From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: Wed, 28 Jun 2000 16:02:36 -0500 Subject: X-Hospital (1/2), General Hospital crossover by Kelso Source: direct Reply To: kelso28@excite.com TITLE: X-Hospital (1/2) AUTHOR: Kelso CLASSIFICATION: CH (General Hospital crossover--I know it sounds weird, but try it anyway. If you think it sucks, you can flame me for wasting your time.) KEYWORDS: crossover, General Hospital RATING: PG (for language--four or five words) SPOILERS: small, for XF episodes Sleepless, Detour, Bad Blood, and Arcadia. (In other words, nothing recent.) TIMELINE: set late May, 2000. Ignore the events of XF season finale Requiem. Takes place *before* Larkin kidnapped Hannah on GH. DATE COMPLETED: Originally posted to atxc on June 12, 2000. ARCHIVE: anywhere FEEDBACK: Love it! Send to kelso28@excite.com DISCLAIMER: XF/characters owned by CC, Ten Thirteen, Fox. GH/characters owned by ABC/Disney. SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully look into events in Port Charles, New York (home of "General Hospital"). Consider it my dream ending to the Hannah/Larkin FBI storyline on GH. X-Hospital (part 1 of 2) by Kelso They were being punished. And without doubt, the punishment exceeded the crime and constituted a far from efficient deploy- ment of their talents. Because after all, anyone could perform glorified surveillance work. And not just anyone could investi- gate shapeshifters, evil dolls, little gray men, and invisible, fat-sucking, or genderbending killers. Or rather, pretty much anyone *could* do so, but unless their names were Mulder and Scully, they were more than likely to do a piss-poor job of it. So what, precisely, had the agents done to land on Assistant Director Skinner's shit list yet again? Well, they were trying to catch a serial killer who was targeting local politicians, and Skinner decided to check out the latest crime scene with them. During the drive over, Mulder was unexpectedly struck with a bizarre theory that Scully thought held some promise. Both agents believed they should immediately follow up on the idea. However, Skinner disagreed. So they'd ditched him. Their behavior wasn't quite as malicious as it sounded. It wasn't like they'd stranded their boss in the Gobi Desert with no hope of rescue for days. No, Skinner had wanted to make a pit stop at Dunkin' Donuts. As he disappeared inside, Mulder tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and glanced at Scully. She hesi- tated, then nodded slightly. That was all it took. When Skinner emerged from the building seven minutes later, clutching a sack of chocolate donuts and three plastic cups of coffee, he found a white Toyota parked where the gray Dodge should have been. The fact that Mulder's hunch turned out to be right on the money and they arrested the killer that very afternoon did little to assuage Skinner's fury at being ditched. Such disobedience could not be tolerated. Scully could somewhat sympathize with the AD, considering that Mulder had ditched *her* often enough. (Her only consolation was that he didn't single her out for that treatment. He had also ditched Krycek on their first day as partners.) Still, though she hated to admit it, the feeling of ditching someone--especially their superior--was pretty liberating. Until they were summoned to Skinner's office for their third reprimand in as many weeks. They knew it was going to be bad when the secretary gave them a pitying look. *********** Monday 10:07 a.m. Skinner's office They survived the obligatory ass-chewing. Then came the painful part. Rubbing his hands together, Skinner began, "First, agents, some background on your new assignment: On and off over the past several years, the town of Port Charles, New York, has been the territory of a mobster named Michael 'Sonny' Corinthos, Jr., who specializes in money laundering and union control. Last summer, the Bureau assigned Special Agent Hannah Scott to go undercover and infiltrate Corinthos' organization in the hopes of finally bringing him down. "Unfortunately, serious rumors of misconduct on the part of Agent Scott have been circulating throughout the Bureau. Soon after they began living together, Corinthos learned of Agent Scott's true identity, but kept that knowledge to himself. He reportedly was able to test her loyalty by feeding her false information about his illegal activities, which she did not pass on to her superiors. Also, Agent Scott may have sabotaged a raid on one of Corinthos' warehouses by warning him of it. Most disturbingly, she failed to provide any incriminating evidence whatsoever against this notorious mobster. "Eventually, Corinthos apparently tired of Agent Scott's presence and rejected her. Since her double life quickly became common knowledge, it is considered a minor miracle that she has not yet been murdered. She remains in Port Charles, working as a liasion between the Bureau and the local police department. "This case would be troublesome enough if the possible misconduct ended with Agent Scott. However,there is a strong possibility that her contact, Agent John Larkin, has also behaved inappropri- ately. He may have committed various illegal activities so as to improve his standing within the Bureau. Most of these acts are connected to Agent Scott's father: Roy DiLucca. DiLucca had been working as an FBI informant for the past 20 years, in lieu of serving a prison sentence for attempted murder. After Agent Scott failed to bring down Corinthos, DiLucca was assigned to that task. But within a few weeks, he was sent to prison to serve the remaining five years of his sentence under the premise that he had violated the terms of his arrangement with the Bureau. Supposedly, DiLucca befriended Corinthos rather than fulfill his duties. On May 1, DiLucca escaped from prison. His whereabouts remain unknown. That brings us up to the present. When I heard of this case, I immediately thought of you two." Scully took the ensuing silence as a cue to speak. "Sir, do you want us to join the search for this missing man?" Skinner smiled. "No, Agent Scully, you misunderstood me." "Then you must want us to bring down Sonny Corinthos," Mulder guessed. "To succeed where all others have failed." Slowly, almost hypnotically, Skinner shook his head. "No, agents, I have something extra-special in mind. You are being sent under- cover to Port Charles to investigate the alleged improprieties on the parts of Agents Scott and Larkin." Taking full advantage of their shocked paralysis, he continued, "I must stress that this case has not yet progressed to a formal stage, so you may not use listening devices of any type, including bugs and wires. And your identities must remain secret. To facilitate your investigation, you will pose as a married couple just moving to Port Charles. I advise you to obtain a room at Kelly's, the diner/boarding house where Agent Scott lives." "Sir, you can't be serious!" Mulder blurted. Skinner glared at him. "I assure you, Agent Mulder, I am perfectly serious. Now, as I was saying..." *********** 10:38 a.m. Skinner's office As Mulder and Scully exited, Skinner let out a contented sigh. They were possibly the most difficult agents in the history of the FBI, and he had reached the conclusion that he desperately needed a vacation from them, no matter how slim the pretext. Therefore, he had set forth to find a case--any case--that would remove them from his immediate vicinity until at least the end of the week. Ultimately, he had done better than that. The dismal assignment he had unearthed was probably worse than any they had suffered under Kersh's regime, and that was saying a lot. Those two would think twice before they ditched their AD again. *********** Tuesday 4:45 p.m. on the flight to Port Charles Mulder shifted in his seat and extended his legs an inch further into the aisle. If he tripped the stewardess, at least the flight would be enlivened. Only she was nowhere to be seen. He shifted again, brushing Scully with his elbow. Nose buried in the case file, she continued to ignore him. He twisted the wedding ring around his finger and gave in. "Hey, Scully." She didn't look up. "What, Mulder?" Undaunted, he proceeded. "I've finally found proof of one of the things I've been looking for for years." She looked sideways at him, her interest piqued. "And what would that be?" "Skinner hates us. There is no other explanation. It was bad enough that he ate our donuts. But this...this is the case from hell." Scully glanced around to ensure that no one else was within hearing range. "How would *you* know how hellish this case is? You've barely glanced at the file." She shook it for emphasis; a photo of a dark-haired young woman fell onto her lap. "Okay, who's that?" Mulder asked perfunctorily. Shoving the photo in front of him, Scully replied, "Oh, just one of our primary targets: Hannah Scott. You might want to know that face." Silence fell. Thick, suffocating silence. Scully replaced the photo. Mulder twisted his ring again. Scully's eyes fell on it. "You know, there *is* one bright side to this assignment," she decided. "I got to pick our aliases this time. And *anything* is better than Rob and Laura Petrie." 'Oliver and Lisa Douglas. Who knew Scully was a "Green Acres" fan?' Mulder stifled a groan at the thought of having to answer to "Oliver" for the foreseeable future. He should have known that his facetious choice of Rob and Laura Petrie as pseudonyms during the housing-community case last year would return to haunt him when it came Scully's turn to choose names. Admittedly, "Oliver" was better than "Fox," though not by much. Which was probably why Scully had selected it. But fair was fair. It *was* her turn. Unable to argue that point, Mulder silently conceded it and changed the subject. "Yeah, well, this case still sucks," he grumbled. "Skinner obviously doesn't believe those rumors are true, and neither does anyone else. Because if they did, we wouldn't be sent in on some fact-gathering mission. Instead, Scott and Larkin would have been questioned straight out, and you know it. We're just stuck with this garbage because Skinner got fed up, plain and simple. There's nothing even remotely resembling an X-File in this entire situation." "Oh, I don't know about that. I see a bit of a mystery," Scully replied, consulting her notes. "Mystery?" Mulder sat up a little straighter. "Sure. Assuming that these rumors are true--and the way our luck is running, I am fairly confident they are--how did Hannah Scott get hired, and why hasn't she been fired? In other words, who's she been sleeping with? Besides the mobster, that is." "This case keeps getting better and better," Mulder muttered, slumping back down. "I've got an idea," Scully snapped. "Let's wrap up this business quickly, all right? And try not to piss off Skinner this badly again for a long, *long* time." Apparently, his attitude had pissed her off, as well. They again lapsed into silence, which lasted the remainder of the flight. *********** 6:13 p.m. Kelly's Diner "Thanks, Hannah," Scully said to the blonde diner manager who had escorted Mulder and her to their room. "No problem," Tammy smiled. "You need anything, let me know." She retreated down the hall as Mulder closed the door. "The room is nice," Scully decided, looking around. It was neat, clean, a little on the small side for someone used to living in an apartment, but overall, quite acceptable. Muted, tasteful furnishings dominated, including a double bed, a beige easy chair, and a small table that was quickly occupied by Scully's laptop. Mulder flopped spread-eagled on his back on the bed as Scully shot him a disapproving look. "So. What now?" He propped his head on a thick pillow and watched a spider scurry across the ceiling as he waited for an answer. "Now?" Scully considered carefully. Mulder's immediate deference to her was a glaring sign of his disinterest in the case, but she didn't mind taking the lead. "Now, we should examine these photos of the major parties so we can be sure to recognize them on sight. As for tomorrow, I think we can get a good start by splitting up. I'll befriend Agent Scott and get what I can out of her, and you can go after Agent Larkin." "And how do you propose that I do that?" "For some unknown reason, during Agent Scott's undercover days, she and Larkin insisted on meeting in plain sight, in broad daylight, on the docks--the same docks that are the frequent hangout of the local mob bosses. Naturally, they were spotted together more than once. In an attempt to protect their secret, Agent Scott claimed that Larkin was an ex-boyfriend who was obsessed with her. But when a suspicious party checked into this story, she easily learned that Scott had lied about Larkin's identity. Incredibly enough, those two both still seem to favor the docks as a 'private' meeting place. So you can hang around there and see if Larkin shows up, who he meets with, and what he says." "Sounds thrilling," he yawned. "Yes, doesn't it?" Scully replied sweetly. "Just keep in mind, we have to come away with a confession of impropriety on the part of at least one of them to warrant further investigation. Eavesdrop, lie about your identity. I don't care, just get what we need so we can leave here fast." "Sorry to shoot a hole in your little theory," Mulder said, not sounding even a bit sorry, "but what if they're both innocent? Then there's no way we'll be able to get anything on them, and we could be stuck for weeks, looking for evidence that doesn't exist." Scully frowned. "Thanks for pointing that out, Mulder. You just bring sunshine into my life every day." "Thanks. I try my best. Now, how about we forget the case for a while and watch the Godzilla marathon on TV?" *********** Wednesday 8:22 a.m. Kelly's Determined to get off to a good start on their first full day in Port Charles, Scully went downstairs to the diner area first and waited impatiently for Mulder to drag himself down. The previous night had been a minor disaster as far as work was concerned. Mulder had settled down to watch "Godzilla vs. Megalon" and had ended up making paper airplanes out of the case notes. She could only hope he put in more of an effort today. Twenty minutes later, he made his appearance to find Scully seated at a counter stool. The waitress, a teenage girl with curly brown hair, gave Mulder an odd look as he took the seat beside Scully. Meeting his eyes, she blushed and returned to work. "What did you tell that girl about me?" he whispered to his partner. "Oh," she answered matter-of-factly, "we needed a good cover story to explain why we seem able to run about at will with nothing to do other than to take occasional notes. So I let it slip that I'm a doctor who has a week off until I start work at the hospital, and you're a lazy, good-for-nothing pig who can't hold down a job." "There goes my reputation," he complained. "If all goes well, we won't be here long enough for it to matter. But there's been a slight hitch in today's plan. Hannah must have been up at the crack of dawn, because the waitress told me that she ate and left more than an hour ago. So I get to wait here for her to come back. And you'd better go to the docks to try to find Larkin." "Don't I even get to eat breakfast first?" he protested. "Grab some toast," she retorted unfeelingly. "The sooner you get out there, the better your chances of finding Larkin and eavesdropping on an incriminating conversation, *Oliver*." Muttering under his breath, Mulder headed out the door as Scully resigned herself to a potentially long wait. *********** 9:32 a.m. the docks God, it was unpleasant on the docks: overcast and windy. 'Why the *hell* do these people arrange illicit meetings in such a place?' Mulder wondered rhetorically. He couldn't even sit on one of those convenient--if hard and uncomfortable-looking-- benches. Because if he did, even the local idiot FBI agents would be sure to spot him, and they wouldn't approach within hearing distance. So he was forced to lean against a cold brick building, stare into space, and wait. And wait. And wait some more. *********** 9:32 a.m. Kelly's Meanwhile, unaware that Mulder was amusing himself on the docks by dreaming up ever more imaginative ways of getting revenge on Skinner, Scully continued to loiter at Kelly's. Her self-imposed assignment was simple, if unexciting. All she had to do was plant herself at the counter, slowly plug away at a huge breakfast, and make idle conversation with the waitress, Liz, who seemed to be fixated on her boyfriend's mental state. Considering that the boyfriend in question had recently returned from a yearlong incarceration during which his friends and family had believed him to be dead, Scully understood Liz's concern. But she had other matters on her mind, and listened with less than her full attention until 10:18 a.m., when her patience was rewarded. A woman matching the photos of Agent Scott entered the diner and conveniently selected a stool two spaces away from her. Pasting a bright smile on her face, Scully caught the other woman's eye. "Hello, you must be Hannah Scott. I'm Lisa Douglas, and my husband Oliver and I are renting the room next to yours." "Oh." Hannah smiled back. "It's nice to meet you." "I hear you're in the FBI." A shadow passed over Hannah's face. "Yes. Yes, I am." She looked down at her hands, steepling her fingers. "It must be fascinating work," Scully suggested. The vibes she got from the other agent indicated that if she kept gently pushing, she might make a breakthrough. Hannah hesitated, then appeared to come to a decision. "Yes, the FBI is wonderful. If you don't mind how it tears away your loved ones and ruins your life!" Scully didn't have to fake her surprised expression. She could hardly believe that her target was opening up so quickly to a stranger. "Tell me more," she pressed cautiously. And Hannah proceeded to do so. *********** 10:55 a.m. the docks Emerging from a fantasy in which he blackmailed Skinner into giving him a corner office with a sauna and a minibar, Mulder decided to check out the bank of newspaper vending machines a few blocks away. He sprinted over and eyed the selection: "The Port Charles Herald," "USA Today," "The New York Times," and a tabloid entitled "The Sun, Special Edition: Secrets of Port Charles!" The latter looked like his kind of paper. Fumbling in his pocket for the appropriate change, Mulder shoved the coins into the slot, retrieved his copy, and returned to the deserted brick building. He scanned the docks for signs of the still-absent Larkin, then turned his attention to the newspaper. The lead headline screamed: "Mysteries of the Undead!" "People who were believed to be dead, but who were really alive," the subtitle helpfully explained. A collage of photos displayed the faces of dozens of local resi- dents, with the accompanying article expanding on the identities of those pictured, and the circumstances behind their presumed deaths. Intrigued, Mulder flipped to the next page: a piece entitled "Casey From Outer Space." The text read, "In 1990, Casey, an alien fom the planet Lumina, arrived in Port Charles in search of three mysterious crystals that would enable him to return home. With the help of young Robin Scorpio, Casey began to collect the crystals. The interference of master villain Cesar Faison nearly ruined the mission, but Casey eventually succeeded and beamed home. Shortly thereafter, a reporter named Shep Casey, who bore a stunning resemblance to Casey the alien, began to air on local television. He soon vanished with no explanation." Moving on, Mulder found himself gazing at lists of local residents who had recovered from ailments such as blindness, deafness, and paralysis. The columns went on and on, with some people's names appearing on more than one. Momentarily forgetting why he was on the docks and how much he hated stakeouts, Mulder continued to read. *********** 11:48 a.m. Kelly's "...and then they hauled my father off to prison," Hannah droned on. "It's so unfair. I mean, sure, he did try to kill that man, but that was 20 years ago. He's paid his dues. What more do they want from him?" Heroically quelling the urge to pointedly stare at her watch, Scully instead inquired, "If you hate the FBI so much, why don't you quit?" "Ha!" Hannah scoffed. "I tried to, and Agent Larkin wouldn't accept my resignation." Which news, in Scully's mind, practically sealed the conviction that Larkin was crooked. Thankfully, her cell phone rang before she had to think of a polite reply. She turned away from Hannah to answer it. "Scu--Lisa." "It's me." Mulder, naturally. "All's quiet on the docks, but do me a favor, buy a copy of 'The Sun' and read it before we meet up again." "'The Sun'?" she said. Beside her, Hannah burst into tears. "Look, M--" She stopped herself and tried again. "Oliver, I'll see you later, okay?" She hung up and turned back to Hannah, bracing herself to listen to more whining. *********** 1:01 p.m. the docks In the middle of reading an article about a dragon bone that served as key to an ancient civilization, Mulder heard his cell phone ring. "Yeah," he answered, avoiding the use of both his real name and his alias. "You can drop the stakeout," Scully informed him. "According to Agent Scott, Agent Larkin just left town unexpectedly and could be gone for a while. Anyway, she told me enough about his behavior to raise serious concerns. Crazy as it might sound, I think we already have what we need to satisfy Skinner." "I'm on my way." Mulder disconnected and headed toward Kelly's. *********** 1:25 p.m. Kelly's, Mulder and Scully's room Mulder shoved open the door to find Scully sitting at the table, typing notes into her laptop. He shrugged out of his damp trench- coat, slung it over the back of a wooden chair, and demanded, "Okay, how did you get the information from Agent Scott that quickly? Did you pull out the thumbscrews right away?" "Nothing that dire," Scully calmly replied, saving her work and turning toward him. "The woman is a walking basket case. Judging from her behavior toward me, she'll tell anyone who asks that she's sorry for her betrayal of Sonny Corinthos. If she had started crying one more time, I was ready to slap her." "So, she's still in love with him?" "Apparently, although she's now dating both a police detective and the town drunk. But enough about her. The good news is that we can head home on the next flight. Either Skinner will be impressed that we did such quick work, or he'll wish it had taken longer so we'd be out of his hair. But either way, we're done." "Wait a minute, Scully. Didn't you read 'The Sun' like I asked?" She looked at him expressionlessly. "Yes, I looked at it while I was waiting for you to get back." "And what did you think?" Mulder asked eagerly. "I think you made me read a tabloid full of innuendo, rumors, half-truths, and out-and-out lies," she stated flatly. "Come on, Mulder, an alien from the planet Lumina? A woman who held conversations with her husband's portrait while he was presumed dead and living in the Bahamas as an amnesiac? A giant weather machine capable of freezing the world? You didn't really expect me to believe any of that nonsense, did you?" Incredulous, Mulder waved his copy of the paper. "But what about all of these other incidents? The interrupted weddings? The multiple abductions? The evil twins and lookalikes? Look at the 'Psychopaths' page. Look at what some of these people have lived through. It doesn't get any better than this. We can't just drop it and leave." Scully shook her head in annoyance. "Mulder, just because a few odd things have happened here over the years, that's no reason for you to jump to conclusions. We were assigned to investigate Agents Scott and Larkin, not to go off on some wild-goose chase that will get us in even more trouble than usual. How can you take a tabloid so seriously? It's like believing the stories in 'The National Enquirer.' Someone's always suing that rag." Mulder faced her down stubbornly. "Port Charles could hold the keys to the answers I've been searching for for years. I can't turn away and forget what I've read. I need to learn more." Scully sighed. "When do you think you'll have time for this supposed research? Our assignment is over. We've accumulated more than enough information to close it. Mission accomplished." "I thought that we could delay reporting to Skinner for another day or so," Mulder proposed. "He'll never know the difference. We can hang around, investigate a little, see what we can find out. You know I'll never be satisfied until I can check out some of this stuff." "No," she declared. "We're done. We're out of here. I'm calling right now for flight reservations." She reached for the phone. Temporarily defeated, Mulder could only watch and listen as Scully conducted her conversation. But he regained hope when she slammed down the phone. "The soonest flight home is early tomorrow evening," she reported in frustration. "We could drive back, but I'd rather avoid a long car ride. Tomorrow, it is." "Look at all the spare time we have," Mulder hinted, watching Scully closely for any signs of softening. "What do you mean, 'we'?" she said. "I'll be writing the report for Skinner, as usual. And I can guess what you'll be up to. Well, go ahead. Check out this crazy tabloid's stories, if it will keep you busy for a little while. Just don't involve me." Barely registering Scully's words beyond the "go ahead" part, Mulder was already dialing the Lone Gunmen's phone number. They owed him a favor, and he intended to make them repay it by doing some research for him. He'd secure Scully's participation as soon as he had more evidence. *********** 5:50 p.m. Kelly's The remainder of the afternoon passed with Scully clicking away on her keyboard and Mulder on the phone in a series of conversa- tions with the Lone Gunmen. Scully had just finished the report for Skinner when Mulder caught her attention. "The bad news is that the guys couldn't confirm the Casey the alien story. There are rumors about his existence, but nothing concrete. The world- freezing weather machine, though, is another matter. There is documentation on that one. As for the presumed deaths and medical ailments, Langly hacked into the General Hospital computer records and found plenty that backs up 'The Sun's' stories. Ready to admit I'm right, Scully?" "This easily?" She laughed. "I don't think so. All you've shown me is that a few unusual events have occurred in this town." Mulder gave her a long look and shook his head. "Port Charles is obviously one huge X-File. And you need more proof?" Rising, he continued, "Okay, fine, I'm going to the library to research back issues of the local newspaper. Maybe if you read some of these stories in a 'legitimate' source, you'll be more inclined to believe." He pulled on his still-damp coat and crossed to the door, looking at her one last time as if expecting her to change her mind and accompany him. But she steadfastly ignored him, reasoning that one of them had to be sensible and give the tabloid the amount of attention it deserved: none. Because Mulder's theory was way off...wasn't it? END 1/2 X-Hospital (2/2) *********** Thursday 8:23 a.m. streets of Port Charles They'd breakfasted at Kelly's but failed to encounter Hannah, which was fine with Scully and didn't bother Mulder too much. Rather than confront his partner last night after his trip to the library, he'd opted to wait until morning, when she'd presumably be in a more receptive mood. But he wasn't sure he'd calculated correctly. When he'd led her out the door, she'd looked like she was on the verge of turning on her heel and stalking back inside. But for whatever reason, she'd instead obediently trailed him down the street, stopped when he stopped, and stood gazing expectantly at him. Apparently, she felt like she'd given him more than enough time to speak, because she prompted, "What now, Mulder?" in a tone that implied, 'Why did you drag me out here at 8:23 a.m. when I'd much rather be sleeping in?' He gestured around, grateful that unlike yesterday, today had dawned clear and warm. "Examine the streets and sidewalks carefully. What do you see?" She surveyed the area. "Pavement. People. Cars, trucks, minivans. Litter--bits of paper, candy wrappers, soda cans. Nothing else. What am I supposed to notice?" "Nothing," he repeated. "That's precisely it. There's not a Morley butt in sight. Isn't that a thought-provoking, if welcome, change?" "I've also noticed that nearly everyone is thin," Scully pointed out. "Maybe the townspeople are just extremely health-conscious." "The answer to that is an emphatic *no*. Although rarely stricken with the flu or the common cold, an abnormal number of Port Charles residents become drug addicts or alcoholics, and there's a pretty high incidence of mysterious ailments unknown to the rest of the world." He thought back to their arrival in town. "And correct me if I'm wrong, but Port Charles is a small city neither of us had ever heard of before. Yet it has an incredibly busy airport with numerous international flights to places such as Venice, Cairo, and Barcelona. You have to admit it; you saw the flight boards, too. And how do you explain some of these other things, like the many, many, many people who have been falsely presumed dead?" "I'm thinking you fit right in around here. You've been presumed dead a time or two yourself over the years." She shrugged. "Okay, I give up. How do *you* explain it?" "Maybe vampirism, like that one case in Texas where we met the buck-toothed sheriff? Anyway, that's the best theory I've come up with so far." "Oh, give me a break," Scully groaned. "First, Sheriff Hartwell did not have buck teeth. Second, I don't for a minute think there are any vampires within flying distance of here." "Fine, you come up with a better theory," Mulder challenged. "It would really help if you pitched in and gave me your opinion, you know." "I can give you my opinion right now," she offered. He shook his head. "No, thanks. You have to put in some effort first." "What sort of effort?" she asked suspiciously. He held up a piece of paper with two long, neatly penciled lists, and indicated the left-hand column. "See this tally of local abductees?" Gesturing to the other, longer column, he continued, "And this one of presumed deaths, in which the subjects turned out to be alive? I suspect that these people were all victims of alien abductions. After all, we know that an alien landed here at one point." "No, we do *not*--" she began. "Just go with me here," he interrupted. "I want you to examine some of these people's medical records. I believe you'll find evidence even you can't refute." "That would be a blatant invasion of privacy, almost certainly a waste of time, and not quite how I want to spend my day," Scully replied. "The only way I'll do it is if I'm able to access the original hospital files without my authority being questioned by medical personnel." Mulder hesitated. Scully seemed secure in the knowledge that no reputable medical facility would allow just anyone to saunter in and view confidential papers. What were the odds that the local hospital was any different? Still, he didn't have much choice except to trust that it was. "Go to General Hospital," he advised his partner with as much confidence as he could muster. "There are other hospitals in town, but according to Langly, anyone who's anyone goes to that one for treatment." "I won't be there long," she warned. "And I might well have to show my badge if security is called in. But at this point, it probably doesn't matter if our covers are blown. Not that I'm about to begin advertising our true identities. For as long as possible, I'm still Lisa and you're Oliver, at least in public." "Whatever," Mulder agreed. "I think you'll be at the hospital a lot longer than you expect. Call me when you're done." "Great," Scully sighed. "While I'm there, what will you be up to?" "Oh, I'm sure I can find plenty to keep myself occupied," Mulder responded vaguely. And on that note, they parted ways for what turned out to be several hours. *********** 2:42 p.m. General Hospital Shaking her head in dismay, Scully refiled Bobbie Spencer Brock Meyer Jones Cassadine's folder and exited the records room. It had taken her three trips, arms loaded to overflowing, to collect the material relating to all of the victims on Mulder's list and cart it to a nearby waiting room for closer study, yet not one person had given her a second look. Even worse, the information in the folders, while not quite what Mulder had anticipated, was still damning. Scully knew what she had to do. She walked down the hall in search of the nearest pay phone, but was distracted by the sight of a man conducting a conversation on his cell phone right outside a patient's room. "Excuse me," Scully broke in. "You aren't supposed to use cell phones inside a hospital. They can interfere with medical equip- ment." The man looked down his nose at her. "I am Stefan Cassadine, I own this business, and I always speak on my cell phone." He turned his back to her and resumed his conversation. Glancing around for security, Scully spotted three more people also on their cell phones and dismissed the idea of reporting them. Patient safety and privacy evidently were not high on the priority list at General Hospital. But she wasn't about to unnecessarily risk lives herself. She located a pay phone around the corner, cancelled her and Mulder's flight reservations for that evening, and headed for the elevators. She was twenty yards away when she heard a moan nearby. Then another, and another. It sounded like someone was in pain. Following the noises to their source, Scully found a twenty-something blonde woman curled in a waiting-room chair, tossing in her sleep. Before Scully could decide whether to wake her or to move away, the woman jolted awake and opened her eyes. "I'm sorry for disturbing you," Scully apologized. "No, it's for the best." The woman pushed herself into a sitting position and brushed her hair out of her eyes. "I was having another psychic dream, and they're very intense." "Psychic dream?" Scully repeated warily. The woman nodded. "It's a complicated story. Probably boring to anyone besides me." "No, I'm a doctor," Scully said. "Maybe I can help." "I doubt it, but it would be nice to talk about it. Oh, and my name is Chloe." The blonde extended her hand. Shaking it, Scully lied, "I'm Lisa. Now, about those dreams...?" "Well, it all began earlier this year when I was blinded in a hit-and-run accident. I regained my sight, but then my doctor found out that I had a brain tumor, and I started having the dreams. Like sometimes, I see my accident from the perspective of the driver who hit me. Weird, huh?" Not bothering to restrain herself, Scully nodded. Chloe's story actually sounded worse than weird. "Did you say you were blind?" she questioned. "Temporarily," Chloe confirmed. "But my doctor was great. You probably know him: Tony Jones." "I'm new in town," Scully quickly covered. "You'll like Tony," Chloe assured her. "He understands what I'm going through, because *he* used to be blind and have a brain tumor. He didn't have dreams like mine, of course, but I guess he kind of made up for that when he went crazy a couple of years ago." "Crazy?" Scully said. "You don't mean...?" Chloe smiled. "Tony is very strong. He fought his way back from the edge. Just like Dr. Quartermaine, the Chief of Staff. Many remarkable people work at General Hospital." *********** 3:48 p.m. Port Charles Grille Mulder's cell phone rang at an opportune moment. Though he had spent the morning and early afternoon roaming the streets and soaking in the atmosphere of Port Charles, he'd ended up at the bar of the popular local restaurant. He had proceeded to ask the other patrons whether they had ever seen any aliens or strange lights in the sky (reasoning that Casey from Lumina must have made more than one appearance), but the answers were all nega- tive. And for some time, he'd found himself on the receiving end of suspicious looks from the bartender, despite the fact that he had only been drinking mineral water. "Hello," he answered the phone under the bartender's watchful eye. "Mulder, it's me," came Scully's voice, "and I'm warning you, at all costs, avoid landing in the hospital. I don't trust the doctors there to treat a hangnail. The chief of staff is a recovering drug addict who tried to murder his wife on more than one occasion. Another doctor went temporarily insane and kid- napped a baby. And three years ago, a resident performed brain surgery with a power drill while being held hostage by a serial killer. More recently, he completed an unauthorized bone-marrow transplant on a boy who was once thought to be his son, but who was really his brother's child. And he's still on staff. So watch your step. By the way, I cancelled our flight reservations." "Okay," he replied slowly. "Can I assume that you found out something about the alien abductions?" "I'll meet you back at Kelly's to talk about it." Scully hung up, and Mulder exited the Grille, no doubt to the bartender's relief. *********** 4:25 p.m. Kelly's, Mulder and Scully's room "You didn't find any evidence of alien involvement in even one of the abductions?" Mulder asked, disappointment clear in his voice. "No evidence," Scully confirmed. "I compared pre- and post- disappearance medical records, and found none of what you claim are the classic indicators of alien abduction." Seeing Mulder's crestfallen look, she hurried on. "But you'll be interested to hear that I uncovered many, many other irregularities. For instance, say someone's blinded. No problem. Before they get around to learning Braille, they miraculously regain their sight. Paralyzed? They're up and walking again within the year without so much as a limp to remind them of their ordeal. It's happened too many times to be pure coincidence. And before you ask, no, no one in town purports to be a miracle healer." "You *were* busy today," Mulder said in admiration. "I'm not done," Scully replied. "I haven't filled you in on the woman who's been experiencing strange nightmares that she attributes to her brain tumor. She's the one who told me about the doctors. She's being treated by one of them, and she claims he's a wonderful person who just went a little around the bend because his girlfriend, who was his ex-wife's daughter whom she gave up for adoption at birth and reunited with as an adult, cheated on him. Interestingly, the girlfriend is the only one of the bunch who spent time in a psychiatric facility. I still haven't quite figured out how she got out. And guess what? She's also Sonny Corinthos' fiancee, and Roy DiLucca's girlfriend's daughter. I can't begin to explain what's wrong with this town, but something definitely is." There was a moment of silence as Mulder digested that informa- tion. "I have a few things to add," he eventually offered. "Nothing quite as spectacular as your discoveries, but intriguing nonetheless. For instance: These people do not own normal pets. No cats, no parrots, no hamsters, no ferrets, no goldfish." "I've seen three dogs and a duck," Scully countered. "I repeat, *normal* pets. That duck once took the witness stand during a murder trial." Off of her skeptical look, he protested, "Hey, I can show you the transcripts as proof. I found out a *lot* at the library last night." "Oh, I believe you," Scully relented. "I can't argue with the material I uncovered. Port Charles is one big statistical anomaly." "Better than that," Mulder said assuredly. "For a small town, it boasts an unnaturally high number of international movers and shakers: the Quartermaine family, the Cassadines, and one Jasper Jacks, whose attempt at getting married a few years back was ruined by his not-so-dead first wife. Add to that the fact that the local divorce rate tops off at approximately 96%, most adults over age 30 have given birth to a child they either forgot about or kept secret, and a mobster is regarded as public citizen number one, and it seems like the townspeople are all suffering from a form of mass insanity. Scully, I'd like your medical opinion. What could possibly be afflicting them?" "Excellent question." She settled back in her chair and started reeling off her observations. "We know that newcomers are not immediately impacted, since we're still okay. It's only after people have lived here for an extended amount of time that they are affected. If they move away, they usually recover and go on to lead normal lives. The problems don't extend to nearby Buffalo, or we would have heard about it long ago. So I have to conclude that either the local water or air supply is contami- nated." "Scully, keeping your mind open to all possibilities, you have to admit that the air or the water might not be the source of the problems." "True," she agreed. "So?" "So... we need to look into other explanations. If we can find someone who knows the town well, they might be able to help." "Like the mayor, or the district attorney? How about the police commissioner? Surely, he or she has noticed some of the abnor- malities we've spotted. That sounds like a good place to start." She headed for the door, but stopped when she didn't hear Mulder following. "Um, Scully?" he said. "Yes?" She turned and looked at him. He wouldn't meet her eyes. A sick feeling spread through her. "Not him, too," she pleaded. Withdrawing a folded piece of paper from his pocket, Mulder handed it to her. "Read it and weep." Scully smoothed the photocopied sheet and read the opening lines aloud: "'Commissioner Malcolm 'Mac' Scorpio, a former mercenary who turned over a new leaf, has gone from blowing up bridges and sabotaging ships to making Port Charles a safer place to live. Along the way, he has overcome major misfortunes, including a 1997 kidnapping in which his life was taken over by an evil lookalike.'" She folded the paper and returned it to Mulder. "Somehow, I don't think the commissioner is going to be of much help." "His wife is a real piece of work, too," Mulder informed her. "She's an Aztec princess who's had amnesia twice, had a husband return from the dead, been falsely convicted of attempted murder and sentenced to a psychiatric hospital, given birth to one daughter while under a table in a nightclub, and been kidnapped, temporarily paralyzed, and stalked by a psychopath and his identical twin brother. I don't think I left anything out." "If you did, I'd hate to imagine what." She thought briefly. "All right, obviously the commissioner's appointment is somewhat suspect. But there must be some competent detectives or officers on the force, right?" Mulder shook his head. "There is a trail stretching way back into history of people who have gone up against the Port Charles Police Department and come out the worse for it. Their top detective--who, incidentally, has been dating Agent Scott--is most noted for regularly overstepping his authority and nearly being charged with harassment every few months. Actually, the entire force seems pretty inept. They have an especially bad track record when it comes to murder investigations. You can just about bank on the fact that the first suspect they arrest will be innocent. And in a shining moment not so long ago, they attempted to prosecute a case in which the 'victim' was still alive." Scully groaned. "Mulder, I think we need to talk to that person and get a statement. Because frankly, what you say is scaring me. Badly." "Unfortunately, we can't talk to her. Katherine Bell was murdered last year." Confused, Scully questioned, "But I thought you said she wasn't really dead?" "She wasn't, the first time," Mulder clarified. "She was pushed off a parapet in both 1998 and 1999. In 1998, she didn't die. In 1999, she did." Scully held up a hand. "Enough. Why don't we move on? Is there anyone in town who experienced some of the crazier events? Particularly the alien from Lumina, or the dragon bone." "Not surprisingly, the principals involved are pretty much all dead, or certifiably insane. Either that, or they've left town." "Well, if I ever lived in a place where a substantial portion of the residents had come back from the grave, I'd probably want to move away, too," Scully admitted. "We keep running into dead ends, don't we? But I think that despite the horror stories you've uncovered about the police department, we should see if the commissioner can shed any light on this matter." *********** 5:37 p.m. police station They made their way to the police station without incident and approached the receptionist, who was chewing bubble gum and reading the "Bedside Astrologer" column in "Cosmopolitan" while the phone at her elbow rang unceasingly. "Excuse me." Scully waited until the woman looked up. "We'd like to see Commissioner Scorpio." "Sorry, he's not in." "Do you know when he will be?" Scully asked. The receptionist blew a large bubble before responding. "It's hard to say. He's in and out all the time. If he's not running off to argue with his wife about the well-being of her children, he's fighting with the FBI over who has jurisdiction in the latest arrests. Just now, he went to tell off his wife's new boyfriend." "Who's in charge when he's not around? Does this place just run itself?" Scully wondered. The receptionist shrugged. "Yeah, more or less." Mulder opened his mouth, but Scully jumped in before he could say anything. "Thank you for your help," she told the reception- ist, who promptly returned to her horoscope as Scully ushered her partner out of the station. "That's it," Mulder declared. "I get to choose our next stop. Come on, Scully." He started down the street. She hurried to catch up. "Where are we going?" "You'll see," he replied mysteriously. *********** 6:08 p.m. Luke's Nightclub They entered the dimly lit building, which was about three- quarters full, as jazz music and chattering voices assaulted their ears. Pausing inside the doorway, Scully asked, "Why are we here?" "We are conducting research," Mulder informed her. "This happens to be a very important place. This is Luke's Nightclub." He knew the exact moment the full impact of his statement struck her, because her eyes widened slightly. "This is *the* nightclub, isn't it?" "The club where Felicia Jones gave birth under a table on opening night? Yes," he confirmed. "There was also a nasty shoot- out here in December of 1997. All in all, this isn't the safest place to be. But then, where in Port Charles *is*?" He spotted a vacant booth against the far wall. "Why don't we sit down?" Taking their seats, they checked out the scene. Almost immedi- ately, Mulder spotted a familiar-looking group standing near a stage: an older woman with red hair, a thin man with a goatee, a blonde woman, a fair-haired teenage boy, and a dark-haired little girl. "See there?" He pointed for Scully's benefit. "Those are the Spencers. They had their own section in 'The Sun,' complete with color photos. Every member of that family has at one time or another been presumed dead, except for the daughter. But she's only five; her time will come." As they watched, the man mounted the stage, followed by several musicians and a Hispanic boy of about 16. Spencer adjusted the microphone and addressed the crowd, calling, "Hi, everyone!" A chorus of "Hey, Luke!" and "Hi, yourself!" greeted him. Spencer continued, "We have a special treat for you tonight. Now, I know this is a blues club, but even though his music doesn't fall under that umbrella, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to promote one of Port Charles' own: Juan Santiago, accompanied by The Idle Rich! Juan is performing his signature song, 'We Got The Night.'" Spencer exited the stage, the crowd quieted, the music began, the singer warbled the opening lines, and Mulder and Scully winced in unison. They listened to several bars before more or less recovering. Then, shuddering, Mulder glanced at his partner, whose jaw had dropped. "I haven't heard singing this bad since you did 'Joy to the World' in Florida," he shouted, straining to be heard above the cacophony. Seemingly not offended by his opinion of her vocal talents, Scully yelled back, "It's a good thing the locals support him, because I don't think anyone outside of this town would!" The occupants of the neighboring booth then waved at them to be quiet, and Mulder and Scully were forced to sit in miserable noncommunication for the duration of the seemingly interminable number. At the conclusion, the audience--with two notable excep- tions--burst into frenzied applause. Juan and his back-up left the stage, and the sounds of soft jazz and mingled conversation quickly filled the room. "Somebody better tell that kid to get a day job," Mulder mused. Grimacing, Scully was about to reply when her cell phone rang. "Hello," she answered. "Yes, sir... Of course not. That's just the radio... Yes, we have... Tomorrow?... Yes. Goodbye, sir." Ending the conversation, she addressed Mulder. "That was Skinner. He heard the background noise and wanted to know if I was in a nightclub." "What did you tell him?" "No, obviously. It's bad enough that we haven't reported in to him yet. If he knew what we were really doing, he would have even more reason to be pissed. Anyway, we need to be back in D.C. by tomorrow afternoon. Skinner has a new X-File for us, and it must be something good if he's willing to call after 6 p.m. to order us home." "Why don't you go alone?" Mulder suggested. "Our work here is far from done, and one of us needs to keep at it. Besides, Skinner doesn't really need to see me. You can tell him everything you learned from Agent Scott." Scully laid a hand on his arm and looked at him seriously. "You have to go back, Mulder. You've been in so much trouble over the years, disobeying another direct order could be the last straw. You could finally be fired. And then what would you do?" "No problem," he said dismissively. "I know where I can find a high-ranking job with flexible part-time hours, no references needed, no questions asked. How does 'Commissioner Mulder' sound to you, Scully?" "Not very good, unless I get to be 'Mayor Scully'," she objected. "After everything we've been through, thre's no way I'm letting our partnership split up. If you stay here, so do I, and I'm not exactly looking forward to the prospect. Be honest: Aren't you at all worried that you would be bored by small-town life?" "Not really. This place has a higher murder rate per capita than Washington, D.C. does, and it seems to be a magnet for the paranormal. How can I resist?" "Look, I'll take some air and water samples home so we can run them through the labs," Scully bargained. "They'll probably prove that some chemical substance is afflicting the residents and causing their unnatural behavior. Then you'll have a logical explanation. And aren't you curious to hear about the new case?" After some consideration, Mulder reluctantly nodded. "Okay, I'll go back. For now." *********** Friday 3:15 p.m. outside Skinner's office Skinner's secretary was away from her desk, and he was making them wait. All in all, the signs were inauspicious. Scully glanced at her watch, sighed, and settled in for the delay. Before she could get too comfortable, her cell phone trilled. "Scully," she answered. "Yes, that's right... And?... Nothing? Are you sure?... No... All right. Thank you." She ended the call and turned to Mulder. "I'm sorry, Mulder. The lab did a rush on the air and water samples, but didn't find anything out of the ordinary." "Then how do you account for everything we learned in Port Charles?" he demanded. "Your logical, scientific explanation was shot down. Where do we go from here?" She shrugged helplessly. "We chalk it up as one more unsolved X-File? I don't know. I really thought the labs would turn up *something*." "But--" Mulder said, just as Skinner's office door opened. "Agents," he called. They entered and sat facing their boss. "Before I fill you in on your new assignment, I would like an overview of your findings in Port Charles," Skinner stated. "Agent Scully?" Looking Skinner in the eye, Scully said forcefully, "There was a time when one actually had to be qualified to join and remain in the FBI. Has that day truly passed us by? Because Agents Scott and Larkin appear to be sterling examples of all that is wrong. The mystery is, why weren't they fired long ago? And when Agent Scott tried to resign, why didn't they let her?" Slightly stunned, Skinner turned to Mulder. "Is there anything you would like to add to Agent Scully's account?" "No, sir, that about summed it up." "Well." Skinner exhaled a long breath. "I look forward to reading your reports, then. As for your new assignment: A videotape has fallen into my possession that features footage of a supposed alien and a doll that came to life in a small New England town called Harmony..." END 2/2 MORE NOTES: The final line, about the new case, is a reference to events taking place on another soap opera, "Passions." E-mail me at kelso28@excite.com to let me know what you thought.