From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: Thu, 15 Jun 2000 15:14:29 -0500 Subject: \"Twist of Fate\" (4/6) by Mostly Harmless and Xkitty Source: direct Reply To: mostlyhrmles@yahoo.com;hellokitty_17@excite.com; Title: "Twist of Fate" Authors: Mostly Harmless and Xkitty Rating: PG-13 Classification: XA Spoilers: Season 7: All Things Keywords: Mulder /Scully Friendship, UST Description: This story is about a twist of fate- literally! It is set after season 7 "All Things" and before "Fight Club" (for reasons which will become obvious....) Twist of Fate (Part 4 of 6) By XKitty and Mostly Harmless Ten hours later, after beginning their own investigation into the thief, Mulder was quite pleased with himself and the change in his partner. He had become confident that she had gotten his message; she seemed so much more relaxed and open to new ideas. She was smiling more often, too, and arguing with him less. He just couldn't believe she was going along with him this easily; it seemed too good to be true. Earlier that day, he'd picked up a dime-store 'Police' Badge and spent about an hour at Kinko's mocking-up an FBI ID for himself- complete with his real badge number. Although she had stayed far away pretending not to know him, she hadn't tried to convince him it was a bad idea. She'd even looked closely at the ID and remarked, "Brilliant," without even a trace of sarcasm he could detect. Mulder knew she would have talked him out of the idea if were truly as stupid a plan as he had suspected it to be; he could always count on her for that! They seemed to be on the same wavelength today...and on the right track. The last place they'd visited was the 'Magix Shoppe' where a burglary had occurred about four months earlier. Only a few items had been taken, while some other more valuable ones had been left behind. One book had been taken, an old leather-bound volume with no title on its cover. It had been recovered in Kansas and because it had been taken across state lines to be sold, it fell under federal jurisdiction. Scully had commented on that; frankly, he hadn't noticed until she mentioned it while reading the illicit copy of the police report he'd given to her. The store looked fairly difficult to break into, but the bars that came down to cover the front windows looked very shiny and new, as did the label warning potential burglars of an alarm system installed inside. Frankly, there didn't seem to be much inside to warrant the attention of an ordinary criminal. However, in addition to selling black top hats, wands, handkerchiefs, and whoopee-cushions, there was a back room filled with herbs, spell-books, crystals and arcane paraphernalia. The store was surprisingly busy, and Mulder decided to wait until things quieted down before he started asking questions. He was pleased to see Scully again following his lead. Both of them were carefully examining the back room, reading old, dusty labels, taking books off the shelves and leafing through them, peering intently through glass cases at the valuables locked inside them. One display case had an astonishingly clear glass front, unscratched and unsmudged by fingerprints. The glass had obviously been replaced recently. After about ten minutes, a small man of wiry build with thinning mouse-brown hair and glasses with coke-bottle lenses emerged from behind a beaded curtain. His tag, slightly askew, read 'Manager.' "Ah, you are back! I heard your voices. Have you recovered any more of my property? Have you caught Davids?" His eyes flitted back and forth between the two agents, catching their reflexive look to each other. He peered more closely at them. "I'm sorry; I see I've mistaken you for someone else. My apologies. How can I help you?" Mulder flashed his badge, more quickly than usual, as Scully smiled and answered for them, momentarily forgetting they were under suspension. "I'm Agent Scully, and this is my partner, Agent Mulder." "You're with the FBI? What a coincidence! I had mistaken you for two other agents who came by here about two months back." "We're investigating several things...including two people who seem to have been impersonating us." "Really? Well, I have certainly seen them...if, of course, you are the real federal agents. What did you say your names were again?" "Scully. And that's Mulder." "Those names sound familiar...but I don't remember that they are those used by the other agents...let me see if I can find the card they left." He began searching through his wallet, sifting stacks of paper and opening books which had random bits of paper stuck in amongst their pages. Finally, he gave up, and began searching through multitudinous pockets. Eventually, he came up with something which might once have been a business card. "Sorry. Must have gone through the wash. I leave it in the pocket and... well, you know." The manager looked up earnestly at Mulder. "I've got it! I know where I've seen your name before!" Mulder looked to Scully as the little man scurried back behind the beaded curtain. Her expression was worried. "You don't think he's..." she began cautiously. "Calling the police? I don't think so, Scully. Besides, though we may be under suspicion, we aren't actually wanted." "But they'd love to get their hands on us for..." Scully's gaze drifted to the pocket where he had secreted his fake ID. "But you said it was brilliant." "I meant its...artistic merits..." Scully bit down on 'not your idea.' Kathy Thompson wouldn't say that! "It is a good idea; I just don't want to get caught...out in the rain without an umbrella," she finished smoothly as the man reappeared. "Like I was telling you earlier, Scully, it's not going to rain. Not today anyway. And how often am I wrong?" Scully smiled her sweetest smile, though she couldn't make it reach her eyes. "Almost never, Mulder, almost never," she admitted, her stomach churning as she did so. He looked down at her, a smile lighting his face and warming his green eyes. Clearly, he was delighted by her uncharacteristic response. A small headache began to form between her eyes- her muscles were tense from acting the unaccustomed part of Thompson. The manager looked to them, holding out a newspaper clipping which had been neatly cut from the front page of a California newspaper. His voice was breaking slightly, and his eyes were moistened with tears. The photograph showed a man, covering his face from cameras as he was hauled into the courthouse. There in the background, clearly identifiable and named in the caption were Agents Mulder and Scully. The headline read, 'Santa Claus Killer to Face Death Penalty.' "Thank you, thank you both...my cousin...her daughter, was one of his victims. Knowing for certain what happened ...knowing the killer will face justice...has helped bring closure to our family. You don't know what this means to us." Scully's hand went to Mulder's almost automatically. He looked far off into the distance for a long moment before coming back to the present. Scully spoke for him, quietly. "Actually, he does." "I remember now, my cousin heard more details than the newspaper ever printed. She said the killer might never have been caught if it weren't for two maverick FBI agents who focused the investigation away from the original suspects: the parents. So many children dead...we know for certain that at least the killing has stopped. Thank you. Thank you both." He hugged them both, his face streaming with tears. He showed them a faded picture of his cousin's daughter, who looked to be about ten years old. The moment was something of an epiphany for Scully. She remembered suddenly why she had joined the FBI. She knew also, without a shadow of a doubt, the Santa Claus killer would not have been apprehended, at least not before any more victims died. If it hadn't been for Mulder's unorthodox investigations; indeed not only more children, but hundreds of people in the building in Dallas owed him their lives. So many killers might still be on the loose had her partner played 'by the rules'. Suddenly, she wished her brother Bill were here to share this moment with them. She would love to throw this into the teeth of his greatest attacks on her partner, prove to him once and for all what kind of a man Mulder truly was. Scully had been a part of that; not the largest part however, and perhaps she could have done better...like Kathy Thompson did in the book. This one chance encounter with a simple store manager left Scully fiercely determined to regain her place as Mulder's partner in the FBI. She ground her teeth momentarily. The partner she *should* be. Her resolve to become more like the fictional Agent Thompson had been wavering, but returned in full force. Scully's back straightened and her chin went up firmly. She knew what she wanted- now it was time to go get it! Mulder missed the change entirely. His thoughts were still focused inward so much that he missed the first part of the manager's sentence. Shaking his head sadly, he realized the man was talking to him, "...so, if there's anything I can do to help you in any way." Mulder was surprised by Scully's response. She took the man at his word and began to grill him intensely about the robbery, about the 'agents' who investigated it and about the suspect, John Davids. Fortunately, the man was cooperative; Mulder would have hated to see what Scully would do in this position if she were balked! The man proved to be a veritable font of information, spilling things he wasn't aware he knew under Scully's grueling interrogation. Mulder listened carefully, but also found himself unconsciously figuring out how to work this scene into his book. 'Kathy Thompson' at her best!' Mulder thought as he watched his partner. They left the store with a great deal more information than they'd had when they arrived. Mulder had been virtually silent until they stepped out into the warm spring air. Rain still threatened, but didn't fall. Scully climbed into the passenger's seat as Mulder seated himself behind the wheel. Scully touched his arm. "Are you okay?" He smiled, feeling as if everything in his world had been set to rights. She forced a smile back at his nod, almost gritting her teeth, "You were right, Mulder...there is a link between Davids and our mystery shooter." "We are right, Scully," Mulder emphasized. "You agreed with me this time, remember? Besides, I've started thinking your theory about alien bounty hunters might be correct after all." "My theory!" she began, then remembered that she actually had been the one to bring in aliens this time, "I mean, what, in particular did you find to support my theory?" "I'm coming to the conclusion we are being intentionally impersonated. Before this, I thought that unlikely, because how could they have known we would be in Kansas City in the right place at the right time? However, it all makes sense if we've been set up. When you talked to your friend...how did he sound? Could he have been threatened...forced into making that call?" "It could be," Scully began doubtfully. She stopped herself...Thompson, think Thompson..."You're probably right, Mulder. They could have checked our travel arrangements and made sure we were going to be in town at the right time. We could have been framed. But why?" "We must have been getting too close to the truth, once again. Or perhaps...there are plans being made, and they don't want us to be in the position to interfere. We need to be careful, Scully, really careful. Since we are still free...they may not be done." Scully refrained from shouting at her partner that he was crazy. The idea that there were two alien shapeshifters whose job in life was to frame them just didn't make sense. "And they've been planning this for at least two months, if what the shopkeeper told us is accurate." She tried to make this a statement, not an objection. "Exactly, it must be something really big in the works...Scully, what if it is the beginnings of colonization?" Scully didn't thwap herself on the forehead, but she felt like it. The scenario was growing further and further out of hand. But Mulder had been right so often...and she'd been wrong objecting to ideas that has sounded much stranger to her than this one did. Play along with it, back him up, bail him out of trouble when he got into it. That was her job now, not playing skeptic. The headache was returning. "Maybe we should contact Byers and see if he's learned anything useful." Mulder looked at her sidelong. "Excellent idea, Agent Thompson!" he joked. Her smile seemed a little force, he thought, but she should know he meant it as a compliment. Scully stared out her window as they drove, his words driving like daggers into her heart. She was beginning to doubt her capability, wondering if she could really become the partner that Mulder wanted her to be. She had to try. She looked over at her partner. Know that he needed her and he deserved the best, Scully resolved to fail him no more. Mulder and Scully met Byers for dinner that evening. He hadn't learned much, but was clearly glad to see them pursuing the case. He wondered, though, if things were really going to be okay. The dynamic between them seemed altered; Scully in particular seemed out of sorts. Mulder seemed unusually cheerful, however. Perhaps they were simply responding to the stress in different ways. Mulder and Scully made an early night of it. Scully wanted to discuss the case with him, for once wanting to hear more of his theories, but he put her off. What he really wanted to do was read the corrections she'd made to his work. It had been gnawing at him all day. She had said she liked it but for some reason that didn't seem sufficient. Before retiring, he extracted a promise that she would try to read a bit more of his book tonight, and he tried to hide his anxiety. Scully was disappointed and somewhat disturbed that she couldn't persuade her partner to discuss the case further. Normally, he was eager to do so, and she was the one to plead fatigue. As little as she wanted to play the part of Thompson as she listened to him expound on alien bounty hunters, she wanted to read about her alter ego even less. She read the first couple of pages and her anger grew. How could she possibly live up to the superwoman described? She gave up in disgust, knowing she would face it later. She could plead a headache; that was certainly true enough. About midnight, Mulder put down the pages of his book. He'd read over the corrections at least a dozen times. Scully was an extremely good editor, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't decide what she really thought about it. He tried to read between the lines, but failed. He'd have to extract her real opinion when he saw her tomorrow. He walked down the corridor to the ice machine, only to find Scully bent over the machine. He smiled to see her. As she turned, he watched the way her back hunched over, saw the line of pain between her eyebrows and the downcast set of her eyes. "Scully?" he asked softly. "What's wrong?" Anger built inside, but she was able to contain it, to not blurt out 'what is wrong is that you expect me to live up to your standards.' She almost answered, 'I'm fine,' but Thompson was always truthful. Strain increasing, she answered, "Headache." Something inside Mulder lightened. He'd fully expected the usual brush-off. He was used to her headaches, but she almost never admitted to them. This one must be really bad. Gently, he took the ice from her and set it on top of the machine. He stood behind her, and his hands started to knead her shoulders. He felt the tightly knotted muscles begin to relax under his massage. She sighed under his ministrations. When he stopped, she turned and wrapped one arm around him, pressing her head into his chest. Something deeply buried inside him warmed to her embrace. Mulder gently stroked the flaming hair on top of her head, feeling her take comfort from his presence. After a moment, she let go, turning away, embarrassed. Once again, she had shown him her weakness and taken advantage of his strength. As she stepped away thinking of her failings, her shoulders hunched once more. "Scully, what is it?" he repeated, the sight of his work undone in an instant causing him almost physical pain. She shook her head, grabbed her ice pail and turned away. "Scully, we will make this right. We will. Our names will be cleared and...and you'll be my partner again, the best partner ever." If anything, her posture grew more pained, more defensive. Mulder didn't understand. He knew, now, something was wrong, and was hurt that Scully wouldn't tell him. Alone in his room, he finally figured it out. Scully, now free of the Bureau, didn't want to go back and was afraid to tell him. He could tell, looking back on it, that her heart wasn't in it. He'd been enjoying the 'new' Scully- agreeable, open-minded, complimentary when, all the while, she had really just given up. The spark wasn't there; she'd lost the will to fight. He was silly to think she really believed the alien bounty hunters were behind this...but she didn't care enough to argue with him. She hadn't even stood up to him about the stupid badge. That could have gotten them into serious trouble; innocent of everything else or not, if they impersonated active agents, they'd never get their jobs back, and she knew it. She just didn't care any more. In frustration, he hacked his fake ID into bits with a jackknife. Mulder groaned. His book...she must hate it. It must have reminded her of all she had lost, all she had sacrificed, all the time wasted. He wouldn't mention it again. It hurt; he had poured his heart out into it, and she had rejected it. Rejected him. She wanted out, and was afraid to tell him. Scully would clear her name then be gone. Out of his life. For good. She cared about him, and so was afraid to tell him. He'd have to offer her an easy way out. He owed her that. He wouldn't make her feel guilty for moving on with her life. She had earned the break. Mulder lay on his bed all night, unsleeping, his heart breaking. He let it happen, let out the emotion so Scully would never see it. So she would not be bound to him out of sympathy or loyalty. After seven years, it was time to let her go gracefully. Scully attempted to pull the ice bucket down, glad that Mulder had already left for his own room. Without her heels on, she could barely reach the top of the machine, and this in her mind was yet another shortcoming. Finally, she jumped and angrily smacked the bucket off the edge; it bounced off of her shoulder and landed on the floor, its contents now spread the width of the hall. With what could only be described as a growl, she scooped up the ice and flung it into the bucket and shuffled, defeated, back to her room. Once inside she slumped against the wall, clutching the bucket to her as if it could provide some modicum of comfort to get her through the night. She sat silently, staring at her reflection mirrored on the opposite wall. Everything she saw seemed wrong, out of place. She had too much flab, not enough muscle. Her eyes didn't seem determined enough, as she imagined those of Kathy Thompson would be when Mulder finally described them. Even her red hair seemed dull and lifeless, and Scully began to wonder if she should change even her favorite attribute in her quest to become the perfect partner. At any other time, this thought would have seemed terribly irrational and foolish, but now Scully was seeing herself in a different light. Instead of the beautiful, strong, intelligent person she knew existed, her image revealing a pale shadow of the person she could be. She weakly hugged the ice bucket as if to let go would be to lose all faith and hope in life completely. Scully saw the tears appear in her reflection's eyes before she felt them herself. As if in a dream, she reached up and felt her own wet face, and the familiar mantra once more popped into her head. the voice taunted her, but the mere effort of trying to hold them back made the tears flow more freely. Angrily Scully wiped at her face, desperate to hide this new evidence of her inadequacy. She looked at herself again, noting the now-wild hair, the smudged makeup, and especially the panicked eyes looking at a stranger she never realized she had become. Mulder didn't want her. The voice in her head reminded her again of her inability to fulfill his needs, and she fell back against the wall, momentarily exhausted. The tears fell unchecked now, and not even Kathy Thompson could stop them. Dana Scully felt herself drifting off into an oblivious, dreamless sleep, her head propped up on the bucket she had thrown aside a few minutes before. The sobbing slowed to an occasional gasping whimper as her eyes closed. The tears stopped with her last coherent thought. The next morning dawned sunny and beautiful, a stark contrast to both agents' distinctly gray moods. Mulder had awakened before five that morning and had been unable to go back to sleep. He ended up staring at the ceiling for two hours, thinking of nothing but how much he wished he were back at home, holed up in his apartment. Around 7:30 he got out of bed and padded over to the door that joined his room to Scully's. Hearing no movements to indicate that she was already awake, Mulder opened up his file folder and got to work. He had to be extremely organized today; the sooner they finished all planned investigations here, the sooner they could both return to D.C. and be about their individual lives. Scully blinked open her eyes, surprised momentarily to see nothing but carpet. She sat up sharply, peering hazily around her in an attempt to ascertain where she was. The bewilderment at being on the floor soon gave way to anger when she remembered how she had come to sleep there. She stood up stiffly, propping her sore body against the door for support. Although still in her wrinkled clothes from the night before, Scully projected none of the professionalism of the previous day. Indeed, all she felt as she stared at herself in the mirror was exhaustion. She was worn out physically, mentally, and most of all emotionally. Scully stepped into the bathroom and prepared to take a long, hot shower. As the water heated up, she began to massage her shoulders in an effort to work out the kinks that had formed from spending the night on the floor. Her neck was the most painful due to the unnatural position in which she had slept; Scully moaned at the sharp pain that shot down her spine each time she turned her head and wished silently that she could ask Mulder to massage her sore muscles as he had the night before. She got in the shower and let the scalding water stream over her until she was numb from the heat. Scully knew that was probably the only way she could face the day ahead of her: numb. About thirty minutes later, a knock sounded at her room door. Scully reluctantly stepped out of the shower, wrapping herself in a large fluffy robe and her hair in a towel. Through the peephole she could see Mulder waiting outside. He was shifting nervously from side to side and looking off down the hall, almost as if he were mentally preparing himself for a coming battle. She opened the door just as he raised his hand to knock again. Caught off guard, Mulder stepped back into the hallway and averted his eyes. He was about to apologize and walk away when she beckoned him inside. Not enthusiastically, Mulder noted, but at least she hadn't turned him away outright. He was a little surprised to see that she was just now getting out of the shower, and judging by the steam which had accumulated on the mirror, it had been a long one. He followed her further in and noticed with dismay that the bed had not been slept in and that her suitcase sat, unopened, exactly where he had placed it the day before. "I um, just wanted to see if you were interested in some breakfast," he said quickly when she caught him surveying the room. "I understand they have a continental free with your room here, and I thought perhaps you'd like some coffee or something," he finished lamely. "Coffee would be great, Mulder," Scully said quietly. She smiled softly to herself...that was one of the first true things she'd said in a day and a half. "I appreciate you stopping by to ask." She walked back towards the door, unraveling the towel from her wet head and shaking her hair out. She turned to her partner and waited, hoping he would pick up the hint. When he just stood there, she sighed and said, "I'll get dressed and meet you in the lobby in a few minutes, okay?" "Oh, sure," Mulder said. Before he hadn't been sure if she had been ushering him out, but now he was certain. He walked slowly to the door, hoping to hear her say and explain to him everything that was going through her head. Mulder could swear he had heard sobbing from the adjoining room, and although he had been pretty preoccupied with his own problems the night before, now he wanted to help her. Besides, if she really wanted out, she needed to know that he could accept that; there was no reason for her to torment herself about the decision as much as she was. Mulder started to speak, but Scully had already opened the door for him. The moment had passed. After she shut the door behind him, Scully breathed heavily. What she had wanted more than anything was for her partner to ask, truly, what was wrong. For some reason, this morning she actually felt prepared to tell him. Maybe if he had mentioned the book...which was odd, actually. He hadn't mentioned the book at all. Scully paused a moment, wondering if by some miracle he had deduced the reason for her melancholy. Shaking her head, she decided not. The confused look on his face as he stood outside her door, his bemused appearance as he glanced around her neat-as-a-pin hotel room, they certainly did not point to his having had any great overnight epiphany. Scully pulled out her suitcase and got dressed, choosing a pantsuit rather than a skirt just in case she needed to show off her Kathy Thompson fighting skills. Laughing cynically, she finished dressing and blew her hair dry. Her flawless outer appearance was finished with a touch of makeup, and after refastening her cross necklace, she left the room to check in with Mulder. He was waiting for her at one of the small tables by the breakfast area. A still steaming cup of coffee and a plain bagel sat across the table from where he sat, intensely studying a sheet of paper. Scully walked up around him and pulled out her chair, giving off as genuine a smile as she was able. He nodded in reply, motioning towards her coffee and saying simply, "for you." "What are you working on?" she asked in reply, stirring a creamer into the black coffee he had provided. "Plan for the day," he answered tersely. "I think we should try to check out the Nichols' place today, see if we can dig up anything on that window." "Good idea," she commented honestly, but Mulder's gaze flickered towards her suspiciously. "Are we stopping by there first?" "Probably. There might not be as many people around at this time of morning...although I had kind of wanted to get an earlier start," he finished, half to himself. "Sorry, I overslept," Scully jumped in quickly, taking the blame. "Don't worry about it, so did I," Mulder lied. They finished their breakfast in silence. In fact, barely a word was spoken until they pulled up in front of the Nichols home. Mulder was about to park by the front curb, but Scully pointed out that there was a car in the driveway and maybe he should pull further down the street, just in case. "Fine," he answered, jerking the car towards the opposite curb. "Who do you think it is?" "Probably Mark's wife. Um, you probably should go first. I think your description is less widespread than mine." Mulder agreed and got out, jogging across the street towards the front door. He leaped lightly onto the front walk, and pulled hesitantly on the brass door knocker. After a few moments, he heard footsteps from inside, and for the second time that day he was greeted by a woman wearing a fuzzy bathrobe. The irony wasn't lost on him as he smiled at the woman, who was eyeing him distrustfully. "Hi, Mrs. Nichols? I'm here to see about one of the projects your husband may have been working on when he was shot." She squinted at him, cautiously opening the door a little wider. Suddenly, she grinned in recognition. "Oh, I'm sorry. I took my glasses off to shower so my vision's a little fuzzy. You're that agent who was searching for a thief in our area six weeks ago. You all haven't found the man yet, have you?" she asked earnestly. Mulder shook his head gravely, plotting out his next lines in his head. "No, but I think that your husband may have left something behind as a key to both the theft and the attempt on his life. Is there any way we can look around in his work area?" Mulder turned and gestured towards the car where Scully sat waiting patiently. "Certainly, come on in," she said, smiling at Scully as she got out of the car. "I'm sorry I was a little cold at first. The past few weeks have been, well, very long, and I've gotten a little paranoid about letting people into the house. Wow, I hadn't realized how much your partner resembles the woman they took into custody?" she faded off, studying Scully's face again. Scully froze, casting a panicked look at her partner behind the woman's back. However, the woman sighed, apparently satisfied, and led them down to the basement. "I'll be upstairs if you need anything," she said, pausing to look Scully over once more before she left. "That woman doesn't trust me as far as she can throw me," Scully began in a fierce stage whisper as soon as the door was shut. "Too late to worry about that, we're in here now," Mulder replied, beginning a surface search of the cluttered desk area. Scully began peering carefully at the bookshelves, occasionally pulling one out and flipping through it. The two worked in near silence for about twenty minutes before Mulder let out a triumphant, if subdued . "What is it?" "Nichols' records on his experiments." Mulder carefully folded several pages and inserted them inside his coat pockets. Scully had to physically turn away, biting her lip to keep from chastising him for this latest indiscretion. He noticed her silence and frowned, but continued to efficiently remove data from the scene. Both of them started when the upstairs door opened. "Are you two almost done down there?" Mrs. Nichols asked, sounding distinctly nervous. "Actually, we just finished," Mulder answered smoothly, catching Scully's eye and crossing to the staircase. "I think we got everything we need." "Yes, thank you so much," Scully continued, following Mulder's lead. Despite her confident sound, however, she could feel the woman's eyes boring into her back the entire way to the front door. Mrs. Nichols showed them out, rather forcefully it seemed to Scully, and shut the door quickly behind them. Scully was willing to swear that she saw a pair of eyes, now sporting an attractive pair of wire-rim glasses, peek out from behind the curtain on one of the front windows as they climbed into the car to drive away. As they pulled away from the house, Mulder silently placed the haphazardly folded documents he had swiped onto Scully's lap. She stared at them a moment, somewhat loathe to place herself yet again outside the law, but finally, in keeping with her new character, she opened them one by one. The information inside captivated her scientific mind so quickly, however, that she soon forgot her unvoiced doubts. Mulder had purloined all the evidence they needed to prove that Mark had indeed been working on the project she had attempted to explain to the police several weeks earlier. Among the documents, the one she found most fascinating was an abridged patent notebook. The earliest date was several months prior, dated when Mark conceived the bulletproof glass idea. Scully was soon engrossed in even the limited amount of detail her friend had provided. He had been successful in his original intent; a date several weeks after the first was marked in red, with the word "eureka" circled several times. On this date, Mark had taken a sample of his discovery to the firing range, where he had attached it to the target. The glass had succeeded admirably in comparison to a sample of the bulletproof glass currently on the market, as it took at least three more shots fired to even mar the experimental window. However, the tests had not ended there. The new plastic had offered a slightly distorted view to the other side, and in true scientific fashion, Mark had been intrigued enough to continue his work to investigate the effect and to discover its cause. As the pages went on, it became evident that he having difficulty repeating his experiment. Only his original trial distorted time; it was also the only one tinted faintly purple. Mark was attempting to determine if this correlation were really causal; he was beginning to suspect that in spite of his experimental procedures, his initial sample had been contaminated. "Mulder, you need to read this," Scully said enthusiastically, setting the pages down. Mulder looked over, slightly surprised to hear his partner speak in an upbeat tone for the first time in several days. "It's fascinating," she continued. "I really wish we'd been able to see the end product of his work." "Maybe we still will," Mulder replied after a short pause. "If I'm right, during the course of this whole investigation we might catch the guy who stole it." Scully was momentarily silenced, thinking to herself how typical 'Mulder' that comment was...not that she'd really expected him to come down here solely to clear her name. Mulder almost always had some ulterior motive, and well, Scully had to admit that it made life a little more interesting. At least now that she was intrigued, she wasn't spending every waking minute thinking of that book. Scully almost shuddered at the word, wishing ruefully that she had never put the thought into Mulder's head. She would have been perfectly happy and able to live just as fulfilling a life without knowing how inadequate she was. Scully sighed as the car pulled up in front of the hotel, refolding the scattered papers in her lap. "Meet you upstairs?" Mulder asked as he let her out by the valet parking area. "We can look over this, then talk about heading back to D.C. I don't know how much more we can do here without the local police being alerted or Skinner realizing we're gone." "Sure," Scully answered, trying to sound nonchalant. Now that she had found some science to bite into, she wanted to stay in Kansas City as long as possible and do more research. Unfortunately, she knew Mulder was right (as always, the nagging voice in the back of her mind reminded her). It really was time for them to head home. She walked in the rotating doors and stood, waiting for the elevator and lost in her own thoughts. She was completely oblivious to the fact that she was being followed by a man in a rather stereotypical disguise: a baseball cap with the brim pulled down and a pair of dark sunglasses. After the elevator doors closed behind Scully, John Davids pulled off his glasses and wiped his face. He had been surprised, to say the least, to pass the two during a traffic pileup. So surprised, in fact, that it had taken him three blocks to realize who it was and turn around to follow them. Due to some expert driving, however, he had caught up to them rather quickly, pulling directly behind in an attempt to ascertain whether or not they truly were the people who had shot at him in Nichols' house. He hadn't been totally sure until the woman had gotten out in front of the hotel. Parallel parking his car into the nearest tiny space, Davids had jogged across the street, narrowly avoiding being hit by both a speeding sports car and a large Cadillac. Swearing, he had waited behind a large column until the male agent had driven off towards the parking garage. Then, stealthily, Davids had followed the woman to the elevator, resisting the urge to take care of her right then and there. D.C. He had heard them mention heading back to D.C., and he knew that was where he would have to go in order to take care of this minor difficulty he had encountered. After all, whether or not she ended up taking the blame, that woman was the only person, other than Mark Nichols himself, of course, who could identify him as the thief, and he couldn't have her saying anything. Not now that he had accumulated almost every item he needed to complete his collection. Grinning, Davids turned and left the hotel, scanning the sidewalk in search of the nearest pay phone. He needed to get a seat on the next flight to Washington, so that no matter how soon they left, he would beat them there. Then he'd have time to maybe do a little snooping around, find out some names and addresses to go with the faces that were ingrained into his memory as the only people capable of orchestrating his downfall. Once he was safely back at his decrepit apartment, Davids began to pack what limited possessions he decided he'd need for his short stay in the nation's capitol. After he had the necessities: clothes, hygiene items (not that this was Davids' top priority, but he packed them nonetheless), a little undercover gear and some investigative equipment he'd months back, he decided he was ready. Scooping up his suitcase he headed to the door, however he stopped at the last minute. Setting down the bag, Davids walked over to the bureau, where he unlocked the top drawer. He pulled out the miniature window, admiring it yet again. Sticking it in among his clothes where he felt it would be less likely to break, he zipped the bag back up, locked his door, and headed down the hall, beginning to whistle a lively tune. In the terminal, Scully and Mulder sat sipping coffee while awaiting their plane. Scully once again had her nose buried in Mark Nichol's patent journal, oblivious to Mulder's gaze. Attempting to ascertain what was going on insider her head, Scully's partner was watching her as intently as he'd ever observed a suspect. Scully was now fully absorbed in this X-file, but Mulder knew it would probably be her last. Deciding he had nothing left to lose, he slipped his arm around Scully's shoulders. Nonplussed, he realized she didn't even notice. While he knew he could sometimes be that oblivious, he hadn't expected her to be so...apathetic. Somewhat despondent, he withdrew his arm. Scully looked up, glancing around. Something had changed, but she wasn't certain what. Mulder shifted next to her uneasily. "Scully, I'm getting the impression you want to stay and work on this here, in spite of the risks," he began hesitantly. "Really, though, besides finding our doppelgangers, the only thing we can do in Kansas City is to find gather evidence against elusive Davids." With the sarcasm Scully knew so well, he continued, " Right now we're in a lousy position even to be doing that. Frohike should be here shortly to help Byers. Now that we have a name and a description they ought to be able to handle that." "That really fills me with confidence," Scully began sarcastically, then caught herself. "I mean...I'm not saying you're wrong Mulder. You've got a good point about the people framing us. They're unlikely to stop until we've been well and truly put away for good. We'd better be quite visibly in D.C. so that we can't have been here...and so we're in place to catch them if they decide to follow us." She closed the journal with a snap, looking into her partner's curious gaze. "Honestly, though, if we weren't under such serious suspicion I'm not sure you could drag me away. I would love a chance to look at Mark's laboratory, but we really can't risk being caught there. I'm certain his wife will have raised the alarm. The research is amazing! If I didn't know him so well, how meticulously he works, how careful he is about drawing his conclusions, I might be a little more skeptical..." "Skeptical? You?" Mulder queried in mock astonishment. She smiled slightly. "Okay, maybe I've been a bit too skeptical over the years...I've been bending so far over backwards while trying to put a scientific perspective on your work that I think I may have turned myself into a pretzel. I...I haven't given you or your methods the credibility they have earned." Scully turned away for a short moment, then looked him back straight in the eyes. "I'm sorry Mulder. I'm not very good at admitting when I've been wrong, but I don't really need to tell you that, do I?" She realized belatedly that this wasn't 'Kathy Thompson' speaking, it was Dana Scully. She had needed to say this for years now. She saw Mulder's smoldering emerald eyes leap into flames. Maybe some good had come from reading his damned book, after all. Mulder sat very still, hardly daring to breathe. Slowly, an involuntary smile stole across his face, culminating in a broad grin. He had long ago given up hoping he would ever hear those words from her. He was speechless. "Seven years ago, Mulder, I wouldn't have looked at these results," she indicated the journal, "with an open mind, in spite of their scientific nature, simply because they don't agree with my preconceived notions that our current scientific knowledge is relatively complete. Thank you for changing that, Mulder," Scully finished, just as their flight was called for boarding. Mulder would have been ecstatic, had her admission not sounded so...final. This was it, the beginning of the end. His chest constricted. He had to let her go. Their roads had been together for so long, that now he had a hard time believing they weren't going to be intertwined forever. He wanted to use everything in his arsenal to bind her to him always, but deep inside he knew that strategy would ultimately fail, ending in acrimonious bitterness. So, for once, he didn't reach out to her. He could see she expected that, even welcomed it, but he chose not to give it to her. It would only make their inevitable parting more painful. Mulder stood up, grabbing his carry-on suitcase and heading for the gate. Scully watched Mulder's withdrawal from her, not understanding why he walked away. She had spoken from her heart, certain he would respond in kind. She sat frozen, watching his retreating back. It had been too little too late, she realized. She'd thought he was giving her one last chance, and perhaps he thought he was, but it appeared his decision had already been set in stone. Twist of Fate (Part 5 of 6) By XKitty and Mostly Harmless Scully almost missed the flight. If it hadn't been for a kind employee who came over to her and asked if she weren't getting on the plane, she might not have moved for hours. Mulder didn't notice until he was on board that Scully wasn't right behind him. He began to worry, realizing he might have hurt her more than he'd thought. He stood up, about to retrieve his carry-on and get off the plane when she appeared. His partner didn't acknowledge his presence, just brushed past him to sit down. Scully had been assigned the middle seat, but when it became apparent that the window seat would be empty, she shifted away from him. She stared out the window, unseeing. After takeoff, when the 'fasten seat belts' sign had been turned off, Mulder lifted the arm rests between them and slid over next to her. He lifted her unresponsive hand and squeezed it. She appeared not to notice he was there, but he saw a slight, involuntary twitch. Mulder reached up and brushed a lock of hair from her face. Her eyes closed. Gently, his hand caressed her cheek, working its way across to her chin. Firmly, he applied just enough pressure to turn her face towards him and lift her eyes up to meet his. He was completely unsurprised to find them swimming with unshed tears, knowing he was at fault. Softly, he kissed her cheek. Scully resisted a moment longer, then buried her face in his chest, trying to hide the tears that she could no longer contain. Damn him, he was forcing her to lose control in his presence once again. His arms wrapped comfortingly around her, and his own silent tears began to stream down his own cheeks. Scully clung to Mulder for a very long time, until finally she fell asleep in his arms. He whispered to her sleeping ears things he would never have uttered if she were awake. "Don't leave me Scully, don't ever leave me. It is going to kill me to let you go, but I have to let you follow your heart, even as it takes you away from me. Stay with me, please, please, find it in your heart to stay with me, Scully." His words worked their way into her dreams, and she sighed softly in her sleep. Mulder just held her close. The flight attendants wisely let them be. Scully awoke in Mulder's arms as the plane began its descent. He seemed strangely reluctant to let her go, and she wasn't quite certain how to interpret that, so she didn't try. All the way through the airport and out to his car, Scully felt Mulder's continual touch. It might be her hand, her arm, her shoulder, her back, but he seemed always to be reaching out to her with his reassuring gestures. Scully settled into the passenger's seat as usual. Mulder got in a moment later and fastened his seat belt. He looked over at her, this time without attempting contact, his gaze enigmatic, then turned his attention to the car. As he reached to put his hand on the keys in the ignition, Scully reached out, placing her hand on top of his. He looked over at her startled. "Did you want to drive?" he asked. Scully smiled, half laughing, shaking her head. "I...I...Never mind." She looked away, removing her hand. "Scully," Mulder began, exasperated. He started again, "You have something you want to say?" She shook her head. Mulder's hand slammed suddenly into the steering wheel, and Scully started in surprise. She watched his the muscles in his forearms bunch, his grip on the wheel tightening. His knuckles whitened as his anger built. Uncomprehending, Scully shrank back into her seat. "Just. Tell. Me." Mulder's voice grated harshly, as he stared straight ahead. He turned on her when she didn't respond. Her eyes widened in fear at his face, triggering a response in her partner. His harsh expression melted, but he covered his face with his hands, so she couldn't read him. His visage was tightly controlled when he looked at her again. He looked up at the roof of the car. "You might as well tell me now, Scully. I know what you're thinking, so it's time to come clean. Let's clear the air, shall we?" Scully nodded, resigned. "I can't do it, Mulder. I just can't do it." Mulder's lips tightened. He nodded. "It's a lot to ask; too much for me to expect, and I know it. I'm sorry, Scully. We'll get through this, clear our names somehow. And then..." "Then we'll go our separate ways. I'm sorry, too, Mulder." They looked at each other, there seemed to be little more to say. The tension between them eased, now that everything seemed to be out in the open. They gazed sadly into each other's eyes for a long moment, until Mulder turned away at last and turned the key in the ignition. "...I hope that some day you find your Kathy Thompson." Mulder began to pull out of the parking space. It took a moment for Scully's words to register. The pieces fell suddenly into place. He slammed the car abruptly back into drive, and pulled back into the space, shutting off the ignition. He almost reached over to Scully and physically shook in an attempt to knock some sense into her, but wisely refrained. "Dana Katherine Scully, you ARE Kathy Thompson." His voice raised in an attempt to pound them into her head. "I tried, Mulder, I really did. I tried to live up to the superwoman you wrote about, but I can't do it. I hate to admit that I'm not the partner you're looking for, but it is true. You will find her, Mulder. God knows, you deserve it. But it isn't me." "Can't live up to it? You've been living it for seven years now, Scully. Oh, I may have changed the hair color a bit, but every other word I wrote in there about Thompson was you, Scully." "That's not me, Mulder," Scully insisted, refusing to listen to him and pulling away from his touch. "In Kansas City, I tried to be Kathy Thompson for, what was it, less than 48 hours? I couldn't do it. I saw the difference, Mulder. For two days, I was the partner you wrote about, but I can't keep that up. It's not me. As much as I would like to play that role for you, Mulder, it would be just that, acting. I can't keep it up any longer." Mulder paused. "I thought you had given up." "Given up?" Mulder nodded. "Given up. You stopped challenging me to be a better investigator. I thought you had had a taste of freedom during this 'vacation' of ours, and realized you wanted out. For good. I've asked so much from you over the years, Scully, and you have given and given. You've suffered so much for your loyalty, even if we get reinstated I can't ask you to stay with me Scully. You deserve so much better." "You don't need to ask, Mulder," Scully responded quietly. She sat silently for a moment. "You don't really see me like that, do you?" Mulder chuckled. "All that and more, Agent Scully. That day, long ago, when you came to my apartment and told me you had resigned...you really did mean it when you said you thought I would be better off without you, didn't you? I'm a little slow, I'm just realizing that now. I thought you were looking for an easy way out...but you weren't. What I told you that day, what I wrote about you, it's all true. I'm not very good at saying what I feel, what I mean. I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. Finish reading my book, Scully, and see yourself through my eyes. It is you, it really is. I just feel so, well, selfish, asking you to stay with me," he ended quietly. "Damn it, Mulder, now you've got me crying twice in one day. Of course I'm staying." Mulder reached out to her, holding on to the woman he now knew was not leaving him after all, and gave in to his own tears of relief. They held each other, knowing that their world was not, after all, coming to an end. Scully knocked on Mulder's apartment door late that evening, nervous that she might be imposing but very much wanting to talk. In her hands she held the remainder of Mulder's book, arms drooping under the bulk of his writing. She cautiously balanced the stack of folders on one knee and released her other arm to knock a second time; the door opened just before she completely lost her balance. Mulder stood in the opening, blinking blearily at the apparition in his hallway as if he just awoken from a deep sleep. He reached out to steady her, waiting as his partner awkwardly readjusted her position before releasing his grasp on her arm. A moment later, she stood on both feet, his manuscript safely held in both hands. "Hi," Mulder finally managed, still slightly emotionally drained from the afternoon's revelations. "Come on in." He lifted the stack from his partner's arms, watching her sigh with relief and shake her sore muscles. "Thanks," she replied after a tangible silence, noticing that Mulder's apartment was significantly neater than the last time she had visited. Apparently he had been productive since they had parted earlier in the day, and she understood completely. After her epiphany, the realization that she was the perfect partner Mulder lauded in his writing, she had been filled with a kind of nervous energy, leading her to flit frenetically around her home for several hours. At some point during their trip, the rest of Mulder's book had been sent to her apartment. She had been pleased but not necessarily surprised to find the stack of papers, nicely bound together this time, sitting on her coffee table where she would be sure to see them when she entered the living room. The note on top, written in a scrawl that was clearly Mulder's, said "Please, just read the rest of it before you make a decision." Scully had momentarily felt that familiar sense of dread begin to settle over her, but the memory of his passionate words, spoken only an hour before, had helped to dispel her doubts. Nonetheless, she had avoided the living room until she had convinced herself that the book wasn't going to magically disappear if she ignored its existence. "Did you read it?" Mulder broke the silence, gesturing towards the papers he had set next to the computer. Scully nodded slowly. Of course she had read it. She had read every word, going over some segments twice to get a true feel for the story and to check Mulder's continuity. For the most part, however, she had read not as a partner looking for mistakes, but as one with a genuine love and appreciation for the material. She had indeed found that with her worry and self-doubt partially lifted, she was free to enjoy the book and grant it the attention it truly merited. One question had nagged at her, even as she found herself engrossed in the intricacies of the story. "Are you sure you were writing about me?" she began, knowing what his answer would be but still anxious for the reassurance. "Of course I was," Mulder began in exasperation. "What does it take to get through to you? Did you think I'd changed my mind since this afternoon?" Mulder paused for a breath, and gave her a wry grin," Never mind. After seven years I ought to know what it takes to change your mind, once it has been made up." He shook his head, walking towards the bathroom to find some Advil for what was revving up to be a throbbing headache. Scully noticed him flinch and rub his temples, immediately regretting having said anything. Of course he was telling the truth, she chided herself. If anything, it was a slightly flawed perception of the truth, but then what was truth but a conglomeration of various opinions about a certain subject? Scully smiled, and wondered how she had come up with that bit of philosophical genius; she realized a moment later she had read it in Mulder's book earlier that evening. Mulder returned from the bathroom a moment later, squinting a little as he turned on the lights. Scully noticed that his hair was now slightly wet, and it looked brushed. He swept a few piles off of the couch and motioned for her to make herself comfortable. "Did you like it?" He finally asked, sitting down heavily on the couch. He yawned once before continuing. "Be honest." Scully looked at him a moment, trying to decide how to phrase her reply so as not to sound over-exuberant. "Mulder, your book was fascinating. I was enthralled from the moment I picked it up. Even before...when I was upset...even then I couldn't put it down. You really have a talent for storytelling, Mulder, a creative potential I certainly didn't realize existed and wish I had encouraged more while we worked together." She paused, unsure if she were saying too much. Mulder leaned back into the sofa, trying to stop the grin that was spreading over his face. He still wasn't ready to show her exactly how much her approval meant to him, but he couldn't hide his pleasure at hearing her say aloud words he had only imagined. "Thanks for reading it. I really appreciate you taking the time to help me out..." Mulder faded off slightly, wondering what to say next. "Really, it was my pleasure," Scully said, realizing in dismay that the conversation was sinking back into the formality that had been their downfall a few days before. "I don't think I ever grasped....what I mean is, thank you, Mulder, for letting me see through your eyes so clearly." Somewhat uncomfortable about bringing the subject up again, she decided to deflect his response by bringing up the case. "Have you heard anything about Mark's condition?" "Actually, yes," Mulder began contemplatively. "Relatively good news. Skinner called me a little while after I got home and pretended not to know that we'd been gone. He said Mark appears to be regaining consciousness and that we'll probably be called back to Kansas City soon for identification within the next few days, if all goes as planned." "That's good," Scully nodded approvingly. "But you think Skinner knows we left town?" "Yeah, but I don't think he'll say anything. For once, I think he's on our side." And for once, Mulder meant that as more than reassurance to his partner. Skinner had apparently been true to his word, honestly doing everything in his power to finish the investigation and reinstate his top agents as quickly and painlessly as possible. Indeed, Mulder thought, the investigation was progressing at a remarkable pace, and the two of them had experienced very few of the after-effects, well, other than being kicked out of the Bureau, of course. Mulder frowned again, about to speak as the phone rang. He stood up and grabbed it, muttering "Mulder." "Agent Mulder? I have some information that might be of use to you pertaining to John Davids." The decidedly male voice paused, breathing huskily into the receiver for effect. "Who is this?" Mulder asked indignantly, starting to ask Scully to run a trace before remembering that as ex-bureau investigators, they no longer had that resource at their disposal. "Why are you giving me this information?" "What I know could potentially be of great assistance in clearing your names-both yours and your pretty partner's." "Where can we meet you?" Mulder asked, holding up a hand to silence Scully before she could protest. he mouthed at her with his hand over the receiver. She nodded slowly, putting her coat back on and finding her shoes. Mulder gave several more affirmative answers to his informant, clutching the phone as if his hold could choke the voice on the other end. He paced around the room, searching violently for his own shoes and tossing items aside randomly. "We'll be there in a few minutes," he finally said, nodding once and hanging up the phone. "Scully, get your shoes...never mind, you've already got them on," he finished rather lamely, grabbing his keys. "Where are we going, Mulder?" Scully asked as she trotted quickly down the hall after her partner. Her flat shoes made jogging easier, despite the fact that she felt she was getting a different, much lower perspective on the world. "I'll fill you in the car." Mulder was excited about a potential lead in the case, knowing that if it panned out it could very well be the deciding factor in establishing their innocence. He smiled, adrenaline racing through his body. He knew the situation was potentially dangerous, but it was that sense of imminent doom that made his life exciting. Mulder looked at Scully in the seat next to him, saw her prepare herself mentally in much the same manner. As he pulled away from the building, Mulder knew that this was why they had to be reinstated; it was this kind of situation (going into the dangerous unknown, trusted partner strong by his side) that he would miss out in the 'real world.' As he pulled in front of the Lincoln Memorial a short time later, Mulder felt himself tense. The sky was lit only by a large glowing moon, the stars fading in comparison. In the semi darkness, Mulder saw the famed statue...and the silhouette of the man standing in the shadows beneath it. He parked a short distance away, shutting off the lights and tapping Scully's shoulder. She was equally apprehensive, meeting his eyes before stepping silently out of the vehicle. As they approached the monument, Scully stayed close behind Mulder, fully aware of the potential danger. However, the man approached them casually, appearing relatively unconcerned and placing himself in full view of a potential sniper. He stopped just short of the swath of moonlight that cut across the steps of the monument, motioning for Mulder and Scully to stay back. "Agent Mulder, Agent Scully," he began, chuckling slightly, "or should I say the former Agents Mulder and Scully. So glad you could make it this beautiful evening." "Get to the point," Mulder interrupted, growling a little. The use of 'former' had dug deeply into a wound that had just started to close. He took a step forward, stopping when the man held up a hand in warning. Scully placed her own hand on her partner's arm, pulling him back slightly. Mulder spoke again, pulling himself back under control. "Who are you and what information do you have that might help us prove our innocence?" "You'll find out who I am soon enough," the man spoke quietly, enjoying the aura of mystery which he felt surrounded him. "And I said I had information about John Davids, I didn't say I could clear your names." Mulder wanted to protest, but kept silence at a warning glance from his partner. He nodded for the informant to continue, the shadows hiding his furrowed brows and tense jaw line. "I can tell you where John Davids is, where he has the experiment I believe you," here he looked at Scully, "were so interested in, and even why he took it. I believe this is all information you were seeking." "Yes," Mulder conceded slightly, "but we are no longer sure that will hold any bearing in our reinstatement." He was getting nervous, unused to having to wait so long for anyone to share information. Usually they were so nervous they spilled the beans and fled the scene as quickly as possible. Unless...Mulder looked at Scully, certain the same thoughts were running through her head. Unless this was no 'secret informant.' Unless he had deeper intentions for the two of them, unless he had brought them here for some purpose of his own. "Why so quiet?" the man asked, his voice taking on a mocking tone. "I would have thought you'd be eager to solve the mystery surrounding your last case together." Mulder blinked and looked up, his anger returning as the man continued to speak with the same, jarring nonchalance. "I might as well tell you what you need to know. Motive. Why did Davids take the window, or any of the other objects for that matter. Actually, he's a kleptomaniac, plain and simple, with a penchant for magical items. No mystery there, I think you all could have figured that one out." Mulder cringed inwardly at the jab at his investigative skills, but he kept silent as the man continued. "How, you might ask as your second question, did Davids find out about the talisman in the first place?" The man paused, enjoying immensely the emotions that flew visibly across the agents' faces. "Well, it might surprise you to find out that you all weren't the only ones Mark Nichols entrusted with knowledge of his interesting secret experiments. Mark told a friend, who told a friend, who told a friend...you all get the picture." "Yeah, kind of like an advanced game of telephone," Mulder muttered sarcastically, growing more and more disenchanted with the way the whole scene was playing out. "So, when do you get to the part about clearing our names?" The man laughed sharply, stepping into the golden moonlight on the first step. "See, there's the funny part," he commented thoughtfully, leaning up against a column. "I don't." "Mulder, let's go," Scully began in disgust, taking her partner's arm and beginning to pull him towards their waiting car. "I don't," the man continued, raising his voice, "because I saw you shoot him. By the way, in answer to your first question, John Davids is right here in town, and he doesn't take too kindly to people who could potentially pin him with a crime he didn't commit. You and I both know that no matter how bad your reputations are, it looks a lot better to have me as the shooter than two members of the government's finest investigative team." The realization hit Mulder like a brick. Despite the fact that he had only seen relatively amateur composite sketches of Davids in the past, he knew instantly the identity of the man who faced them and who was now drawing his gun. Mulder instinctively reached for his own weapon, discovering to his dismay that he was unarmed. Scully turned to him, the same panic painfully evident in her own eyes. "Oh, before I take care of you," Davids continued his obviously rehearsed speech smoothly, "I would like to let you see what you're about to die for." He pulled the window from his oversized coat pocket, eyeing it with obvious relish. "One of my favorites out of all that I've gathered," he murmured. "Besides the obvious usefulness in learning how to control it, I must say Nichols did a fine job on the craftsmanship. The frame is perfect, and the lovely purple tint of the window?" he faded off, noting with pleasure the barely concealed anger on Mulder's face. Davids walked down the steps, knowing he was in complete control, bringing himself eye to eye with the agents. With a mocking smile, he brandished his gun at Scully's head and pulled a rope out of his pocket, forcing her to tie up her erstwhile partner before proceeding to securely tie her hands behind her back and her feet together at the ankles. He held the window to Scully's face, allowing her just a few moments examination before roughly pushing her face away. Time was wasting, and Davids had always been a man of action. Indeed, he was beyond proud at how well his first public speech had gone over. The preparation had been agony, but the rewards he was reaping paid back in full every minute he had spent carefully planning and revising how the events would unfold. Now, he decided, it was time for the denouement. He dramatically ascended the stairs, holding the window reverently in front of him. At the top, he turned and smiled condescendingly, squinting through the window at the struggling agents in front of him. "Imagine my pleasure," he finally spoke, "at being able to best two FBI agents not once, but twice. And now, I have the added pleasure of observing your imminent demise," he had thought that phrase out carefully beforehand, "through the greatest success of my career. By the way, the police don't appear to be very happy to be picking your bodies off of these steps tomorrow morning. And, who's that? Your boss? He looks downright angry. Too bad for him." Laughing cynically, Davids raised his gun, still peering intently through the window and wondering if he should give them a chance for a touching farewell. Scully closed her eyes and said a prayer. Mulder struggled with the bonds, knowing that if he made any attempt to turn and run towards the car he would be shot down in an instant. Besides, his keys were in his pocket, and having Scully pull them out for him would take more time than they apparently had. Both agents knew they had no more than a few seconds to live. Their thoughts were broken by a loud crash and the distinctive sound of a bullet impacting bone. Scully's eyes jerked open as she reeled from the shock, feeling as if she were being stung by a thousand bees. Her eyes were drawn irresistibly towards Davids; as she stared, his gun dropped to the ground and he blinked as if by reflex. Scully was surprised to see that the window had suddenly shattered, sending tiny glass fragments flying into space. Mulder helped his partner off of the ground, checking her over to make sure she wasn't hurt. He glanced up in time to see Davids fall back as if in slow motion, his blood spattering across the memorial steps. The full moon emerged from behind a cloud just as Davids landed with a thud, and Mulder could see a definitive entry wound in the center of the criminal's forehead. "Check him," Mulder yelled reflexively at a shocked Scully, who had nearly worked free from the knot that tied her hands and feet. Too surprised to do anything but obey, she ran up to Davids' side. As she kneeled, uncomprehending but trying frantically to resuscitate the fallen man, she looked into his eyes. Davids' face was frozen in a permanent mask of surprise and anger, his mouth slightly open as if he were still breathing. Indeed, the small bullet hole in his forehead only added to the general shock he appeared to be feeling. Scully checked his pulse one last time and turned away, shaking her head and standing up stiffly. Mulder approached the body cautiously after searching in vain for the location of a possible sniper. He watched his partner's face fall as she examined the shattered mirror, saw her pick up the frame and turn it over in her hands as she searched for any shard large enough to take for evidence. "How??" she asked brokenly when she saw her partner standing a few feet away. "I have no idea." "It was completely vaporized," Scully added, holding up the cracked wooden frame and gesturing sadly at the steps. The front of the monument sparkled in the moonlight, and the ground crackled slightly as Mulder walked towards his partner. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed in the familiar emergency numbers, mouthing "No idea," he repeated as she connected with the paramedics. Twist of Fate (Part 6 of 6) By XKitty and Mostly Harmless Scully had thought she'd seen A.D. Skinner when he was angry. When he arrived on the scene, she realized what she had witnessed prior to this was merely a mild irritation in comparison. When he spotted his errant agents she could see the veins in his neck pop out, and his face reddened in fury. One poor policeman tried to get between them in spite of the FBI shield Skinner displayed to him. Effortlessly, Skinner lifted the man up by his jacket and set him to one side. Scully swallowed. It was much too late to hide, and running didn't seem like a viable alternative. Perhaps asking him to become involved in the investigation had been a mistake. The police, unsatisfied with the answers provided by their primary suspects, were happy enough to drop the problem in someone else's lap- especially when their story about being Federal agents on administrative leave proved to be true. "Mulder?" Scully began, trying to get her partner's attention. He sat on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, head in his hands trying to suppress the incipient migraine he was getting from trying to make sense of what had happened. "Skinner's here, and, um, well, it has been nice knowing you." "That bad?" Mulder looked first to his partner, then at the oncoming freight train who was their boss. "No, worse." He wondered if it were better to meet death standing up or sitting down. In the end, he stood up to face the inevitable, staunch at his partner's side, or, well, about two steps behind and to the left. Scully wasn't a large shield, but she was all he had. Scully turned to face Skinner, assuming an appropriately serious expression. As her boss mounted the steps, he stopped a few steps below, exactly at eye level with her. His brown eyes smoldered in fury. He opened his mouth, and nothing came out. His hands reached menacingly towards her, and with a visible effort, he withdrew them. Scully understood now how the officer on watch on board the Titanic must have felt knowing the collision with the iceberg was imminent. Skinner spoke a single word to them. "Come." He turned on his heel, not looking back. Exchanging glances, Mulder and Scully followed quickly in his wake. Skinner didn't leave the crime scene, but moved them away from where forensic experts were combing the scene again now that the sun had risen. He clicked on a cassette recorder. After recording the time, date, location and asking the people present to formally identify themselves, he read them their Miranda rights. He nodded once when they waived their right to an attorney. "Who is the victim?" "He identified himself to us as John Davids," Mulder responded, unwilling to elaborate given Skinner's mood. "Why were you at the Lincoln Memorial?" "Because I received a phone call last night from a man with information he claimed could help us to clear our names." "Was the man who was killed the same man who spoke to you last night?" "Yes." "How did he die?" Mulder looked up, unable to respond. Scully answered firmly, "He died of a gunshot wound to the head." Skinner glared at her, but couldn't deny she had spoken the truth. "Who shot him?" "I have no idea." "Mulder?" "I don't know either." "So you are telling me that some unseen assailant murdered him while you two watched." "We're not drawing any conclusions at this point, Sir" answered Scully. She hesitated, obviously about to add more, but choosing to keep silent. "What were you about to add, Ms. Scully?" "Obviously, there hasn't been an autopsy yet...but based on what I witnessed, if Davids were killed by a 9 millimeter round, it must have been from very close range, and I don't see how someone could have gotten that close without either of us noticing him." "So you are postulating an invisible assailant, Ms. Scully? That is going to sound very good in a court of law, which I suspect you will be facing quite soon." "We are not drawing any conclusions...but, Sir, you should know, we never found the ejected shell casing, and I don't see how we could have missed that even long enough for an invisible assassin to have recovered it." "Where are your weapons?" "We turned them in to you, Sir." "Your personal weapons." Scully shrugged helplessly. "We didn't bring them; I don't think either of us remembered we weren't armed as usual when we came out to meet the informant." "I already have a team at your apartments with a search warrant. If any of your registered weapons aren't found...well, suffice it to say that every place in the vicinity where it is conceivable you may have stashed a murder weapon, including the lake, is being examined with a fine- toothed comb. The weapon will be found, as will the casing. I strongly suggest you come clean." "Sir, it may not sound like it, but we are being straight with you. John Davids lured us here with the express intention of murder." "Why would he want to kill you?" "I believe his exact words were 'John Davids is right here in town, and he doesn't take too kindly to people who could potentially pin him with a crime he didn't commit. You and I both know that no matter how bad your reputations are, it looks a lot better to have me as the shooter than two members of the government's finest investigative team.'" Skinner frowned. "Explain." "We know from witness reports that two people who look very much like us were seen running from the house, and he, also mistaking us for them, thought we were going to try to pin the attempted murder on him. Davids must also have been in the house the night Mark Nichols was shot, and may have witnessed the crime. The police have the evidence; the empty frame contained the window Mark contacted me about. I don't know if he shot Mark or not, perhaps the ballistics report on his gun will show that he did." "Unless, of course, you planted that gun on him as evidence to clear your names." Scully just looked at him, having difficulty believing he would think them capable of that. Skinner relaxed a bit, realizing that just wasn't in character for these two. His anger began to ebb. "Unless," put in Mulder, "that gun isn't the one that shot Mark Nichols at all. Wait, I think we may be on to something." Skinner looked towards him, his mind more open than it had been. Mulder's attention, however was completely on his partner. "Scully? What is the one thing that connects this crime to the first?" She hesitated. "The window, I guess." "And from what you told me earlier about your friend's work, you were seriously considering the possibility that the mirror did, in fact, look out onto another time. Weren't you even beginning to think up some scientific explanations for it?" Scully nodded hesitantly, "I couldn't really explain it looking out onto another time...but if the molecules inside the material were moving close to the speed of light, our perception would be that time for those molecules would be dilated. Obviously, the molecules can't be moving very far and would be constantly accelerated and decelerated...going from one side to the other and back. According to Einstein's theory of General Relativity, when they came back, less time would have passed for them...like the famous 'twin paradox'. Which is all well and good, except that accelerated motion requires a force, which is lacking in this case, and molecules moving that fast would have tremendous kinetic energy, that is heat..." "Didn't you say the window had been vaporized?" "Yes, but we are talking about much greater quantities..." "But think, Scully this could explain everything!" Skinner and Scully looked at each other, confused. "Think of the evidence. An extra shell casing at Nichols' house. A missing shell casing here. A bullet that went into the window in Kansas City then..." "And came out here? Mulder that's..." she bit her tongue on the word preposterous, "plausible. If time did indeed pass more slowly inside, the bullet could have emerged here...just in time to kill John Davids, who was looking at us through the window!" "So the shooter was really in Kansas City weeks ago! Someone who looks enough like us that Davids made a mistake- just as the other witnesses did." "You know, Mulder," conceded Scully, "this is starting to make a twisted kind of sense." Mulder smiled at her. Skinner looked back and forth between them in disbelief. "I've also come to another conclusion. Davids lied to us. He is most definitely not a kleptomaniac- home invasion robbery is not characteristic of that particular disorder. I'm not entirely certain taking the window wasn't just a piece of bad luck on his part; I bet he was after something else entirely." "I wonder what that could have been. Maybe there will be a clue in his apartment," she looked over, suddenly again aware of Skinner's presence, "that will be found when someone else gets a search warrant for his place." She smiled her very best Kathy Thompson smile at her boss. "I wonder if we will ever know why he was really there." Skinner reached over and shut off the recorder. He took out the cassette. "Now there is a useless piece of magnetic tape." He shook his head, and handed it to Scully. "Maybe it will help you write your report...it certainly won't help the police at all." A ghost of a smile crossed his face. "Sit tight. I'm going to talk our friends in blue into releasing you for the moment. We are going to Kansas City. It is time to confront your friend, Agent Scully, and see if he confirms your version of events." Neither Mulder nor Scully missed his use of her title. Maybe things were going to be okay after all. As Skinner walked away, they looked at each other and simultaneously heaved a deep sigh of relief, hoping it wasn't premature. The way their luck had been lately... Mulder and Scully followed Skinner past the nurse's station on their way to the ICU, their shoes echoing loudly on the sterile tile floor in the otherwise silent hallways. Scully practically had to jog to keep pace with her two male counterparts, despite the fact that Mulder himself was several steps behind their boss. She slowed in front of the elevator, where Skinner stood impatiently, repeatedly pressing the up button as if the machine would come more quickly if he were persistent enough. As she waited, watching her partner check his watch again, Scully thought back to the flight a few hours earlier. He had been attempting once again to explain his theory on how Davids had been shot, going into more detail on the possibility that the bullet that killed him had been the same bullet fired many weeks before. Scully had argued yet again, but it had become merely to keep up form. In truth, the more she thought about that possibility, the more intrigued she became. Mulder's explanations had leaned more towards the realm of magic and further from science the longer they discussed it. She had refuted (or attempted to refute) each of Mulder's claims, getting into such a spirited debate on the scientific merit of his theories that a stewardess had come by with complaints from the other passengers. Skinner had rolled his eyes, pretending to be disinterested with the whole phenomenon, but in truth he had been unable to keep from inserting the occasional comment or question himself. Scully had seen the gleam of interest in his eyes even after he had turned away, pretending not to know the two agents who sat next to him discussing time warps. Now, as she stepped onto the elevator, Scully's mind began to wander back to the case. What if the window weren't only showing a different time, but actually changed time as the viewer glanced through? It seemed to be a sort of ripple effect, almost. Scully sunk deeper into thought, attempting to set straight the wild ideas that kept popping into her mind. Her biggest question was dependent on whether or not Mark even knew how to reproduce the window he had created; Scully was desperate to find out what would happen if she created a hole in the glass and inserted an object through. She very much wanted to see if any sort of warp occurred in the object once it had passed through the window...but that idea she quickly categorized under "ridiculous" as the three of them filed into Mark Nichols' hospital room. Mulder started visibly at the number of machines surrounding Mark's bedside. When he had heard the updated prognosis he had assumed that the patient would be improved enough to no longer require such devices to keep him alive. Mark lay in the center of the narrow bed, eyes closed, tubes running from his nose and wrist. A woman sat by his bedside, turning slightly, just enough for Mulder to glimpse a profile he recognized immediately. The nurse at the foot of Mark's bed made one final check on his charts before walking towards the door. She murmured hello to the agents as they stood in the doorway, and the acknowledgment sent Mrs. Nichols spinning around. "What are they doing here?" she whispered harshly, jumping out of her seat. "Did she come back to finish him off?" "Mrs. Nichols, we need to talk to your husband. The sooner we can talk to him the sooner the whole investigation will be over," Skinner commented in a vain attempt to sound soothing. "I don't care about that right now," Mrs. Nichols said, raising her voice. "I don't want the people who shot my husband in this room, do you understand?" She stalked over to the call-button, punching it insistently and calling "Nurse? I need some assistance in here." She was interrupted by the sound of movement from the bed. "She...didn't...do...it." The shaky sentence was interrupted by long gasping breaths, but Mark's intent was clearly understood by all present. His eyelids fluttered for a moment, and his breathing became more ragged, but he motioned to his wife to place another pillow behind his back. She did, slightly disbelieving. "Are you sure honey?" she asked quietly, looking suspiciously towards Mulder and Scully, who stood silently leaning against the opposite wall. Skinner nodded to them and walked towards Mrs. Nichols, who put out a protective hand to shield her husband. "That's the first coherent sentence he's formed since he awakened from the coma a few days ago," she said softly, looking up at Skinner as if for reassurance. "Mark, are you ready to talk?" Skinner asked, nodding to the silent woman who sat by her husband's bed, holding his hand. The patient nodded slowly, and with visible effort continued to speak. "She didn't do it. I...I thought it was her, was Dana, but...it wasn't quite her. She looked...different." Mark's half- closed eyes focused weakly on Scully, who stepped forward a bit to allow him to examine her fully. Mark nodded, almost to himself. "Is someone getting this on tape?" Skinner barked in a semi- whisper at the officers who had stepped into the room. They jumped to attention at the authoritative voice, both pulling out cassette recorders and hastily stating name, date, and time. Mark watched the commotion impassively from his bed, leaning back into the pillows to rest for a second. When he saw that all was ready, he repeated his previous statements and moved on. "They didn't shoot on purpose...I mean, not at me. I jumped out, had to protect...my window. Thief was trying to steal my work, I needed to stop him. Got shot by accident..." he faded off, smiling wanly at his wife. "Sorry...honey." "Well, agents," Skinner began a moment later, "that goes a long way towards clearing you completely, I'm happy to say." He turned to leave, expecting them to follow, but Scully caught his arm. "Can I stay for a moment and talk to Mark?" she asked, casting a hesitant glance towards Mrs. Nichols, who sat like a watchdog at her husband's bedside. The woman stared deep into Scully's eyes for a moment, finally conceding and standing up. "Just for a few minutes," she cautioned. "I'll be right outside the door if he needs anything, and I don't want you upsetting him at all." Scully nodded, smiling slightly at Mrs. Nichols' protectiveness towards her husband. She wondered momentarily if Mark knew how much he was loved. Murmuring her thanks, she waited until the door closed to pull another chair next to Mark's bed. "Do you have it?" he asked, turning his head slowly to look at her. "My window, do you have it?" he repeated, and when she didn't respond the hopeful look on his face went limp. "What happened?" "When Davids, the thief, was killed, your window shattered. Not just shattered, I mean...it was completely vaporized. I'm sorry, Mark." He turned away, looking out the window at the brick wall of the next building. Sighing slightly, he turned back to Scully and struggled to sit up a little more. She could just see the bandages that covered his wound peeking out from the hospital gown, and noticed him wince in pain as the pillows placed slight pressure on his neck. "Did...you get to look at it?" he asked, breathing heavily from the exertion of being more upright. Scully shook her head no, a fleeting look of disappointment crossing her face. Mark noticed, his own face falling even further. "I only saw it for a moment. When Davids was about to shoot us, he held it in front of my face for a moment," she said. "I'm not even sure which side I was looking out of at the time." "Yeah...well...I guess you weren't thinking very scientifically...at that point," Mark managed, trying to work a little lightness into the situation. "I guess not," Scully replied, laughing slightly. "You don't have another sample I could investigate?" she began hopefully. "I am very curious to see in person the properties of such a material. I was even thinking of a number of experiments I might like to perform..." She was stopped when Mark held up a shaking hand. "I...there isn't any more," he said finally. "That little bit was all I was able to manufacture, and I think it was a mistake." He shook his head, wondering at his own stupidity and naivete. "Either the formula I wrote down wasn't correct...or a contaminant got into the mixture at some point. I spent weeks trying to identify what it must have been, with no success. I may have even found the formula for the original plastic I had been trying to invent, and I suppose I should be content with that...but I still wish I had kept more careful records. You don't happen to have any shards of the plastic left for me to analyze, do you?" "We didn't find anything large enough to even pick up, other than the frame," Scully said ruefully. "When the bullet came through the window...I don't know, the heat produced must have been enormous." Scully paused, wondering whether to tell her friend that she had spent an hour on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial wielding a pair of tweezers in an effort to salvage a sample. "I actually have a couple of other questions about the shooting," she finally said, looking back towards the bed. "Mark, how many shots were fired?" "Two," Mark stated emphatically. "The window took the first one...I took the second. I was disappointed to hear that the window didn't stop the bullet completely. There were no problems in the early tests-the bullets bounced off, as a matter of fact. Incredible stuff," Mark mused, taking another ragged breath. "The bullet that did get through," Scully paused, "was most likely the one the woman shot at the thief. It, um, apparently emerged through the window weeks later, killing Davids instantly." She stopped, embarrassed, until she turned and saw Mark's astonished face. "You know what that means?" he asked her. They gazed at each other for a long moment. "So, do you have any plans to continue your work?" Scully asked, her voice rising again in anticipation. "Actually, no," Mark said after a long pause. "I don't think so, not now anyway." He pulled the sheets up closer to his head, leaning back and closing his eyes. "A single wrong chemical, a degree's difference in the heating...somehow it all resulted in the mess I'm in right now." Mark fingered the bandage covering the back of his neck, biting his lip. "Dana, I honestly don't think that fate ever really intended for me to discover it." Scully looked at him, shrugging. "Perhaps not." A.D. Skinner was giving the FBI Director his annual tour early one morning. This time, he insisted on visiting the basement office of the two recently reinstated agents, intending to give them an official apology. The basement was deserted as usual, but a light shone through the open door of Mulder's office. "And this," he began... A few minutes before Skinner's fateful visit, Scully walked into the office two days after they had been reinstated. Mulder, as usual, had arrived earlier than she and was hard at work. The slide projector had been set up, and Scully wondered what this case would be about and where they were off to this time. Anywhere but back to Kansas City, she prayed silently. Looking about the room, it appeared as if they had never left. It was amazing how quickly entropy had set in on Mulder's side of the office. The clutter was already back to its normal level, and Scully knew from experience that it would get worse before it got better. Scully sat through Mulder's presentation, brought up an alternative point of view, asked questions she knew he couldn't answer yet and then accepted the plane tickets he handed her with good grace. Mulder smiled fondly at his partner. "Feels good to get back to normal, doesn't it?" Scully chuckled. "Only you, Mulder, would call this," she indicated the file he'd given her to read, "normal." Mulder smiled his usual boyish grin, sensing she was about to continue. "Okay, Mulder, you're right. It does feel good to get back to normal." "So it does." He moved away, turning to shut off the slide projector's fan. "...only don't you think it was just a little too easy to get back to normal?" Scully continued. Mulder turned around, slightly surprised. "What are you saying, Scully?" "I don't know about you, but it is starting to feel like our ordeal was a dream." "It wasn't a dream, Scully." "I know that, but the memory of going to jail, our investigation, your book...it is all starting to seem, I don't know, surreal. We were reinstated so quickly, had our badges and guns back so fast it almost made my head spin. The U.S. Government never acts that quickly! And we didn't even run into any hassle getting our back pay. I don't know, it is too weird." "Too weird just because things suddenly went smoothly? I don't know Scully, I think you're reaching," Mulder responded, for once playing the skeptic to Scully's ideas. "Maybe I am," Scully conceded. "I've just been thinking about this a lot lately, about how John Davids got shot, and I've got a theory." Mulder put down his coffee cup. "I thought you agreed with me, even came up with a rationalization," he said, unwilling to call her hand waving around Einstein's theories of special and general relativity an explanation, " about the bullet that traveled...pardon me, appeared to travel, in time." Scully smiled. "You really don't like that scientific explanation do you?" "Frankly, Scully, I don't understand it. Length contraction, time dilation, accelerated reference frames...magic seems a simpler and more satisfying explanation." "Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction Mulder. And what is that famous saying- 'sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic'?" Mulder smiled. "Okay, so let's hear your latest theory...and there is no way you are going to con me into filling out the official report revision form..." "I wouldn't put this into a report. I'm not retracting what I said before...but I am making a prediction. I'm predicting that Mark Nichols will never be able to replicate his experiment." "Go out on a limb, Scully," Mulder cracked. "The man has already tried and failed to replicate it several times, as you read in his notebook." "I think there is a deeper reason than that, though. I don't think that window was ever meant to see back into time." "Meant? Are you talking about fate again, Scully?" He met her eyes for a long moment, but couldn't read her expression. "I am. I think that John Davids went to Mark's house intent on burglary, but he didn't know about the window. Two people showed up. The woman fired two shots. The first hit the window and disappeared, so she fired again, accidentally missing the burglar and hitting Nichols. I think the window looking out onto a different time was an accident- something that was never supposed to be. That first shot was supposed to kill Davids...and it did...weeks later. I don't think that second shot was ever supposed to be fired...so we were never supposed to be arrested or suspended. I think that now we've finally gotten back to where we are supposed to be and what we are supposed to be doing." "So you are saying it was all one gigantic mistake?" Mulder asked incredulously. "Maybe not so much a mistake as...as a twist of Fate." "So whatever should have occurred during the last few weeks didn't matter, would have been of no cosmic importance, makes no difference? And, somehow everything that did happen is suddenly okay? Sort of a cosmic, 'the end justifies the means'?" "I think that there can be more than one path to the same end. Whatever was supposed to happen during the last few weeks would have made a difference...the same difference the actual events have made." "And what is that?" Scully looked up at him, blue eyes shining. "I can't speak for you, but, well, the change is within me. I know that I'm where I'm supposed to be, doing what I'm supposed to do, with the person I'm supposed to be with. And that makes me content to live a life that only you or I would ever call normal." Scully looked up at Mulder to see the effect of her pronouncement. For a long minute he looked at her as if she had grown horns. He held up one hand, to stop her from saying or doing anything. Mulder rooted through a stack of papers, finally fishing one from the bottom of a stack. He handed it to her wordlessly. It was the last page of his book, which he had apparently written since returning. The last paragraph caught her attention. 'Agent Williams looked over at his partner who walked beside him. She had once again saved him from himself, and at that moment there was no place he would rather have been than at Kathy Thompson's side. He knew somehow that this was right. He was where he was supposed to be, doing what he was supposed to do, the person he supposed to be with beside him.' Mulder was looking anxiously at Scully for her reaction. It started as a giggle. "This is too much, Mulder." She started laughing. "We have definitely been together too long." Her good humor was infectious, and Mulder joined her. Soon, they were howling so hard that tears streamed down their cheeks. Before long, they were gasping for air. That was how A.D. Skinner and the FBI Director found them. "And this," Skinner began, pausing as he heard the sounds emanating from within. Misinterpreting their gasps, he strode into their office, prepared to halt whatever misconduct he might find. He didn't expect to see his two black-sheep agents virtually rolling on the floor laughing so hard their tears were visible from the doorway. However they looked, it certainly couldn't be described as professional. Skinner pivoted on his heel and left, closing the door behind him, almost running over the highly curious Director in the process. "...is not my fault," Skinner finished smoothly, shepherding his charge back towards the elevator. Somewhere, far, far away, an old and somewhat disturbed woman with a sense of humor distorted by too many years weaving the threads of fate cackled on, tears running from her rheumy eyes. The End