?"

An eyebrow raised.  "How do we know that you're not just making all that
up?  You could just be leading us into another trap.  Or transporting us to
another one of your facilities."

Mulder spoke up.  "It would certainly be an effective way of subduing us.
Make us think that we had escaped, then deliver us into an even worse
situation."  His arm was wrapped securely around the woman next to him, and
he squeezed her a little tighter with his words.

Esther was growing more frustrated.  "But what would be the point?  We had
you under control before.  You had nothing - no advantage.  Daniel and I
decided to break you guys out because we didn't agree with the goals of
your interrogation any more.  There's no underlying plot behind any of it.
We just wanted to set you two free."

"And we appreciate that, really we do.  But how long did you two take to
decide that?  Before or after you showed me that mov-" Mulder accused.

"Before or after you questioned everyth-" Scully charged at the same time.

They turned to each other with questions, but they took one look at the
pain on the face of the other and decided to back off.

Daniel envied that communication.

He turned in his seat to look at Marc, who had been driving for several
hours now without complaint.  He certainly seemed the opposite of Esther -
quiet, relaxed, peaceful.  Maybe that was why they got along so well.

Esther, meanwhile, was rolling her eyes.  As far as Daniel could recall,
she had been interviewing subjects for ten years, had started work at the
facility when she was only twenty-four (a prodigy, everyone had called
her).  But she sometimes seemed a little juvenile - arrested development,
perhaps.

She was as sharp and quick as anyone, and twice as determined and
dedicated.  At times, she was mature beyond her years.

When she had composure, that is.

"I keep telling you that it was after that last session when we made our
decision.  Could we please move on?"

Scully's tongue nearly dripped with acid.  "Fine, then.  Where are you
taking us?"

Daniel tried jumping in, replying as diplomatically as possible.  "Las
Vegas.  The nearest and best place to disappear."

Both women glared at him, and he looked front again, watching the road
disappear beneath the car's wheels.

"Look, it seems like trusting you three is a conceivable option right now,"
Mulder said rationally.  "I'm not inclined to, but we don't have much
choice."

Esther snorted.  "Thank you for that ringing endorsement."

Scully continued for him, her tongue not quite so bitter.  "If you're being
sincere, we do appreciate it.  It's just that these days, it's a little
hard to believe other people when they say that they're being honest."

Marc spoke for the first time since they had left the facility.  "You guys
just remember that They're looking for us by now.  And *all* our lives are
in danger.  We're all equally screwed, and we should be able to trust each
other solely based on that."

A sort of silent agreement filled the car, and there really being nothing
else to say, the five of them settled into a comfortable silence.  Marc
drove, Esther napped against Marc's shoulder, Scully and Mulder cuddled
quietly, and Daniel daydreamed.

For the first time, Daniel realized how much of a fifth wheel he was on
this trip.  But he didn't really mind.

He might have envied the communication and communion a relationship
offered.  But he didn't envy the extra trouble that always seemed to spring
forth.

Love seemed to cause as many problems as it solved sometimes.  He'd seen
too much pain and tears during his thirty years to think otherwise.

He wondered if the two couples on this trip thought the same.

Probably not.

But as he drifted off into sleep, a few lines from _Romeo and Juliet_
echoed through his mind.

Nothing memorable - just that bit about "misadventured piteous overthrows."

For Romeo and Juliet died at the end.....



As snores echoed in duo from the front seat, Mulder rested his chin on the
crown of Scully's head.  Scully buried her nose in his chest.

"I missed you," he murmured.

She turned his face up to him.  "I missed you, too," she replied back,
grinning.

The situation was grim.  They would be fortunate to get out of it safely.
There was little hope.

But he grinned right back at her.

"So, we're headed to Vegas, hmmm?" he said suggestively.

Four years ago, she would have lifted an eyebrow, holding back any trace of
a smile.  She smiled slyly now.  "Your point being?"

"Nothing - wonderful city.  Casinos, chips, cocktails, castles-"

"Chapels," she filled in for him.

His grin grew even wider.  "You wouldn't be propositioning me, would you,
Agent Scully?"

She laughed quietly, smothering the chuckles in his shirt.  God, he had
missed her.

"I thought you were propositioning me, Agent Mulder," she replied after she
had regained a little composure.

He nodded thoughtfully, considering the thought in as goofy a manner as
possible.  He'd do a lot more for another taste of her laughter.  "I
suppose I might have been.  The question is, would you want to take my
name, or would you want to sign the marriage license Lea Flask?"

She froze against his body.

"How did you know that had been my name?" she asked in a very small voice.

He tried to answer as casually as possible.  "It was an accident.  Last
Halloween.  I caught a glimpse of your license on the computer before it
was printed out.  I tried to forget it, but couldn't."

She didn't speak for a few minutes, considering this.  Then, just when he
was about to get worried, her voice came back to him, a little stronger
than before.

"I'd come up with something different.  Can't imagine myself trying to go
through life as Mrs. Justin Pequod."  He made a little noise of confusion
and shock, and she grinned halfheartedly.

"When we drove to Union Station last Halloween, your wallet fell out of
your jacket and in between our seats.  And it opened when it landed, face
up.  I tried to avoid noticing it, but couldn't."

The situation was grim.  They would be fortunate to get out of it safely.
There was little hope.

But he laughed and held her tighter.

Just because.



The fugitives had a head start.  Their path of travel was unknown.

But the cigarette-smoking man had been hopeful that they could be found
before daybreak.  Everything depended on them being found as soon as
possible.  And he knew that by daybreak, individuals higher up than him
would start asking questions.

And that wasn't a good thing.

So after hours of searching, he watched with despair as the sun came up.
Things were more complicated now - more people would become involved.

But Mulder and Scully would be found.  He would see to that one thing.

Everything that mattered to him depended on it.



Except for a few undiscussed projects that were shrouded in mystery, those
involved with Them were human.  And the love of gossip and rumors is a
distinctly human characteristic.

Through casual e-mail, phone calls, and quiet conversations, it had become
well-known in the organization that the two ex-agents had finally been
captured.  And before the cigarette-smoking man's cursed sunrise had
occurred, the fact that they had escaped, with the help of their
interrogators, was a hot topic of conversation.

What little was known was discussed eagerly at all four corners of the
country.   And some of that information, slight though it may have been,
hit the right - or wrong - ears.

Soon, there were two forces scouring the Nevada desert.  One even more
covertly than the other.

And it was only a matter of time before one was successful.



It had been a long night.  They were all under huge amounts of stress.
Even the two in the backseat had let their guards drop enough to sleep.

Marc was starting to really feel the effects of an entire night of driving.

After his eyes closed for the third time in a mile, he pulled the car over
to the side of the road a few hours after dawn, shaking Esther awake.  She
looked up blearily at him.

"I can't go on any more.  You gotta drive," he said wearily.

She rubbed her eyes a little, then nodded.

He got out of the car, taking the opportunity to twist some of the kinks
out of his back as she worked on disentangling herself from the seat belt.

But as his head looked in the direction they had come from, the rest of his
body froze.

"Esther?" he said in an unusually even tone of voice, his eyes still
focused behind them.

"Yeah?" she tossed out coarsely, busy cursing the confining straps of nylon.

"Don't worry about driving.  I'm awake now."

She looked up at him curiously.  "What?"

He turned to her, and she saw the fear in his eyes.  "We have to go now,"
he choked out.

She looked out through the back windshield.

And saw the black car heading their way.

"Get in, Marc," Esther replied, her voice cracked and raw.  "Get in now.
And burn some rubber."

Marc threw himself back inside, pulling back onto the road in seconds.

With a squeal, the car began to move twice as fast as before.



If they had kept at an even speed, as if they were just tourists on an
early-morning joyride, there might have been a chance of escape.

But Esther and Marc knew what happened to turncoats and runaways.  Fear had
overtaken reason.

At the screech of the car's tires, the three sleeping passengers had woken
up, and now they, as well as Esther, were watching the approach of the
far-faster black jeep behind them.

It was Mulder and Scully who should have recognized the technique.

But it was Marc who saw the car ahead of them.

Both black vehicles hit their brakes and twisted to the side at the same
time, trapping the five of them.

Marc slammed on their brakes instinctively, snapping them all forward.

They watched as figures got out of the two cars and began moving towards
them.

Mulder looked at Scully.

Scully looked at Mulder.

Searching his face, Scully asked quietly, "Have we ever actually said it,
Mulder?"

He knew exactly what she meant.  "No, Scully, we haven't."

"Oh.  Right, then."  Her face, full of determination, softened a little.
"I love you, Mulder."

"I love you, Scully."

It was then that the car doors opened.  And not by the hands of the five
inside.



"Mommy?"

"Yes, Kathleen?"

"Is everything going to be okay at the end?"

The woman smiled a little.  "You want to know what the ending is?"

"Well...."  The little girl trailed off into thought.  "Sorta, I guess.  I
just want to know if everything's going to be okay."

"I thought you didn't want the story to have a happy ending."

"Well, I didn't want it to be all sappy.  That isn't very real, and I
wanted the story to be something that could really happen."  She hesitated,
yawning a little.  "But maybe a kinda happy ending wouldn't be so bad."

The woman, being fairly observant, didn't miss the yawn.  "Maybe we should
finish the story later, Katie dear.  We've got a lot of walking to do
tomorrow, and -"

"No!" the child cried.  "You gotta finish it tonight!  I need to know what
happens!"

"You're awfully tired, Kathleen.  And tomorrow will be a long day."

"Oh, Mommy.  All we're going to do is walk.  And we did that today, and I
was fine.  Finish the story, please?"

The woman couldn't say no to the girl's pleads.  "All right.  Do you still
want to know how it ends?"

The little girl nodded.  "I don't want to know the ending.  But I do want
to know *about* it."

The woman sighed a little, for no real reason.  "It doesn't have a sappy
ending, Kathleen.  The ending is most definitely not a sappy one."

The little girl nodded.  "All right, I guess.  Please keep telling the
story, Mommy."

"All right, sweetie."


End 5 of 8


Soap and Eggs IV - Suds and Shells
Part 6/8


Chapter Four

"Before you can accuse me of hopeless parochialism, consider the one great
truth.... Things Can Always Get Worse.  In fact, they often do.  Therefore,
it is incumbent upon us to rejoice now, because these will probably turn
out to be The Good Old Days."
                      -Molly Ivins



"Sir?"

Taking another deep, desperate drag of his cigarette (forbidden within
public areas of the facility normally, but this was an emergency), the man
looked towards the speaker expectantly.  Eagerly.

"They've found them?" he asked with hope in his voice.

The tall woman operating the complex radio system of the main headquarters
shook her head.  "No - but Hernandez's unit hasn't reported in for a few
hours.  They might have run into something."

His eyes hardened.  "Or they might have gone outside of our  communications
circle and are unable to get through to us.  Or their radio might not be
working.  Or they might have been swallowed up by Godzilla."  The man
glared menacingly at the operator.  "Your assignment, Parker, is to manage
the teams and keep them focused upon the goal.  You might want to remain
focused yourself."

She swallowed nervously, but still continued.  "I know that, sir, but
there's more to it. "

The man noted her determination, quashed as it was by her respectful
manner, and gave her more attention than he would have normally.

He let his eyes truly rest on her for a few seconds, and she hesitantly
continued on.  "Well, sir, I only bring this up because it's an odd
coincidence.  There's probably nothing to it.  It's just that there have
always been rumors about Hernandez - in fact, rumors about his whole team."

The man recalled Lemuel Hernandez as being fairly quiet, competent, and in
whole a decent covert ops man, despite his lack of military training.  The
group he presided over was much the same - men and women who had
disappeared into the void of Them, becoming Their main protectors.

The facility had four such teams, made up of people who did not exist, who
assumed identities and then tossed them away often and quickly.  They were
the facility's muscle, doing what had to be done efficiently and
effectively.

The members of these units were considered Their most loyal constituents,
and now Parker was suggesting....

"Ever since the letter was found and Mannes was exposed, people have been
constantly talking about who else could be involved.  And, well, nothing
was ever nailed down, but some people mentioned Hernandez as being a
possible risk.  He apparently hasn't always agreed with policy, always been
pretty self-assured, and sometimes, he and his team go out for extended
periods of time for extra training..."

The man nodded once.

A theory presented itself, and, though his first instinct was to push it
away and be optimistic, he eventually accepted it.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Parker.  A commendable piece
of logic and reasoning," he stated as evenly as possible.

Alarmed as she was by the praise, Parker was only able to make a few
unintelligible noises.

"Tell the other three units to continue concentrating their search on
finding the agents and their accomplices, but to also try and locate
Hernandez and his team."

She looked a little alarmed at what he was saying, and he added in
clarification, "Just to make sure there isn't a problem.  Finding them is
not high-priority, but we can't just abandon our own.  Not at a time like
this."

She nodded, and started repeating his instructions into her headset.

"....do not go out of your way to look for Hernandez and his unit, remember
that finding the others is imperative..."

Good in theory.  But the man's thoughts were dwelling upon only one idea.

Find one and you'll find the other.



Esther was scared - not an easy thing for her to admit, but true
nonetheless.  Her fear was more based in uncertainty, though, for she was
not so much concerned with her future well-being as she was with the future
in general.

The car they were in was standard issue - one of several the facility was
supplied with.  The people driving were well-trimmed, uniformly dressed,
and in general exactly what she had expected.

But it was all wrong.

The people were confident enough, but not in the usual "we're part of
something all-powerful and there isn't anything you can do to us" manner
that Esther remembered all unit members having.

Their eyes were a little too furtive.

Plus, the duty of initial reporting to home base was always reserved for
the unit leader.  Lemuel Hernandez, a man she recognized on sight and knew
of professionally, was riding shotgun.

And he hadn't even touched the radio.

She wished there was some way to communicate this with her seatmates - but
Daniel seemed numb, his hands clenched firmly, and since Marc had been the
most resistant to their abductors, he wasn't in the best of shape.

A few minutes ago, he had finally let the pain of the head blow he'd
received take over.  He breathed heavily against her shoulder now.

Mulder and Scully were in the other car, all right despite the few knocks
they'd taken.  They probably would have been worse off if they'd been
separated - either physically or psychologically.

Esther decided on the direct approach for dealing with this problem.  She
tried to make eye contact with Hernandez through the rearview mirror.  It
only took a few minutes before they locked gazes, and she gathered up a
little extra nerve.

"Hernandez, what's going on?" she asked quietly.

He shrugged casually, letting his words slip into the comfortable slang he
was legendary for outside of "business matters."  "Well, Miz Finn, we're
just takin' you in.  S'all there is to it.  Doin' our jobs, same as yew do
with your little mind games."

She drew on her precious composure and responded accordingly.  "You haven't
reported in.  You should have done it the second you had us.  You're not
doing your job.  At least, not doing it for Them."

He raised his eyebrows, a gesture she caught in the mirror.  "Not bad, Miz
Finn.  Not bad at all."

"But am I right?"

His face became blank, and the modicum of camaraderie she had detected
before was gone.  "Ms. Finn, I really can't discuss it at this time.
Questions will be answered eventually - you shall just have to be patient."

The switch in dialects did more to worry Esther than anything else that had
come up so far.  "Hernandez, where are we going?" she asked impatiently.

He would not reply.



Mulder and Scully sat in the backseat of the jeep, holding each other's
hands tightly as they watched the scenery roll by.

"You know, Scully," Mulder said quietly, wary of the two people sitting up
front, "this has to stop.  The deja vu's just too much for me."

If the circumstances had been different, she might have cracked a smile.
Instead, she scooted even closer to him.

The car continued on in silence, the desert rolling by calmly, like the
waves of an ocean.  Until the vehicle made a sharp turn to the right.

And ended up on a dusty trail that seemed to sink into the ground, lower
and lower....

They both realized at the same time that this was exactly what was happening.

The road eventually disappeared completely underground, faint artificial
lighting  being the only thing that Mulder and Scully could see by.  But
they could clearly see the steel walls rising up and over them.

Locking them down.  Caging them in.

And, as far as they could tell, they were right back where they had started.

"We almost made it, Mulder." Scully said quietly.

"Yup.  Almost," he replied.

There was no sadness in their voices, only resignation.

They weren't cynical.  Just realistic.

For somehow they had known it was too good to be true.



Esther looked around, not recognizing a thing.  Marc and Daniel, both a
little more conscious now, seemed to be puzzled as well.

"This doesn't look like the facility..." Daniel murmured.

"That's because it isn't," Hernandez replied from the front.  "And unless
things go really wrong, you'll never see that place again.  Not after it's
done."

Esther felt a little surge of joy at that.  Just a small one.  Then she
caught herself.

What did he mean, it?



The car stopped, and Mulder looked out the window, not recognizing a thing.

But he was pretty sure that they hadn't gone back to wherever they had been
running from originally.

For one thing, they were in a fairly small garage, but it was much larger
than he had guessed the first garage to have been, based on the echoes of
their shoes.

There were too many cars, also.  Way too many.

And it felt... different.  There were people moving around, getting into or
out of cars, carrying boxes back and forth, but they were moving quickly,
with anticipation.  Not happiness, but excitement.

The other place had seemed very down-to-earth, given what Mulder was sure
was happening elsewhere.  The people had all seemed a little bored with the
routine.

But the people here knew that something was going to happen.  And they were
excited by that.  Mulder was positive.

Looking down at Scully, he could tell that she felt it as well.

Something else was also communicated.  And maybe it was her eyes that said
it.  Or a twitch of her body language.  Or the mental Scully his mind had
created for company long ago.  Or something else, frightening and
exhilarating.  But he heard a question in his mind.

*We're not back there, are we?*

He let the knowledge sink in, and felt himself smile in reaction.  An
answer - *No, I don't think so* - shot through his thoughts.

And maybe she got the gist of it from a tilt of his head, or a change in
the color of his eyes, or maybe her response was completely meaningless -
just a nervous reaction to the situation.

But her head jerked in acknowledgment.

Mulder wanted to analyze it some more, ask her if she had felt the exchange
too, but their doors opened.

Mulder braced himself for a vicious pull, for being thrown onto the ground
outside-

And felt nothing.

"We're here, Mr. Mulder," the woman who had been driving said politely.
"Follow us, please."

He looked back at Scully.  She shrugged.

Keeping their hands joined, they scrambled out of the car, moving out
through the same door.

To his right, Mulder could see the three who had arranged the escape being
cordially escorted out of the other car and towards a door in the garage
wall.

Their escorts gestured in that direction, and Mulder and Scully followed.



Through the door was a large control room, equal in dimensions to that of a
medium-sized ballroom, hastily assembled and very helter-skelter.

There were gadgets and gauges and loads of other complex technical things,
made from a thousand different pieces and not matching in the slightest.
Not one piece seemed to have been made for the purpose it was trying to
serve.  Computer screens lined entire walls, with keyboards left on the
floor, wires exposed for anyone to trip over.  And the machines were only
one part of the mess - wherever there was empty space someone had perched a
soda can, a messy stack of papers, a laptop, a pizza box, or a pair of
weary feet.

The room was also filled with people and noise, which amplified the mayhem.
Men and women argued in loud voices about time tables and deadlines, while
others murmured to themselves as they typed various strings of data into
programs.  An old dot-matrix printer was spewing forth pages of complex
symbols, which people would come look at for a few seconds, then run back
to their workstations, screaming obscenities at anyone who would listen.
Every once in a while, someone would holler for everyone to shut up, which
only added to the din.

At least, until the new arrivals walked in.

Conversations died.  The gentle tapping of typists faded into nothing.
Someone even turned off the printer.

Silence filled the room as the occupants stared in shock at the newcomers,
especially Fox Mulder and Dana Scully.

Until applause succeeded it.

Lots of applause.  Lots and lots of applause.

Hernandez turned to the group, his face calm and content.  "We wouldn't 've
gone so rough on y'all, 'cept we knew you wouldn't 've gone with us any
other way.  But welcome.  Welcome to Clean Slate Center."

All they could do was stare.  Stare at Hernandez and the room of clutter
and clapping people.  It was overwhelming.

"What have we done to deserve this?" Mulder called over the cheers.

"Well, doncha see, Mr. Mulder?  You're heroes, you 'n Miz Scully.  And
thanks t'y'all, we're gonna be able to stop it all."

"Stop what?" Scully yelled.

But Hernandez just smiled.



In his tiny office, the smoking man hunched over the map of southern Nevada
as if it contained the secrets of the universe, mumbling to himself as he
made notations with a ruler and a blunt pencil.

"Four units, four directions...  Hernandez went north...  If they only
traveled 80 miles per hour, the farthest they could have gotten in six
hours is here...  But there's nothing in that area..."

His suit blazer was on the floor next to him.  His tie lay nearby.  His
hair was mussed, and the cigarette in his hand was nearly burned down to
his fingers.  But he was finally able to make sense of things.

"Parker?" he called.  The woman from before heard him and poked her head
inside.

"Yes?"

"Can you get me a copy of the last thermodynamics readings Satellite 4-28
took for this area?"

"Sure," she replied obediently, moving quickly to dig through the computer
files in the other room and print out the requested information.  He took
the opportunity to retrieve a fresh cigarette.

Soon, he was comparing the hot zones of southern Nevada 14 hours ago with
the road map.

And, suddenly, everything made sense.

Something in him wanted to cackle madly.  But he settled for pulling out
the bag of useful devices he kept around for emergencies and dashing to the
garage.

He had never been a very good driver, but had gotten better over the years,
and certainly had learned to enjoy the thrill of high speeds.  So he
figured that he'd be able to make it to the one spot on the thermo map that
was giving off absolutely no heat in at least ten hours.

Hopefully, that would be enough time.



As the cheers died down, Hernandez led the five of them into a windowless
room at the side of the hall, which contained two worn couches, a card
table, three folding chairs, and a refrigerator.  It felt cramped.

"There's another room through there," Hernandez said with his usual calm,
gesturing to a door in the left wall.  "'Bout the size of a broom closet,
but has a bed in it.  Y'all are probably all tuckered out, so we'll just
come by in about six hours, see if y'all are more rested.  G'night."

Hernandez left the room, and the five of them stared at each other.

"Who wants the bed?" Daniel asked, in the tone of voice that indicated
where he'd sleep if no one moved first.

The others all eyed the couches warily, without any great enthusiasm.  And
as Esther opened her mouth to stake her claim, Marc touched her shoulder.

"You two take it," he said quietly, nodding at Mulder and Scully.  "We'll
be fine out here."

They both seemed a little surprised, but nodded in understanding, moving
quickly into the other room.

Esther glared at him as the door closed.  "Who said they should take it?  I
could use a good sleep too."

Marc grinned halfheartedly.  "I didn't do it so they could sleep."

She found the energy to smile back.  "You incurable romantic," she murmured.

He grinned down at her.  "It's why I'm here.  Couldn't let you two have all
the fun."

Daniel laid down on the less threadbare of the couches, noting how his feet
hung off the end.

He sighed.



End 6 of 8


Soap and Eggs IV - Suds and Shells
Part 7/8



Maybe if Mulder and Scully had known that this was to be The Last Time, at
least for a while, they would have done some things differently.

They were both wearing the sweats they had been dressed in directly after
their taking, and maybe they would have spent less time being thankful that
those particular garments slipped off easily.  Maybe they would have,
instead, taken a few extra seconds to appreciate the flesh uncovered, spend
just a little more time memorizing form and texture.

Maybe they would have moved slower, not been so anxious for the final goal.
Maybe their coupling would have been a little more tender and loving, a
little more cognizant of what was actually happening.

Maybe they wouldn't have fallen asleep almost immediately afterwards.
Maybe they would have spent more time immersed in each other's presence.

Maybe they would have forgone sleep entirely and repeated the act.  Maybe
they would have said "I love you" one more time.

But "maybes" are for those with regrets.  And Mulder and Scully had learned
a long time ago that regrets were best avoided.  Better to look to the
future than dwell on the past.

Asking "What if?" was pointless. "Maybes" were a waste of time.

At least, that's what they would tell themselves later.



When six hours later rolled around, Hernandez knocked on the door loudly,
rousing all of the room's occupants.  But when they all stumbled to the
door, he revealed that he only needed Mulder and Scully.

"T' be frank, we really dunno what we're gonna do with you three," he said
in response to their silent questions.  "It's a big decision, y'know, and
it's really up to someone else."

So he only escorted the two ex-agents out of the room.  Daniel, Esther, and
Marc were left inside.

They probably would have been more okay with the situation had the door not
been locked after Hernandez had left.



As Hernandez went to find out where Mulder and Scully were wanted, the two
of them stood at the side of the large room.  And almost immediately, a
group formed in awe, people moving from their workstations to surround
Mulder and Scully with questions.

"So, where exactly did you locate the alien embryo?"

"How did you get onto that base in Idaho?"

"How much lower does the body temperature have to become before the
retrovirus is dormant?"

"With *what* do you puncture their necks?"

"Where's the MJ file now?"

"What was in the boxcar?"

"Did they ever identify what was in the Mars rock?"

"They really gave you Kalocin?  Didn't they know...."

The voices all blended together, querying, asking, demanding, until a tiny
round man pushed his way through the crowd.  His thin, reedy voice threw
Mulder and Scully a lifeline.  "You all have work to do, don't you?
Countdown's at five hours, isn't it?  Come on, then, you all have places to
go, right?"

The crowd dispersed, and he looked up at Scully - looked UP at Scully -
intensely.  "Would you two come with me?" he asked demurely.

Mulder looked at Scully.  He was intrigued.

Scully looked at Mulder.  She was curious.

They followed.



"Miss Scully - or do you prefer Dana?" one of the technicians working in
the tiny lab asked calmly, fiddling with vials and syringes.

"Just Scully," she replied uneasily, watching the woman work from her perch
on the one stool in the room.  Mulder, standing by, held her hand tightly.

"All right.  Scully, we've got some good news for you.  We just need some
information first."

"What?" she asked, a little alarmed.

"Oh, don't worry about it," the woman called dismissively.  "We just need
to know if the informant who gave you the DAT tapes - what was her name?"

"Santiago.  Luisia Santiago," Mulder answered.

"Right.  We just need to know if she gave you two the locations of any of
Their bases overseas.  It's the one piece of information we can't access."

"And then what?" Scully asked a little anxiously.

The technician passed her a stack of papers.  "Then, there's Shenphic."

Looking down at the data, Scully found herself momentarily confused.  Then
everything started making sense.

Shenphic, according to the documents, was a medication resulting from gene
therapy that would increase immune responses astronomically.  A one-shot
drug that remained in the system long enough to gradually allow other
bacteria to reintegrate into the ecosystem of the human body.

It didn't make a lot of sense to Mulder, reading over her shoulder.
"What's it mean?" he whispered in her ear, seeing her shock.

Silence for a few seconds.  Then she looked up at him, tears in her eyes.

"No more Kalocin," she whispered.  "No more.  They have a cure.  And just
for a few city names."

Her words hit him all at once, and through tears of his own, he grinned
without abandon.  "No more Kalocin," he repeated.  "Just for a few city
names."

They hugged each other tightly, which provided them with a little privacy
as well as comfort.  "Do you trust it?" she whispered in his ear.

"No.  Do you?" he breathed back.

"No."  She paused.  "But I really want to."

"Me too."

"And we have to give it a try."

"Why?"

"Because I don't think we were able to bring the Kalocin with us."

They turned their faces towards each other, letting the fear show in their
eyes.

Damned if they did, maybe.  But damned if they didn't, for sure.

They continued to hold each other as the technician called in her boss.

And prepared an injection.



Marc was the first allowed out of the room, Hernandez escorting him to use
the bathroom and to have his head injury checked.  He returned back
quickly.

"Is everything okay?" Esther asked quietly.

"Not that bad - I don't have a concussion.  I only passed out in the car
because of exhaustion."

She nodded thoughtfully at this.  "Were you able to see anything?  Figure
out what's going on here?" she murmured softly.

"I was able to observe a few things," he replied as quietly as she.
"They've got some massive hook-ups here - satellite, modem, radio even.
And it's a patchwork effort, but the technology involved is amazing.  There
are some *brains* behind this."

"What does it seem they're trying to do?"

He looked serious for a moment.  "Cryptography, programming, design - I
think that I even saw a soldering bench in the back.  They're making both
hardware and software, but with all the emphasis on their communications
stuff, it seems like they're more concerned with transmitting whatever
they're creating."

Daniel jumped in at that point.  "What are we doing here, anyways?  I
thought that they would try to keep us out of all this.  We just came from
Them, after all - wouldn't we be a security risk?"

Esther's face screwed up intensely, the way it always did when she was
trying to put the pieces together.  "Yeah - but our ties to Them are pretty
cut off, I'd say.  These guys are probably just assuming that, after our
break, we wouldn't be interested in going back."

Marc spoke.  "That's a pretty big assumption."

She blew air out her mouth in annoyance.  "I know.  That's why it doesn't
feel right."

"I guess all there is to do is wait for something to happen, then," Daniel
said, keeping most of the fear in his voice from showing on his face.

Esther and Marc couldn't disagree with him.



"Havana, Cuba."

"Toulouse, France."

"Bangkok, Thailand."

"Melbourne, Australia."

"Capetown, South Africa."

"Rio de Janero, Brazil."

"Lima, Peru."

The short man from before wrote each one down carefully.  "That all?"

"Yeah, I think so," Mulder replied for the both of them, a little
cautiously.  "Why did you want them?"

The man grinned, a little maniacally.  "Mine is not to reason why.  Mine is
but to do and die."

Not exactly the answer they were looking for.

"Is that the real quote?" Scully asked tentatively.

"Close enough," was his only reply, cheerful though it was.  He left the
room in a doddering little rush, leaving Mulder and Scully alone with the
technician.

"You guys ready?" she asked calmly, reaching for the fresh syringe.

"What kind of side effects can I expect?" Scully asked, a little nervously.

"It'll knock you out for a while, and you might feel a little achy for a
few days.  But it's nothing in comparison to the Kalocin's effects."

Scully tightened her jaw, clenching her teeth.  "Okay.  Let's do it."

As the needle sank slowly into Scully's arm, Mulder tried rubbing her back,
though it remained as stiff as a piece of wood until the drug began to take
effect.

He had to catch her as she slid off the stool she was perched on.  The fall
landed them both on the floor, her cradled in his arms.  "Nuh mur
kalzin..." she muttered up at him numbly.  "Nuh mur... Muller, 's gonna be
okay...."  Her voice trailed to nothing as she slipped into oblivion.

Mulder was transfixed by the changes of her face - tense to relaxed, fierce
to sleepy.  They reminded him of those long ago stake-outs when he would
get the chance to watch Special Agent Scully melt away into someone else.

Seeing that long-missed change and reliving the memories, the nostalgia of
the moment was enough to take his breath away.

The lab technician counted on that as she approached him from behind with
another syringe.



Esther was daydreaming, Daniel was almost napping, and Marc was trying to
figure out what grade cable to use for a PC interlink when, through the
walls, they heard the people outside suddenly break into applause again,
even more exuberantly than they had when Mulder and Scully had entered.

The three of them crouched around the door, looking through a crack in
between the frame and door to see in the garage doorway two figures, a
woman and a man.

She used a cane to keep her rather substantial weight off her leg.  He held
his left arm stiffly.

>From somewhere in the back, Hernandez walked up to the pair, grinning
broadly.  "Brought 'er back, didja?" he exclaimed jovially over the cheers,
slapping the stiff-armed man on the back.

"Couldn't let her miss the party, could I?" he replied with a smile that
didn't quite reach his eyes.

The conversation grew lower in tone, as the applause died away.  But
Esther, Marc, and Daniel were still able to eavesdrop, thanks to the crack
in the door and the paper-thin walls.

Hernandez turned to the woman at his side, scooping her up in a gentle hug,
then releasing her cautiously.  "How ya been?" he asked with more concern.

She gestured to the brace on her leg.  "Better.  I wouldn't have minded
them going a little easier on me, to be honest."

"It was bad?" he said as sympathetically as possible.

A shudder shook her for an instant, then she regained her composure.  "Bad.
I won't regain full use of the leg." she murmured quietly.

Suddenly, Hernandez was all business, jerking his head towards her
companion.  "Was the body count high, or were you able to get her out
without great difficulty?"

The dark-haired man shrugged, his left arm jerking at a slightly different
angle at the motion.  "Body count was pretty bad, but it won't be an issue.
They don't check on the Death Valley site more than once a week, and even
then, it'll take a while to figure out why no one's reporting back."

Esther leaned over to Marc.  "He looks familiar, doesn't he?" she whispered.

He nodded slowly.  "I think I worked with him once, back when I was at the
New York location.  Can't recall the name, though."

"And what about her?" Daniel breathed.  "I know that face, I'm sure."

"You probably ran into her when you went to Florida on that consult last
year," Esther answered him.  "I've seen her before too, and I think it was
somewhere in that part of the country."

"This is weird," Daniel said after a short pause.  "I heard the rumors.
But I had no idea that there were actually people putting together
something like this set-up.  And I never expected that anyone I knew would
be involved....  Oh shit!"

Marc and Esther stared at him.

He looked back, frightened.  "I remember where I really saw the woman
before.  There's a picture of her in the Mulder/Scully file."

It was Esther's turn to breath an obscenity.  "Shit.  It's Mannes, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Marc said quietly.  "And I remember the guy's name now.  Alex Krycek."

"I thought I heard something about him going rogue again a long time ago,"
Daniel murmured.  "Probably right after Mulder and Scully vanished."

The three of them stared at the other three, finally realizing how serious
the situation was.

For they were surrounded by some incredibly complicated technology in a
secret lair constructed by renegade members of an international syndicate.
There was a countdown to something going on, something which was as unknown
as it was frightening.  And in had walked two of Their greatest worries,
two traitors to The Plan and all it represented.

And there they were, surrounded by people who had already betrayed one
loyalty, who probably wouldn't really want them around any longer.

They suddenly realized that the dialogue Hernandez had been sharing with
the new arrivals had quieted from casual conversation to indistinguishable
whispers, and then into silence as the three rogues moved towards their
little room.

They scrambled to different corners, arriving in position just seconds
before Hernandez opened the door.  "If you would please follow us," he said
formally, gesturing towards the door to the garage.

Esther began to sweat.



The little man stared at the two unconscious people on the linoleum floor.

"You did make sure to give her the Shenphic, right?" he asked of the lab
technician.

She nodded.  "Yeah.  They did come through, after all.  She'll be out of it
for a hour or two, and I think I got the dosage of the sedative so that he
will too, probably.  Is that enough time?"

He shrugged.  "Enough.  Countdown's at three hours now, and most of the
work itself is done.  We're just waiting for the timing to be right."

"I wish that I hadn't had to drug him.  It feels wrong somehow," she said
in response.

Her companion looked at her with compassion.  "Better this than them
figuring out what's going on before they can understand everything."

The woman acknowledged this with a tilt of her head, and then her face grew
introspective.  "It seems so strange.  I've been involved with this for
years and now it's down to hours."

"Any regrets?" he asked soberly.

It was the first personal question he had ever asked her, though they had
worked together since the beginning.

Her face grew thoughtful.  "I wish that all my friends from before were on
Our side.  Then, I wouldn't feel so bad about this."  She hesitated.  "What
about you?"

"My only regret is that it had to happen this way," he said with no small
amount of sadness.

"Yeah.  There is that."

 Absorbed in each other's companionship, they stood there for a few seconds
more before they got back to work.



Hernandez and the woman they were sure was Tessa Mannes accompanied them to
the garage, then split off immediately, walking out of sight.  As if they
knew what was going to happen.

Esther, Daniel, and Marc were then left alone with one Alex Krycek, who was
regarding them calmly.

"You all probably know who I am," he said at last, "and while I don't know
you," he gestured at Daniel, "I have seen you before," a hand movement at
Marc, "and I've definitely hea
 of you, Ms. Finn.  Weren't you the one who broke that IRA terrorist who
stole the report of the Fallen Angel Interpol cover-up?"

She nodded modestly.  "Liam Beard.  He's in a Swiss facility for the
mentally unbalanced right now, I think."

He shook his head at that, smiling the joyless smile from before.  "Amazing
piece of work.  I was out of the loop around that time, but even I heard
about it."

"Thank you."

"You had quite the future ahead of you - that's what everyone was saying
around then, as I remember.  If you had played your cards right, you could
have easily become a player in the grand scheme of things.  They're always
looking for a new recruit with nerves of steel."

Esther looked at him curiously.  "Do you consider yourself a player?" she
asked him tentatively.

That soulless grin again.  "A player is someone who's following the rules
of the game.  And I've invented my own game here.  Just like you, to a
degree."

"No.  I just chose to stop playing."

His face grew more sober.  "Why?"

"What?" she asked, surprised.

"Why stop playing?  You were on your way.  You had respect, your own little
circle of power.  In a few years, you could have been in control of the way
the entire globe sees the smallest things.  But you chose not to pursue
that path.  And you ended up enabling two of Their, and by extension your,
greatest enemies to escape."

She shrugged in response.  "You do your job, day in and day out, but
sometimes you just don't let yourself realize exactly what you're doing.
And my blinders got taken off all of a sudden, and I just couldn't do it
any more."

Daniel chimed in.  "It had something to do with them, also.  I just found
myself unable to hurt her any more.  Caring's the most dangerous part of
the job, and you get good at avoiding it.  But she just got past all my
defenses."

Krycek nodded.  "I can understand all that."

It was then that Esther noticed something very interesting.  Krycek's left
side, just below his armpit, was distorted by a lump.  A large gun-shape
lump.

A large, gun-shaped, uncomfortable-looking lump.  One he probably would
have removed if he wasn't planning on needing it.

He caught her looking, and she said the only thing that came to mind.  "Oh."

His mouth quirked upward in apology.  "If there was any way around it, this
wouldn't be happening.  But you three are a risk, and we can't afford any
risks.  This goes far beyond any of us.  You understand."

He pulled out the gun, checking the clip carefully.  Esther considered
running for a split second, but turned around to see that Hernandez and
Mannes were right behind her, armed as well.

Oh, well.  She wasn't afraid.  Working with Them had a way of preparing you
for this sort of thing.

Next to her, Daniel started breathing heavily, though he held his ground.
She was proud of him.

Marc edged closer to her other side, slipping his hand into hers.  She
squeezed it hard.

And met the *CRACK* of the gun with her head held high.



End 7 of 8


Soap and Eggs IV - Suds and Shells
Part 8/8



The smoking man drove.  Faster, faster, faster.

He should have let someone know where he was going.  He should have taken
one of the jeeps with a radio instead of the small four-door sedan.

At least, that was what an almost-lost part of himself was saying.  The
rest was caught up in the glorious knowledge that, in no time at all,
everything was going to be okay.

Just one more hour.  He was pretty sure he could reach the X on his map in
an hour.

And then he would have found Mulder and Scully.

This time, for sure.



Trying to blink away the fuzz in his mind, Mulder sat up gingerly, rubbing
the shoulder he had landed on-

He suddenly was on full alert, looking around anxiously for Scully and the
damned lab technician.  The former rested by his side, stirring a little in
her sleep.  The latter wasn't there, however.

Instead, one Alex Krycek stared him in the face, crouching on the floor
only a floor or two away.

"What the fu-"

"Nice to see you, too, Mulder.  Been a long time," Krycek said blithely.

Mulder lunged for the man's throat.  Krycek shoved him to the side and onto
the ground effortlessly.

"Mulder, please.  Give us both a little credit."

"What do you want?" Mulder growled, getting up and moving back in between
Scully and Krycek.

Krycek smiled.  Mulder noticed that it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Nothing, Mulder.  I really want nothing of you.  I just want to know if
you're interested in being a part of it all."

Anger was replaced partially by both drug-induced and natural confusion.
"What?"

"Well, remember when all you wanted was the Truth, Mulder?"

He nodded.

"Remember when you started wanting vengeance against Them as well?"

He nodded again.

"The Truth, as I am sure you've discovered by now, doesn't really exist.
It's an illusion made of facts that barely manage to add up.  You were
given the facts a long time ago, but they weren't the Truth.  Without
absolute certainty behind the facts and absolute acceptance by the
mainstream public, nothing can be considered the Truth.  And your
vengeance?  Revenge is a hard thing to hunt for in a fog, when the
perpetrators of the original acts are dead or unknown."

Krycek leaned in closer.  "But imagine, Mulder, if you could make it all
stop.  Imagine if you could wipe the slate clean, make all the bad stuff go
away.  Imagine if you could simply get rid of Them.  Get rid of Them and
all they stand for.

"And imagine that it's going to happen in a matter of minutes."

"What do you want from us?" Mulder asked, repeating his earlier question.

"I want you two to be part of it.  This would never have happened without
you - certainly without those overseas locations.  That information is
usually impossible to access."

Mulder looked confused.  "I thought we traded that information for Scully's
new drug."

Krycek shrugged, the stiff left arm jerking oddly.  "Yeah, but there's also
more to it than that.  You two got this started - you inspired people, made
them question the validity of what they were doing.  Made them want nothing
more than to bring Them down, at all costs.  It's the completion of your
dream, and it wouldn't be right if you weren't there.

"That's why we started the countdown the second you were captured.  In
fact, we would have gotten you out of there if you hadn't escaped so soon."

Something clicked in Mulder's brain.  "Mannes.  I thought Mannes said we
wouldn't have a second chance."

"She said that you wouldn't have a second chance for the all-expenses-paid
escape.  Only fair, considering how we had to come up with a completely
different strategy."

"You really couldn't get the locations by yourself?" Mulder asked
incredulously.  "Hard to believe, given what you have achieved."

"You didn't know?  Santiago was extremely high-level, and she did a lot of
overseas coordination.  She was probably the only one among Them with that
information, and you two were the only ones she ever gave it to."

"So what do you want from us?" Mulder asked again.

"To be here.  You inspired all of this.  Even I'm here because of your
legend.  And your presence would mean a lot to these people.  They've
already given up so much.  And they're going to need to give up a lot more."

Krycek left the room at that point, locking the door behind him.  Leaving
Mulder on the floor, confused and frustrated.

But one thing stuck in his mind.

*Imagine it all happening in a matter of minutes....*

He cradled Scully's limp form in his arms, stroking her cheeks as he tried
to wake her up.

"Come on - up and at 'em, Scully."

Her eyes opened after a few seconds, and they gazed up at his blearily.

"Wuzzit?" she mumbled.

"I think we're running out of time."



The great machines warmed up.

Of course, they did so extremely slowly, being operated by people who did
not trust the stability of the jumbled connections.  But steadily, they
began to prepare for their assigned tasks, interlinking and analyzing and
processing.

However, those listening to the growing hums did not cheer, or smile, or do
any of the things that normally come with the realized success of such a
massive project.

They believed in what they were doing, but the actual act was difficult to
perform.  It is easy to want to get rid of a great evil, but actually
getting rid of it, and then having to imagine your life without that focus,
is a little more difficult.

So the worker bees of the great technology hive performed their tasks
efficiently and competently.

And waited for the final result with bittersweet anticipation.



The smoking man loved it when he was right.  And he was so very right.

The abandoned underground Air Force base was located directly where the X
on his map was.  And as he navigated the steel corridor down, he couldn't
help but grin, as unnatural an expression for him as it was.

*Foundthemfoundthemfoundthemfoundthem...  MINE.*

As he stopped the car, grabbed his bag, and stepped out into the crowded
garage, two things hit his senses.

Sound.  A low humming, building in volume, coming from another room.

And smell.  A thick penetrating aroma he knew from many years of experience
with Them.

It took him only a minute to find the bodies, which had been dragged into a
distant corner, and less time than that to make sure that his two were not
among them.  He saw the body of Daniel, that young man from before, and
felt a brief pain of mourning.

That is, until he remembered his purpose and looked for the portal to the
slightly-muffled sound.  That's where he'd figured they'd be.

For he didn't really recall Mulder and Scully being very quiet.



It took three good kicks to the door before it burst open and Mulder and
Scully came running out into the main hall.

But all they were able to do was watch.

On every one of the large computer screens mounted onto the wall, a world
map could be seen.  And each map was slowly filling up with red Xs,
covering various little dots.

Havana, Cuba.

Toulouse, France.

Bangkok, Thailand.

Melbourne, Australia.

Capetown, South Africa.

Rio de Janero, Brazil.

Lima, Peru.

And others - Washington D.C., Los Angeles, San Francisco, Chicago.

"What's going on?" Mulder asked at last, moving past the shock.

A young woman, watching transfixed, answered first.  "We're sending
computer viruses to all of Their different bases, disabling various
systems, messing up basic processing."

Another voice piped up.  "But then we're redirecting the transmissions so
that it looks like they came from a different location."

"So They'll start retaliating against each other, instead of us, with
missiles or computer viruses or life control malfunctions, and before you
know it They're all gone," continued another.

"If we don't do this now, other things will happen later.  Bad things.
They were planning something big, something that would be the end of
everything, and none of us here were willing to see that happen."

"Something with the aliens?" Mulder asked the speaker, semi-hopefully.

He nodded.  "Something with the aliens."

"But what about the people?" Scully demanded quietly.

"Them?" Krycek answered.  "Most of Them won't be around any longer."

Mulder kept it going.  "And the people living nearby?"

"They'll be fine.  Minimal casualties.  We have no intention of letting it
spread that far.  It's just Them we want to take care of - nothing
apocalyptical."

The idea of it - the elimination of Them - hit Mulder and Scully a little
hard, making them almost stagger with the weight of it.  But full
recognition did not come to them then.

For it was at that moment that the smoking man stumbled into the room.



He looked around, stunned.  There were more people, more confused stares,
than he had thought would be there - lots more.

But he was still able to spot HIS two.  He could find them anywhere.

It struck him, then, how much everything had changed.

It seemed only days, weeks ago that these two had been healthy and besuited
and ignorant.  He had been clean-shaven and alert, conflicted at times but
confident in what he did.  She had been as determined and redheaded as any
Celtic warrior, strong and insightful.

And, through the dim haze that clouded everything, the man saw that the
shaggy-haired skeleton and the waif-like ghost of a brunette he saw now
were not his Mulder and Scully.  Not really.

But he had changed, too.  He was no longer their black-lunged son of a
bitch.  He had transformed from the ultimate representation of all evil
into a lonely old man who coughed up dried blood every morning.

It made him sad.  He had never really liked change.

His eyes locked with the not-Mulder for a second, then his gaze rested on
the not-Scully's form.  And it all made sense.  It all made so much sense.

He could wish all he liked for the past to come back.  He could wish that
things hadn't happened the way they had.  But they were all dreams,
fantasies.

And sometimes in life, you have to settle for what's leftover from those
dreams.

The smoking man reached into the duffel he carried with him and pulled out
a small box.

"It's a transmitting device," he said quietly, only to Mulder and Scully.
"It'll relay my position to a far away computer, a computer controlling
guns and missiles and other such things.  And that computer will lock those
things onto this position and fire."

"Why?" Not-Scully asked quietly.  There was almost some compassion in her
voice - something he had never imagined to hear from her.

"Because..." he murmured.  "Because I don't want things to get any worse.
I don't want anything more to change."

And before they could stop him, he pushed the large button on the box's front.

The effects were felt almost immediately.



To the smoking man and Mulder and Scully, the large hall had shrunken to
include only them.  But the hundred people or so inside were definitely
there.  And they started to panic, especially when the first BOOM! shook
the floor.

The dash to the garage door became a stampede, pushing and pulling and
kicking, nearly destroying the great machines and trampling those who
weren't moving fast enough.

Mulder and Scully clasped hands tightly in order not to be separated, but
the push of the mob still moved them up against Krycek, slamming them into
him roughly.  "Where are they?" Mulder called out to him above the
frightened shouts, the increasing number of explosions.

"Where are who?" Krycek answered.

"The three who came with us.  They have to be around here somewhere."

"Mulder, they're not with us any more, period," Krycek yelled in response.
"They're dead.  They were a possible danger to us, and we had to eliminate
them."

It was Scully who reacted first, socking Krycek in the jaw as she screamed
into his face, "They helped us escape, you asshole!"

He stumbled backwards, almost falling into the path of a piece of falling
debris, but the surge of the crowd pushed him back towards them.  "Did you
even know their names?  Did you even know who they were or why they decided
to break you out?" he bellowed.  "We couldn't trust them.  And we didn't."

"You had no reason to trust us, but you did!" Scully shouted.

"And look who you two led here!  Now we're all as good as dead!"

"Your plan worked, though," Mulder yelled.  "If those marks are accurate,
you've managed to make it all stop."

"But there's too much going on!  This place was supposed to remain intact,
to handle the transition, keep everything going afterwards.  Now who knows
what will happen?  We can't do any of it without the technology here.  It's
all going to go to hell."

Krycek cried out as the flood of people swept him away.  Mulder and Scully
almost followed, until an iron grip, just outside the span of the mob,
dragged them out of the current.

They breathed the nicotine staleness of the Cancerman's smell, restraining
the urge to vomit.

"Don't leave me here," he said quietly, almost too quietly to be heard.  "I
don't want to be alone for this.  You two are all I have."

They saw the lunacy in his eyes, the childish gleam of incontinence that
frightened them to the core.

And they let themselves fall back into the stream.

"Don't let go of my hand, Scully," Mulder murmured into her ear as they
struggled to keep up with the others.

"Don't you let go of mine," she replied nervously, squeezing even tighter.

"We'll grab one of those cars, just something small.  And we'll get out of
here.  We'll go somewhere far away."

It hadn't clicked at first somehow, but Scully suddenly realized what it
all meant.  There was no more Them.  She and Mulder had, to a degree, done
it.  They had helped make everything better.

No more Them.  No more Kalocin.  No more pain.  No more hiding.  No more
loneliness.

Just for a few city names.

There were the deaths of their three companions, too - another penalty, in
a way.  But still, somehow, she had always thought it would cost more.

"We'll go someplace far away," she said in reply.  "Somewhere with a beach."

"And I'll call you Scully in public and we'll sit in the sun-"

"Together.  I'll call you Mulder in public and we'll sit in the sun
together.  And everything will be okay."

"Everything won't be okay.  Everything will be perfect."

Surrounded by a mob of frightened people, dodging bits of falling building
as they were forced out of the disintegrating main hall into the garage,
they were struck by a most inappropriate happiness.

It lasted until a mammoth impact split through the garage ceiling, the
force of it splitting apart everything in its path.

 Including Mulder and Scully, blowing them in opposite directions like
leaves in the wind.

It shoved Scully up against a wall of a man, who immediately scooped her up
and tossed her into a minivan being loaded for evacuation, despite her
immediate resistance.

It threw Mulder into the bed of a pickup truck crowded with others.  A
pick-up truck that began moving the second he made contact.

"Scully!" he screamed.

"Mulder!" she screamed back.

Mulder almost jumped out of the truck, but the impact had jarred his body,
and he couldn't get around the others who had jumped in the back with him.
And other people were loading into the van, shoving Scully back in further.


Their eyes locked helplessly across the distance, and a million words of
empathy and sorrow crossed the barriers between them.

Though time stood still for the moment, the truck Mulder was in did not.

"I will find you!" he shouted a few seconds before the truck began speeding
up the ramp to the outside.

"I won't stop looking!" she yelled before the minivan door slammed shut.

She tried keeping her eyes on the car Mulder was in, yelled up at the
driver to follow that red truck.

"Hey, right now I'm just trying to get us out of here alive," he yelled
back at her, the tires screeching as he made a rough turn onto the road
outside.

The woman next to her said softly, in an attempt to calm her, "We'll all
try to meet up at the same place later."  But when Scully looked at her,
she could see the lie in her eyes.

Like dandelion seeds in the wind, the caravan of cars, trucks, and other
motor vehicles scattered in search of refuge from the onslaught.

Of course, it wasn't necessary.  Just getting outside the underground
complex would have been escape enough.  But there were panicked people
behind the wheels, people who were positive that it was the wrath of God or
the wrath of Them that had been thrown down.  And all they could think
about was getting the hell out of Dodge.



"But what about after that?  What happens then, Mommy?"

"Well, Kathleen," the woman said a little roughly, "it actually becomes a
little unclear.  It's sort of like those books we found in that old
burned-out library, where you could choose what happens next."

The little girl nodded.  "Okay.  But what are my choices?"

"Well, it could be that, after the bad people went away, everything fell
apart because the bad people were the ones who kept everything running."

"Or what else?"

"Or maybe the bad people weren't completely gone, but they got their
revenge against everyone else by destroying almost everything and everyone.
Or maybe even worse people from someplace far away decided to take
advantage of the situation and make everything bad for the people on Earth."

The little girl's face grew thoughtful.  "It doesn't really matter, though.
Does it Mommy?"

"No, Kathleen.  It really doesn't."

Suddenly, the girl remembered what had been troubling her.  "But what about
the boy and the girl?"

"What about them?"

"What happens to them?  Are they okay?  Did they get back together?"

"Well, after everything was blown up, things were even more confusing.
Especially when other people got scared and started leaving their homes to
run someplace where they might be safer.  No one really knew what was going
on, and so that just helped everything fall apart."

"You didn't answer me, Mommy.  Were they able to find each other?"

The woman stared down into the small face, framed with brown hair, that she
had first seen, abandoned, at the side of a muddy road almost eight years
ago.  She looked deep into the clear hazel eyes that had, when only a
matter of months old, locked onto her heart and reminded her of what could
have been.

"They were separated, Kathleen.  The cars they were in went completely
opposite directions, and from there the people scattered even further.
Some were asked to help out - help keep people from dying by finding them
food and giving them medicine.  This happened to the girl, though she
didn't do it willingly, because some people blamed her for what happened,
and they made her do something to help.  It was some time before she was
able to escape them and try to find the boy."

"But did she find him?"  The little girl's voice, despite her agitation,
was growing weary, those hazel eyes starting to slip closed.   She had
reached her limit

"She never stopped looking for him.  And she always knew that he was out
there looking for her."

"How does she know?  Maybe he went away like those bad people did, or like
Esther and Daniel did."

"No."  The woman said this very firmly.  "She would know if he went away.
She would just know."

"So she finds him?  Please say she finds him." the little girl asked
sleepily.

"Wouldn't that be a sappy ending?" the woman replied, only partially teasing.

"Yes, but I don't want this story to be real any more.  I want everything
to be okay."

"Well, don't worry, Kathleen.  The girl and the boy have never been willing
to settle for what's left over.  They'll never stop looking for each other.
Not until they are found."

A huge yawn split the girl's face, and she began making the final descent
into slumber.  "So they live happily ever after?" she said softly.

The woman smiled, a little tearily.  "Yeah.  They live happily ever after."

The little girl closed her eyes, and was soon in dreamland.

The woman wiped some tears away, and murmured two words before taking up
watch over her little charge.

"I hope."





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