From: Donna Honeycutt <donnah@pop.uky.edu>
Date: Wed, 20 Jun 2001 07:29:12 -0400
Subject: New Story - Switched, The Other Side
Source: direct

Title - Switched - The Other Side (PG-13)
Author - Donna
Email address - donnah@pop.uky.edu
URL - www.geocities.com/Area51/Quadrant/4571/
Rating - PG-13
Category - MSR, angst
Spoilers - None
Keywords - MSR, angst
Summary - Sequel to Switched
Feedback - Please

Disclaimer - Mulder, Scully, the Lone Gunman and Skinner all belong to 
Chris Carter, 10-13 and Fox. No infringement intended.


Switched  - The Other Side


She watched as the office door opened and he trudged in.  He was late, 
which was unusual and she started to make a comment until she saw his 
face.  He looked ill.  He didn't even notice her over to the side at the 
file cabinet.  He collapsed into his chair rubbing his forehead.  Maybe he 
really was sick.  She moved over to him and placed her hand on his 
brow.  He jerked away from her startled.

"It's just me Mulder.  Are you okay?"

"I'm fine.  Who are . . . Agent Scully, right?"

"Not funny Mulder.  What happened to you?"

He had no answer.  What was the Ice Queen doing in his office, and 
apparently she had a key?  Diana was going to love that.  "Look, you need 
to run along.  I don't know what you were looking for, but this information 
is classified.  You shouldn't even be in here."

She stood looking at him, speechless for a moment.  Then she straightened 
her spine and her eyebrow rose.  "Enough.  Where were you last night?"

For some reason he felt compelled to respond.  It was as though she had 
some authority over him.  "I was at the Blue Moon."

"Why?  What were you doing there?"

Now he was beginning to get angry.  "Not that it's any of your business, 
but I was drinking myself into a stupor, like I do every night."

She was obviously aghast.  "Mulder, no!  You started . . . When did you 
start drinking?  No!  You can't!"

"Would you mind telling me what business this is of yours?  And just where 
is my partner?  Has Diana not been down here?"

Her lips moved a couple of times before sound actually 
emerged.  "Diana?  Have you . . . have you seen Diana?"

"Listen, I don't know what you're talking about, and I don't care.  My head 
is killing me.  I want to take some aspirin and some strong coffee.  I 
would appreciate you going to your own desk and giving me a little 
time."  He'd made it to his feet now and was leading her to the door.

For the time being she allowed this.  Something was definitely wrong and 
she needed to find out what.  Once out of the office she headed immediately 
for Skinner's office.

He sank gratefully back into his chair and closed his eyes.  His headache 
was worse than when he'd arrived.  With his eyes still closed he reached 
into his breast pocket and expertly opened and dry swallowed two 
capsules.  He'd start with two, though it now usually took four or five to 
touch his headaches anymore.  After a moment he dared open his eyes and 
booted up his computer.

What the hell was this crap?  Who'd been screwing with his computer?  He 
didn't know these cases.  Diana's name wasn't in evidence - according to 
this stuff Scully was his partner.  Oh yeah, that uptight piece of 
ass?  She probably hadn't been laid in years.

He turned from the computer and picked up a file from the top of the pile 
on his desk.  Look at the detail of her report!  What was the deal?  He'd 
never bothered with this kind of testing, this attention to detail.  Well, 
not for years anyway.  He closed his eyes again; he really needed a drink.

A tap on the door drew him up straight again.  "Yeah?"

The door opened revealing AD Skinner.  "Mulder?  I thought I'd check, see 
if everything was all right."

She had sent him.  What was the deal?  "Everything's fine, sir."  That came 
out a little less respectfully than he wanted, but what the hell.

"Agent Scully seemed to think there was a problem."

"Agent Scully was incorrect."  He met Skinner's eyes, then looked 
away.  Skinner seemed different somehow, as though he actually cared or 
something.  Fat chance.

"Look Mulder, you're obviously not feeling up to par today.  Why don't you 
go back home, sleep it off and start over again tomorrow?"  Mulder tried 
not to show his shock - take the rest of the day?  Sleep it off?  Since 
when was the Bureau going to cut him that kind of slack?  Who cared, he 
wasn't hung over enough not to take advantage of it - and at home he could 
get some hair of the dog.  A win-win all around.

He nodded and hoped he murmured something that sounded grateful, then moved 
toward the door.  "Mulder?  Aren't you going to lock up?"

Lock up?  No one ever came down here - he hadn't been assigned a real case 
in years that anyone would care about seeing.  He turned back and signed 
off his computer and closed the file he'd opened, returning it to the 
stack.  Once outside the door he had to fumble to find the correct 
key.  Diana always left after he did; she usually handled this.  Where the 
devil was she anyway?

They rode up the elevator together.  Mulder didn't bother to speak when he 
exited the car and headed for the garage.  Skinner watched him walk 
away.  Scully was right - something was off about him today.  Well, Scully 
would be checking into it - she'd give him some kind of report, though 
probably not a thorough one.  He continued to his office, his mind moving 
on to other things.

Mulder let himself into his apartment with a sigh.  A strange morning - he 
really needed a drink.  He opened the cabinet and stopped dead.  No liquor, 
there wasn't a single bottle in there.  He hadn't finished it all; he 
hadn't been that drunk.   He yanked open the refrigerator, not even a 
beer.  What the hell was going on!  He did not want to go back out - hell; 
did he have any cough syrup?

Wait, did he still have that bottle in the back room?  He opened the door 
and was shocked into immobility.  A bed?  Furniture?  This was his 
apartment; the key had fit.  He backed out, not willing to go in there even 
to look for liquor.  The world had gone mad, or maybe he was still drunk 
and this whole day was a hallucination.

He was startled to hear a key in the lock and turned to see Scully entering 
his apartment.

"You?  Did you come in here and empty out my booze?  And where the hell did 
you get a key?"  She stopped, stunned at the attack.  Whatever had been 
wrong with him earlier hadn't abated.

"Mulder, please."  She held out her hand, "I need you to calm down.  I 
didn't empty out anything.  When I was over on Friday, there wasn't any 
alcohol here."

"Bullshit!  You're trying to mess with my mind and I don't know why.  And 
the key - where the hell did you get that?"

"From you Mulder, years ago.  When we first became partners.  You gave me 
the key.  Originally it was to feed the fish - at least that was the 
excuse, but I - "

"We're together?"  He interrupted her abruptly.  "I don't remember you ever 
being in my bed."

Her back straightened again.  Damn she was a formidable looking bitch like 
that.

"You're damn right I haven't been!"  She tried to relax and wrap her armor 
of composure around herself again.  "Mulder, what is going on?  Talk to me 
- why were you drinking last night?  What happened?  What made you start 
drinking?"

"Start?"  He made his way around her and turned toward the desk in his 
living room.  One of them was crazy and he wasn't willing to admit it was him.

He stopped so suddenly she almost ran into him.  She looked up at him - 
what?  His face had gone ashen, his eyes wide.

"You - it had to be you.  Did you do that?"  He sounded strangled.  He was 
focused on the desk.  She forced her eyes away from him and concentrated on 
that side of the room.  What?  What had upset him so?  She couldn't spot 
anything out of place.

"Mulder, what are you talking about?"  She was using her most calming 
voice, finally realizing just how out of it he was.

"The picture!  Her picture!  Where did you find it?  Why did you . . .?"

She looked again.  The only picture on the desk was of Samantha and it had 
always held that place of honor.

"Mulder, calm down.  Are you  . . . are you talking about Samantha's picture?"

He jerked away from her.  "How do you know her name?  Who are you to do 
this to me!"

"Mulder?"  He spotted the tears in her eyes.  She blinked them back as he 
watched and though he tried to ignore it, felt her compassion wash over him 
as well as her fear.

He didn't want her compassion; he didn't want anything from her.  He didn't 
want anything from anyone.  He moved around her and sank onto his couch, 
his head in his hands.  It felt like his head was going to explode.

After a moment or two he spotted her shoes in front of him.  When he looked 
up she was holding out two capsules and a glass of water.   "Take them 
Mulder.  They'll make you feel better, then maybe we can talk."

"Why would I want to talk to you?  Why the hell are you here?"  He ignored 
the medicine she held out to him.  He wanted her out of here, he wanted a 
drink, he wanted oblivion.

She sank onto the couch beside him, at a loss.  They sat in silence for a 
few minutes, then she took a deep breath and rose.  Good!  She was finally 
taking the hint.  But instead of heading toward the door, she moved to the 
desk and picked up his phone.  He was watching her, what was she up to now?

"John, there's a problem.  Can you come to Mulder's apartment?"  She 
avoided looking at him, "Thanks," and hung up the phone.

"Now what stranger have you invited over?  How do I get rid of you anyway?"

"You don't Mulder."  She returned to the couch.  He was just staring at her 
now.  You don't?  What the hell did that mean?

"Who did you call?"

"The guys, Byers, Langly and Frohike."

"You know them?  God, I haven't seen them in years.  Why would they 
come?"  She didn't respond, just shaking her head.

She busied herself in his kitchen rather than be near him.  He was grateful 
for the space and, after a few minutes of eyeing the medicine she had left 
on the coffee table, swallowed it.

He didn't bother to move when he heard the knock at the door.  She came out 
of the kitchen drying her hands, glanced over at him, then opened the 
door.  The guys took in her expression and Byers automatically reached out 
to take her elbow.

For some reason the sight of the man's hand on her raised the hair on the 
back of his neck.  He shook that off, she was nothing to him.  They hadn't 
even slept together - according to her.

"What's going on?"  Byers looked back and forth between the two of them.

"He says . . . he doesn't seem to know me, or our work, or . . . "

Langly sat on the table in front of him, "Is this a joke Mulder?"

Mulder's eyes narrowed, "How did she get you to go along with this?"  They 
didn't answer, turning to look at her.

"He needs a complete physical."

"You gonna handle that?"  Mulder's eyes raked her body and he was brought 
up short by Frohike's sudden grip on his collar.

"A little respect, G-man."  Frohike had no humor in his voice.  The other 
two looked like they wanted to do the same.  He subsided and slumped back 
on the couch.  He'd lost control anyway, of his apartment, his computer, 
hell, his life.

"What if this is the water again, Scully?  Like when his father died?"

"I haven't gone down to check the tanks but - "

"What are you talking about?  My father's not dead!"  Mulder looked at each 
of them.

"Mulder, I'm sorry.  It's . . . it's true.  He was killed several years 
ago."  Scully wanted to touch him, but he had been so resistant.

"Killed?  Who would . . .?"

"It was Krycek, Mulder."  Byers answered the half-formed question.

"Krycek?  I don't . . . "

"You don't remember Alex Krycek?"  She shook her head and left the 
couch.  She needed to step away.  This was too much.  He didn't remember 
anything, not this, not her, not them.  She made her way back to the 
kitchen.  She needed to be alone.

"What's with her?"

"It's Krycek, Mulder."  Frohike spoke softly, so that she wouldn't 
hear.  "He killed your father, but he also murdered Scully's sister and he 
aided in Scully's abduction."

"Abduc . . . " His head jerked around to look for her, but she had moved 
out of his line of sight.  He turned then to stare at the photograph of his 
sister.  This woman too?  Why?  "Enough.  Get out of my place.  I don't 
need this."

"Mulder, we need to get to the bottom of what's happening."

"Fine."  He rose to his feet.  "You get to the bottom of it, but leave me 
out of it!"   He grabbed his jacket and was out of the apartment.

"Mulder!"  She raced back at the sound of the door slamming.

Byers was at her side, "We'll go after him."

Her shoulders slumped.  "Don't.  He doesn't want our help.  We can't force it."

"Dana, I . . . we, we can't leave him like this.  He doesn't know who he is."

"He knows this is his apartment, he knows he works for the FBI.  He 
remembered you; he just thought he hadn't seen you in years.  He remembers 
. . . " She looked at the ceiling for a long moment.  "He remembers Diana."

"Dana - "

"It's okay.  I'll uh; I'll wait here to see if he comes home tonight.  It's 
okay."  She put up her hand to forestall their protest.  "We can pick this 
up tomorrow.  Maybe he'll be more himself them."

The men exchanged glances and finally, silently agreed with her.  Byers put 
his hand on her shoulder.  "We'll do what we can tonight.  Call us - call 
us for anything, anytime.  Promise?"

She nodded, unable to speak and let them out of his apartment.  She locked 
the door behind them and returned to sink down on the couch.  She felt 
helpless - he didn't know her, didn't want to know her.

The sound of the door opening woke her and she sat up, allowing the afghan 
to slip to the floor.  He was home, good, maybe he was -

"Fox, stop it.  At least shut the door.  Your neighbors don't have to . . . 
" She fell silent as she spotted Scully standing beside the couch.  It took 
him a minute to notice, his hands were busy molding her large breasts, his 
lips on her neck.

Finally he realized she'd gone rigid in his arms.  "What?  Sandy?"

"You son of a bitch."  Her palm made sharp contact with his face and she 
turned, slamming the door behind her.

What the hell?  He turned then toward the living room and spotted her, 
standing beside his couch.  Her officious suit coat was gone and she was 
holding his t-shirt.  She'd apparently used it as a pillow.

"Why are you still here?"  He was more than a little drunk and horny 
now.  "You want to be my 'partner' tonight?  Is that why you ran her 
off?  Fine, you'll do just as well."  He was approaching her now and for 
the first time she realized her vulnerability.  She started to take a step 
back but her calf touched the couch.

"Mulder, don't do this.  I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm great."  He sounded so bitter.  "My life is just perfect.  I have a 
job I love, a palace to live it, the respect of my peers.  What more could 
any man want, except maybe a piece of Ice Queen ass.  Right?"

Now she was scared, truly scared of this man in front of her.  That was a 
first.  In seven years this had never - she'd been afraid for him many 
times but never, ever of him.

He saw that fear and stopped his approach, an unfamiliar emotion tugging at 
him.  He had to search before he recognized it.  Shame.  He was ashamed of 
the way he was treating this woman.

And what was wrong with him?  He didn't treat women this way.  He never 
had, his reputation as stud around the steno pool had been earned with 
care.  He knew every move to get a woman in his bed.  So why was this bitch 
bringing this out in him?  He didn't know her; he didn't want to know 
her.  He'd never bothered to make a move on her - he knew her reputation as 
well.

She was just another bit of T & A.  Why was he analyzing this so 
hard?  Shit!  He backhanded the glass she'd brought to him earlier off the 
coffee table.  "Get out.  I'm not going to hurt you.  Just . . . just 
leave, please."

She'd watched the struggle within him, but for the first time in years she 
wasn't able to read his thoughts.  Something had happened to him and she 
had to get to the bottom of it.

"I'm safe, I'm here.  Consider me tucked in for the night and go 
home."  She nodded silently, gathered up her jacket and left without 
another word.

He looked at the couch but shook his head and then grabbed the discarded 
t-shirt and headed toward his newly found bedroom.   On impulse he slipped 
on the shirt and crawled into bed.  He didn't expect to sleep - without a 
woman or booze he'd probably have nightmares all night.  But the t-shirt 
smelled good.

*****

He looked up from the files when she entered the office the next 
morning.  She was surprised to find him there, but tried to hide it.

"Listen, Agent Scully, I wanted to, uh, to apologize for . . . for the way 
I acted last night.  It was good of you to be concerned - "

"You still don't remember me, do you?"

"No.  I got here early to go through some files, see if I could figure out 
what's going on."

She looked away and moved toward the desk.  He seemed so distant, wary of her.

They both looked over at the door at the tap and Skinner walked in.  "You 
look a little better Agent Mulder."

"Uh, thank you.  I slept well last night."  He had, no nightmares, some 
vague dream about shampoo or something.  He shoved that aside.

"I've got something here I'd like you to look over.  I got a call from a 
friend of mine.  This one . . . they've requested you."

Him?  Someone had requested him?  He watched Scully take the file from 
Skinner's hands.  She didn't act surprised.  After a couple of seconds she 
looked up at Skinner.

He nodded, "You better hurry.  I have a feeling things are going to start 
disappearing fast.  Let me know what you need."  He let himself out of the 
office.

"What's he talking about?"  It sounded like a command and she stiffened, 
but handed him the folder.

He looked in the file, then up at her.  "Well?"  Nothing, there was nothing 
in his memory about this.

"Maybe you should spend a little more time going through the files Agent 
Mulder."  She turned on her heel and left the office.  Whatever had 
happened, she was getting damn tired of his attitude.

He watched her walk away with something like relief.  Nothing he had ever 
heard about her had enticed him.  Getting to "know" her hadn't changed his 
mind.  The case, however, did sound interesting.  He stepped over to the 
files and began cross-referencing information.  If he had been requested, 
then maybe there was something in here.

He wanted to talk to Diana.  Maybe she could explain what the hell was 
going on.  He'd not tried to contact her, waiting to see what the hell 
would happen next.  He'd waited long enough.

As he reached for the phone, it rang.  "Mulder."

"Wendy Malcolm from Travel, Agent Mulder.  Your tickets can be picked up at 
the desk."

"Thanks.  When do I leave?"

"You and Agent Scully are on the 1:30 to Atlanta."

"Agent Scully."

"Uh, yes sir.  She asked me to - "

"No problem.  Thanks Wendy."  He made his voice low and warm.  There was a 
hesitation on the other end.  He smiled; he'd caught her attention.  Rather 
than pursue it right now, he got off the line.

Where was Diana?  She wasn't even listed in the directory.  That was 
odd.  He picked up the phone and called the switchboard.  "I need a number 
for Diana Fowley."

"Excuse me?  Agent Mulder?"

'Yes.  Could you get me that number?"

"I . . . I don't, Agent Fowley died seven months ago, sir."

There was a long silence.  "Agent Fowley is dead?"

"Yes sir."  She paused for a moment.  "Agent Mulder, is everything 
okay?"  The dial tone was her only answer.

Diana dead?  Under what circumstances?  He turned toward his computer, but 
glanced at his watch.  If he was going to make his plane he needed to 
pack.  He'd investigate this, but now he needed to focus.  AD Skinner had 
given him an assignment - given - so he shouldn't blow that.  He had a lot 
to think about.

*****

He was settled on the plane, reading the file Skinner had given 
him.  Thoughts of Diana kept intruding and he continually pushed them aside.

"May I?"

Mulder looked up at the sound of a woman's voice.  Scully, of course she'd 
be here.  He stood in the aisle to let her pass.  He didn't want to deal 
with her right now.  As soon as she was seated, he returned to the 
file.  There was no need to try to charm her.

After takeoff, which he noticed was white knuckle for her, he tried to 
ignore her.  The scent from the night before was pervasive however.  He'd 
slept with that scent around him and for some reason it was irritating the 
hell out of him.  He'd be damned if he'd mention it.

While he flirted with the stewardess, she remained quiet and tried to 
concentrate on her own information from the file, but his voice kept 
filtering in.  What was going on?  He had never treated her like this.

*****

He took the keys to the rental car without even bothering to ask if she 
wanted to drive.  He did drive, probably 75% of the time, but he always 
made some comment.  This time there was nothing.  She dreaded an hour and a 
half ride with him.  If she only knew what was wrong, but it was as though 
he were a different man.

He obviously didn't want to have anything to do with her either, flipping 
on the radio and turning the music up to prevent conversation.  She turned 
to look out the window, more sad than angry at this point.  She didn't 
realize he would occasionally look over at her, now that she couldn't 
see.  He was startled at what looked like a tear on the side of her 
face.  Her hand brushed it away before he was sure.

The drive seemed to take forever and even then he didn't seem anxious to 
get started on the case, pulling into the twelve-unit motor court near the 
hospital.

After checking in and taking their bags inside, she returned immediately to 
his door, knocking sharply.  "Can we get on with this?"

"Sure Agent Scully, let's knock ourselves out."  Again he took the driver's 
side and they drove the short distance to the hospital.

The place obviously was doing a lot more business than it was used to and 
they were unable to get anyone to stop and answer their questions.  She was 
ready to reach for her badge and demand attention when a familiar voice 
caught her ear.

She turned and saw him, Commander Henderson.  She grabbed Mulder's arm and 
pulled him into an empty cubicle, pulling the curtain closed.  She had 
caught him off guard and was quite forceful about getting out of sight.  He 
straightened his suit coat and looked down at her.  "You couldn't wait 
until we're back at the motel?"

She shot him a withering glare.  "That's Commander Henderson out there and 
he'd like nothing better than to throw you behind bars again.  Is that what 
you want?"

"Behind bars?  What did I do to him?"

She was ignoring him now.  "That means a retrieval team is here.  We've got 
to get out before he sees either one of us."

"He wants you behind bars too?"

"He's not fond of me, but he despises you."  She snatched the car keys from 
Mulder's hand.

"Hey!"

"Shut up."  She peeked through the curtains.  "Come on.  Hurry."  She 
didn't check to see if he was following her, and after a short hesitation 
he was.  She already had the engine going when he opened the passenger door.

When they got back to the motel, he was out of the car before she could 
take it out of gear.  She jumped out and entered his room on his heels, 
before he could shut the door.

"What do you want?"  He barked at her, resisting the urge to take a breath 
of her, now that her scent was in his room.

"That was Commander Henderson, are you - "

"You've told me his name several times now.  Who is he?  Why is he after me?"

"Mulder, don't you remember him?  What about Max?"

"Max?"

"Max Fenig!"

Mulder shook his head, at a loss.

"Who the hell are you?"  She backed away from him then, drawing her gun.

"What the - "

"I want to see your blood.  Prick your finger, do something, I need to see 
the color of your blood."

"You're out of your friggin' mind!  You want me to bleed for you?"

She nodded, ratcheting a bullet into the chamber.  His eyes widened; she'd 
do it.  The paranoid bitch was going to shoot him.

"Fine, fine okay."  He pulled a small knife from his pocket and pressed the 
tip of the blade to his ring finger.  A drop of bright red blood appeared.

He could see Scully visibly relax at the sight and point the gun toward the 
ceiling.

"You're human."

"Thanks, I think.  What the fuck is going on here?"

"You're not my partner.  You're not Fox Mulder and I want to know what 
you've done with him."

"I haven't done anything with him.  I am Fox Mulder, I always have been."

"I want your fingerprints and DNA."

"You can have all the DNA you want."  He made a suggestive motion with his 
hips and saw her anger rise.  What was wrong with him?  He didn't treat 
women like this.  "Dana . . . Dana, I'm sorry."

She gave him the smallest of nods.  "We need to get back to DC.  Finding 
out what's going on with you is more important than this case."  She turned 
toward the door then.

"Scully, you said retrieval team.  What are they retrieving?"

She looked him in the eye then, "UFOs."  She let herself out the door, but 
not before she saw his eyes widen and his mouth fall slightly open.

He stood in shock for the longest time.  UFOs?  She hadn't been pulling his 
leg, she wouldn't do that, he knew that instinctively.  A noise on the 
other side of the wall finally drew his attention.

She was crying.  Shit!  Why was she crying?  He hated it when women cried, 
but he couldn't ignore it.  Not if it was her.  He let himself out of his 
room and moved to her door.   He started to knock, then stopped, trying the 
knob.

She hadn't taken the time to turn the old-fashioned thumb switch and the 
door was unlocked.  He carefully let himself into the room.  She was seated 
on the bed, her back against the headboard, her knees up under her chin 
with her arms wrapped around them.

"Scully?  You okay?"

She shook her head but didn't speak.

"Scully, what is our relationship?"

"We're partners."  She sniffed and reached for a tissue.  He took another 
cautious step toward the bed and eased down on the corner opposite her.

"I think it's more than that."

She looked at him then.  "Yes.  We were friends, best friends.  You were 
always there for me.  I hope I was there for you."

"I have no doubt you were.  The woman that broke into my apartment the 
first evening would be there for anything."

She looked away then and sighed.

"When was I there for you?"

She glanced back, startled.  He was serious, he wanted to hear this.  She 
took a deep breath, "When, when I was returned after my abduction I was in 
a coma, dying.  They removed life support and were waiting for me to 
die.  You came and sat with me, talked to me.  And I decided to live."  His 
eyes were wide, but he didn't interrupt.

"And when my cancer was . . . you found my cure and saved me again."

"I found a cure for cancer?"

"You found a cure for mine.  The implant."  She touched the back of her 
neck lightly.  "I realize now I was hours from dying, and you . . . Why do 
I infuriate you so?"

He sat up straight at that question.  "It . . . it's not fury, I think it's 
fear.  I feel like I could care for you, do care for you, and that's not my 
style, Agent Scully.  I booze 'em and bed 'em."  He shrugged.

She blushed slightly but shook her head.  "That's not the man I know.  When 
. . . when did you start drinking?"  She chose the easier topic.

"Why didn't you tell me Diana was dead?"

She blinked at the change in subject.  "I did, once."

"What happened between the two of you?"  He asked her, puzzled.

"Diana and me?  Nothing."

His expression showed he didn't believe her, but he dropped it, for 
now.  "So what do we do?"

"Let the guys do some testing.  We have to know what's going on."

*****

When they landed, she drove directly to the Lone Gunmen's apartment.  He 
followed in his own car.

"Guys, I need your help.  This is not Mulder, not the Mulder I know."

"I am Mulder.  I don't know what's going on, but I am Fox Mulder."

The three men stood there at a loss looking between the two agents.

"Take his finger prints, and his DNA."  Scully turned to Byers.

They looked at Mulder then, who nodded.  He sank into a chair and held out 
his hand.  Frohike looked at Byers and shrugged, then stepped forward and 
got the print kit out of the desk.

He took the prints and headed for the scanner.  "Scully," Byers moved over 
toward her.  "What happened?"

"He doesn't remember Max Fenig.  He doesn't know who Commander Henderson is."

"He could still be Mulder; maybe someone tampered with his memory."

Mulder looked over at them.  "How did Diana Fowley die?"

They all turned to look at him then.  After a long moment, Scully moved 
over to him.  She had known that conversation wasn't over, but she was 
grateful the others were here.  "She was murdered."  He flinched.  "It was 
after I returned from Africa.  I found you and got you away from 
them.  About the time you were released from the hospital she was found in 
her apartment, shot twice through the heart."

"Hospital?  Africa?  You got me away from what?"

She looked at Byers then as though to see if he were hearing 
this.  "Mulder, they took you, they performed surgery on you."

"What kind of surgery?"

"On your . . . on your brain, Mulder."

"You're kidding, right?"

"No Mulder.  Right here."  She moved closer and touched him lightly on his 
scalp.  When she felt no scar, she moved her fingers slightly to the 
side.  She glanced over at Byers and then brought her other hand up to his 
head, parting his hair.

"Ow!"  He jerked away as she pulled his hair in her agitation.

"There's no scar.  Byers, there's no scar."  Her voice was shaking.

They all stepped back from the man then.  Frohike looked up, "the 
fingerprints match."

"What?"  Scully stared at Frohike then.  "They can't!  There's no scar!"

Byers put what he hoped was a calming hand on Scully's arm.  "Let us check 
the DNA.  Maybe there's an explanation, maybe the scar - "

"Vanished?  Along with his memory of past cases?  When have you ever known 
Mulder to forget anything?"

Byers looked away from her then.  Langly and Frohike refused to meet her 
eyes as well.

"Scully, what's going on?"  Mulder looked up at her then.  "I am Mulder, I 
don't remember being your partner, I thought that was Diana.  Since I'm 
apparently the only one that remembers things that way, I agree, 
something's wrong.  But I don't know what."

"I don't either Mulder."  She sank into the other chair and looked at 
him.  "But you are not the Fox Mulder I have known for the past seven 
years.  You need to tell me what you remember.  We need to find out where 
your memories diverge from mine.  Byers?"

"Anything you need Scully."  Byers placed a calming hand on Scully's 
shoulder and Mulder felt his blood pressure rise.  He had to hold himself 
in place to keep from knocking the man's hand away.  What did he care if 
another man touched her?  He never had with any other woman, and she wasn't 
his type.

"You have no memory of ever being my partner?"

"None.  I recognized you that morning when I walked in my office and you 
were there, but I'd never worked with you.  Diana and I found the X-Files 
about ten years ago.  We've worked on them together ever since, or she has 
and she takes me along, sorry, took me along."

"She was the lead agent?"

"Maybe not at first, but yeah."

"Why?"

"She didn't drink as much."  He shrugged.

Scully closed her eyes at that.  "Did she, did she chose your cases or were 
they assigned?"

"For the most part she chose them."

"You seemed surprised by the amount of detail in the files you were looking 
at.  Did you not . . . "

Mulder actually laughed at that.  "No, we didn't go into that kind of 
detail.  We were a joke.  You should have seen some of the cases she 
brought in.  But hell, it kept me off the streets, during the day at least."

"Did you not care?"

"Hell yes I cared!"  The question had obviously infuriated him.  "But I was 
the only one that did.  It became an exercise."

"Did Diana - "

"Diana didn't care either, not once we quit . . . " He looked down at his 
shoes then, "Drinking became more attractive and women kept me busy."

"Oh Mulder."  She turned away from him at those words and he felt a moment 
of panic.

"Mulder, we knew you before you worked with Diana."  Byers spoke 
finally.  "You were very excited when you found the X-Files.  I know you 
always gave Diana some credit for finding them, but she wasn't there.  In 
fact, she came to you after you found them because she'd heard about what 
you had found.  Scully, do you think, do you think she could have been sent 
like you were, to debunk the work?  Only, she actually did."

Scully looked at Byers for a long moment.  "You think she worked with 
them?  You think she deliberately worked against . . . "

"Yeah, I do."  Byers nodded.

"It makes the most sense Scully."  Langly faced her then, and Frohike nodded.

"That doesn't explain who this man is."

"I'm Fox Mulder."

"You're not my Mulder!"  She stopped when she realized what she had 
said.  "I . . . I mean . . . "

"It's okay Scully."  Frohike placed a hand on her shoulder.

She shook her head.  "I'm going home."  She moved toward the door.

"Scully."  Mulder rose, but she flinched from him and he stopped.

She left the apartment then without another word.

"Listen, Mulder, she'll be okay.  Just give her some time.  We'll get this 
thing figured out and - "

"Right.  I need a drink."

"Have it here Mulder.  Frohike's got what you want."  Byers placed a hand 
on his shoulder.  "You shouldn't - "

"I need to be alone."

"That's not a good idea Mulder."

"When's the last time I had a good idea?"  He moved on to the door and 
didn't look back.  The three men exchanged glances.

"Should we follow him?"  Langly asked Byers.

"No.  He doesn't know what's going on any more than we do.  We need to give 
him some space."  Byers looked over at Frohike, who reluctantly nodded.

*****

The knock on her door finally roused her and she grabbed her robe.  Was it 
Mulder?  He was the only one who ever just showed up at her door this late 
at night.  If it was him, it was the first normal thing he had done in 
months.  After the conversation at the guys' apartment, he had refused 
further discussion.  The DNA had matched, just like the prints.  No 
chemicals of any kind had been found in his blood.

Many times she had turned to find him looking at her, watching her, but he 
never allowed a personal conversation.

His drinking continued, though he didn't seem to be picking up women 
anymore.  At least if he did, he hid it from her.

Her depression grew, but so did her workload.  He automatically fell into a 
secondary role, often not even bothering with a theory.

At first she had tried to tease him into an outlandish theory, just to 
watch his mind click into gear.  A couple of times it had worked, but not 
lately.  She desperately missed his late night phone calls, the occasional 
pizza, even the damn innuendos.

She had picked up the slack, covering for his lackluster performance, 
hoping every day that he would snap out of it as quickly as it had taken 
over him.  It didn't seem to be happening, and he did not want her 
help.  He'd made that painfully obvious.

She automatically checked the peephole.  Skinner?  She yanked the door 
open, "Sir?  What's wrong?"

He moved into her apartment and shut the door.

"What is it?"  Her voice shook, as he still didn't speak, merely leading 
her to her couch.

"Scully, Dana, there's been an accident."

"Accident?"  She didn't realize she was now gripping his hand.  "Mulder?"

Skinner nodded.  Without warning she rose, "Where is he?  Where have they 
taken him?  I need to be with him."

"Dana, Dana . . . he, he didn't make it.  He was apparently driving 
intoxicated.  They've taken the . . . the body to - "

"No!  No, he's not dead.  He's not . . . " Skinner had taken hold of her 
now and pulled her against him.  This man wouldn't lie to her, but he 
couldn't be right, not about this.  Her arms tightened painfully around him 
and he could feel her nails even through his suit coat.  His own eyes were 
wet now and he felt the shudders pass through her body.


He agreed to take her, finally, and allowed her to get dressed while he 
waited.  Skinner sat on the couch, numb with despair himself; he couldn't 
imagine what she was thinking.  He'd never known the man to drink, not like 
this.  How could he have . . . at least he hadn't taken anyone else with 
him when he drove into that bridge abutment.

Arrangements needed to be made.  The man had no family, except Scully and 
she was in no shape . . . later, they could think about this later and he 
would be there for her.

He rose as he heard her approach.  She was pale, but she was composed 
again.  He'd make this as easy on her as he could.

*****

She pushed the door to the morgue open.  Skinner had wanted to come with 
her but she had to do this alone.  His body had been brought out and his 
face wasn't covered.  He wasn't marked; his face was unmarred by the 
accident.  The airbag had . . . she took hold of the table to stay on her feet.

She stared down at him; ignoring all of the things they had discussed that 
day at the Gunmen's apartment.  She wouldn't touch his scalp; she didn't 
want to believe that the scar wasn't there.

"What happened to you?  Oh god Mulder, why did you change?  The drinking, 
the women.  Were you trying to get killed?  Did you just give up?  What am 
I supposed to do now?  How do I live?"

It took a second to realize his eyes had opened.  When she did she jerked 
back, her eyes impossibly wide.  Her mouth moved but no sound emerged.

"Scully?  You're alive?"

That forced air back into her lungs.  "Me?  Mulder what the hell is . . . 
you were . . . you were . . ." And she sank toward the floor.

"Scully!"  He was off the table just beginning to realize his nudity.  When 
he ensured himself that she had only fainted, he draped the sheet that had 
covered him around himself and thought to look around.  A morgue?  He was 
in a morgue and she had thought he was dead.  Was he back?  Was he back to 
where Scully was alive?  They had a lot to talk about, he wondered if she 
would listen to him this time.  And, he smiled, how long would it take to 
get her back into his bed, where she belonged.