TITLE:    Introspection
AUTHOR:   Kitsunagari
RATING:   PG (language)
CATEGORY: XRA
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully romance
SPOILERS: Assumed knowledge up to and including the movie
SUMMARY:  Scully's brother is involved in a car accident, forcing her
          away from the FBI and Mulder...leading to a bit of conspiracy, 
          some angst, an x-file, and an unexpected          
          ally.  Plus Fowley gets her just desserts and our favourite
          agents get another run at that hallway scene (sans bee) Yay!
DISTRIBUTION:Already sent to Gossamer - anywhere else with permission 
DISCLAIMER:  Mulder, Scully and assorted others are all property of
             Chris Carter, 1013 productions, Twentieth Century Fox etc. 
		 No infringement intended; just a little hero worship.
NOTES:       I wrote this _before_ I saw any of Season 6.  The only
             thing I knew was that Fowley & Spender (ick) were
             to be assigned to the X-Files.  Feedback?  Compliments can be 
emailed to kitsunagarix@xoommail.com. Less glowing commentary can be sent 
straight to the recycling bin *g*.
*********************************************************************
                                                       
Special Agent Fox Mulder sat impatiently shifting around in his seat 
outside of Assistant Director Skinner's office.  For the fourth time,
his restlessness 
culminated in his springing out of his chair and pacing 
quickly back and forth in front of his seemingly unruffled partner, 
Special Agent Dana Scully, who seemed oblivious to her partner's
growing irritation to the 
point of abstraction.   The restive pacing came to an 
abrupt halt as Mulder paused in front of his partner, irked impatience 
an almost tangible aura emanating from him.  "I just wonder what
exactly 
the problem is this time, Scully.  Do you think they've changed their
mind about reopening the 
X-Files?  What the hell is this, "screw with Spooky Mulder" month?"
asked Mulder bitterly; 
barely restrained anger undulating in every syllable.
"Sit down, Mulder," replied Scully softly, staring absently straight
ahead, still caught up in 
her reverie.
"Sit down?"  The Assistant Director's secretary surreptitiously glanced

over as Mulder's voice rose.  "That's what I've been doing too much of 
over these last five years, Scully!  Just sitting down and taking this 
crap.  I'm tired of it!  We've been working our asses off; and what do 
we get?  Our work is constantly undermined as key evidence and
witnesses conveniently disappear
 or are discredited; or is ignored as it lingers too closely to truths
people choose to avoid 
to aid in the perpetuation of the mix of lies and half-truths that make
up our so-called 
enlightened society.  And in the end, all that is left is you and I
proclaiming we 
fight for the truth, all the while sounding like a bad Oliver Stone
cliche.
  "And still, you and I smile and thank them for the privilege; and
still 
we get jerked around like this!  Barely thirty minutes after Skinner
calls 
to tell me the X-Files have been reopened, I get this call telling me
that 
we must be outside his office at 9am sharp Monday morning, with no 
explanation, only to be kept waiting for forty-five minutes!  I tell
you, Scully, I'm beginning
 to prefer Cancer Man to Skinner; at least you always know where he
stands."
Mulder released an explosive breath of air and agitatedly looked down
at 
his partner.  Scully closed her startlingly blue eyes for a fraction of
a second; and watching 
her, Mulder was reminded too late with a pang of 
conscience by the quickly fading but still visible scars of her recent 
ordeal in the Arctic that Scully didn't really need to hear this from
him
 now.  After all, she knew the truth of his words, had lived the truth
of 
his words for the last five years; had lost a sister, a part of her
life, 
and her unborn children to it. Mulder inwardly cursed at his
carelessness 
as her eyes wearily slid up to meet his.  As their eyes locked, Mulder 
barely restrained a start of dismay.  It wasn't that they held
reproach; 
the familiar look of understanding was there, and, due to her recent 
ordeal, a great deal of fatigue.  It was not this however that caused
his
 heart to plummet into his stomach, but instead, a look of barely 
restrained, raw grief, that also was all too familiar.  His mind began 
racing as he remembered that the unfailingly punctual Scully had been 
thirty minutes late and had exchanged only the briefest of greetings
with
 him, obviously preoccupied, which Mulder had attributed at first to
worry
 over what the forthcoming meeting was to bring, but now...
"Scully...," Mulder began, looking searchingly at her, but got no
further
 as the hum of voices warned them just before the door to Skinner's
office
 swung open; and Scully rose and stood beside Mulder, both turning 
expectantly.  Skinner came out, still talking to somebody following him

out of the office.  A surprised stillness fell over both the waiting 
agents as they saw who emerged next.  Special Agent Diana Fowley
stepped 
out, still talking to Skinner; shook his hand, and then caught sight of
 the waiting agents, and crossed over to them.
"Hello again, Agent Scully," the tall, dark-haired woman greeted the 
petite redhead, giving her a brief glance and nod, before turning to 
look at Mulder.  "Hello, Fox."
"Diana!" Mulder's voice held a surprised note, "I didn't know you had 
returned to work.  You haven't been out the hospital that long."
Diana gave him a half-smile.  "Nor have you, either of you," she said, 
glancing at Scully to include her in her remark.  Mulder slowly nodded 
his head in rueful agreement and was about to comment further when he 
noticed that Agent Fowley had not been the only one in the early
morning
 meeting with Skinner.  Special Agent Jeffrey Spender had emerged from 
the confines of Skinner's office and was conversing in low tones with
the Assistant Director. 
 At the smug look on Spender's face, premonition 
breathed softly down the back of Mulder's neck.  Finishing up with 
Skinner, Spender turned and caught Mulder's eye; and smiled, causing
the 
hairs on the back of Mulder's neck to prickle in earnest.
"Why hello there, Agents Mulder and Scully," he said, nodding to them
in 
turn.  "I must say, you're both taking this much better than I
expected."  Immediately Mulder
 was on full alert.  "Taking what, exactly?" he queried warily. 
Spender feigned a look of 
mild surprise.  "Why, the assignation 
of myself and Agent Fowley to the X-Files division, and you and your 
partner's assignations elsewhere."
"What?!" exclaimed Mulder, seeing Scully's movement of surprise out the

corner of his eye, and looking quickly for affirmation to Skinner, 
standing in the doorway of his office; and Fowley, both of whom avoided

his gaze assiduously and looked distinctly uncomfortable.
Skinner cleared his throat and looked with barely concealed annoyance
at 
the younger agent.  "I think that's enough, Agent Spender.  You're 
dismissed."  Skinner's eyes flicked in their direction.  "Agents Mulder

and Scully, in my office please."  As Scully complied, Mulder paused, 
glancing once more at Agents Fowley and Spender in disbelief, then 
quickly strode in on Scully's heels.
  Tense emotions running too highly prevented Mulder from sitting down
and
 he stood in front of his usual chair beside Scully; watching as
Skinner 
shut the door to his office; pausing in front of it as it clicked shut,

using the moment, it seemed, to find the right words to tackle the 
situation.  Finally, letting out a reluctant sigh, he let go of the
door 
handle and turned around.  Mulder, as expected, stood like a tightly
wound
 coil, anger flaring in his eyes.  "Well," thought Skinner in grim 
amusement, "at least now he waits until the door is closed before he 
loses control."  His eyes swung to the silent form of Scully, noting
that
 she looked withdrawn.  She seemed to be taking this harder than
expected.
  "But then," he thought, "she's had a hell of a lot to deal with
recently."
Skinner walked over to his desk with a slowness that sprang from 
reluctance.  Taking his seat, he waited for the inevitable explosion.  
He wasn't kept waiting long.
"Well, sir, would you care to explain that?" the anger in Mulder's tone
 was reflected in his expression; the betrayal of his usual mask-like 
demeanor an extremely expressive exclamation point to his clipped
words. 
 "Would you like to explain why it is two new agents are assigned to
the division that I 
discovered and built up, for little or no reward save any 
small personal fulfillment it might give, a division that both Agent
 Scully and myself have had to fight repeatedly to keep open; why
although Scully and myself 
have one of the highest success rates in the Bureau, 
someone has felt that we were still somehow not up to standard?" 
Mulder 
paced tightly in front of Skinner's desk.  "It seems like every time
we're called into your 
office we're dealt more of this crap, and I'm sick of it!  Agent Scully
is sick of it!  Just 
where the hell does it end?"
Skinner's sympathies with these two agents gave strength to his
patience,
 as he looked Mulder levelly in the eye.  "Agent Mulder, I strongly 
suggest that you calm down, and take a seat."  Teeming with resentment,
 Mulder flopped down in his customary seat beside Scully, who
throughout 
his tirade had sat calmly with her fingers interwoven across her
stomach.  Looking at her, 
Mulder again felt a strong surge of worry.
"Thank you," continued Skinner.  "Now what Agent Spender so prematurely

let slip to you is, unfortunately correct."  Skinner sat back in his
chair, his cheeks puffing 
as he expelled a weary sigh.  Taking off his glasses, he continued. 
"Not long after I called 
you, Mulder, I got a call and I can 
tell you this came down from the highest levels.  I was told
specifically 
to reassign the both of you to other divisions, and to assign Agent 
Spender to the reopened X-Files division instead.  Any inquiry on my
part 
was brushed aside."
Sobered by his concern for Scully, Mulder digested this for a moment or

two, chewing on the inside of his cheek, examining the pieces of this
new development minutely.
  "What about Agent Fowley?" he asked finally.  "Was
 she specifically requested too?"
  Skinner put his glasses back on.  "No.  Somehow she heard about the 
"vacant" position and volunteered for it.  Those higher up accepted her

request.  Mulder, you've been reassigned to the Behavioural Science
Unit,
 and Scully, you've been requested to teach at Quantico again."
  Mulder sat in his chair in stunned disbelief.  Scully registered no
expression, but spoke up 
for the first time.  "Sir," she began, her voice slightly hoarse from
her prolonged silence.  
She cleared her throat and 
began again.  "Sir, I would like to re-tender my resignation at this
time."  Mulder's head 
whipped around to regard her, her words echoing inside the emptiness
that his world had suddenly
 become.  Skinner looked at her intently.  "Scully, I know you've been
through a lot recently, 
and all this coming on top of that must come as a shock but..."  "It's
not just 
that, sir," continued Scully as Skinner trailed off.  "I've recently
had some...family matters come up that I need to be free to address." 
Scully
 fell silent and looked down.  Her expression hardly changed, but it's
subtleties were enough to tell Mulder that she fought back tears.  
  "Well, whatever these matters may be, Scully, I'm sure they've at the

very least compounded whatever effects recent events may have had on
you.
  I would suggest that you are not really capable of making such a 
life-altering decision at present.  I won't accept your resignation at 
this time, but suggest that you take an extended leave of absence;
after 
which we can discuss whether or not resignation is the best course of 
action for you."  Scully looked up and made a slight nod of
acquiescence.  "Sir, I would ask 
that the leave of absence start from today."  Looking at her, Skinner
nodded.  "All right, 
as soon as this meeting is over, you are officially on leave of
absence."  He paused.  "I want 
you both to know that I will do whatever I can to straighten matters
out.  Until then, I 
suggest you both sit tight."  His gaze fell on Mulder at this last
remark;
 who, sensing his gaze, turned from his stunned contemplation of
Scully, 
his abstracted expression leaving Skinner doubtful that he had
registered anything of what he
 had said.  "Is that it?" asked Mulder quietly, his expression veiled
again.  Skinner sighed. 
 "Yes, Agent Mulder, you're free to go."  At this, as if on cue, Mulder
and Scully rose in 
unison. Skinner stood and walked over to open the door for them. Mulder
passed by 
him with a distant, brooding expression.  As Scully followed, Skinner 
briefly placed a restraining hand on her shoulder, and as she looked
up, 
said, his voice softened by compassion,  "Take as much time as you
need.
  Think about what I said.  If you need anything..."  Skinner's voice 
trailed off.  "Yes, sir.  Thank you sir." Scully acknowledged quietly. 
Skinner's hand dropped, 
and she joined Mulder, who had paused to wait for her in the hallway
outside of the waiting room
 of Skinner's office.  
Skinner saw their eyes meet for a moment; and then, not saying a word, 
they turned and walked on down the hall, their footsteps blending in 
with the hubbub of the other foot traffic.  


  Mulder remained silent until they were outside the FBI building; his 
mind still trying to absorb and categorise the events of the last 
half-hour or so.  Finally, he came to a halt, placing a hand on
Scully's 
arm, stopping her also.  "Scully..." he began, but she interrupted, 
forestalling him.  "Mulder...just before I left my apartment this
morning 
for the meeting with Skinner, I got a call from my mother."  Scully
looked down at her hands, 
which twined in anxiety.  Taking a deep breath, she 
continued.  "My brother Charles was involved in a car accident this 
morning.  He's in hospital, in a coma.  It...it doesn't look good.  He
was driving from the 
airport, he had flown in to surprise Mom and me..." as 
her voice trailed off, Mulder silently enveloped her in a hug.  As he 
rubbed his chin along the top of her head, he could feel her taking
deep 
breaths to compose herself.  He knew that as well as they knew each
other 
and as much as they'd been through together, she always strongly
resisted breaking down in front of him.  After several moments they
broke apart, 
Mulder's hands sliding down her arms to take both of her hands in his
in a gesture of comfort.  Scully looked down at their clasped hands. 
"I'm 
going straight to the hospital from here, and after that I'll be
staying 
at my Mom's for a while.  Bill's coming down too as soon as he can, but

that won't be for a couple of days at least."  Scully looked up, and 
reading the look of intense compassion and concern in her partner's
eyes,
 made an attempt at reassurance.  "I'll be fine, Mulder, really." 
Mulder released her hands, but the worried expression in his eyes
lingered still.
  "Can I do anything?  Do you need a ride to the hospital?"  Scully
shook
 her head, and cleared her throat as her emotions threatened to get the

better of her again.  "No...thanks, but I've got my car here."  Mulder 
nodded slowly in reluctance.  "Let me know if you need anything," he 
insisted; both the sincerity underlying his quiet words and the fact
that 
Scully knew that he meant every word gave weight to the usually trite 
statement.  Silently, Scully nodded in acknowledgement and gratitude,
and 
then took a deep breath.  "I've got to go."  Slowly, she turned and
began
 to walk away.  "Scully?" She half-turned and looked back at Mulder,
whose
 eyes again held the look she had always felt must have originated when

his sister was taken from him, a look of hurt confusion and
loss..."Keep 
in touch."  At this, Scully's lips moved in what almost managed to be a

weak shadow of a smile, before turning and walking away.  Mulder
watched 
her go for a few moments before retracing his steps back into the FBI 
building.  As they walked, they silently re-evaluated their previous
understanding of the word "alone".  Grimly, they both realised how
little 
they had comprehended the scope of it.

THREE WEEKS LATER

Mulder examined his pen.  At a certain angle, it caught and reflected
the
 light.  If he moved it up and down, he could make it appear that the 
light was sliding up and down the pen.  After several minutes of 
experimenting with this phenomenon, he eventually moved on to bigger
and 
better things.  By careful manipulation, his watch could be made to 
reflect a spot of light onto the ceiling.  With practice, he was able
to 
shine this at objects.  Now, if he could just manage to get it
to..."Agent Mulder, are we boring you?"  As the heads of the other
agents in the room 
all turned to look at him, Mulder calmly raised his eyes to meet their 
narrowed and irate counterparts belonging to Special Agent Jackson, the

new head of the B.S.U following Bill Patterson's arrest and subsequent
incarceration in an institution for the criminally insane.
  "What makes you think that, sir?"  Somehow, Mulder managed to make
the 
very lack of facial expression and tone inflection give the seemingly 
innocent words an insolent twist.  Agent Jackson's eyes narrowed even 
further.  "Gee, I don't know.  Perhaps the fact that you seem to have 
been examining the fascinating inner workings of your writing equipment

instead of the slides and my rundown on the key aspects of this case." 

Mulder's eyes flicked to the current slide, which was, of course, 
practically identical to the others preceding it.  It showed the
mutilated
 body of a young woman, probably in her early twenties, wrapped in a 
blood-soaked white sheet.  Her eyes had been cut out; and, from reading

the case files, Mulder knew also that her tongue had been removed, and 
that the naked body beneath the sheet had had the breasts and genitalia

grossly mutilated.  There had been six of these cases already.  Agent 
Jackson continued:  "By your obvious preoccupation with other matters,
I 
would assume that you have already have a theory?" Jackson's tone
became mocking.  "Wait, don't tell me...the aliens have stopped wasting
their 
time mutilating cattle and have moved on to humans instead."  The room 
erupted into sniggers.  As Mulder had expected, from Day One there had 
been at least three alien jokes a day at his expense.  Occasionally the

odd conspiracy one was thrown in, and Mulder was confident that he held

the lofty position of laughing stock of the whole Bureau.  Not that he 
cared.  Still holding Jackson's gaze, he replied: "Somehow I doubt that

the families of the victims would find much humour in that remark,
sir."  Jackson's face flushed slightly.   Mulder's gaze flicked over to
the 
latest slide.  "Actually, my theory is that the killer suffers from a 
deep-seated religious melancholia.  He is obsessed with the notion of 
sin, and it's likely he feels that his thoughts must constantly be with

God; and sees anything that distracts him from that as evil and
corrupt. Unfortunately for our killer, he is also obsessed with women. 
The guilt 
he feels at his impure thoughts leads him to see women as the source of

all sin, original and otherwise.  He most probably believes that all
women, but especially young, pretty women, are deliberately trying to
lead him down 
the path to temptation.   He doesn't see the deaths of these girls as
murder, but instead as a kind of sacrifice to save his soul.  The
mutilations are 
a form of purification; the tongue is removed so they can no longer
lie, 
the eyes are removed so they can no longer look covetously on men; and 
their breasts and sexual organs are mutilated so they cannot use them
to 
tempt men to lust after them.  As a sign of their purification, he then

wraps them in a white shroud..." Mulder's voice trailed off, and again
he 
slowly swung his eyes over to meet those of Agent Jackson. "But I'm
sorry 
sir.  What is it you were saying?"  Mulder tucked the offending pen
behind
 his ear.  "I'll be sure to try and pay more attention."


Mulder wearily entered his apartment, throwing his jacket on the couch
and pulling his tie loose.  He headed straight for the kitchen, opened
a 
cupboard, and drew out a vodka bottle, cursing when he saw it was
empty.  Putting it back in the cupboard and shutting the door, he
opened his refrigerator and scanned its contents.  Deciding he didn't
really have the stomach for orange juice at this time of the day, even
if was actually relatively fresh, he went back into the living room and
collapsed onto the couch, closing his eyes.  Despite himself, he
couldn't help replaying the 
scene in Skinner's office that had taken place an hour or so after the 
scenario in the debriefing room earlier that day.  Skinner had been 
definitely unimpressed and had told him so in no uncertain terms.  He'd

spouted the usual "I understand you're upset about the X-Files 
situation...but" speech.  Mulder hadn't really paid that much
attention; remaining indifferent throughout Skinner's motivational
speech.  As in, 
get motivated, improve your attitude, or you might be out of a job.  
Mulder, whose days seemed gray, interminable and ultimately lacking in 
purpose; felt that there was very little to feel motivated about.  The 
types of casework that had initially so intrigued him when he was still
a 
young and "green" agent, now seemed two-dimensional and mundane.  Not
only
 that; but the loss of the X-Files had taken away his single-minded
drive
 to seek out the truth, regardless of the consequences.  
  The X-Files had provided a focal point; a means to carry out his
quest.
  Even when the X-Files had been shut down before, this had only 
intensified that determination as he felt a need to find out who was
responsible.  Likewise, when they had taken Scully from him, both with
her abduction by Duane Barry and her more recent encounter in the
Arctic, he 
had stopped at nothing to find his way back to her.  
  But now...the X-Files were not closed; the truth was still out there,

but the task of finding it had been assigned to someone else.  Scully
was
 gone, but not through the shadowy workings of some mysterious 
organisation, but through a simple act of fate, which had taken her
beyond
 his reach more absolutely than any anonymous group of
morally-challenged 
men ever could.  There was no-one to blame, nothing to beat his fists
upon, demanding justice.
  He remembered his words to Scully the first time "they" had managed
to 
shut the X-Files down.  "I still have my work...I still have you...and
I 
still have myself."  Well.  The first two were gone, and the third was 
fading quickly.  Mulder had never in his life felt so defeated and
alone.  
  Before Scully had joined the X-Files, he had been alone, trusting
no-one; but the defensiveness that such an existence engendered created
an armour 
against any sense of isolation and loneliness.  After the advent of
Scully, however, Mulder had finally found someone he trusted
implicitly, 
respected, and cared for.  The years of sharing life-threatening and 
improbable situations had formed a deep, unspoken bond between them. 
He 
had never known anybody as well as he knew Scully.  Although it had
only 
been three weeks, the gap in his life created by her absence seemed an
unbridgeable chasm.  
  A shrill but muffled ring pierced Mulder's somber reflections. 
Standing
 up, he frantically threw jacket and cushions out of the way as he
tried 
to zero in on the location of the noise.  The sound suddenly increased
in
 volume as the last cushion was catapulted into space and Mulder
snatched
 his cellular phone from its wedged position down the side of the
couch.  "Scully?" he answered, her presence in his thoughts causing him
to 
half-expect that it was she who called him. "Fox?" queried a female
voice, but not Scully's.  "Diana?"  Mulder sat down on the frame of the
couch.    
He hadn't spoken with Diana Fowley since the morning of his
reassignment, although she had called and left several messages on his
answering 
machine. Mulder hadn't bothered to respond.  "I was worried when you
didn't return my calls, Fox."  She paused.  "How have you been?" she
asked 
tentatively.   Mulder let stony silence pass for a couple of moments.  
"Well, my ex-wife shows up out of the blue after having absolutely no 
contact me in the last few years aside from her signing of the divorce 
papers, to take over my life's work and the next twenty years of my
life 
in apparent collusion with one of the people I despise most on the
entire planet; I'm about two steps short of losing my job, which is
itself a long stopover in Mundane Land with the occasional side-trip to
Tedium City; the
 one person who I actually trust and care about is going through a
family crisis; and  to top it all off, the Knicks have only seventy to
one odds 
of winning this season."  Mulder's cool reply was charged with irony.
  "Fox, I know how you must be feeling right now; how things must look,

but..."  "Diana, you never knew what I was thinking when we were
married, 
why should things be any different now?" interrupted Mulder.  "Since
you 
went on your little field trip from which you failed to return, I've
seen things; things that have changed me; things you couldn't possibly 
understand unless you had shared them. I'm not the person I used to be.
 
And you certainly are not the person I perceived you to be.  Don't
presume
 to know what I'm thinking."  Mulder paused to take a couple of deep 
breaths.  He had felt his anger gaining momentum as he spoke; his ire
had
 not yet had a target to fully unleash itself upon and his resentment 
threatened to completely overwhelm his self-control.
  "I know how my actions must look to you, Fox.  They must seem like
the grossest form of betrayal.  But when I heard that you were being
forcibly reassigned, and Spender was taking over, what else could I do?
 I couldn't just stand back and let the Bureau assign somebody with no
comprehension of the true validity of the work.  _I was there_ when you
discovered the X-Files, 
remember?  I felt...feel, the same passion for this work as you, Fox. 
I 
wish I could make you understand that." 
 Again, Mulder let a long stretch of silence pass. "Let's just cut the 
crap, Diana.  Was there a particular reason you had for calling me, or
did
 you just want your knife back?  I'm sorry if my back blunted it."
  There was a long pause on the other end of the line.  When Fowley
spoke 
again, her voice was subdued and rigidly devoid of emotion.  
  "Fox, the reason I called you is that I'd like to speak to you.  In 
person.  Would it be too much trouble for you to visit my office early 
tomorrow morning; around eight?"
  Mulder leaned back, chewing on the inside of his cheek.  "I'll think 
about it," he said, and hung up.  Tossing the phone back on the couch, 
where it again managed to land in the same niche, Mulder closed his
eyes, and was soon lost in thought.


  Scully sat by her brother's hospital bed, her hand gently grasping
one belonging to the still form of her brother.  The apparatus
sustaining his tenuous link to life made him look like he was involved
in a Frankenstein-
like experiment, the association heightened with the constant blip of
the 
heart monitor and the sterile atmosphere.  Scully found it hard to 
associate the pale, almost mechanical-seeming figure in the bed with
the
 fun-loving, teasing brother she had always known.  Keenly now she felt

the lost opportunities over the last few years, where conflicting 
schedules had seen them lose touch, where before she had been closer to

him than she had to Bill Junior.  Scully tightened her grip on her 
brother's hand.  Her very personal experiences as she lay similarly
after 
her return from her Duane Barry abduction, had given her a unique view
on 
just how important it was to be surrounded by loved ones.  The
unstinting 
vigil that her mother, Melissa, and Mulder had kept at her side had
helped
 her to find her way back to life.  
  Scully looked over to the sleeping form of her mother.  Margaret
Scully
 lay on the bed next to her son's, sleeping the deep sleep of the 
exhausted.  It had taken the combined effort of Dana, Bill, the doctor
and Father McHugh to make her rest at all, and she had flatly refused
to go 
home.  Mrs. Scully seemed confident that her son would soon awake, and
was determined to be there when he did.
  Looking at the deep creases that had etched themselves onto her
mother's
 face, Scully sighed.  Those lines, even the beginnings of them, had
not 
been there a few years ago.  Scully knew that she was responsible for a

great many of them, and her heart ached at the knowledge.  Her mother
had 
lost a much-loved husband, and now had to look upon the third of her 
children to be within grasping distance of death.  Scully sometimes
felt
the desire to rail against fate, God; anybody, in fact, at the
unrelenting procession of heartache and grief that seemed to visit her
family disproportionately. Yet, her mother's faith in life and God
never seemed
 to waver.  Scully had rarely seen such strength in anyone, and she
knew 
her family anchored themselves to it as to a rock.  
  This strength reminded Scully very much of Mulder.  Mulder's
unshakeable
 faith in his beliefs and his arrow-headed determination were things
she realised she had incorporated into her life as landmarks; they
helped to 
define the aspects of her life that she saw as secure and unwavering.  
  Looking out of the window, Scully wondered how Mulder was.  They had 
called each other a couple of times; Mulder was one of the few people
able
 to say the right thing and be sincere, and even more importantly, he
knew
 what not to say.  Scully gave a little half-smile.  Mulder was very 
eloquent in the way he had of leaving things unsaid.  Scully's smile 
faded as she remembered how they had each avoided telling each other
how 
they were really feeling.  After all they'd been through, they both
wanted
 to spare each other as much as possible.  It annoyed Scully when
Mulder 
kept things like that from her, but she unfailingly did the same to
him.
  Scully's thoughts were interrupted as her mother stirred, and slowly
sat
 up.  Her eyes swung over to her daughter.  "Dana, what time is it? 
How 
long have I been asleep?"  "It's 2pm, Mom.  You were only asleep for
two 
hours."  Her mother looked at her in some consternation.  "Two hours! 
I 
only meant to sleep for about twenty minutes.  Is there any news?  Did
the doctor come in?"  Scully sighed.  "She came in about half and hour
ago.  
There hasn't been any change.  At least he's in a stable condition.  
That's the best we can hope for at this point."  
  Margaret got off the bed and stood beside Scully.  For a few moments,

she looked down at the face of her son, to convince herself that
nothing 
had indeed changed since she last saw him.  Then, placing her hand on
her 
daughter's shoulder, she regarded her.  Scully had dark shadows under
her 
eyes, and was noticeably pale.  Margaret was pretty sure that she had
lost some weight, too.  "Dana, honey, I think you should go home, and
get some rest.  You were in here not so long ago, yourself."  As Scully
opened her mouth to 
protest, her mother forestalled her with a gesture.  "No, Dana, I
really 
mean it.  I don't want you arguing with me about this.  If there's any 
change, I'll call you.  I don't want to see you back here before 
tomorrow."
  Seeing that it was useless to protest, Scully reluctantly rose to go,

kissing Charles on the cheek and telling him that she would be back 
tomorrow.  Before her own experience in a coma, she had regarded the 
widely held belief that coma patients could hear people talking to them

with a raised eyebrow.  Now, however, she regarded it as invaluable to 
recovery.
  Scully hugged her mother tightly, and left her sitting in the seat
she 
had vacated, clutching her son's hand, her eyes already closed in
silent 
prayer.
  
  The man surreptitiously watched Scully's departure from where he sat
ostensibly reading a newspaper, noting her withdrawn appearance. 
"No..." 
he said to himself thoughtfully, "this will not do at all."  His eyes 
followed her until she was out of sight; then he folded up his
newspaper 
and threw it into the garbage bin next to the bench on which he was 
sitting.  He then casually stood up, and walked into the hospital. 
  In the reception area of the hospital, he already knew from previous
reconnaissances that there was a photographic list of smiling staff. 
He 
smiled just a little at that.  It looked like a McDonald's employee of
the
 month list.  Different uniforms though.  He quickly scanned through
the 
photos until he found one that was suitable.  
  With seeming casualness, he then made his way to the closest men's 
bathroom, where he secured himself a cubicle.  He had come prepared in
the correct clothing, so he did what he needed to, waited until the men
that 
had been in there when he came in left, and then quickly opened the
door 
to the cubicle and made his way to the washbasins.  He examined his 
appearance with some satisfaction, washed his hands for the sake of 
appearances, and left the bathroom.

  Margaret Scully didn't look up from her contemplation of her son's
face 
as the nurse came in.  A small corner of her awareness noted that he
did 
the usual nurse things, checking this, adjusting that.  He picked up
the 
chart and read through it.  When he had finished, he let out a quiet
dissatisfied "Hmmm...".  Margaret looked up then, but the nurse just 
smiled at her, put his hand comfortingly on her shoulder, and left.  
Margaret resumed her quiet contemplation of her son's countenance; 
waiting patiently for any sign of consciousness stirring. 

The "nurse" made his way through the halls, exchanging greetings with 
people who thought that they knew him, until he was outside.  He made
his
 way over to a water fountain and bent over it, ostensibly drinking
deeply.  When he raised his face again he quickly made sure no one had
been 
observing him.  He casually made his way to the street, where he hailed
a cab.  As it pulled up, he said quietly to himself "Hmmm, a car
accident...I 
wonder..."   

  Scully closed the door to her apartment and then crossed the room to 
collapse on her couch.  After a few moments she bent down and
laboriously removed her shoes.  She was tired to the very bone with a
numbing 
exhaustion that she had not even noticed until her mother had ordered
her 
home.  
  Slowly, she stood up and padded over to check if there were any
messages
 on her answering machine; she had not been home since the day she went
on extended leave of absence.  The fact that there weren't any made her
feel 
a little odd.  It was practically routine to have a message from her 
mother and at least one from Mulder, telling her the latest
developments 
on a case, asking her to autopsy a body...obviously neither kind of 
message was to be expected now.  Still, the minor detail served to
remind 
her just how great a change her life had gone through recently.  
  Scully felt like calling someone, to talk over the drastic turns her 
life had taken over the last couple of months, but realised she didn't 
really have anyone to call.  She had pretty much lost contact with all
of 
her friends over the last couple of years.  It had become increasingly 
difficult to converse with the people she knew; there was no easy way
to smoothly follow a conversation on how well her friends' children
were 
doing at school, what had happened at the last PTA meeting, who was
having an affair with whom etc. with details of her last escape from a
liver-eating mutant, or what to do if you're ever confronted with a
identity-morphing 
alien bounty hunter. 
  On impulse, Scully picked up the phone and dialed Mulder's number,
but 
only let it ring a couple of times before hanging up.  She didn't feel 
like another conversation of avoiding how each other was really
feeling.  Sighing, Scully stood up and headed for her bedroom, deciding
sleep was 
the best course of action for her.
  Changed into a comfortable pair of cotton pajamas, Scully nestled
down 
in the covers, expecting her tired body to finally seize the
opportunity 
and pull her rapidly down into sleep.  Her mind, however, had other
ideas.  
  Now that she had a brief respite from worry about Charles, Scully
began 
to ponder about her future.  Recently, after the inferno had taken the 
X-Files seemingly forever out of reach, and with separation from Mulder

looming, forced by the Board of Inquiry into the Dallas affair, Scully
had planned to re-enter the medical profession.  Realistically,
however, as 
she had told Mulder, she could no longer be a doctor.  The things she
had 
seen had put that life behind her forever.  Turning over for the
umpteenth time, Scully pursued this line of thought.  As unlikely as
success with such a combination seemed to be, the X-Files had
interwoven themselves 
irrevocably into Scully's life, for better or for worse; broadening her
horizons, where before she could see that she had been narrow-minded by

the careful shaping of convention.  Mulder had a lot to do with that
too,
 she knew.  Instead of taking offense at her determinedly opposite and
scientific opinions, he had savoured them as a challenge, and in turn
had 
shown her how to look beyond the confining walls of conventional
wisdom.  
  Now, with the X-Files seemingly further than ever out of reach,
Scully 
felt adrift for one of the first times in her life.  She had not been 
prepared for how large a wound their loss would inflict.  The first
time 
the X-Files had been shut down hadn't affected her in this way.  In
fact,
 it had really felt like any kind of separation at all; perhaps because

Mulder and she still managed to work together, despite Mulder getting a

new partner in the form of Alex Krycek...Scully shivered.  Another
reason
 the original closure had seemed surreal is because she hadn't had to 
endure it long.  Krycek, Duane Barry and that desiccated, tar-ingesting

son of a bitch had seen to that.  Scully pushed away the disturbing
half-
memories of her abduction.  She dreaded to think what her mom, Missy,
her brothers had gone through.  Mulder, too.  She still remembered how
haggard
 he had looked when he had come to visit her on her awakening out of
her 
coma.  Well, she was having a taste of that now.  Always before, while 
perhaps not knowing exactly what the other was doing, it was still a 
tandem action; each willing to defend each others actions as their own,
 even if privately not entirely approving of them.  Scully missed the 
unique bond they had.  Mulder was quite simply the best friend she had 
ever had, and she knew him better than she had ever known any lover.  
The unspoken feelings between them ran very deeply.  Mulder had
literally 
gone to the ends of the earth for her, and the action had not surprised

her; because she knew she would do the same for him.
  Scully forcibly yanked her thoughts back onto practical matters. For 
the first time, she came to a crossroads at which she had no idea which

way to turn. Although it was in the family, Scully could not envisage 
herself joining the Navy under any circumstances.  After being a
doctor, 
and FBI agent, what?  
  Somehow, these thoughts reminded her of something Mulder, that is,
Eddie
 Van Blundht, had asked her once.  "How different did your life end up 
being from the one you pictured in high school?"  In high school, Dana 
Scully saw her life's path as straight as an arrow.  Medical school,
 marriage, eventually a family...funny the tricks life played on you,
the
 way getting what you want could sometimes change you along the way to
the
 point where you realize that's not really what you want any more...Van

Blundht had had surprising insight.  Or maybe it just seemed that way 
after most of a bottle of red wine.  Her face flushed slightly as her 
heart rate quickened.  She remembered "Mulder" leaning across to kiss 
her...her practical inner protests beaten down by the feeling of 
inevitability that it had had...and the purely feminine part of her
nature that had quietly exclaimed _yes!_ in satisfaction...and then
Mulder had burst 
in, his features registering shock as he took in the scene, seeing the 
fake Mulder just about to make the move on her, and Scully in no way or

form protesting.  Scully had quickly pushed Van Blundht away in
disgust, 
and watched in horror as he morphed back into his true self.  
  Scully's cheeks burned slightly at the memory.  Mulder, to her
relief, 
had spared her feelings by never referring to the incident.  Still, she

couldn't help wondering what he had thought as he had burst in on such
a 
scene.  She thought back to the much more recent memory of what had 
happened in the hallway outside of Mulder's apartment...this time it
had 
been Mulder; there was no question.  Scully remembered the feeling of
electricity that was palpable as they gave in to instinct, those
moments 
when Mulder reached down to kiss her had seemed to last a lifetime,
each 
slowly measured heartbeat pounding out a slow, implacable rhythm...cut 
short suddenly by that sudden sting on the back of her neck.  Although 
fuzzily, Scully could still remember the sound of disappointment in 
Mulder's voice "...it must have gotten in your shirt." as he ran his 
fingers over her hair almost unconsciously.  She remembered her body 
wrenched with her own feelings of gut disappointment.  She didn't
remember
 much after that...Mulder's expression quickly changing to
concern...him 
laying her on the floor of the hallway...the frantic tone of his voice
as
 he spoke to the 911 operator...and the next thing she remembered was 
waking up in unbelievable cold, Mulder commanding her to breathe...
  They hadn't yet had a real chance to talk about what had happened, or

almost happened, anyway, in Mulder's hallway.  The earth-shattering 
sequence of events that had followed quickly on its heels had left no 
time for such discussion.  In fact, Scully hadn't had a chance to talk
to 
anyone about her recent experiences yet, and she felt the need to talk 
them over with someone, to help put them in perspective.  She needed to

talk to somebody objective, who could help her to see a path through
her 
current difficulties.  Scully decided to visit her FBI counsellor, whom

she had seen occasionally since the Donnie Pfaster case.  
  Now that Scully had a course of action to follow, the turmoil of her 
thoughts gradually drifted away to be replaced by a deep sleep,
untroubled
 for once by nightmares or dreams.


Mulder walked down the hallway of the FBI building, towards the new 
X-Files office.  He hadn't seen it yet; somehow it hadn't been a place
he 
was too keen to hang around now that it belonged to someone else.  
  The X-Files office was no longer located in the basement.  Perhaps, 
reflected Mulder, now that "they" had agents they could control in
charge, they no longer needed to make working on the X-Files as
inconvenient as 
possible.
  There were hardly any people in yet - not surprising given the hour
of 
the morning - and Mulder heard the echo of his footsteps fading away as
he
 came to a halt outside of the new home of the X-Files.  Taking a
quick, disgusted look at the two names emblazoned there, he opened the
door and 
stepped inside without bothering to knock.
  Closing the door behind him, Mulder surveyed the empty office, and
had 
to restrain the urge to yawn.  "How can they work like this?" he
pondered 
aloud.  The office looked just like any other FBI office, only neater. 
The two desks sat at exact angles from each other, and were mirror
images.  Items sat at ninety-degree angles to each other on top of the
desks, and the paperclips had been sorted into different compartments
of the desktidy by size.  The walls were completely barren of any form
of decoration, official or otherwise.  
  Mulder crossed over to the filing cabinets and opened the first
drawer.  It was already nearly full, despite all the previous X-Files
having been destroyed in the fire.  Choosing a file at random, Mulder
flipped it open.  Inside, a repeat abductee case was detailed, and
Mulder recognised the name of the victim as one of the more credible he
had come across.  Mulder was surprised to see that the file had CLOSED
stamped over it, and flipped forward to the concluding report.
  "...it is therefore obvious that Mrs. Oppenheimer is suffering from
some kind of delusion; a delusion that in my belief, has been
encouraged in no small way by the previous visits of Special Agents Fox
Mulder and Dana Scully, previously assigned to the X-Files division. 
Their visits have given weight to the fantasy that this unfortunate
woman has created for herself, which will make it even more difficult
for her to reject this fiction and make her way back to reality.  There
is nothing in this case to warrant further investigation by the FBI;
and as Mrs. Oppenheimer has voluntarily entered a mental health care
institution, this case is now deemed to be closed."
  Unsurprisingly, this narrow-minded report was the work of Special
Agent Spender.  Mulder pulled out several other files at random, and
flipping through them, saw that the majority had been classified as
closed.  Angrily, Mulder slammed the filing drawer shut and whipped
around.  The wastepaper basket by Fowley's desk caught his eye and he
strode over and kicked it over; then stomped on it until the
unfortunate basket was rendered unusable.
  His anger slightly sated by this display of violence, Mulder stood
and idly examined the desktop.  Within the neatly labeled "In" tray, he
saw a file.  Not pausing even for a fraction of a second, Mulder picked
it up, and began reading through it.  Absorbed in what he read, he
unconsciously drifted around to the other side of the desk and sat
down, and then put his feet up on the desk and crossed them, as had
been his wont.  
  The file intrigued him.  A young woman, Jessica Maitland, had been
arrested for attacking a perfect stranger at the airport where he
worked.  The victim, John Salinger, claimed Maitland approached him as
he started his early morning shift in the baggage handling area,
somehow managing to evade security.  Maitland, who Salinger said he had
never met, apologised for what she was about to do, and then calmly
drew a knife and attacked him.  There had apparently been no frenzy to
the attack, just an unrelenting effort to kill him, and Salinger
claimed that Maitland seemed to have unusual strength.  
  Luckily for the victim, a couple of workers arriving earlier than
usual managed to prise Maitland off Salinger before she was able to do
any serious damage.  As soon as she was restrained, Maitland seemed to
fall into an unresponsive stupor.  
  On being taken into custody, Maitland was examined extensively by
psychologists and doctors, but they were unable to provide an
explanation.  To muddy the waters even further, her friends and family
described Maitland as a likeable, gentle-natured girl who attended
church regularly.  There was no family of mental illness whatsoever. 
  Maitland had only spoken once since her arrest.  On being questioned,
she remained unresponsive to all questions except when she was asked
why she attacked Salinger.  Her reply was:
  "He must be killed to save the innocent."
  This remark had led to a tentative diagnosis of multiple personality
disorder compounded by religious mania. The girl was admitted into a
high security psychiatric hospital for further observation.
  From which she disappeared.

  Until she attacked Salinger again.

  Somehow, Maitland had managed to leave the hospital grounds without
raising alarm or being caught on any of the numerous security cameras,
and had made her way to the hospital where Salinger had been admitted
with stab wounds, again managing not to be recorded on any security
camera footage.  Maitland then attempted to stifle Salinger with a
pillow.  Luck was again on Salinger's side as a nurse making his night
rounds surprised Maitland, and she was again restrained, and taken back
to the psychiatric hospital where she was now being watched around the
clock.
  "You've made yourself right at home, I see."  Mulder jumped slightly
and he looked up to see Fowley standing in front of the desk.
  Standing up, Mulder tossed the file back into the "In" tray and
walked around to the other side of the desk, allowing Fowley to sit
down.    Mulder shrugged.  "Old habits die hard." he said
unemotionally.  
  Unconsciously, Fowley straightened the file Mulder had just tossed
into the tray.  Looking up at him, her face carefully devoid of
expression (much like his own), "Why don't you take a seat?" she
offered.
  "Thanks, but I don't intend on staying long." Mulder replied.  He
wanted to make sure she knew that his reaction to her yesterday wasn't
just the bitter offspring of a passing mood, and he also didn't want
her thinking that their...past was going to let her skip along a
yellow-brick road to forgiveness.  In fact, the fact that they used to
be married made Mulder even angrier, as it added the sting of betrayal.
 Not that he wasn't used to that.
  "Well, I guess you're wondering why I asked you here," began Fowley,
looking to Mulder's face for confirmation.  Mulder remained impassive,
not moving a muscle.  Clearing her throat, Fowley continued.  "It's no
secret that Agent Spender isn't as...open-minded as a position in this
department would seem to warrant.  I'm sure you could relate to that."
She said, quickly looking up at Mulder's face again.  Still, his face
betrayed no reaction.  "Well, anyway, Spender's attitude has caused
some serious PR problems for the FBI, offending people left, right and
centre.  Not just abductees, but scientists, doctors, and, shall we
say, well-to-do people who have leanings toward the paranormal. 
Unfortunately for him, some of these people have more connections than
he seems to.  The word is that despite his patronage by someone high in
the levels of power, he is on his way out.  I can't say I'm not
relieved.  I think the only reason he used his connections to get this
position was some macho power trip he wanted to have over you."  Fowley
looked questioningly at Mulder, then continued after the half-expected
lack of reaction.  "However, Spender is not the only one
with...connections.  I've made quite a few myself over the last few
years.  What would you say to coming to work again on the X-Files?  You
and me.  It would be just like old times; two like minds striving
towards the same goal."  She smiled.  This should get some reaction.  
  Mulder turned and paced slowly in front of her desk a couple of
times.  Then,  "What about Scully?" he asked, eyes boring intently into
hers.  
  This had not been the reaction Diana had intended.  "Unfortunately,
Fox, the Bureau is stretching its generosity to the breaking point in
still having an X-Files division at all.  They certainly don't see the
need to "waste" any more than two agents on it.  Besides, between you
and I, we have all the experience required; and like I said, we are two
like minds."  Fowley leaned back in her chair.  "I sometimes wonder,
Fox, if I'd stayed...imagine how much further down the track we'd
be...proof positive of colonization, of secret government UFO tests..."
 Fowley's voice faded away as she saw Mulder's face remain impassive,
his eyes dark, and revealing nothing.  Looking straight into her eyes
he said, "Diana, if you had stayed, I would be in some asylum
somewhere.  They would have locked me up and thrown away the key...The
only reason I am here today, and not certified in some secure mental
institution is because they made the mistake of giving me Scully as a
partner.  They thought she would discredit me, but instead she saved
me, rationalized me...I was halfway down to hell with my own personal
demons escorting me happily along the way.  Do you know how many
half-baked, ecto-plasm swilling, gyro-probing tales I would have
swallowed whole, just because I want to believe?  Scully too wants to
believe, although it took me a while to realise it...but her scientific
creed keeps her honest...keeps _me_ honest.  And sane.  And with all
her scepticism, I know her faith in my integrity, her trust has never
wavered for a moment.  In return, I can only give her mine...my
complete and utter trust.  Something I could never give to you."  
  Diana sat in silence, holding Mulder's gaze.  "It was her wasn't it?"
 she asked him suddenly.  "She was the one you were thinking about when
Gibson read your mind..." It was not a question, but for the first
time, Mulder's eyes showed doubt and his posture became less sure. 
Diana dropped her gaze and shook her head, laughing a mirthless laugh. 
"And to think that I thought it was me...So tell me, does she know that
you're in love with her?"   Mulder stared unblinkingly at her in a cold
silence for a full minute before answering.  "I believe I've wasted
enough time here today.  Thanks for the offer, but I'm going to have to
refuse."  With that, Mulder quickly turned and left the office,
slamming the door slightly as he left.  Diana's expression was
unreadable as she watched him leave.


  Scully sat in the familiar office of her FBI therapist.  They had
been talking for over an hour, but Scully did not feel any progress had
been made.  Nor did the therapist.  "Dana, we've discussed your recent
traumatic experiences, including your brother's accident; we've covered
your recent history from your abduction, to the death of your daughter,
to your cancer.  I feel that we've made excellent progress in resolving
these issues, and you seem to be able to articulate on your feelings in
these matters well.  But when we raise this issue of this crossroads
you feel that you are at, you get very vague as to your reasons for
feeling like this."  The therapist paused.  "I get the feeling that
we're evading another issue here."  
  Scully felt a small surge of annoyance.  "Like what exactly?  I'm
having a career crisis; it's not all that rare...it all seems pretty
cut and dried to me."  
  The therapist looked down at her notes.  "I don't believe you really
came in here for career counselling.  I think subconsciously you feel
you have another unresolved area of your life that you feel you need to
deal with.  Are there any feelings or thoughts that you've had recently
that have in some way distressed you, or made you uncomfortable in some
way?"
  Scully thought for a while.  She was inclined to disagree at first,
but on second thoughts she realized that something had been bugging her
a little.
  "I have found it difficult in my line of work...that is my previous
line of work with Agent Mulder...to have the time to keep up with my
friends...and whenever I did get the opportunity, I felt that we had
less and less in common...I have really drifted away from all of them
over the past few years, and now, especially with my sister's death, I
find that...that I have no one to talk to about things that trouble
me...I don't like talking to my mother or brothers about things like
that...I've certainly given them enough worry over the last few
years...and especially now I find I have no one aside from family to
talk to about anything."
  "You say 'especially now', Dana.  What do you mean by that, do you
think?"
  Scully thought about it.  "Did I say that?" Scully asked, looking
faintly surprised.  "Yes, you did."  She paused for a moment.  "Dana,
you've mentioned before that you quite frequently used to discuss
things with Agent Mulder...When you said 'especially now' is it
possible that you mean especially now that you have reduced your
contact with Agent Mulder quite drastically?"   
  "I...don't...know..." Scully said slowly.  "Over the last couple of
years, we've actually discussed things that bothered us about cases
less and less..."
  The therapist looked sharply at Scully.  _Now_ they were getting
somewhere.  "And why is that Dana?"
  "I think...I feel that we both want to avoid causing each other any
pain, knowing how much each other has gone through...we just don't want
to add to each other's burdens."
  "And how does it make you feel when you know Agent Mulder is holding
back these feelings from you?"
  "Umm, hurt I guess.  And a little angry."
  "Why?"
  "Because I care for him...we've been partners a long time and have
shared so much...he's always been there when I needed him and I know
that he always would be."
  The therapist gave Scully a direct look.  "Because you love him?" she
asked quietly.
  Scully flushed.  "Agent Mulder and myself having always strictly
adhered to the Bureau's policy regarding partners' out of hours
relationships..."
  "Dana, I'm not Assistant Director Skinner here.  I'm your therapist,
and you're avoiding the question."
  Scully was silent for a couple of moments.  Finally she raised her
eyes to meet those of her therapist.  "Yes," she said, half defiantly
and half with surprise.  "Because I love him."
  The therapist sat back in her chair.  "_Now_ we're getting
somewhere," she said in satisfaction.


Bill from Bill's Auto Repairs and Panelworks wiped the back of his
grease-covered hand across his grease-covered forehead.  He leaned
against the damaged car that was their latest project and looked with
some dissatisfaction at the legs protruding from under it.  They
belonged to his assistant Jimmy.  Jimmy had been acting...strange.  For
one thing, he had suddenly become extremely competent.  More so than
Bill himself.  Bill did not like being overshadowed.  For another, he
seemed to have lost his sense of humour.  Bill had told him a great
joke about two blondes and a redhead, and Jimmy had just looked at him
kind of blankly, and then smiled an almost condescending smile.  Bill
did not like being condescended to.  And now, instead of working on the
car that Bill had assigned to him, Jimmy had insisted on mucking around
with this one, and had proceeded to lurk under it for most of the
morning. Bill couldn't understand it.  He doubted that anything short
of a complete rebuild from ground up was going to get this car working
again...but he always liked to have a look at the cars others said were
a write-off...just in case he could squeeze some money out of it
somehow.  At any rate, the only time Jimmy had reappeared was to tell
Bill to turn down the music down.  Tell!  It was time to take steps.
  "Jimmy!"  No response.  "Jimmy boy!  Come outta there!"  After a few
moments, Jimmy did so.  He had a dissatisfied expression on his face,
which, while perhaps being a refreshing change from the look of blank
incomprehension it usually wore, was profoundly disconcerting.  
  "What the hell have you been doing down there, all day boy?"  Bill
demanded.  Jimmy looked at him.  Was that an expression of annoyance
that flitted across his features?  "Working."  Jimmy smiled faintly. 
"I found what I was looking for."  Jimmy stood up and brushed past Bill
and headed out the door.  He paused and turned back.  "Thank you." He
said, and then kept on walking.  Bill stared after him.  He then pulled
out the mostly empty bottle of whiskey that he had secreted in his
overalls, looked at it, and through it quickly in the garbage with a
shudder.  The phone rang, causing him to jump.  
  "Yeah?  I mean, Bill's Automotive Repairs and Panelworks here, Bill
speaking."  
  "Bill?  S'me Jimmy.  I'm real sorry...I sure dunno what happened, but
my head is awful sore this morning.  I'll be runnin' a little late
today...Bill?  Hello, Bill?"  Bill had dropped the phone, and had
slowly made his way into his office.  He casually opened his desk
drawer and grabbed the full bottle of whiskey that was lying in it.  He
unscrewed the cap, and drank straight from the bottle.


Mulder walked through the halls of the FBI building, lost in his own
thoughts.  He bumped into somebody.  "Sorry," he mumbled.  "Agent
Mulder?"  Mulder looked up.  The man he bumped into was someone he'd
seen occasionally around the FBI building.  Someone who had always
looked at him with a disconcerting familiarity, as if he knew him well,
but Mulder had no idea who he was.  
  "Agent Mulder, I wonder if you'd mind accompanying me?  I would like
to talk to you."  Mulder looked at him.  "I'm guessing this is less of
a request and more in the nature of an undeniable invitation sir?"
Mulder asked with irony.  The man, who looked to be in his late
fifties, shrugged.  "The decision is yours of course...but I have
something to offer you that you might find...irresistible."  Mulder
looked at him, his expression veiled.  The man returned the look just
as coolly.  "Alright," Mulder said.  "Let's go."  
  "Not here," said the mystery man.  "I'd like to go somewhere where we
are the only people who hear what is said."  Mulder looked at him
sharply, but the man began to walk quickly out of the building. 
Mulder, his interest now and truly piqued, followed after.

Outside they caught a cab to a park, where the older man led Mulder to
a park bench away from the groups of children with their families. 
"All right," said Mulder.  "Let's talk."  The man glanced around
warily.  "You don't know me, Agent Mulder, and you don't need to know
me.  Suffice it to say that I'm in a position that commands quite a bit
of power."  Mulder's face remained impassive.  "Quite an achievement
for a humble government employee," he said blandly.  The man gave the
merest hint of a smile, and he turned his head to watch the children
playing in the distance. "I've said that you don't know me, but you
know others like me.  Others that too have no name, no substance in
this world of ad-breaks, fast-food, carefree commercialism and shopping
networks.  The world you and I live in on the other hand Mr. Mulder, is
much more sinister.  But," the older man looked directly at Mulder. 
"I'm sure that you have been aware of that for some time now."  Mulder
said nothing, but continued to sit in impassive silence.  "Most of my
colleagues are much too extreme for my liking however, which is why
I've begun to distance myself from all of this over the last couple of
years.  There have been steps taken, things done that were completely
unnecessary, and that exposed us to unnecessary risk.  I think most of
them have lost sight of the original simplicity of our, shall we say,
organization?  They seem to get quite a kick out of over-dramatization
and the cheap theatricality of it all.  I almost believe that some of
them are in it just for the joy of lurking in dark corners, forming
half-baked plots, dropping mysterious half-hints...as if the things we
dealt with weren't impressive enough without all these urges for tacky
over-dramatization.  Most of it I find quite amusing, but
assassinations, kidnappings...where does that ever get us?  All it does
is draw attention to us, and every few more that believe, make it a
little more difficult for us to work.  Would you believe, some of us
have had to talk very fast to stop your own untimely demise?"  Mulder
raised an eyebrow.  
  "I'm very flattered I'm sure...but what claim to fame do I have that
should ensure my continued existence?"  
  "Well, it mightn't have been so bad in the beginning, but after a
while, particularly after Agent Scully joined you, you began to have
some semblance of credibility.  You weren't just some kook who hadn't
been taking his medication...and Agent Scully was the ultimate skeptic
and scientist.  That was bad enough.  But if you were to
be...eliminated?   This would just be taken as a confirmation that you
were on to something that needed to be covered up.  If we look like
we're not taking you seriously, most people will just dismiss you as a
loser, a freak." 
  "Gee, thanks." Mulder drawled.  "Why are you telling me all this?"
  The older man looked at him.  "I need a favour."
  "From me?  Gee, the way you were talking had me thinking that you
were the type that people begged for favours...not the other way
around."
  The man looked off into the distance again.  "I have a daughter."  He
said finally.  "I have never actually met her...when you live the kind
of life I do it's not advisable to have any connections.  Better merely
to exist on the somewhat empty satisfactions of power.  However, I have
allowed myself to keep track of her whereabouts, her progression
through life.  Consequently I was most distressed to hear that she'd
attacked someone recently with no provocation.  I may never have met my
daughter, but I know that this is all wrong.  Something is just not
right.  There has been some diagnosis of schizophrenia or some such
nonsense...but I don't believe that for a second."  Mulder's mind
clicked several things into place.  "Your daughter...her name is
Jessica Maitland?"  The man looked surprised.  "Yes...how did you
know?"
  "I was in the new X-Files office this morning...a file was sitting
out looking like it needed someone to love it."
  "You were in the X-Files office this morning?  Why?"
Mulder regarded the man with a veiled expression.  "What, you're people
haven't bugged it yet?  Or maybe you're getting your reports straight
from the horse's mouth?  Your little friend Agent Fowley wanted to
offer me a job."
  "She what?"  The older man looked surprised and annoyed.  Mulder
smiled a mirthless smile.  
  "I see your newest recruit has been indulging in a little
individualist activity on the side...but I wouldn't worry too much
about it.  I think my ex-wife is just trying to get back into my good
books after betraying everything I hold near and dear."
  "Your what?"
  Mulder's expression registered surprise. 
  "You didn't know that either?  You're obviously over-paying
somebody."  He smiled again.  "To be honest, I thought you and your
little 'organization' had planted her as an attempt to try and subvert
me to your evil cause."
  "No...Agent Fowley seems to have her own agenda."  The man was silent
a couple of moments.  Then he shook his head.  "But we were discussing
my daughter.  You know all the details of the case?"  Mulder nodded
slowly.  "Good.  I would like you to go and investigate it.  It's your
kind of...you know, thing."  Mulder looked into the distance.  
  "Why don't you have your tame agents, Fowley and Spender look into
it?" he asked finally.
  "Like I said, Fowley seems to have her own agenda...besides, this is
not something I would like her to know about.  You never know when
someone will use knowledge to their own advantage, but they will
usually do it sooner or later."
  "What about good ol' agent Spender?  Surely he is this year's winner
of the evil-doer's lackey award."
  The man made a derisive sound. 
  "Spender got given the X-Files on a silver platter and he couldn't
even be remotely successful in dealing with that.  He's a hopeless
incompetent...a self-absorbed jack-ass that postures and squawks around
trying to make someone other than himself aware of his grand
importance.  Instead, he offends people left, right and centre and
proves again and again how woefully incapable of handling anything that
might involve things more complex than monosyllabic instructions spoken
slowly and clearly directly to him followed by slides and brightly
coloured diagrams."
  Mulder, despite some serious disagreements with the purpose of and
general existence of this man, couldn't have summed up his opinion on
Agent Spender any better himself.
  "What's in it for me?" he asked bluntly.
  "I give you all this information, and you still want more?"
  Mulder gave him a chilly look.
  "What have you told me that I don't already know?  That there is some
shadowy organization out there that's really running things?  So what's
new?  That my life is in danger?  Tell me something I don't know.  All
in all you've told me precisely dick, except confirming for me that you
are part of a group that has abducted Scully, killed her sister, taken
her unborn children, implanted her with some chip, the removal of which
led her and several other innocent women to develop cancer, infected
her deliberately with an alien virus for which you did not have a
definite cure...not to mention ordering the death of my father, and the
abduction of my sister.  In fact, the only thing that's preventing me
from pulling out my gun and shooting you is the presence of some
pre-school witnesses, but don't test my patience because there's some
trees and bushes over there that will provide some pretty good cover if
I change my mind.  Now you have about thirty seconds before I either
walk away or shoot you so you'd better do some pretty fast talking."
  The man looked taken aback.  "I have underestimated you Agent Mulder.
 You want an offer?  How about being reassigned to the X-Files, without
the ever-useless Spender and Agent Fowley?  On satisfactory completion
of this assignment of course."
  "What about Agent Scully?"
  "Well, I don't think..."  Mulder began to walk away.
  "Wait...come back."  Mulder half-turned.  "Alright, Agent Scully will
be reassigned as well...providing of course, that her dedication to her
brother doesn't see her leave the Bureau altogether."  Several things
clicked into place again for Mulder.  Before the man knew what was
happening, Mulder had his gun in the centre of his forehead.  
  "You organized Charles Scully's car accident, didn't you?"  Then as
the man remained silent he raised his voice and pushed the gun harder
against his forehead.  "Didn't you!"  
  The man met Mulder's angry gaze.  "I had nothing to do with the
arrangements...like I said, I have no patience with this kind of thing.
 I didn't even know about this little scheme to separate you and Scully
until it was too late to do anything about it anyway."  Mulder
contemplated him for a second in angry silence.  "I think you're a
liar," he said in a menacing half-whisper.  The man began to shake.  "I
swear to God, Mulder it's the truth.  In fact, I think it was probably
your old cigarette-smoking friend.  This plan has his nicotine-stained
fingerprints all over it."  Mulder was silent for another couple of
moments.  "How do I know that this isn't just some other scheme...why
would you be telling me these things?"
  "If anyone asks why I was talking to you, I'll just tell them a
slightly edited version of the truth, that I was trying to convince you
to work for us.  It's been tried before, as you know.  As for the
other...I can't prove what I'm telling you obviously,"  He almost
smiled.  "You're just going to have to 'trust' me."
  Mulder held the gun to the man's forehead for the space of a couple
more heartbeats.  "Alright," he said at last.  "I'll do it.  But you'd
better hope for Charles Scully's imminent and complete recovery,
because if he dies, I will hunt you down and I will shoot you."  He put
his gun away.  The man rubbed the circular indent on his forehead.  "I
knew partnering you with Agent Scully was a mistake.  And I definitely
knew that trying to use your feelings for her to our advantage was an
even greater mistake.  Nobody listens to me."  Mulder's glare was
stony.  The man pulled out a piece of paper with a name and address on
it.
  "This is the address of where they are holding my daughter.  The name
belongs to one of the more influential people at that institution...he
knows that you're coming and will make sure that you have access to
everything you need."  He smiled faintly.  "One of those empty
satisfactions of power," he said.  Mulder took the piece of paper and
tucked it into the pocket on the inside of his jacket.  Without another
word, he walked away.  The man on the bench took out a creased photo of
a blonde girl, aged about twelve.  "Don't worry sweetie," he said with
tears in his eyes, running his thumb over the photo.  "Daddy's going to
make it all better."

The Man opened the door to his non-descript motel room.  Without
bothering to turn on a lamp, he threw his jacket on to the bed and sat
down on a barely comfortable chair.  The flame from the match lit his
lined face briefly as it lit the inevitable cigarette.  The Man inhaled
deeply, then sat back in his chair, exhaling slowly.  "Still trying so
very hard to reject the gift I gave to you?" came a voice from the
shadows.  With reflexes honed by a life lived on the edge, the Man went
for his gun.  Feeling its unyielding familiarity in his grip, he felt
confidence gradually returning.  He reached over and turned on the
lamp.  "You!" he said in tones from which all confidence had fled.  The
man known as Jeremiah Smith looked at him.  "What, surprised to see me
still alive?  You should know better.  Our existence here depends on
being quite...resilient."  The Man nervously stubbed out his cigarette
in a convenient ashtray.  "They said that you'd been 'taken care of.' 
I know what that means."  He said, trying to grasp at the shreds of his
former confidence.  Jeremiah Smith looked away.  "'They' have made
quite a practice of telling you things that you'd like to
hear...particularly when they are not true.  They seem to think it
increases their power over you.  Don't ask me, I'm the rebel.  If I
understood the way they think I would probably still be one of their
little drones."
  "What do you want from me?" the Man attempted to ask in an
authoritative tone.
  "I am here, to tell you to desist from your attempts to kill, injure
or separate Agents Mulder and Scully," Jeremiah Smith responded coolly.
 "We feel that they will be quite useful in our plans, so I have come
here to warn you to leave them alone in future.  If their work is
discontinued for some reason, or one of them succumbs to an untimely
demise, for you it would prove...unfortunate."
  "You're threatening me?"  the Man asked in disbelief.
  "I would have thought you were more than familiar with the process,
and wouldn't need any particular help in identifying it.  I have just
come to remind you that as well as having the power to heal, we can
also choose to have quite the opposite effect.  Lung cancer can be a
terrible way to go...I don't think you'd like to fall victim to
it...again.  Just think these things over next time you have the urge
to have someone tamper with the brakes of someone related to Agents
Mulder and Scully."  Noting the other man's expression of surprise,
Jeremiah nodded.  "Yes, I've examined the car myself.  I recognized
your unique style throughout this whole scheme."  Jeremiah Smith rose
to leave.  As he had his hand on the doorknob to leave, he said, "We
will win you know.  Perhaps you'd better give some thought as to whose
side you'd like to be in when that comes to pass."  Quietly, he turned
the handle and left the room.  The Man sat breathing fast, looking into
the distance, the smoke from his hastily extinguished cigarette still
weaving a languorous pattern in the air.

 
TWO WEEKS LATER

  Mulder made his way to the offices of the mysterious father of
Jessica Maitland.  Without bothering to knock, he went straight in. 
The man looked up, unsurprised by this intrusion.  He leaned back in
his chair.
  "Well?"
  "Your daughter has been discharged from the mental institution.  It
would seem that she had a cut and dried case of possession...not, of
course that that is what is going on any official report."  Mulder was
not being entirely honest...there had been something that annoyed him
about this case, something unusual about the possession that he just
couldn't put his finger on.  In this particular case, however, he
didn't particularly care about being overly stringent.  The girl was
cured, that was the important thing.
  "But, I brought in a priest...it took quite a few hours, but your
daughter returned to normal, with no memory of the events prior to her
attack on Mr. Salinger."
  The man let out a sigh of relief.  "Thank you," he said quietly.  
  "How about just keeping up your end of the bargain?"  Mulder said in
a dangerous tone.
  Without another word, the man picked up his phone.  "Diana?  It's
me...I know, but this is an exception.  Please come and see me right
away... No, not then, I mean right now...Thank you."  He hung up and
looked at Mulder.  "Agent Mulder, please report to the X-Files office
first thing tomorrow morning.  You have been officially reassigned.  I
would appreciate it if you would also let Agent Scully know."
  Mulder looked at him, chewing on the inside of his cheek.
  "The empty satisfactions of power, huh?"  He said in an amused tone. 
He turned to leave.  "Oh, don't forget about Charles Scully, either,"
he warned.  "I meant what I said."  Mulder opened the door and quietly
left the office.  The man breathed a sigh of relief.  No wonder so many
people wanted Agent Mulder out of the way.  He was a dangerous man.  
He heard a knocking at the door.  "Come in," he responded.  Agent Diana
Fowley came in quickly and shut the door behind her.  The man came out
from behind his desk to meet her.  Her arms came up to pull him into an
embrace, but he quickly grabbed them and forced them down.  "What,
what's the matter?" she asked in a mystified tone.  
  "I'm just pondering the significance of the fact that you failed to
tell me that you and Agent Mulder used to be married," he replied
coolly.  "I find it difficult to believe that such an important fact
would just slip your mind."  Fowley began to look uncomfortable and
couldn't maintain eye contact.  "Could it be that you still harboured
some yearning for your old flame?  And here I was thinking I was the
only iron you had in the fire.  Well, either way, it would seem you
have lost both of us my dear.  Mulder has attached himself to Scully
like a limpet...I doubt anything short of the universe imploding would
be sufficient to detach him.  He got quite passionate about her safety
you know, even waved his gun at me.  It would appear that young Miss
Scully feels the same way, if the small electronic devices I have in
the FBI therapist's office are functioning correctly.  All in all, it's
all quite cloying and quite sickening really.  I think the simple lust
that you and I had going was much simpler...but, my dear, I don't
appreciate being used.  Thus, I believe that I will have you sent to,
now, where was it...ah, that's right.  Salt Lake City.  That was where
you wanted Agent Scully sent, was it not?  How pleasing it is when a
pleasantly ironic solution presents itself."  Fowley stood dumbstruck. 
The man made a shooing motion with his hand.  "Quickly, quickly my
dear, before I find a less...amicable way to deal with you."  Fowley
fled.  The man sat at his desk again, and put his feet upon it,
crossing them as he did so.  "Ah," he sighed.  "The empty satisfactions
of power."

  Mulder entered the sterile reception area of the hospital.  "Charles
Scully's room, please?" he asked the girl behind the desk. 
"Um...that's room 203 on Level 2."  She replied with an empty-headed
expression. 
  "Thanks." Mulder went to one of the elevators, and punched the Level
2 button.  Room 203 was the second door on the left.  He knocked
gently, and went in when he heard a muffled "Come in."  Margaret Scully
sat in her usual chair beside her son's bed, holding tightly on to his
hand.  Bill Scully sat in a chair on the opposite side of the bed, by
the window.  When he saw who had entered the room, he scowled.
  "Mrs Scully?" Mulder said tentatively.  Margaret turned around.
  "Hello, Fox.  Are you looking for Dana?"
  "Uh, yeah, actually.  But I also wanted to come in, you know, and see
how Charles was doing, too.  And how you're doing."
  "Well, we're all doing just fine, thank-you.  Now that you've seen
that, I think you can leave." Bill spoke from his corner.
  "Bill!" reprimanded Mrs Scully sharply.
  "No, no.  It's all right.  I just wanted to look in, and pay my
respects." Mulder said to Margaret.  "And I just wanted to let you
know, that if there's anything I can do..."
  "Thank you, Fox."  Margaret managed a small smile of gratitude.
  "Yeah, well, I think you've done more than enough for this family as
it is."  Bill voiced bitterly.
  "I said that's enough, Bill!"  Margaret's voice took on a tone of
steel.  Bill looked out the window in annoyance.  "Fox, I sent Dana
home about twenty minutes ago.  She probably won't be back until
tomorrow."  
  "Thanks.  I'd better go now...I can tell your son doesn't appreciate
my presence."  Mulder took one of Margaret's hands and squeezed it. 
"Bill," he said coolly, nodding to Scully's brother, and then he turned
and left the room.  Bill waited about fifteen seconds before he sprang
to his feet and followed him out of the room despite his mother's
"Bill, don't!"  
  In the corridor outside, Bill saw Mulder's retreating form, and ran
to catch up with him.  When he was behind Mulder, he grabbed his arm
and swung him around.  Mulder eyed him coolly, a veiled expression in
his eyes.  
  "Why don't you just leave us alone?" Bill asked him angrily.  
  "Look, I don't know what your problem is, but..." Mulder began.  Bill
cut him off.
  "My problem is that ever since Dana got mixed up with you, we've lost
a sister, Dana's been abducted, got cancer...you seem to attract these
terrible things.  Can't you just leave her alone?  Let her be a doctor,
anything else but working on those damn X-Files.  I don't know what
they have to do with anything, but I know that they're mixed up in
everything somehow..."
  Mulder regarded him with an impassive expression.  "You may not have
noticed, Bill, but Dana is a grown woman now. I've tried to convince
her to leave the X-Files, to get as far away from me as possible...but
she won't listen.  Unlike you, I respect her decision."
  Bill's expression of anger faded somewhat.  "It's just that she's my
only sister now...you know?  I just couldn't stand it if something
happened to her too."  He sighed.  "Promise me...promise me you'll look
after her."  
  Mulder nodded slowly and turned to walk away.  "Mulder!"  Mulder
turned back to Bill.  
  "Do you love her?"
  Mulder's expression registered no surprise as he met Bill's hostile
gaze.  After a couple of moments, Bill slowly nodded, then turned and
went back 
to his brother's room.


Jeremiah Smith was feeling quite satisfied with himself.  He had only a

couple of loose ends to tie up before he could count his mission
completed.  He made the quick metamorphosis into the male nurse whose
face he had used before, and stepped out of the cubicle, and then out
into the corridor.  His feet knew the path to Charles Scully's room
without much thought required from him now...he had been keeping an eye
on his progress for some time.  He had been hoping that Nature and/or
the medical professionals would correct the issue at hand, but it
seemed that more direct action was required.  
  Jeremiah Smith entered Charles Scully's room.  The brother did not
appear to be present, and the mother was asleep with her head resting
on her son's bed in the darkened room.  Jeremiah took a quick look in
the hallway, but saw nobody...not that he really expected to.  The
halls were usually pretty quiet at 11pm.  Softly, he crossed back to
stand on the side of the bed opposite to Mrs Scully.  Jeremiah placed
his palms on Charles' chest and then closed his eyes, focusing his
thought on the healing of this human.  After a couple of minutes of
intense concentration, he opened his eyes, and examined all of the
equipment surrounding Charles.  He smiled in satisfaction.  Looking at
Charles, he saw him begin to stir.  Jeremiah quickly moved to the
intravenous drip and pretended to be making some sort of adjustment to
it.  Mrs Scully woke up as soon as she felt her son's hand grasp gently
at hers.  "Charles?  Charles?"
  "Mom?" came the voice weakly from the bed.
  Mrs Scully began to weep tears of joy as Jeremiah played the part of
the amazed nurse, and then left, ostensibly to get the doctor.  After
he had found her, and told her the miraculous news, he headed out of
the hospital, humming to himself.  "I think that pretty much wraps it
up," he thought to himself in satisfaction, as he walked away into the
darkness.

  Scully put down the phone, and let the waves of relief wash over her.
 Before long, the tears started...tears that she had been too afraid to
cry while her brother still lay barely clinging to life, but that now
forced themselves out at the revelation of his complete and seemingly
miraculous recovery.  She began to head back to her bedroom in the
midnight darkness of her apartment, when a sudden knocking at the door
made her jump.  Quickly, she headed to the door and opened it, to see
no one there.  She looked down the hall to see the form of Mulder's
retreating back.  "Mulder?" she called after him in a puzzled voice. 
He turned and walked back to her door.                             
"Scully?  Did I wake you?"  
  "Uh, no..." she said.  "What are you doing here, Mulder?"
  Mulder regarded her for a moment.  "I talked to your Mom at the
hospital, and she said that she'd sent you home...I just wanted to stop
by and...and make sure you were okay."  Mulder's face did not give away
the half-truth he had just told her.  Seeing her so drawn from her
grief at her brother's condition made him angry with himself that he
had had the presumption to think of telling her that they were
reassigned to the X-Files.  How dare he intrude on her grief in this
way.  
  Scully examined his expression.  She recognised the signs that
heralded the fact he was holding something back, but she was equally
sure that he would not be forthcoming.  
  "Actually Mulder, I just got off the phone with Mom.  It seems that
Charles has regained consciousness.  Not only that, but he has made a
full recovery that just falls short of being miraculous.  The doctors
are all at a loss to explain it...but," she smiled a little wanly "I
think that I can forgo my need for a scientific explanation this one
time.  I'm just glad that he's going to be okay."  Her voice broke, and
a rogue tear managed to escape her iron control to slide down her
cheek.  Wordlessly, Mulder stepped forward and enfolded her in an
embrace.  Almost of their own volition, Scully's arms slid around his
torso and held on tightly, as they stood for a moment; Mulder gently
stroking her hair, and Scully listening to the reassuring rhythm of
Mulder's heartbeat.
  After an indeterminate length of time, they broke apart.  Mulder then
gently took her face gently in his hands, and as he had done
occasionally in the past, he tenderly kissed her on the forehead. 
Scully let herself lean forward into that kiss, and then reluctantly
dropped her arms and pulled away from the embrace.  "Would you like to
come in?" she asked, wiping her eyes.  
  Mulder looked at her, his own eyes moist, considering it while
conflicting arguments raged in his mind.  "No, I'd better go." He said
finally, and began to turn to leave.  Scully grabbed his hand before he
could do so.  
  "Mulder?  What is it?  You didn't just stop by to see how I was
doing.  There was something else, wasn't there?"  Mulder didn't answer,
but his gaze dropped from her questioning one.  "I've got to go." He
repeated, and turned and walked away down the hall.  Scully stood in
the doorway for a couple of seconds, and then took action.  Half
running, she stormed down the hallway and grabbed Mulder's arm,
swinging him around.  "Damn it, Mulder!  I'm not going to let you keep
doing this to me.  I know that you think that you're protecting me, but
by shutting me out, you're doing their work for them.  Our only hope in
beating those bastards is by working together.  What the hell are you
looking at?"  This last was directed to the occupant of the apartment
closest to where this discussion was being held who had opened his door
and was observing the proceedings.  The middle-aged man looked at her
owlishly.  "This is official FBI business, sir, I suggest you return to
your apartment." She said in steely tones.  The man prudently withdrew.
 Scully lowered her voice.  "Why do you think they have tried so hard
to separate us?  With or without the X-Files, they're afraid of us, of
what we've achieved, of what we can still achieve; but only as a team."
 Scully moved her grip from Mulder's forearm to take his hand in hers
again.  "You said it yourself.  You said that I made you a whole
person.  Well, it works both ways, Mulder."  
  Mulder looked at her with tears in his eyes.  "If it wasn't for me,
your sister would still be alive.  You'd probably be married by now
with a couple of kids."  He placed his hand gently on the back of her
neck.  "You wouldn't have some carcinogenic metallic device planted in
the base of your neck.  What you said may be true, but I just can't
stand and watch as your life is destroyed piece by piece."   
  Scully looked down.  "I can't deny the truth of what you're saying
Mulder.  If I hadn't been working on the X-Files, Melissa might still
be here today.  But that is not your fault.  These men commit murder
with impunity.  If we give in to these tactics these men will continue
to evade justice.  If what we've learned is correct, these men are
conspiring towards the demise of about five billion people.  If you and
I stop now, there's no one left to fight them, to fight the future
they've got in store for us.  If that happens, Melissa, Emily, Penny
Northern, your father, even Deep Throat...their deaths will truly have
been for nothing.  If you and I can stop these men, whatever they're
planning, it will have been worth the cost."
  Mulder looked down at her, absently stroking the base of Scully's
neck with the thumb of the hand he had placed there and had forgotten
to remove.  All of a sudden, he was overcome with déjà vu.  He felt as
if Time had rewound itself, to the moments before the bee-sting...
  Scully looked into Mulder's intense gaze and her mind transported her
back into Mulder's hallway, where he had looked at her with that same
expression...
  Mulder lost track of all conscious thought, as he automatically,
inevitably gently pulled Scully towards him, Time playing more tricks
on him as it seemed to slow down to a lifetime per heartbeat...
  Scully dropped Mulder's hand and her hand came slowly up rest on the
back of Mulder's head, pulling him closer even as he pulled her,
feeling her eyelids begin to close ever so slowly as Mulder got so
close that she could no longer make out his features in the already
darkened hallway...
  Mulder felt an almost electric feeling shoot through him as their
lips touched...for the briefest of infinitesimal moments he paused...
  Scully hesitated for a fraction of a second...
The half-expected interruption didn't come this time.  In this moment,
the only thing that existed was knowledge of complete oneness and the
feeling of each other's lips on theirs at last...

  Time gradually took up it's measured beat again as Mulder and Scully
broke apart at last, each reaching a hand to gently caress the other's
face and then briefly sharing another kiss.  Later on there would be
discussions, explanations, declarations...but for now it was enough to
just stand in the dim light of the hallway in Scully's apartment
building, relishing the comfort of one another's arms.

  Scully's neighbour took his eye away from the keyhole at last.  "FBI
business, my foot," he grumbled, mostly to assuage the feelings of
guilt and embarrassment that spying on such an intimate scene had
evoked.  He shuffled around his apartment for a few minutes,
straightening this, examining that, before again trying the insomniac's
last resort.  He grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, just in time
to catch a breaking news bulletin.  
  "Police have just taken into custody a priest who earlier this
evening attacked and seriously injured an airport employee, a Mr. John
Salinger, who was the target of two similar attacks recently by a young
girl.  Sources say that in a bizarre twist, it's alleged that Mr.
Salinger, who is also in police custody tonight, was in the act of
placing a bomb on a commercial airliner, due to take off with over two
hundred passengers in only a matter of hours.  The priest, whose name
is yet to be revealed, is said to have no recollection whatsoever of
the incident, and even more unbelievably, our sources have revealed
that this priest was called upon only days ago to perform an exorcism,
believe it or not, on the same girl that attacked initially attacked
Mr. Salinger."  The well-coifed newsreader let her insincere look of
intelligent concern be replaced by an equally insincere smile that
revealed a frightening number of teeth that were so bright as to almost
be a colour that did not exist in nature.  She turned to her co-anchor.
 "Well, Bob, I guess this one will have to put in the spooky file." 
Scully's neighbour flipped off the television in disgust as the
newsreaders shared a plastic laugh that grated on the ear.  "Like
anyone believes in that crap," he muttered as he shuffled off to bed. 
And with that reassurance, he flicked off the light switch, bathing the
apartment in comforting, absolute darkness.

                      THE END (at least, for now)



I hope you liked it!  :-)  This is only my first attempt, so beware my fragile ego.  - Kit
 

    Source: geocities.com/area51/zone/2095

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