From: "Diadem" Date: Fri, 9 Jun 2000 21:49:52 +0100 Subject: WYSLM3: FTMO (1/5) by Isahunter & Diadem Source: xff TITLE: Will You Still Love Me? III: From This Moment On (1/5) AUTHORS: Diadem and Isahunter RATING: NC17 CATEGORY: S, MSR SPOILERS: The End, The Beginning, ARCHIVE: Yes, with names and all headers attached FEEDBACK: Diadem@cwcom.net / Isahunter@aol.com DISCLAIMER: These characters do not belong to us, they are the property of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen, and Fox. No infringement intended. No money will be earned from this story. SUMMARY: How far are you willing to go, and how much will you have to sacrifice, just to learn the truth? NOTES: This is the long awaited sequel to "Will You Still Love Me?" and "Never Tear Us Apart," and it is necessary to have read those stories first. They are available on our web site, eXpositions, at http://www.angelfire.com/ak3/expositions/index.html D: Well, we finished it! I: Yeah, and it only took a year. We're on a roll! Hey Diadem, you think anyone even remembers who we are anymore? D: I hope so! Although I guess this series may be new to a lot of people by now. I: Oooh, that means more feedback. I swear, I could kill for that stuff. Um...not that I ever have or anything. D: I believe you :o) Anything to say to the nice people about this new installment? I: Definitely--it's all her fault! I was completely happy just to let this thing sit as it was, considering I'm a lazy bum. But Diadem wouldn't let it rest. If not for her, you'd still have nothing to read. Honestly, D, I'm not sure whether to thank you or strangle you. D: Well, as you got it started, I guess that makes us about even! On with the show! This is for the 40 or so people who kept bugging us to get this written. See, we *told* you it would happen :o) From This Moment On (1/5) by Diadem & Isahunter Bright blinding light woke him from the fog-like stupor, shaking him out of the auto-pilot that seemed to have stolen a good two hours from his memory. Ever since leaving that dark office, he'd sat motionless in his car, just driving...with no destination, no aim, just driving. Unaware of his surroundings, with only the echo of his father's words in his head. **Diana will be taken care of, Jeffrey.** He wasn't stupid. He knew what that meant. They were going to kill his partner. He could only speculate as to who would be elected to do the deed. It would be an understatement to say that he was scared. Right now, the agent was shitless. Slipping into this mindless fugue state had been his only chance of escape...that, and driving. Racing from the madness, disappearing into the night, even if he had no idea where the path would lead. Highways slipped past in the blink of an eye. State roads, barren back- country paths, lonely two-laned stretches of black top, as dark and fog-shrouded as his mind. Shadows, more dense than midnight itself, stretched across the road before him, like arms reaching out to capture him as he sped by. He couldn't run fast enough. He knew that. Somehow, they would find him, he just knew it. He was right. Bright light, like the sun exploding across his windshield, made him slam on his breaks, sending the sedan into a wild skid. Shimmying back and forth, brakes squealing, before coming to a shuddering stop in the middle of the road. He squinted, his eyes barely open against the painful gleam, Spender put up a hand to shield his eyes. He stared, trying to make out the source of illumination, only to start as his radio clicked on at full blast. Screamingly loud, the radio didn't budge when he tried to lower the volume. Giving up, he unbuckled his seat belt and opened the door. Humming. The first thing he heard, when he could finally focus his senses past the glare of the light, was humming...like the droning of bees. But, no, that wasn't right. It was more of a mechanical whir. Suddenly, without warning, the beam of light shifted away, landing in a solid shaft upon the ground before him, leaving his vision ringed with purple spots. He blinked rapidly, peering up at the source of the light, only to stumble back against the car in horror. "Oh, Jesus--" He swallowed heavily, fighting the sudden urge to wet himself, to cry pitifully for his mother. "Oh, Jesus, God..." It hovered over him, just above the tree tops, its eerie blinking lights casting multi-colored shadows over the neighboring fields. His gaze swept briefly across the pastures, hoping someone on those far away farms was witnessing what he was, but he knew the hope was futile. He was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by forest on one side and barren crops on the other. Standing on a deserted road, staring up at the biggest God- damned space craft he'd ever seen. All right...the ONLY space craft he'd ever seen. He didn't know what compulsion made him want to step forward, to peer closer into the gaping maw, but suddenly he was standing right under the thing. Blinking up at it in confusion. Feeling his entire body shudder, lifting onto the tips of his toes, as if being pulled. And his last coherent thought was that Fox Mulder had been right. Hours later, that same stretch of road was crawling with police vehicles. A big red truck, clearly marked Bob's Towing, was being loaded with Special Agent Jeffrey Spender's abandoned car. The surrounding pastures and forests had already been scoured for his whereabouts, but nothing could be found at four in the morning. Off to one side, a local was giving one of the officers a description of the events as she saw them. When she told him about the flying saucer she'd spotted hovering over the road, he barely hid his smirk. Shaking his head, Assistant Director Walter Skinner glanced away from the chaos. His eyes were abruptly drawn to the dark, non-descript sedan pulling off the road just before the road-block. He couldn't clearly see the driver, but he got a very good look at the passenger when he stepped out of the car and lit a cigarette. Jesus, why was he even surprised? He'd suspected long ago that his phones were bugged, along with his office. He should have known the bastard would show up here, the moment he got the call that one of his agents was missing. Phone calls in the middle of the night were never good news, but two in one night was more than a little disconcerting. Just after arriving here tonight, he'd received a call from D.C. General that Diana Fowley was dead. Two agents, partners, both gone in one night. Somewhere along the line, a big pile of shit had hit the fan. Stalking over to where the Cigarette Smoking Man stood, Skinner fought the urge to break his face. The only thing that stopped him was the look on Smokey's wrinkled old face. "What's happened to my son?" "He's gone. But were you really surprised?" His cigarette hung suspended from his lip, his mouth gaping like a fish. "You think I had something done to my own son?" "I think you're capable of things I haven't even imagined yet." "I suggest you tell me what's going on here." "Agent Spender has disappeared without a trace. His car was found a little over two hours ago. The police have combed the surrounding area and come up with nothing. But the woman who lives on that farm over there says she saw a flying saucer hovering over his car." Skinner wondered if he sounded as incredulous as he felt. Taking a long drag from his Morley, as if it was the only thing keeping him alive, Smokey scowled. "I'll tell you who's behind this. Fox Mulder." "Mulder--" "He assaulted my son in the hospital this evening. If not for Agent Fowley, who knows what he might've done." "Then I guess you'll agree that it's a shame Agent Fowley passed away early this morning." Smokey tried to look surprised, but failed. "And where was Fox Mulder?" Skinner almost laughed, but it wasn't funny. "Mulder had nothing to do with this." "Don't be so certain, Mr. Skinner. I'd say he has a lot to answer for. I trust you will have someone look into this matter immediately. I want my son found." "I'll handle it." "And Agent Mulder?" "I said I'll handle it." He managed to hold the other man's stare until he turned on his heel and walked away. The room was dark, and despite the small number of people already gathered, the air was hazy with the smoke from numerous cigarettes. There was a stack of papers being circulated by one member of the group, and the occasional quotation was muttered or an opinion offered, breaking the silence, although failing to make it any more comfortable. The subjects of these meetings rarely invited comfort. The door swung open suddenly, startling the youngest member of the group, who moved hurriedly away from the doorway as a tall figure in a black trench coat strode through it. In his left hand he carried a buff folder with a serial number on the front, and in his right hand he carried his customary cigarette. Throwing the folder down on a nearby chair, he turned to face the assembled company. "If anyone has any information about this situation, I suggest they share it with me. Before someone sustains a permanent injury." It was raining. Fox Mulder peered up at the sky from under the edge of his umbrella. Gloomy, overcast and heavy. Exactly how he felt. Glancing around, he took in the view of all the other mourners surrounding the freshly dug hole in the ground. The cold, dark hole, where soon his ex-lover and partner would be laid to rest. He would have liked to have felt grief, anger, desperation, but instead all he felt was an aching emptiness. Dimly aware that the priest had stopped talking, Mulder stepped forward and threw a handful of earth on to the coffin. Taking a last look at the wooden box that lay six feet below the ground he stood on, he turned and thanked a God he wasn't sure he believed in that circumstances were not different, and it was a different woman being laid to rest. Moving away from the grave to let others pay their respects, he spotted her, standing a few feet away under a tree, looking utterly drenched and dishevelled. She turned slightly, and their eyes met, briefly, before she turned He was about to make his way over to her, when he was interrupted by a voice he hadn't heard in years. "Fox!" Despite the situation, he couldn't help a smile spreading over his face. He wiped it off, however, before he turned around. "Mrs Fowley. It's been a long time." She looked tired and her normally cheerful face was lined and anxious, but she smiled at him, and pulled him into her arms. "It's been too long, Fox. I never wanted you to leave. You were my favourite son in law, you know?" "I know. But she made it kind of difficult for me to stay." On seeing the shadow that passed over her face, he immediately regretted his words. "I'm sorry." "Don't be sorry, Fox." She released him, and he stepped back. "I missed you. It was her fault you had to leave, I know that." "Don't think about that now, Mrs Fowley. Remember her good points." Not that there were many, he silently added. "Thank you for coming." She waved her hand in the vague direction of the grave, which was being gradually filled in. "Are you coming to the wake?" He hadn't planned to, he had a feeling the memories would evoke emotions he would be unable to deal with. But the image of Diana's mother standing before him caused him to reconsider. Before he could answer, however, she seemed to sense his latest inner battle. "If you're ever in Montana, you make sure you stop by, OK?" He nodded, and she patted his arm. Mulder watched her walk back to the other mourners, mentally thanking her for her understanding of his position. Not many people would side with a son in law over a daughter during a bitter divorce, but despite her loylty to him, he had turned her aside, prefering, as always to fight his demons alone. "Agent Mulder." The voice was welcome, if unexpected. Of course, he had been Diana's superior, but somehow Walter Skinner seemed out of place. He certainly looked like he felt out of place, Mulder reflected. "Sir." "Don't worry, Agent Mulder, I'm not going to say anything cliched." He paused, and looked over Mulder's shoulder. "Is Agent Scully here? I thought I saw her earlier." "Yes Sir, she's..." Mulder trailed off when he realised that Scully was no longer standing in the spot she had previously occupied. "She's somewhere." He finished, lamely. "I noticed her sling has been removed. She must be making a good recovery." Skinner was still scanning the crowd of mourners. "I think so, Sir. She still has to wear the dressing, but her movement won't be so restricted any more." "That's good." His former boss took a deep breath. "Agent Mulder, are you aware that there has been a missing person's report filed on Agent Spender" "Yes sir. I read the report as soon as the APB was issued." "It's not that kind of report any more, Mulder. Would you and Agent Scully be able to attend a meeting at 10:00 on Monday morning?" Now he was looking just plain uncomfortable. "I, um, don't see why not, Sir, but I'm not sure AD Kersch..." "I've cleared it with Kersch." Skinner interrupted him sharply. "I will discuss details with you on Monday. It was a lovely service, Agent Mulder." And Skinner was gone. How do I do that? Mulder asked himself. Why does everyone around me seem to have the ability to disappear? Missing time? EBE's? Somehow he didn't think so. He simply seemed destined to be alone. Alone. Sighing, he once again moved closer to the grave. Throughout the brief service, he had not turned his thoughts to Diana once. Instead his eidetic memory had treated him to a matinee viewing of all the times Scully herself had come far too close to taking Diana's place in that coffin which would all too soon be covered and forgotten. He shook his head, trying to banish the image of his beautiful partner being lowered into that cold, unfriendly earth, the soil marring her perfect face and firey hair. It was too much, and he turned quickly, almost knocking Scully off her feet as he did so. "Hi." He managed, fighting to regain his balance. She smiled, but her eyes betrayed her cool exterior and allowed him to see the pain she was trying so hard to control. "It was a beautiful service." Best to err on the side of caution. Very true Scully. Keep to tradition. He raised his face once again to the sky, and allowed a wry grin to escape. It earned him the punch he had been hoping for. It proved that she was still alive, which was all that mattered now. "You know what I mean." She smiled slightly herself, and pushed her hair back from her face. "I'm sorry." He handed her the umbrella. "Keep it, Mulder." She pushed it gently back towards him. "No sense in us both getting soaked, is there?" "I guess not. You going home now? I don't want you catching cold." "Thank you Dr Mulder. Will you be OK?" "Of course. You go." "I'll see you in the office on Monday." She wiped some of the moisture off her face, and studied him for a moment. Then she turned and walked away. Mulder lowered his head and stared at his feet. No sense in watching her, the ache would only become less bearable. "Mulder!" He raised his head, and found that Scully had returned, and was standing only a couple of feet away. "Polypropanol." He could only stare at her. "What?" "I went through the coroners report, like you asked. Only one foreign substance was under her fingernails, and that was only trace amounts of polypropanol. It could have come off virtually anything in th hospital." She paused for a second. "Mulder? Are you OK?" Am I OK? "Sure. I was, I don't know, hoping for more, somehow. It's not your fault." He shifted the umbrella into his other hand, and noticed the darkening of the sky. "You'd better get going." There was a pause. Scully opened her mouth slightly, as if to speak, but seemed to change her mind. "Bye, Mulder." "Take care." He watched her back as she walked quickly back to her car, parked just outside the cemetary gates. Even this simple movement caused him to wince with the pain he had caused her. If he had not been in that warehouse, she would not have been shot, and then she would have been able to have run to her car. It shook him to realise that even something this trivial could pain him so much. With a start, he realised he had not even mentioned Monday's meeting to her. He had not allowed the implications of Skinner's request to sink in before, but now he had time to ponder them. Did he mean they were being reassigned to the X Files? Was it a temporary or a permanent arrangement? As much as he did not want to allow himself that hope, it was burning away at the back of his mind. After all, there was no one else left now. Not bothering to turn this time, he glanced over his shoulder at Diana Fowley's grave. His ex-wife's grave. His ex-partner's grave. His would-be assassin's grave. It should have evoked feelings in him. He should have felt angry. He should be grieved. But he wasn't. Fox Mulder was simply empty. The residual smoke from the meeting the day before had considerably dissipated, and although not completely dispersed the young man in the grey suit appreciated the cleaner air. He had long ago accepted that the smoke came with the territory, so long ago, in fact, that he had still wanted the territory when he had accepted it. He had always known that the work had a dark side, hell, it was a dark job, period. But soon after he became involved he realised that the darkness was all too often all consuming, and there was no escape. He had sunk to the lowest depths of hell, quite literally on occasion, and he was still only the "errand boy," carrying messages back and forth. This time he was in search of a manilla envelope that, he had been assured lay on the desk in the office. Sure enough, there it lay, on top of the rest of the accumulated junk. He had never before pried into the private affairs of his superiors, but as he saw the envelope something inside him snapped, and he carefully eased the flap open. Inside was a single slip of paper, red, so as not to be copied, and bearing a single sentence. Surveilance commenced. Carefully slipping the paper back inside the envelope, the young man left the room to complete his errand. Scully closed her eyes, her head pounding, wondering what karmic failure she'd committed to get stuck with background check duty so early on a Monday morning. The very thought made her smile and cringe at the same time; the smile was for how oddly similar her thoughts had sounded to Mulder's voice in her head, and the cringe was for thinking of him in the first place. Trying to concentrate on the never-ending voice in her ear, holding the phone with her good shoulder as she doodled on a piece of paper, she cast another glance at Mulder's empty chair. He was late. And while part of her knew it wasn't her place to worry, she did. A sudden whiff of after-shave made her heart pitch violently on its perch in her chest. She looked up to see him walking towards her, his expression determined, looking better than he had in days. Ever since he'd walked away from her, that horrid night in her apartment, he'd looked like the walking dead. Rings under his bloodshot eyes, slumped shoulders, a grim colorless expression. The sudden change, complete with a freshly shaven face and pressed suit, made her swallow heavily. He looked so handsome. But it wasn't just longing she felt, it was also envy. How had he managed to get over her so quickly, when she was still clinging to the memory of his touch like a drowning swimmer? She covered the mouthpiece of her phone as he spoke, giving him her undivided attention. "Skinner wants to see us in his office. I meant to tell you earlier, but I--" He trailed off, but he didn't need to finish. He meant to tell her, but the time hadn't been right. He hadn't wanted to call her, or visit, or give her any excuse to see his face. She understood perfectly, and was grateful. She hadn't wanted to see him either. This past weekend had been the first when he hadn't called her once. Except for the funeral they'd had no contact outside of work. She'd never tell him, but she missed him desperately. She missed the lover she'd just discovered. But more than anything, she missed the friend she'd lost. Nodding, she quickly excused herself from the employer she'd been interviewing over the phone. She ignored the shaking of her hands, and Mulder's gaze, as he waited for her. Pushing her chair in, she followed him to A.D. Skinner's office. He didn't put his hand on the small of her back anymore. He didn't touch her at all. Not if he could help it. Did he think it was too much for her to handle...or too much for himself? The elevator was blessedly crowded, saving them the discomfort of being alone in each other's presence. They'd already endured that far too many times in the past week. Strained silences, as deafening as any explosion. Every time their eyes met, instead of looking quickly away, they were faced with a stare- down to see who would back down first. They'd taken to driving separate cars again, despite her aching shoulder. It was just too dangerous to do otherwise. Being locked in a car with him, amidst the thick tension, would be like waiting for a bomb to detonate...because she knew, at any given moment, she would be forced to hit or kiss him. And, from her, he didn't want either. When they reached the outer office, Skinner's secretary told them to go right in. The Assistant Director was waiting. Scully was surprised, upon opening the door, to see A.D. Kersh also present. Not particularly surprising, however, was that he didn't look pleased. Taking a seat beside her partner, she folded her hands in her lap. Skinner's eyes drifted between her and Mulder several times, his brow furrowed, as if contemplating something. After a moment, he merely cleared his throat and closed the file in his hands. "You may be wondering why I asked the two of you here, Agent Scully." "Yes, Sir." "As I'm sure you're well aware, Special Agent Spender has been designated a missing person. He disappeared a little under a week ago, the same night Agent Fowley passed away." This last part was said with a sympathetic glance towards Mulder, who merely stared down at his own clasped hands. "There's been some speculation that Agent Spender may have been involved in Agent Fowley's death." "Yes, Sir." She knew that much. Mulder had voiced his own opinion on the matter very clearly. "There have, however, also been several conflicting reports regarding the night of Agent Spender's disappearance. In fact, several eye- witnesses claim that Agent Spender was last seen standing directly below a flying saucer." Scully didn't imagine the sudden shifting of A.D. Kersh in his chair, nor the scowl on his face. And she didn't miss the sudden interest on Mulder's behalf, either. "You're aware the police have handed Agent Fowley's case over to their homicide department, correct?" "Yes. I--" She was about to say that she'd requested to read the coroner's report, but when she noticed Kersh's gaze on her, she decided to keep that information to herself. "I am aware of that, Sir." "Given the sudden and unusual disappearance of their main suspect, and his affiliation with the FBI, we have been asked to officially assist them on this case. And given that the two agents assigned to the X-files are the ones involved, I'm giving the case to the two of you." Mulder swallowed audibly, merely staring at Skinner, while Scully's gaze fled to Kersh. He looked pissed. Nothing new there. "I've already discussed this matter with the ethics committee," Skinner continued, casting his own gaze on Kersh, "and the vote was nearly unanimous. You're being temporarily reassigned to the X-files. Pending the closure of this case, and a review of your performance, the assignment could become permanent." Scully couldn't catch her breath, her heart was pounding so fast. She could feel the grin spreading across her face, especially when she spotted Mulder's dumb-founded expression. God, despite the last five days, part of her wanted to hug him. She barely even noticed when, looking more than a little disappointed, Kersh silently stepped out of the office. Turning her gaze back to Skinner, she fought to regain her composure. "You won't be disappointed, Sir." He glanced at the door, watching it closed in Kersh's wake. "I'm certain I won't be. I feel I have to warn you, though. Assistant Director Kersh wasn't the only one fighting this decision. And I have a feeling I won't be mistaken in saying you should take every precaution necessary during this case, Agents. I think we all know there's a very big possibility someone got rid of Fowley and Spender together, because of their connections to the X-files. Whether or not Spender killed his partner remains to be proven." Glancing at Mulder, Scully noticed the scowl on his face. Instead of looking pleased to have the X-files back, he was angry. God, he still thought she was in danger. As much as she loved him for trying to protect her, she could take care of herself. And despite his worries, nothing was going to stop her from taking this case. Skinner stood up, reaching for his suit jacket. "I've already made sure Spender's things were removed from the basement office and put into storage, for the time being. Agent Fowley's belongings were boxed up earlier by her family, so you should be able to relocate fairly easily." He picked up several files, handing them to Mulder as he headed towards the door. Still looking stunned, her partner merely sat there. "Now, if you'll excuse me," Skinner continued, "I have a meeting to attend." He stepped out of the office, leaving them to pick up their files and go...only Mulder still sat there. "Mulder?" He glanced at her briefly, chewing on his lip, before looking down at his lap once more. "Are you OK with this?" she asked. "I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop." "You got what you wanted. What you've been working towards for months. Why can't you just accept it?" He gave a little laugh, before meeting her gaze. "I always get what I want, Scully. The problem is, I never keep it." The intercom buzzed, almost startling the leather jacketed man standing in the hallway. Not willing to give any outward sign of unease, he straightened up from the slouched position he had assumed during his wait for attention. He abhored being at the beck and call of the men behind the heavy door, and yet never being granted admittance. He shifted once again and moved closer to the small grid mounted in the wall just above the combination lock for the door. He knew it needed a seven digit combination, and although he had halfheartedly searched for it on one or two occasions he had never gained that knowledge. But that had never deterred him - he had an agenda even higher than that of the consortium. "Yes?" Finally they had deigned to acknowledge his presence. "I have the photograph." He held it in his right hand, and lifted it for a final examination. He had many copies at his disposal, but this was the original - they would suspect something was amiss if he presented them with a copy. "Slide it under the door." The faceless voice instructed. "I would prefer it to be handed over in person." Sir, he added silently, mocking the hierarchy that hid itself behind the door. "Slide it under the door." No waver or differentiation in the tone used by the speaker. "I would prefer..." "Slide it under the door." Again, no change, but the authority was clear. Closing his eyes in an attempt to contain his anger, Krycek bent and slid the black and white photograph under the door. In a flash of inspiration he knelt on the hardwood floor and lay his head down so his eyes were on a level with the glossy paper he had placed there a moment before, but his view of the interior was blocked by a thick white carpet. Using his fingertips, he tried using the photograph itself to flatten the strands, but before he achieved anything the paper was snatched from his grasp. "We will contact you." The intercom crackled, and lapsed into silence. Straightening his jacket, Krycek stood and walked away. End (1/5) Feedback to Isahunter@aol.com / Diadem@cwcom.net From This Moment On (2/5) by Diadem & Isahunter (for disclaimer and other headers see part 1) "Scully, hit the light!" Mulder had managed to get the stack of files through the door, but was in danger of inventing an interesting new form of floor decor if he didn't get them to the desk fast. As it was, they slipped sideways, but he succeeded in keeping them all on the desk. "It feels so strange to be down here again." He contemplated the walls, now devoid of cuttings and snapshots. "I think I may just have to cut up a newspaper to decorate with until something of interest comes along." He turned to her, waiting for a response, when the files behind him once again scattered themselves. "You should have let me help with those." She sounded annoyed, and this suspicion was confirmed when he turned around and saw her in the process of crossing her arms, silhouetted by the light from the hallway. "I'm not an invalid, you know." "I know that." Better to agree than face the consequences. "Can you hit the light, please?" He repeated. "I already did." She paused, and appeared to be studying the ceiling. "It didn't used to take this long, did it?" "I think the tube must have blown." Mulder reached for the phone, a new white cordless affair that graced the brand new desk. "How convenient." He punched in three numbers, and waited for an answer. "Must be an omen, Mulder. You're cursed, you know that?" She crossed the room, and hoisted herself up onto the opposite side of the desk to the one his chair was situated at. "All too well, Scully." He muttered, as the phoneline connected. "Hello, maintenance?" He pulled a face at Scully through the semi darkness - the person on the other end of the line was being less than co-operative. "I'm ringing from 279, we have a blown flourescent tube down here. All right, thank you very much." Replacing the handset in its cradle, he turned to Scully. "They said they'd be down here as soon as they can." "Probably Thursday, then." She replied bitterly, and let out a sigh that damn near broke his heart. "Hey, Scully, you OK?" He stood, and after moving some files settled himself next to her, but at the same time he was careful to leave enough room between them. She sniffled. "I'm fine. I just need some ice cream, that's all." "Ice cream?" That was definitely not the answer he had expected. "It's a girl thing, Mulder. You wouldn't understand." She sighed again, and shuffled forwards so that she could slide off the desk. He stopped her by wrapping his hand around her wrist. "Probaby not. Are you sure it's nothing I can help with?" "You mean you've started keeping Ben and Jerry's in the file cabinets?" She asked, deadpan. "Well, I know I haven't, but I can't speak for Spender." He immediately regretted what he had said. As much as he had hated the little weasel, he didn't have to foist his prejudices onto Scully. Luckily, however, she ignored his insensitivity, as she had so many times in that past, and allowed a tiny smile to slip past her lips. "You never know." It was little more than a whisper. "Come on, Scully. You can still talk to me, can't you?" Could she, though? Had he destroyed even that? "You are my best friend, Mulder. Of course I can talk to you. It's just not the same as sitting down with a pint of Wavy Gravy and chatting with a girlfriend." "A pint of what?" "Ice cream, Mulder." "Oh. What would you chat about?" "Oh..." She trailed off, and stared picking at the hem of her skirt. "I don't know." "Sure you do. What's bothering you, Scully." "Drop it Mulder." "Tell me. You'll feel better for it." She took a deep breath, and appeared to be fighting an inner battle. "I just split up with my boyfriend." She finally blurted out. Uh-oh. Well, he had asked for it. "How do you feel about that?" He asked, trying to sound as sympathetic as possible. "I don't know. How am I supposed to feel?" She swung her legs a little, and lowered her eyes to the floor. "Rejected, I suppose. Undervalued." "I'm sure he didn't mean to make you feel that way." Hell, of course he hadn't. He had been trying to protect her. "Probably not. But he can't accept that I can take care of myself." "Maybe he wants to take care of you. Maybe he loves you so much, he can't bear seeing you hurt." "But I can't bear seeing him hurt either." Mulder peered at her face, and saw that her eyes were shut. "Maybe it's better this way." "For now." "Maybe forever. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be." What could he say to that? Of course it was meant to be. Then why had he ditched her, yet again, but this time in a much more personal way? Just one look at the picture of dejection sitting just a few inches away confirmed his fears that he could well have destroyed the best thing in his life. "Why..." It was no more than a whisper. "Why what?" He prayed she wasn't asking for one of the big answers that he couldn't give her. Why am I here? Why has all this happened to me? "Why did you let her call you Fox?" Diana. They still hadn't really talked about her, and Mulder still wasn't sure he could explain everything he needed to. "I don't know." "All right. You don't have to tell me." She was silent, her head bent, studying her hands. "No, it's not that." Didn't she know he trusted her with anything, his life and soul included? "It's just that I don't really know myself. She just did, I guess. It was my name." "It still is your name." "No, I don't think it is. I mean, that's what it says on my driver's licence and whatever, but as soon as I began working with you, I became Mulder. No one has called me Fox except my mother and your mother in years. It's not my name any more." "OK." "OK? You sure? If you want, you can call me Fox. You can call me anything you want to, but can you really see me as anything other than a Mulder?" She drew in a breath, and lifted her head. She caught his gaze, and held it for several seconds before dropping it again. "No, I guess I can't." "Is that a problem?" If it mattered that much to her, he would gladly revert to Fox. Or Engelbert, if it made her happy. "No." "You sure?" "Of course I'm sure. Besides, you only use my last name. We're equals." "Does that bother you? Me calling you Scully, I mean?" "It did." She admitted. "When we first... well, you know." "Yeah?" "Yeah." He did remember calling her Dana, at her request. "Does it bother you now?" "Actually..." Despite his movements towards her, she would not look at him. "Actually, what, Scully?" "Actually, I felt kind of uncomfortable when you used my first name. I mean, at first it was nice, and I thought it was more familiar. But then I realised that the only times you called me Dana in the past have been when something has gone wrong, or one of us is in danger." After her father's funeral. During her cancer. She had a right to be wary of her own name, and that fact scared him. Had he really done that to her? "Apart from that, you have never called me anything but Scully, and that is what I am comfortable with. It makes me feel safe." She turned her head, and looked sideways at him. "Anyway, I guess the familiarity thing won't be a problem any more, will it?" "I'm sorry." He whispered. "Please try to understand." He reached for her hand, but she drew it sharply away, and this time succeeded in sliding off the desk. "There's nothing to understand Mulder." She reached for her coat. "It seems pretty clear to me that I'll never be able to prove my capabilities to you." She grabbed her purse, and walked to the door. She couldn't be leaving? No, please, God, if you are really up there somewhere, please don't let her leave me like this. "Scully..." "I have a physical therapy appointment, Mulder. I'll be back at three." She paused for a second, contemplating an image only she could see. "I promise." She added, before cloing the door after her, leaving Mulder in the darkness of the office. She was coming back. Thanking whoever had thus blessed him, Mulder was left to puzzle over exactly what he had done to deserve the blessing. Scully sighed and fiddled with the tuning control on the car's radio. Mulder had been gone for almost ten minutes, and she coud tell by the queue inside the gas station that he would be a while yet. She let her head fall back against the headrest as the soft rock gave way to a Mahler symphony. It was just what she needed; an oasis of calm, the eye in the emotional storm the day had become. She had been depressed, and it would have been pretty obvious to any one, let alone Mulder himself what the problem was. Why had she had to spell it out for him? What was she supposed to feel like? The man she loved tells her he no longer wants a relationship of that kind, and she's supposed to just smile and carry on exactly the way things were before? She started as she heard the door open, but kept her eyes shut. She could do without seeing him at that moment. She could feel the breeze blowing in through the open window; that was enough to remind her she was alive. She could feel... ... something cold and wet on her leg. She jumped, her eyes flying open, sending the little carton of ice cream flying back across the car. She glared at her partner, demanding an explanation. "They didn't have any Wavy Gravy." He handed the carton back to her, a sheepish grin on his face. "It has chocolate in it, though." Scully looked down at the carton in her hands and sighed again. Why was it that whenever she tried her hardest to hate him, he did something that made her love him even more? There was no one in sight when they arrived at the car pound. They waited in the car for a few minutes, in case anyone did show up, but they soon reached a decision to go ahead without permission. They could always pull rank if push came to shove. They found the black sedan towards the rear of the lot, parked alongside the corrugated iron fence that encircled the pound. The local PD had already been over the vehicle, and taken samples which were no doubt being run at that very minute. But Mulder had never been one to take anyone else's word, and had suggested a second mission so he could nose around himself. Scully wondered just what it was he expected to find. Anything out of the ordinary would have been snapped up by the police, or else removed by whatever... whoever, she corrected herself... had removed Spender himself. Making an effort she leaned over the passenger seat and examined the floor. "Are we looking for anything in particular?" she asked. "I'll know if I find it," he answered, his voice becoming muffled as his head disappeared between the seats. "Scully?" He popped back up and turned towards her. "What does this look like to you?" "What?" Scully knelt on the passenger seat and leaned over to see where Mulder was pointing. "I can't see anything." "Look closely." He put his arm around her shouder and dragged her almost on top of him. "Down there." She peered down at the carpet behind the seats, but could nothing remarkable about the dust and other detritus that had found its way down there. "Oh, that?" she tried pointing to a glisten of silver just poking out from under the seat. "No..." He yanked an evidence bag from his pocket and sealed the object up. Scully took it from him and examined the contents. It was a Canadian coin. "I was looking at that." He pointed, and this time Scully could make out a tiny object that looked like a pink wood shaving. "You mean that?" Mulder nodded. "It looks like plastic to me. You know, like when you absently sharpen your pens, thinking they are pencils?" It was a light- hearted comment, but Scully could feel herself getting annoyed. She could think of a million things she would rather be doing than sifting through the results of someone forgetting to vacuum their car. "Do you have any bags, Scully?" Mulder's concentration was focussed on the floor once again. "It's only rubbish, Mulder," she told him. "We can't bag every dust particle we find." "Do you?" he persisted. "Fine." Scully threw the bag down on to the seat. "You carry on doing this. I'm going over to Quantico, to see if any of the original results are back." "OK." She closed her eyes briefly, then walked away. She kept looking back to see if Mulder was checking on her. He wasn't. "Krycek is a suspect. And they are not keeping it quiet." The grey-bearded man strode into the room, his grey trench coat flapping around his legs. "It's only a matter of time before he finds out. He may know already." "How does that tie it to us, though?" "It doesn't. Not directly." "So we implicate Krycek. No one better, going on his past record." "But Krycek has only ever followed orders. Our orders." "So far. But he's not likely to go on like that forever. He is too strongwilled for that. My guess is he's only biding his time until he goes out on his own." "And we can prove that he has done so already?" "Precisely. And in the meanwhile, I think it is time to put our distraction into play." "Where?" "Where better to hide in plain sight? New York City." "New York City?" At the bearded man's nod, the young man turned. "Consider it done." As the day wore on, Mulder's presence in her mind became more suffocating than dense smoke. Her every little thought led back to him. She needed to get away, to run as far and as fast as she could, to leave it all behind. But with a healing bullet wound to her shoulder, the best she could do was brisk walk. Groaning with impatience, she pulled the hood of her sweatshirt tighter about her head and stepped into the damp gloom that was Memorial Park. The weather was wet and miserable, serving to match her mood perfectly. Biting wind buffeted her slender body, and not even the usually warm fabric of her track pants could keep out the chill. Of course, the fact that she was usually jogging while wearing the outfit might've had something to do with it. Switching on her walkman, she settled the headphones snugly against her ears and stuffed her hands into her pockets. Despite her wandering mind, drifting back and forth between Mulder and the case they were working on, she couldn't help but notice the other people walking by. Couples walking hand in hand. A man talking animatedly on a cell phone while walking his dog. A woman pushing a baby carriage. Scully suddenly felt more alone than ever before. Stepping off the paved walkway, she headed towards the gazebo, a more isolated area of the park. Leaving those with loved ones behind. "You never close your eyes anymore When I kiss your lips And there's no tenderness, like before In your fingertips..." She smiled when the song started playing on the radio, recognizing an old favorite. But as she listened to the lyrics, she had an abrupt urge to toss her headphones into the river. The song was hitting too damned close to home. "You're trying hard not to show it, baby But, baby, baby I know it You've lost that loving feeling Oh, that loving feeling..." For Christ's sake, could she never find a moment's peace? Swamped with more images of Mulder than she cared to see, she switched off the Walkman and pulled the headphones down around her neck. The sudden silence of the air around her was almost startling...but nothing more so than the popping sound of a twig snapping under someone's shoe. It shouldn't have alarmed her so much. It was a public park, and there were people milling around everywhere. So why was she suddenly so unnerved? She swiveled around, her eyes scanning the nearby stand of trees, up to the paved walkway she'd just left, down to the stone memorial that stood near the river. No one was looking at her, nor was anyone near her. Not that she could see, anyway. Shaking her head at her own paranoia, silently thanking Mulder for turning her into a suspicious wreck, she resumed her walk to the gazebo. The feeling of being watched, however, didn't dissipate. She grew more tense with every step she took. If she strained, she could hear the sound of fallen leaves rustling on the ground behind her. Muffled footsteps. She tried to convince herself that she was just imagining things. But it didn't work. Whomever it was lurked in the shadows between her and the main walkway. Almost effectively blocking her escape. She could always walk around the long way, but that was a quite a distance to travel with someone on her tail. She wasn't a coward, she didn't fear this man. But she wasn't an idiot, either. Tucked securely into the travel pack around her waist, her gun was a welcome weight against her side. Careful to mask the sound of her movements, she unzipped the pack and pulled the weapon free. She slid it into the felt-lined pocket of her sweatshirt instead. Keeping her hand wrapped around it, her finger near the trigger. She should've listened to him. That was the thought that ran through her head as she hurried her steps. She should have listened to Mulder when he'd said she was in danger. Slipping quickly down the hill, putting distance between her and the person stalking her, she dodged into the trees, seeking cover. Although fairly easy to spot in dark red clothing, she had at least a modicum of advantage. Finding a tree trunk wide enough to hide behind, she waited. Until the footsteps drew nearer. Her shoulder was aching, but she struggled to concentrate on the sounds behind her. Judging from the lightness of his step, he was either fairly light-weight, very graceful, or very wary of her presence. Perhaps even a combination of the three. Sliding her Sig Sauer out of her pocket, she flicked off the safety and waited with both hands wrapped around the handle. Breathing out of her open mouth. Her heart thudding painfully in her chest. Jesus, she was going to feel really stupid if it was just some guy out for a walk. Movement, out of the corner of her eye. She slid carefully to the opposite side of the tree as he passed, hiding herself from view. And when he'd stepped a reasonable distance away, she spun away from the tree and leveled the gun at the back of his head. "Freeze! FBI agent, get your hands in air--do it, now!" The man, not much taller than herself, slowly lifted his arms. He started to turn around, to speak, but she cut him off. "Sir, lace your fingers together behind your head and get down on your knees!" Nodding his head, his graying hair flapping with the movement, he did as she asked. The moment his knees settled onto the wet, mossy ground, she stepped forward. Protocol be damned, she shoved her knee into his back and forced him face-down onto the ground. With the gun digging into his neck, she grabbed one of his arms and wrenched it behind his back. He let out a grunt that sounded more astonished than pained. "Who are you, and why the hell were you following me?" "Sc-Scully," he muttered, his voice muffled against the ground. "Mulder told me to." The distinctive voice made her tighten her grip in shock, eliciting another groan from the man she was straddling. "Frohike?" "The one and only." It was a moment or two before she was able to move, before she could coax herself into re-engaging the safety on the gun. She sat there, straddling his back in stupefied silence, her mind whirring almost audibly. "Mulder sent you." "As much fun as this is, Agent Scully, it would be a hell of a lot more satisfying if I was facing you." Stunned into action she climbed to her feet and stepped away, just as Melvin Frohike rolled over. "Damn, and here I thought I'd just gotten lucky." She was saved from a response by the sound of something large crashing through the trees. Frohike was on his feet in an instant, shoving her behind him out of some weird sort of chivalry. His partners-in-crime, Langly and Byers, raced towards them with anxious expressions, as if hot on the trail of Elvis himself. "You guys have impeccable timing," Frohike muttered. Stepping away from Scully, he lowered his voice. "Why couldn't you have given us a moment alone?" Langly was the first to catch his breath. "We heard Agent Scully over the scanner." "We figured we'd better hurry before she decided to shoot you first and ask questions later," Byers added. Scully had had enough. "Would one of you like to tell me what the hell is going on?" They all blinked at her as if she'd asked who'd shot Kennedy. Kicking at the ground and stuffing his hands in his pockets like a petulant little boy, Frohike said, "Mulder asked us to keep an eye on you." "He sent you to spy on me." "Not exactly. He sent us to protect you." "That arrogant bastard!" She stomped away from them, her shoulders heaving with every breath, before pivoting on her heel and marching back. "Damn him, my life is none if his business anymore." She almost missed the odd look the three men shared, but decided to ignore it. Still pacing in outrage, randomly cursing, she didn't realize she was waving her gun about until Byers gently pried it from her grasp. "He's only looking out for you," he said, softly. "And if you ask me, he has every reason to be worried." "Why? What did he tell you?" "It isn't what he said," Langly answered for him. "It's what we've seen." "Which is?" It was Frohike's turn. "You're being followed." She shook her head, fighting the urge to scream. "Well, I am now." "Not by us...by Smokey's henchmen." "The Consortium is following me. What now? So I can be the incubator for ET's illegitimate child?" Frohike was obviously about to make some crude comment before a look from Byers made him shut his mouth. Placing his hand on her arm, Byers lowered his voice to concerned whisper. The action reminded her so much of Mulder that her eyes stung. "We've been watching you for almost a week now. If you didn't notice us, how were you supposed to notice the man that's been tailing you since early yesterday morning?" She tried to fight the shudder that past through her, but he must have noticed it. Swallowing heavily, she backed away from his touch and pulled her gun from his grasp. Tucking the pistol back in her pocket, she said, "I can take care of myself. I've been doing it for years." She walked right past Frohike and Langly, not even sparing them a glance. She didn't want them to see the fear in her eyes. As she stepped out into the open, past the looming shadows of the trees, a light drizzle started to land on her hair. She blinked away drops of water, her gaze skittering around nervously as she scanned the surrounding hills. Suddenly, everyone was suspect. She spun around abruptly, at the sound of heavy footfalls, only to see the Gunmen hurrying after her. "Where do you think you're going?" Frohike asked. "I'm going to talk to Mulder." Something in her tone must have unnerved him, for he stopped walking for a moment. Finally catching up to her, he hurried to match her steps. "Maybe we should hang on to your gun for a little while." "Don't worry, Frohike. If I wanted to kill him, I would have done it a week ago." "I'm not worried about Mulder. I just wouldn't want to see a pretty lady like you go to prison." Finally reaching the main trail, Scully hurried her steps. She could hear Frohike fall behind just as Langly and Byers hurried to catch up. A bit of their conversation reached her, just as she arrived at the sidewalk to catch a cab. "Shouldn't we stop her?" "Nah. If the look on her face was any indication, that punk deserves whatever he's about to get." End (2/5) Feedback to Isahunter@aol.com / Diadem@cwcom.net From This Moment On (3/5) by Diadem & Isahunter (for disclaimer and other headers see part 1) Mulder settled the phone between his shoulder and his ear, opening the door to see Scully standing in his hallway. Narrowing his eyes at her, he spoke into the receiver. "Yeah, she's here now." She brushed past him, anger burning so bright in her expression he thought sure he'd get singed if he so much as touched her. "That would be Frohike, wouldn't it?" Ignoring her question, he went back to his conversation. "No, no, it's all right. I'll take care of it. Just make sure he hasn't followed her here. Do whatever it takes." He could see Scully crossing her arms in impatience. "'Whatever it takes' means exactly what it sounds--" Before he could finish his sentence, Scully grabbed the phone and tossed it over the couch. If his fish tank hadn't been covered, the cell phone would've been swimming. "Damn it, Scully--" "You're going to talk to me, you selfish bastard!" "Selfish?" He shook his head. "What are you even doing here? Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? If they see you here--" "I don't give a damn what they see, Mulder." She ran her good hand through her hair, further messing the damp wind-blown tresses. "You dumped me. You can't have it both ways." "What are you talking about?" "Frohike, the Gunmen. If you want out of my life, that's fine. But stay out. Don't keep coming around, sending your friends to check up on me. Just leave me alone." The look on her face, her words...it was like being doused with a bucket of ice water. It hurt, more than he was willing to admit. "You're being followed, Scully." "So they told me." She stood there, in that curve-hugging pair of track pants and a red sweatshirt that made her hair glow like an inferno. And despite how she stared at him with glacier-cold eyes, he could barely stifle the urge to drag her to the couch and reacquaint himself with those lush lips. "Do you want to know something, Mulder? I took care of myself just fine. I think I proved that to Frohike when I held a gun on him." He'd already been informed of that much. It hadn't particularly surprised him. "What if he'd been someone else? What if he hadn't dropped to his knees, and had turned to shoot you instead? What if he'd had an accomplice?" "Then I'd be dead." That was exactly what he was trying to avoid. He opened his mouth to say as much, but she cut him off. "It's not your job to protect me, Mulder. I take care of myself, I always have. It has never been your responsibility to see to my safety." "How can you say that after--after Antarctica, for God's sake? What was I supposed to do, leave you there?" She shook her head slightly, closing her eyes for a brief moment. "I'm not saying that I don't appreciate what you did. What I'm trying to say..." She sighed heavily. "If they're going to kill me, you can't save me, Mulder. If it's meant to be, it's meant to be. Can't you get that through your head? Can't you just love me while I'm here, and miss me when I'm gone, instead of running around sacrificing everything we've fought for? I don't give a damn about tomorrow, because it's not a promise you can keep. I only want today." "No." "What?" "I said no. I'm not going to watch you die. I'm not going to pretend to be happy while I wait for the next bullet to fly. You may not want tomorrow, but I do!" Her pupils flared a fraction of a second before he realized what he'd just said. He wished he could reach out and take the words back. But it didn't quite work like that, did it? Swearing under his breath, he walked away from her. Holding the door open, he stared at the floor while he waited for her to leave. Unfortunately, she hadn't learned a thing from his previous example. He waited for what seemed like hours, refusing to meet her gaze, before slamming the door shut. "What are you afraid of, Mulder?" "Damn it, I just told you--" "No, I want the truth." She was silent for a moment, but he still didn't meet her gaze. "You once told me that I completed you. That you owed me everything, and I owed you nothing. Do you really believe that?" "You know I do." "You believe you owe me love, and I shouldn't have to love you in return?" It was that statement that finally broke his resolve. He looked up to see her shimmering eyes, her lashes spiked with moisture, and he wished he'd kept his gaze trained on the floor. "That's not--" "That's what you said, Mulder. Did your mother and father really mess you up that much? Enough to think you didn't deserve to have anyone love you?" He clenched his teeth, his nostrils flaring with every expelled breath. "This has nothing to do with them." "The hell it doesn't. If this was just about the Consortium, and what they might do to me, you could've just as easily grabbed my hand and run away with me. If it was just fear of losing me..." "This has nothing to do with my parents," he said again, harsher. "Not them alone, no. Diana did quite a number on you, too. But don't you get it, Mulder? Your parents were too involved with hating each other to realize they were neglecting you. Samantha was taken away, and you couldn't save her, so you blamed yourself. Diana left, and we both know why, but you thought you drove her away. It wasn't your fault. None of it. But still you continue to push me away, because you think it'll be easier if you walk away before I leave you." He opened his mouth to tell her she wrong, to tell her to go to hell, anything just to shut her up, but the words wouldn't come. Anger burned in the back of his throat, suffocating any argument he thought to make. It wasn't true, he wasn't afraid. He trusted her with everything he had...so why hadn't he just grabbed her hand and ran? Why had he left her without saying goodbye? "I'm not going to leave you, Mulder. Not if I can help it. Half my life was spent moving from place to place, never knowing just where I belonged. But I do now. You're my home. Not this city, not my apartment, you. Only you." He wanted to tell her to get out. To run while she still could. That someday, she was going to regret saying those words...when he'd finally dragged her so far into his own madness, she couldn't remember her own name. When she was wasting away from some deadly disease, or was waiting for him to return after he'd ditched her once more, she'd realize she was better off without him, and should've spent her time with someone else. And by then, it would be too late. "I love you, Mulder." "Don't say that." "It's true." "Go. Get out." "I love you." She was walking closer, just inches from touching him. "Please, just go." "They aren't going to take me away from you, and I'm not leaving. You can't push me away, no matter how hard you try." "That shows how much you know." He grabbed her and yanked her to him roughly, burying his fingers in her hair and crushing her lips under his mouth. Far from gentle, bruising with intensity. He pinned her against the wall, raping her mouth with his tongue. And he realized far too late that his plan had failed. She wasn't fighting him. Instead of scaring her, as it should have, she merely held on just as tightly. And there was no going back. One taste of her, after denying himself for so long...it was like the first sip of fresh water after drifting in an ocean. Every day he forced himself to drink in her presence, listen to her voice, see her beautiful face, yet never drawing close enough to quench his thirst in her embrace. Now, he couldn't get enough. He suckled at her lips, greedily drawing them into his mouth, bingeing like a man in withdrawal. Imbibing the sweetest elixir he'd ever tasted. The hard edge of the gun in her pocket dug into his stomach, but he paid it no more attention than the time it took to remove it and drop it to the floor. The travel pack around her waist received the same treatment, and then she was in his arms. Soft, warm, and so responsive. A little voice in the back of his mind nagged him, telling him to get her out of there while he still could, but he was beyond listening. He wanted her. Now. Here in the hallway, just inside the door. He didn't think he could make it to the bedroom. It had been so long. Too long. The little sounds she was making in her throat drove him past sanity. Her clinging hands and legs made him shake with a violent need he could barely restrain. He tore at the elastic waist of her track pants, dragging them down past her knees, taking the wisp of cotton underwear with them, using his bare foot to shove them down all the way. Without a single protest, she kicked off her shoes and stepped out of the tangled fabric. He could feel her gaze on his face, as he yanked down the zipper of his jeans, but he didn't take the time to judge her expression. He was past reason. Past romance. Too deeply mired in lust to even breathe. With his jeans and boxers rumpled around his thighs, he returned to her mouth once more. Kissing her hard, as if to brand her with his touch. Staking his claim. She was his, always had been. Always would be. He wanted to possess every inch of her, leave an indelible mark on her soul. She curled her fists in his T-shirt, returning his fury with a vengeance, following as he dropped them to their knees. He had enough presence of mind to be wary when he pressed her to the floor, careful of her still healing shoulder. But that didn't stop him from plunging into her with a force that made her arch her back and convulse her thighs around his hips. He braced himself above her, keeping his weight on his hands and knees, watching her slack mouth emit the most primal sounds. Her fingernails dug into his clenching buttocks, driving him deeper, forcing him to move even faster. She tilted her head back on the hard floor, moaning, baring her throat, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks. It wasn't anything like before. He wasn't making love to her, like their first night together. It wasn't even sex, like the time in the Bureau bathroom. He was fucking her, hard and fast, nearly pushing her across the floor with his thrusts, grinding his knees against the hard wood below them. And still it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. He wanted to lose himself so deep inside her he'd forget they were ever apart...that they were ever more than one. Lowering himself onto his forearms, using his toes for leverage, he slipped his hand under her shoulder to protect her from the hard floor. Her eyes opened, her gaze meeting his with determination, and she smiled. It was damned near enough to break his heart. She slid her hands up his back, skimming every little bunch of his muscles, smoothing his sweat- damp T-shirt under her touch. Her hands on his body, her thighs wrapped around him, her hips cradling his every plunge...nothing had ever felt so good. And still it wasn't enough. He struggled towards ecstasy, his toes curling over the edge but unable to make the plunge. He wanted to take her with him, needed desperately to have her by his side as he fell. But it wasn't going to happen. There was just something...it wasn't enough... Her fingers slid over his face, smoothing away the harsh lines of a scowl he hadn't even known was there. Softly murmuring, coaxing, quieting the guttural grunts and whimpers he hadn't known he was making. "I love you..." The softest whisper, cutting him to the core. "I love you, Mulder." Barely spoken, barely heard over the storm in his head. Almost lost in the fury of movement, and thunderous rush of pleasure. "I love you." Her words. An echo in his ears, accompanied by the feather- light fluttering and clasping of her inner muscles around him. Bathing him in release, so warm and embracing, he screamed her name in exultation. "I love you," she said, once more. And, God help him, he believed every word. Awareness hit him like a slap in the face, made him pull his weight off of her and sit back on his heels to stare at her tear-streaked face. Jesus Christ, Scully never cried. Not even when he left her. What the hell had he just done? He'd never felt more like an asshole in his life. "Oh, God, Scully...I'm so sorry." Her brow furrowed for a moment, and then her hand slowly came up to touch her face. She looked at the moisture on her fingertips as if in disbelief, before smiling at him once more. "I'm not." She sat up, scooting closer, nearly straddling his thighs. Grabbing his face in her hands, she brushed her kiss-swollen lips over his. "I missed you." He drew a shuddering breath, wrapping his arms around her, crushing her in his embrace. "Ah, honey, I missed you, too." "Who was in charge of this fiasco?" His face was calm as he surveyed the twelve people assembled in front of him and lit another cigarette. "You may think it childish, but no one leaves the classroom until someone owns up." "Sir?" A man in his early thirties edged forward slightly. "Was it you?" Waiting for an answer he dragged on his cigarette. "No sir, but..." "Then be quiet." "But sir..." "Did you not hear what I said?" Leaning forward he breathed a lungful of putrid smoke into the younger man's face. The man reeled slightly, but did not move back. "Sir, we believe it may have been Krycek. There's no one else, sir..." "Krycek?" "Yes sir." "Under whose orders?" "We believe he was working on his own in this, sir." "On his own? Or have you just not found out who he has been working for?" "The only other explanation would be Mulder sir." The young man made a valiant attempt not to let his eyes belie his flash of inspiration, and on later reflection, he decided he hidden his pride satisfactorily. "Mulder." The older man took a final drag on his cigarette, and crushed it into the glass ashtray that looked strangely incongruous in the dingy office. "Of course." Turning on his heels, he left the room, allowing the door to swing shut behind him. "Well,that went better than expected." The young man turned to face his collegues, only to be met by stony stares from all sides. Out of the corner of his eye he glipsed the glint of dim sunlight on the silver casing of a pistol. Without thinking, he opened the door and ran for his life. "Relax, Mulder." He had been fidgeting since they had arrived at Skinner's office. "He can't possibly know." "Why not? They know everything else." "We don't know he's one of them." "We don't know he isn't!" True. "They didn't know last time." Scully pointed out, reasonably. "How do you know that?" He sighed, and leaned back in his chair. "I'm sorry. I'm just a little on edge, that's all." "I know." She resisted the urge to take his hand, but any such gesture would only have earned them a suspicious gance from Skinner's secretary, and she somehow felt it wouldn't be appropriate anyway. Instead, she folded her hands in her lap. They sat in silence for a further few minutes, before their AD called them in to his office. It was strange, thought Scully, how the office seemed both familiar, and yet alien at the same time. She had to stifle a smile, however, when her choice of words registered. "Take a seat." Skinner was busily scrawling on an official looking form - if they had been anywhere but DC in the past couple of weeks, Scully would have suspected it to be one of the numerous claims forms she and Mulder invariably had to submit after a case. Pulling up a chair, she sat, and once again folded her hands in her lap, waiting patiently until Skinner laid his pan on the desk in front of him, and raised his head. She expected him to speak, but instead he regarded them carefully, searching, it seemed, for something. She heard a cough to her left, breaking the silence. "You wanted to see us, Sir?" That was Mulder: blunt, and always to the point. She squirmed slightly in her seat as her superior stared at her. This wasn't his usual behaviour. She knew that next to her Mulder was psychoanalysing the AD. "Yes." She almost started. "I am assuming you have no further leads on the Spender case?" "Not really Sir." Scully quickly answered, darting a quick glance at Mulder. He looked mildly annoyed. "Agent Mulder?" Skinner turned his attention to her partner. "Do you have something to add to Agent Scully's statement?" "Well," Scully could tell that he was waging an inner battle against himself, trying to decide if the corn circles in Alabama could really be considered a lead. "No, I don't think so, Sir." "In that case, Agents, I am afraid you are being reassigned to another case." Skinner reached across the desk and took hold of a manilla envelope. "But Sir..." "No buts, Agent Mulder. This is your new case." He slid the envelope across the table. "I expect you to make a start on it immediately." "Who will take over the Spender case, Sir?" If I don't ask the sensible questions, no one will, Scully reflected, with a sideways glance at her partner. "That remains to be decided, Agent Scully." He turned his attention back to the form on his desk. "And if a lead should present itself in the meantime?" She prompted. "It is no longer your responsibility. Good day, Agents." "But..." "I said good day, Agent Mulder." It was the closing statement, and Mulder knew it. He stood, straightened his jacket, and stalked out of the office. She shot her superior an apologetic smile, and reached for the envelope that still lay on the AD's desk. Before she could touch it, however, his own hand reached out and took hold of hers. "Good luck with the new case, Agent Scully." He released her hand. "Thank you Sir." She was confused, but she took the envelope and retreated to the door, where she turned around on an impulse, and smiled at him. He was watching her, and nodded that she should follow Mulder. She turned and... had Skinner just winked at her? Mentally shaking herself she discarded the thought, and set off down the corridor. The elevator doors were closing, and Scully broke into a run. "Mulder!" she shouted, in an attempt to get him to wait for her. She skidded to a halt as the doors finally shut her out. The bastard! Resisting the urge to thump the wall, she resignedly headed for the stairs, ignoring the gazes of several Agents as she pushed herself through the double doors. The stairwell was quiet, with only the ever present murmur of hundreds of Agents going about their business reaching her through the walls. She was grateful for the near-silence - it left her alone to deal with her thoughts. She knew Mulder was under a great deal of pressure, but that was no excuse for his behaviour that morning, not only towards her, but towards Skinner as well. As their superior it was he who held the power to restore the X Files to them, and Mulder was gradually destroying any chance they might have of that possibility becoming a reality. And if it all came down to pressure, she wasn't exactly having an easy time of it either. After what had happened between them the night before, she was confused and unsure about their relationship, not to mention a little sore. She couldn't help but smile a little at the thought. But now it seemed that Mulder was deliberately trying to push her aside. He had not even waited for her as she had tried to apologize to Skinner for his behaviour. He was a different man. She didn't want a different man. She wanted her Mulder back. She sighed as she trotted down the last few steps to the basement office. A wave of nostalgia hit her as she walked slowly down the corridor, trying to recall all the times she had made the very same journey, often not sure quite what she would find at the other end, but she could always be certain that Mulder would help her through whatever fate threw their way. This time she couldn't even be certain of that. He was facing away from her as she entered the room, rifling through the top drawer of one of the file cabinets that stood in the corner of the office. Instead of trying to initiate any kind of communication, Scully sat down and prepared to read over their new case. "You don't have to apologize for me." He interrupted her before she even had a chance to open the envelope. She couldn't help herself. "Damn right I don't. You can apologize for yourself." She fully expected an outburst of indignation, or even worse, hurt. Instead he simply turned and grinned at her for a second before turning back to his rummaging. "I didn't mean that." He nodded his head, but she couldn't see his face. "We really ought to make a start on this new case." She slipped a pen under the flap of the envelope and ripped it open. "I wouldn't bother." He didn't turn round. "Mulder. Skinner has taken us off the Spender case. We don't have a choice." She pointed out reasonably. "I'm not having anything to do with any new case." When Scully had been a child, her mother had often referred to Bill junior as being as stubborn as a mule. Scully had never really understood the expression at the time, but for some reason it came back to her just in time for her to realize just how perfect the phrase was to describe Mulder. "It's not up to you Mulder." She did not get the rebuke she was expecting: he was, after all, technically her superior. As his abstinence from comment continued, Scully peered into the envelope. "There must be some kind of mistake." She muttered as she pulled out the contents. There was no case file, no autopsy reports, nothing except a single sheet of paper. She turned it over, and gasped in surprise. "Mulder..." "What?" Still he didn't turn around. "I think you'd better take a look at this." "No." "Mulder, do you want to take a new case..." "No." "I wasn't finished." She informed him sharply. "Or do you want to carry on pursuing the Spender case?" "Of all the stupid questions you have asked this year Scully, I think that ranks about a four." Stubborn as a mule. Definitely. "Then get your ass over here now and take a look at this!" Finally he turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised. "OK." He was confused, she could tell. But not half as confused as he was going to be when he read what she had just read. Without a word she held out the sheet of paper, which he took and settled himself on the edge of the desk to read it. Although she could no longer see the writing, the contents of the note were already imprinted in Scully's memory. As she watched Mulder, she knew that he would not be forgetting the words in a hurry either. Silently he handed the paper back to her, and left the office. She knew better than to try and follow him, especially after his actions earlier that morning. Instead, she read the words printed carefully in Skinner's own hand once more, making certain she had understood. "Disregard everything I have just told you. It must not be known that you are still working on the Spender case. 53rd Street, NYC. More information awaits you there. Do not return until given the all clear. Good Luck." Understanding finally took ahold of Scully as she realized that the office must have been bugged. She wanted to call Skinner, ask him exactly what was going on, what exactly they were supposed to find in New York City. She wanted to discuss the case with Mulder. She wanted to know what it was they were going to have to deal with now. Because she had a feeling in the pit of her stomach that this went a lot deeper than a simple missing persons case. Leaving a note on the desk for Mulder, she left the office to go home and pack for their first out of town trip in four weeks. Mulder would call her sooner or later. She hoped. The tiny black and white television set chattered merrily in the corner of the room as the bearded man closed the door carefully behind him. The rest of the company had left long ago, but he had been assured that he would be ammused by what he found in the VCR. Settling himself into a rather battered imitation leather armchair, he pressed "play" with the toe of his shoe. A blond newsreader, who was blessed with an unmemorable name stood slightly to the right of the camera shot, allowing the watcher to glimpse the scene unfolding behind her. And what the saw caused him to sit up a little straighter in his chair. Well, well, well, he chuckled to himself as he reached for the telephone. So this was what had become of Spender Junior. He doubted he could have done better himself. End (3/5) Feedback to Isahunter@aol.com / Diadem@cwcom.net From This Moment On (4/5) by Diadem & Isahunter (for disclaimer and other headers see part 1) The flight had been bad, and Scully, from experience, was reluctantly expecting the hotel to be worse. The fog and drizzle had played havoc with her hair and she knew her coat would take hours to dry, but she was so hungry that food took top priority. She resigned herself to having to go to dinner wet and miserable. They had managed to catch a fairly early flight. Despite Mulder's disappearance earlier, she had come home to an answerphone message from him stating that he had already bought tickets and to meet him at the airport at six o'clock. He had been there on time. She had been surprised. She had kept a close eye on him throughout the flight. He had seemed preoccupied and withdrawn, apparently unwilling to talk over the case with her. She wondered if Skinner had something to do with his unease. The man had helped them out on so many occasions, but Mulder's motto of Trust No One rang true. She wished she could have faith in her superior, but something held her back. She was wondering just how far they had left to drive when Mulder swung into the forecourt of a fancy hotel. Great, just what she needed. "Mulder," her voice sounded more like a whine, even to her own ears, "I really need to eat something before we even start following up any leads." He merely grinned at her, popped the trunk open and got out of the car, tossing the keys to a valet. Sighing she followed his example. "OK, you win. How long are we going to be here?" She glanced at her watch; it was past ten o'clock already. "That depends on how long we take to solve the case," he answered. "I thought we'd go upmarket this time." Scully turned and gaped at the building in front of her as her partner slammed the trunk. "What? You mean we're staying here?" She shook her head with a disbelieving smile, that she knew would be read as "Accounts will hunt you down and flay you alive." He got the message, but simply smiled back, ushering her inside. Mulder had checked them in to just one room, a large, spacious room, decorated in rich greens and golds, with an exceedingly comfortable-looking four poster bed in the centre of the room. Scully didn't seem to be able to stop gaping as she dropped her hand luggage on the bed. "Mulder, are you sure...?" "Positve," he replied as he followed her into the room with the suitcases. "After all we've been through in the last couple of weeks I think we deserve it." He flopped onto the end of the bed and snatched up the remote control, flicking on the 21 inch color set. "Hey, Scully, look at this!" He was already fumbling for his jacket (shirt?). She turned, wondering what enthralling specimen of the paranormal would be gracing the screen. Instead, to her surprise, she saw that the television was tuned to CNN, and a news crew were reporting live from downtown New York. "What happened?" she asked. "Look in the background," he replied. She sat on the edge of the bed and leaned forward in order to get a better look. As she stared the camera zoomed in, revealing an extremely bedraggled man being pulled unceremoniously from a hole in the road. Scully realised that this man had been in the sewers, and immediately felt sorry for him. As the camera closed in even more, however, she gave a jolt. She recognised the man. The wiry hair, the young, almost juvenile face, and the suit, which although beyond repair now had once been smart and crisp... the man the fire department were currently pulling out of New York's sewers was none other than Jeffrey Spender himself. She caught herself before the chuckle managed to escape her throat, and reached across to still Mulder's arm. "Leave it," she told him. "They have it under control, and anyway, there's a TV crew there. We can't risk drawing that kind of attention to ourselves." She stood, pulling him with her. "But I'm still hungry. Let's go eat." The restaurant was almost deserted when they were shown to a table by the maitre'd. There were two or three other couples, and a table with three men in suits who seemed to be business associates, all seated at tables along the opposite wall. A tired looking waitress leaned against the doorway to the kitchen, glancing at her watch despite the signs advertising the restaurant's opening hours as 17.00 to midnight. And it was only a quarter to. The restaurant was Japanese, both in its decor and the food it served. The large room was divided into shallow booths by paper- covered screens decorated with elaborate Japanese script and characters. Paper lanterns hung low from the ceiling and cast a low, warm light over the restaurant. Mulder grabbed the menu from the centre of the table as the maitre'd pushed Scully's chair in for her. Mulder thanked his lucky stars that the restaurant was not authentic enough to have them sitting on the floor. He quickly chose his order and signalled for the waitress. She heaved a sigh and walked over to their table, the heels of her decidedly un-Japanese boots clicking on the polished hardwood floor. "What can I get you, sir?" Her voice was impatient. "I'll have the sukiyaki, and an iced tea. Scully?" He looked expectantly at his partner. "I haven't decided yet," she confessed. "Can I order an iced tea for now, and order the food in a minute?" The waitress nodded and left, heading in the direction of the bar. Mulder hoped it was for their benfit rather than her own. "Decided yet?" Scully looked up at him and shook her head. "It all looks so good," she complained. "I know, but try and concentrate on the menu for now." He leered at her, and she opened her mouth to say something, but settled for raising an eyebrow and giving an exasperated shake of her head instead. He stuck his tounge out at her, then smiled at the waitress as she passed their table, heading towards the rear of the restaurant and the party of business men. Suddenly he heard a clatter from some way behind him, and instinctively swung round to see what the cause of the disturbance was. He smiled and turned back to Scully. One of the businessmen had knocked his knife to the floor, no doubt to get an eyeful when the waitress bent over to retrieve it. He recognised the trick. Hell, he'd practically invented it. But as he turned back he saw that Scully's gaze was still focussed behind him. He touched her hand lightly, questioning. "Mulder, don't turn round, and don't panic," she told him. He immediately wanted to do both. "Why?" He needn't have asked; she was about to tell him anyway. Scully answered in a low voice. "She's got a gun." They attempted to make small talk until the waitress walked back to their table and Mulder could see for himself. As she turned to fetch their iced teas he could plainly see the telltale bulge in the waistband of her skirt; hardly noticable if you weren't looking for it. Trying not to make any obvious movements he removed the safety from his gun, and as he did so he heard Scully do the same. Checking the immediate area he ascertained that the party of business men were still drinking their wine, and seemed in no hurry to stop. Of the three couples who had been there when they arrived one had left, and another was in the process of getting ready to leave. But it was the business men who held his interest. One of them seemed vaguely familiar; not from the Bureau, and not from one of their cases, either. It was a half remembered face, almost as though from a dream. The other two he did not recognise at all. He realised suddenly that the waitress had left the room. Rising from his chair he motioned to Scully that he would only be a moment, and crossed the room towards the door that, he presumed, led to the kitchen. It was shut when he reached it, but a small glass window, about the size of a cassette box was set in it. The glass was reflective rather than transparent, but if he pressed his face up against it he could make out the shapes in the room beyond. A man in white, presumably the chef, was leaning against a work top, apparently counting down the minutes until he could leave for the night. A second figure, also in white but considerably smaller was wiping down the top of one of the many stoves. And a figure in a white blouse and black skirt pushed through another door at the far end of the kitchen, her heels tapping on the tiled floor. He was about to try to ease the door open without being noticed when he felt another person come up close behind him. He tightened his grip on his gun and turned slowly. It was Scully. "Mulder," she grabbed his elbow and dragged him further into the restaurant, this time out of sight of the rest of the diners. "That man over there..." she gestured towards the table of business men. "The one with the green tie?" Mulder questioned. "I thought I recognised..." "You did," she interrupted. "Mulder, he was one of the men in Diana's room. We saw him on the video." He peered round the corner, confirming what she had told him. It was true. But what did it mean? How did everything fit together? Suddenly he heard to waitress' heels clicking back through the kitchen. Taking his partner by the hand he led her back to their table. "Don't let on we know anything," he whispered, knowing all the while that of course she wouldn't. He had said it more for her own reassurance than his. They had barely sat down when the waitress returned with their iced teas. She smiled at them. "Are you ready to order now, ma'am?" Scully faltered. She hadn't glanced at the menu since the girl had first left their table. Luckily Mulder came to her rescue. "She'll have the same as me." Any other time she would have thumped him for making that kind of assumption, but he knew that this time she would thank him for it. "Thank you sir." She turned on her heel and walked back into the kitchen. "Mulder, what's going on?" Scully had him fixed in a stare that could raise the dead. "Who are these people, and why are we here?" It was a good question. And one he couldn't answer. Instead, he took her hand and begged her to believe him. "I had no idea this would happen, Scully. I just wanted us to be more comfortable on this case than we usually are. The address Sk..." he glanced around him, "The address you-know-who gave us is a couple of miles away from here. This must just be coincidence." "I seem to attract a lot of coincidences," she mused, and reached for her drink. He couldn't think of an answer to that. "I don't know why..." he trailed off as he noticed the waitress making her way across to the bar. "Don't know why what?" Scully took another sip of her iced tea. "Shhh." The waitress leaned over the bar and retrieved a key before slipping out of a door that Mulder assumed led to the bathroom. "Stay here, I'll be back in a minute." He didn't give her a chance to answer as he left the table. Mulder had been right; the door the waitress had disappeared through did lead to the bathrooms. To his left was the men's room, to his right the ladies, and straight ahead... ...was a baby changing room. Sighing, he turned to leave; maybe the girl had just wanted to use the bathroom. As he turned, however, he noticed a second door leading out of the room. It appeared to be shut, but it opened at a gentle push. Mulder stepped out on to the metal fire escape, careful not to make any more noise than was absolutely necessary. This must have been the way she had come; either that or the hotel had really lousy security. He clambered down the ladder as quickly and as quietly as he could and set off across the tarmac he landed on at a jog. He didn't have far to go. A rusted metal door, looking as though it belonged to a maintenance hut hung ajar. Mulder slowed as he approached the door, and peered round it into the darkness. At first he could see very little. It had been dark outside, but then he had had the moonlight to see by. In this little room there was no light. As his eyes began to adjust, though, he could make out the shapes of a table, a couple of shabby deckchairs, piles of old paint cans, cardboard boxes and bundles of newspapers. Against one wall he could see a rusted bicycle frame. And against the opposite wall something shone back at him. He moved closer to get a better look. It was a sheet of aluminum, brand new, and leaning against the wall. It had evidently been put there recently, and for a purpose. And what purpose was there for new, shiny sheet metal in an outhouse that hadn't been used in years? To mend something broken, maybe? To patch a hole in another, older metal surface? Or just to cover a hole... He crossed the cluttered little room and pulled the aluminum away from the wall. Sure enough there was a hole behind it, perhaps an old heating duct or ventilation shaft that had been disused for years and had now been widened to serve another purpose. He let the metal fall back against the table, crouched down, and crawled through the hole. Scully yawned, and checked her watch. Again. He had been gone almost a quarter of an hour. Although Mulder's 'back in a minutes' often meant several hours without trace of him. And there was still no sign of their food. Her stomach grumbled in protest. She was alone in the restaurant now, except for a bored looking bar tender and the party of business men. She was uneasy about facing them, but, she reasoned, moving round the table to her partner's chair would only raise suspicion and draw attention to her that she would much rather have avoided at that moment. She took a sip of her drink and almost choked on it as her cellphone started ringing. Hurriedly she pulled it out of her pocket. "Mulder, is that you?" She was answered with a fuzzy, murmuring noise. Thinking the caller had reached the wrong number she was about to hit the 'end call' button when she heard her partner's voice. "Krycek." "Mulder." Both tones were non committal, neither offering any information about their presence. She assumed Mulder's cell was in his pocket. Her first instinct was to hang up, pull her gun out and find her partner. Her second, more rational idea was to listen a while longer. The hotel was a big place, and she had no clue where her partner had been heading. "You sure like working in the dark, Krycek." Mulder's voice. Calm, trying to work out what was going on. "Keeps secrets." The other man was evidently not going to say anything that might give him away. "But hiding under a restaurant? I wouldn't have thought that was your style." Under the restaurant. They were on the first floor. That left the basement... There was silence for a moment. Then her partner continued. "A little draughty, too, I would imagine." Somewhere low down, near an outside door... "The boiler room's next door. The cold doesn't bother me." Both voices remained calm, but Scully new from experience the anxiety and impatience that was lurking inside her partner. A cold, draughty place, next to the boiler room, under the restaurant. She hung up the cell and strode over to the bar, pulling out her ID as she did so. The bar tender looked up in surprise. "FBI," she barked. "I need you to help me out." The room Mulder had found himself in was small, square, and low ceilinged. The brick walls had been whitewashed, but now had mould creeping up from the down from the ceiling. Apart from the hole in the wall he had entered by, he noticed a small door set in the wall behind Krycek. In front of his enemy lay a pile of boxes, bottles and a small suitcase. The waitress was no where to be seen. "You killed Diana." It wasn't a question, and the other man didn't take it as one. He offered no answer apart from a almost imperceptable shrug of his shoulders. "Why?" "She was getting too close. It wasn't my order." "As if that justifies you." Mulder felt the urge to go straight for the other man's throat. "What was she getting too close to?" Alex shrugged again. "The Truth." He grinned at Mulder, but there was no humour in his smile. "The elusive Truth." "Which is?" "Nice try, Mulder. I'd have credited you with better, though." He turned, and began to lift something out of the box. "Want a 'hand' with that?" Krycek turned and glared at him, but Mulder went forward anyway. The sooner he knew what was in those boxes the better. The first box gve him no clues. Inside it was only another box, wooden, and painted black. He longed to try to open it, but knew he would stand more chance of seeing the rest of the collection if he restrained himself. Krycek reached for a second box, and as he did so Mulder noticed a series of scratches on his prosthetic arm, one of them deep, as though made by a knife or razor. He stored the information away in his head. The second box yeilded a coil of cables, different colours and thicknesses, with different adaptors on the ends. Mulder recognised XLR and jack attachments, but failed to identify the rest. The third, smallest box revealed what Mulder had been hoping he wouldn't have to see. A detonation device. Suddenly, to his horror, Mulder realised what the bottles contained. The whole contraption was ready within ten minutes. Despite one or two desperate attempts at sabotage after which he had been handcuffed to a pipe in the wall Mulder had only been able to sit by and watch the assembly of the bomb. He knew that if he smashed the bottles he would have no time to do anything else, let alone stop Krycek in his steps completely. "What are you hoping to achieve through this?" he asked. "Ah, the psychologist within." Krycek didn't even look round. "It's a little experiment, Mulder. A scientific experiment." "To see what happens when you blow up half of New York?" Mulder suggested. "Half of New York?" This time he did turn round, and Mulder saw amusement play across the other man's features. "No. Just a controlled experiment. This time." "But there's enough explosive there to..." "Oh, Mulder." Krycek sighed and shook his head in a theatrical gesture. "You don't get it, do you?" "I think I'm beginning to," he answered honestly. "But how can you possibly control that amount of..." "Explosives?" Krycek finished for him. "It's not an explosive, Mulder. It's an accelerator. What Diana was working on before she... left us." His last words were accompanied by a smirk that made Mulder want to smash the bottles after all. "An accelerator? What do you mean by that?" "Well," Krycek hit a button, and a timer sprang into animation. Ten minutes. "You see, it's like this. This isn't a bomb, as I said before, at least, not in so many words. There are two or three gentlemen at this moment sitting upstairs to whom I have taken exception. I knew they'd be here tonight, so this is where I'm testing out my little theory." "You didn't know we were here?" Krycek shook his head. "Just a bonus. I guess I must have been a good boy." Mulder threw him a warning glance. So there was no plot to destroy anything on a bigger scale than the hotel. He allowed himself a second of relief. But how was he to destroy even that much when there was no explosive? "You've taken exception to these men, so you're going to kill them?" he asked. "Possibly. Probably. It depends on whether I theorised correctly." The man could be so infuriating. Mulder threw a glance at the timer. 8:55. "And me and Scully? This is all some kind of plan, isn't it? They didn't try to seperate us, because it was easier for them to let us create our own distractions. This has been going on right under our noses for months, hasn't it?" The other man shrugged his infuriating shrug. "It's not a bomb, is it?" "In a way." "There's no explosive." "I didn't say that." Suddenly Mulder remembered the box. He lunged towards it, but fell sideways as the toe of Krycek's boot connected with his kneecap. "What's in there, Krycek?" He tried to look as threatening as he could whilst sprawled out sideways on the floor. "Something I think you are already familiar with. Something you met during your trip to Russia." "The black cancer." Suddenly everything made sense. "A form of it. It's in its gaseous state at the moment, which means it will travel better through the air. That's what the accelerator's for." "You have no idea how many people that might reach!" Mulder suddenly felt a surge of panic. "And you underestimate me. Why do you suppose you're still alive, Mulder? Has it never occurred to you that we might be on the same side?" 7.04. "How can we be? You're doing exactly what They've been trying to do for years!" "You never asked what was in the other bottle, Mulder. It's an antidote. At least, I hope it's going to be an antidote. You never can be sure without testing your products, you know." "So... the bomb goes off, releasing the black cancer, and then...?" "And then a second 'bomb,' as you term it, will go off, overtaking the first one, and eradicating the effects before they have even taken hold. As I said before, Mulder, you underestimate me." 5.44 "And if I trip the wires?" Krycek shrugged. "No point. It's set to detonate immediately should that happen. The only difference will be that the antidote will not be released. And who knows how far it maight spread if that were to happen." Five minutes. Mulder jumped as he heard the door open and the waitress from the restaurant stepped into the room. "Well, there's my call." Krycek picked up the small suitcase that had lain on the floor and took the girl's hand. "Oh, and one more thing, Mulder. I forgot to tell you before, but in its gaseous state the black cancer is extremely flammable. It'll go up in flames if the antidote isn't released ten seconds after the first blast. But you shouldn't have to worry about that. There is a small amount of explosive in there. Just enough to kill anyone left in the room." He shrugged his now familiar shrug. As he turned to go a gunshot echoed round the room. Mulder closed his eyes, certain that Krycek had decided to finish him off. He felt nothing, though, and opened his eyes to find his partner in the doorway and the waitress slumped against the opposite wall, her eyes lifelessly accusing him. 3.29 "Scully, we have to..." Another shot rang out, and this time it was Krycek who fell. He wasn't seriously wounded, though. Scully had shot him in the ankle, and swiftly cuffed him to the same pipe that confined Mulder. She had freed him within seconds. "Let's get out of here!" She grabbed him by the hand and led her out the way he had come, knowing that the doorway must lead further in to the building. "We can't leave him here." She turned to face him. "Mulder, he was working for them. He was operating under their orders, to kill us!" "But even so..." "He killed Diana, Mulder. He took Spender." "Someone had attacked him too." He wondered why he was suddenly being so protective of his old nemesis. "We can't leave him in there..." "We can't go back! There's no time, Mulder. It's either him, or him and us! And I'm not going to give him what he wanted." She stood and held his gaze, neither of them moving. 0.00 End (4/5) Feedback to Isahunter@aol.com / Diadem@cwcom.net From This Moment On (5/5) by Diadem & Isahunter (for disclaimer and other headers see part 1) The cab driver looked surprised as the man leapt out of the cab, grabbed his luggage, and threw a couple of twenties through the window. It was a bigger tip than he would have usually left, but he had to make his flight. He had to. Bursting through the automatic doors, he saw the woman standing in front of a rather gaudy plastic palm tree advertisement for some holiday company or another. She was wearing jeans, a ski jacket and boots. She contrasted sharply with his hawiian shirt. Skidding to a halt in front of her, he kissed her swiftly on the cheek. "Thank God you made it!" She snatched his bag out of his hand, and cast a sympathetic glance over his attire. "I'll go check this, you get the tickets. The flight leaves in ten minutes." He didn't move. "Go!" "Oh, right." He shook his head violently, in an attempt to clear the fuzziness he was experiencing. "Tickets." Noticing she had already left for the check-in point, he took off once again across the airport foyer towards the ticket counter. Luckily, there was no queue, and he was able to procure the tickets without too much trouble. Taking the red-eye flight had proved to be a good idea after all. Thanking the cashier, he set off at a jog towards Gate 4 where apparently flight 382 was already boarding latecomers. She was waiting for him, and she ran with him when he grabbed her hand and pulled her in the direction of the gate. The stewardess smiled at them as she paused in pulling the barrier across the doorway to their gate. "Just made it." Her heavily made-up face grinned at them as they paused to catch their breath, and he drew out the tickets. "That's great. You're in seats 49 and 50." She told them, as she checked the tickets. "That's one window and one aisle." She handed the tickets back to the woman, and indicated that they should board the plane. "Have a nice flight, Mrs Williams." * * * "Mmm...nice." She was practically purring. "You like that?" "Mmhmm. Delicious." "I know you wanted something bigger." "Sweetie," she said, trying not to giggle. "I don't care what size my marshmallows are as long as there's lots of 'em." He settled down onto the couch beside her and propped his feet up beside hers on the coffee table. Gazing into the blazing fire, he wrapped his arm around her. "So, homemade hot chocolate...why are you being so good to me?" She set her mug down on her thigh and narrowed her eyes at him. "What did you do this time?" "Why do I have to have done something wrong?" He nuzzled her ear, nipping at a sensitive spot that made her flinch with laughter. So much had changed since they left America for good. They had new names, backgrounds, and occupations. It hadn't been easy leaving their old lives behind, and the first time she cried out "Todd" in the heat of passion, they'd both laughed their asses off. But, to look at them now, no one ever would've guessed that Todd and Kate Williams were once Fox Mulder and Dana Scully. Her practice as a medical doctor was a highly prized commodity this far from home, especially where they currently resided--thirty miles east of Reykjavik. Despite the isolation of their property, they were by no means at a loss for communication. The office behind them contained some of the most sophisticated equipment available, half of it no-doubt illegal. She never asked him where he bought the stuff, and he never offered to explain...other than stating it was "research." A valid excuse, indeed. While taking a break from tracking the movements and foul deeds of few remaining key members of the Consortium, with the hopes of someday collecting enough evidence to bring them to justice, he'd also managed to make a little money off of his obsession. The former Special Agent of the X-files unit of the FBI was now a best-selling science-fiction novelist. His latest masterpiece was sitting by her side, awaiting her approval. "So, you're just buttering me up so I'll give you a good review?" she asked, pulling away from his wandering lips. "Well, actually, there is something..." "I knew it!" He opened his mouth to explain, but was interrupted by a loud knocking on the door. Her eyes went wide, and with good reason. At this time of year, and this far up the mountain, they never got visitors. Old habits made him reach for his gun, only to realize that it wasn't strapped to his side. It had been so long since he used it that the weapon was tucked away securely in one of the dresser drawers. Motioning for her to stay where she was, he slowly headed for the door to his office and nudged it open. The glow coming from the security monitors lit the darkened room, and what he saw on one of those tiny screens made him grin. "Who is it?" she whispered. "Open up, it's me." The low, surly voice of their former boss was instantly recognizable. Still grinning, Todd opened the door. Assistant Director Skinner stepped into the cabin on a cold breeze, shaking newly fallen snow from his coat and shoes. "Christ, there must be three feet of snow out there and it's pitch black at two in the afternoon. Doesn't the sun ever come out around here?" Todd smirked. "Hello, Wally, it's good to see you." Skinner grumbled but finally broke out of his scowl as Kate stood up to greet him. "It's nice to finally encounter some people who aren't speaking Icelandic." "Don't get him started," she warned, kissing him on the cheek. "He's nearly as fluent as the natives." She motioned for him to sit down. "We weren't expecting you for another two weeks." "Would you believe this year's conference is in Reykjavik?" They both stared at him. "OK, I see you don't, but it is. And I persuded them to let me have a couple of days leave before it started. And here I am." "Here you are," Todd repeated. "Take a seat - I'll get you a coffee." He disappeared into the kitchen as Skinner sank down on to the couch. Kate began talking immediately. "I can't believe it's been so long. Did you bring...?" "Would I forget?" He produced a brown envelope addressed to a woman in Minnesota, no doubt a contact address only. "Should we wait for Mul... Todd?" "He'll be back in a minute," she assured him. "So how's life at the Bureau?" "Slow. Boring. Same as always, and no one to yell at over expenses," he joked. Kate smiled and tucked her feet up on to her armchair. "Did no one ever question any of it?" she asked. "Not really. Two bodies, roughly matching your descriptions... but then you know that already. They were burned up pretty bad, far worse than the ones they found in the restaurant. They saw the van making a getaway - they assumed it was the ones who set the device and that you were trying to diffuse it when it went off. The van ended up in the river, so there was no chance of fingerprinting it." "Perfect." Todd set Skinner's coffee on the end of the table and settled himself on the other end of the couch. He took hold of his wife's hand. "No questions?" "A couple of dental records had to, well, disappear, but that's not anything the department hasn't seen before. You have both been given memorial services, and no one suspects either of you of anything other than honorable actions. You're something of minor heroes." He smiled and picked up his coffee cup. "And Spender?" Kate put down her chocolate and looked genuinely concerned. "No change." Skinner closed his eyes, breifly. "He was going to be relocated to a less secure unit last week, but he had another relapse. It looks like he's going to be there a while." "Poor little weasle." It wasn't a joke. Even Todd felt sorry for him, in an indifferent kind of way. "What must he have gone through?" Kate wondered. "Has he not been sensible at all since they recovered him?" "Not that we know of. Even his own stories contradict one another, so even if he is telling the truth at times, the doctors have no way of knowing which of the events he speaks of are true. They found needle punctures, though, four of them on the inside of each elbow." Kate shook her head and picked up her chocolate once again. She blew on it, wondering what she could say next. Everything had fallen into place. It had taken two faked deaths and an emigration to achieve it, but at last they had a case with a 'solved' stamp across the front. An appropriate way to end a career, she reflected. But one thing still confused her. "Todd has been telling me for weeks that he was right about those plastic shavings," she told her former boss. "But wouldn't tell me why, except that you had the details." "Ah." Skinner pulled a single sheet of paper from the file and passed it across to her. "The lab tests showed that it was the same substance that you found traces of in Diana's hospital room." "Polypropanol?" She scanned the sheet for confirmation. "But what does that mean? It can be found just about anywhere in a hospital, so many things are made from it..." "But it was pink," Todd pointed out with a grin. "So what?" She still didn't see the connection. "The traces in the hospital didn't come from the hospital," he told her. "They came from an outside source, the same source that kindly left a blatant clue in Spender's car. Diana had attacked with her nails, but Spender had a knife. Unfortunately it did him no good, because... "Krycek had a plastic arm!" Kate concluded triumphantly. Her elation was short lived, however. "But didn't that show up in the autopsy?" "Funny thing, that," Skinner told her. "'Mulder's' arm was blown clean off in the explosion. The charred plastic in the room must have come from the casing of the bomb." "And They're certain it was us?" Todd's meaning was clear. Skinner nodded. "They won't be bothering you any more. The X Files have been suspended until you can look through those profiles and approve me a couple more Agents. They will be more worried about whoever you choose to succeed you than a couple of people who used to annoy them but are now dead. When you were 'still alive' They believed that they could use your relationship to break you, but it was little more than a game to Them. They soon lost interest when there were no more playing pieces." There didn't seem to be anything left to question. Instead Kate swallowed the last of her choclate and set the mug down on the floor by her chair. "Thank you." She didn't need to elaborate, they all knew exactly how far their former superior had been pushed in order to keep their secret. "It's all over." Todd leaned back in his chair and let out a breath that sounded as though it had been held for years. In a way, Kate supposed, it had. "Finally. After all these months..." she trailed off. "After all these years," Todd corrected her. She smiled across at him. "I should be going." Skinner stood and reached for the heavy wool jacket he had thrown over the back of a nearby chair. "I want to get to the hotel before it gets too late." He glanced out of the window. "Are you sure you won't stay here with us?" It was a rhetorical question. They knew that their friend staying for more than a few minutes could put them all in danger. Skinner nodded, and turned towards the door. "But there is someone who could take the room for me." Kate stared at him, bewildered. He pulled the door open and whistled into the semi darkness. They heard the slamming of a car door, followed by footsteps. They could just make out a shadowy figure climbing the steep incline to their front door. "Mom!" Kate pushed past Todd and ran out into the snow, not bothering to stop to put on boots. She threw her arms around her mother as she reached the doorway. "How did you get here?" "A friend was kind enough to bring me." She smiled at Skinner, who nodded. "Don't worry," he reassured them. "We booked tickets on seperate planes, and the ski mask came in handy." He grinned at them. "I should be going. You have a lot of catching up to do." He stepped off the porch and walked away. They listened to his footsteps, followed by the sound of a car door opening and the engine turning over. "Come on in!" Todd put an arm round both women's shoulders and ushered them inside. "He'll be back. No point freezing out here." "Good idea." Mrs Scully slipped her own arm around her son- in-law's waist. "And when we're all settled, I'm dying to hear just what's been going on these last few months!" End (5/5) Well, was it worth it? Let us know at Isahunter@aol.com or Diadem@cwcom.net Or both.