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E-mail: [email protected]
Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the television program, "The X-Files" are the creation and property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Broadcasting. They have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. This work must not be used for profit.
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"Oui, dat de tongues of de mans is be full of deceits."
Henry V
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Washington, D. C. February 2, 1996 Friday 9:45 pm
A knock rang through the silent, shrouded office.
"Yes?"
"I have the files you requested, sir." The young man's voice quavered slightly on the last word.
The door opened, just enough to admit the stocky agent, no further.
But, the additional light was sufficient to make the older man behind the
desk blink rapidly. "This is all the data on our problem?" he queried as
he accepted the thick folder.
The younger man blanched. "Well, no sir. Some of the information is still
coming down from the archive. It was microfiched last year." He had heard
stories about his superior; his time in service went back to World War II,
back when there had been a "real" enemy to fight. He had heard that he was
ruthless, and cunning, that he had more "information" on major world leaders
than had J. Edgar Hoover himself. That he would stop at nothing to put the
world right, as he saw it.
"Very well." The light at the tip of a Morley flared briefly, and bobbed
up and down. "Bring the other material to me when it is ready." The cigarette,
now in the hand, waved briefly towards the door.
The agent turned to go, assuming he was dismissed.
But the old man had more instructions. "Oh, kill the hall lights when you
leave. I need some quiet to think."
"Yes, sir." There was a click as the latch engaged, then shortly the sliver
of light under the door vanished.
The old man rose slowly, walking to stand by the window. It was time to plan
his next move. How much information to release, how much to conceal. He had
to trim his strategies to the temperaments of the players he wished to engage.
He smiled to himself, a brief, joyless grimace that no longer reached his
eyes.
He had never thought, given the events of a few months ago, to be in the
advantage now. Bill Mulder's boy had been brought low by his own weaknesses,
just as his father had. For Bill, it had been alcohol, slowly destroying
him, consuming the restless mind until only a shell remained. It had almost
been a mercy, how fate had forced him to order the termination of his old
friend. Otherwise he would have told what he knew to his equally bright,
but uncontrollable young son.
The boy was brilliant, no doubt about it. In fact, he himself had hoped to
use Fox Mulder when he had come back from Oxford, looking to distinguish
himself tracking down serial killers, but then he had found the X-files in
the basement. Then too, he had recovered the memories surrounding the loss
of his sister, and he had set off on his own quest for the "Truth".
Special Agent Dr. Dana Scully was brought in to be an unwitting spy in his
office, being told only she was to "report" on his actions. He knew he had
to use an innocent, since Mulder could have ferreted out a plant in a few
weeks. But, all had not developed according to his plan. Instead, the agents
had bonded in the first two years of their partnership, even roping in Walter
Skinner. The man shook his head, lit a new cigarette, and sat again.
But, it had all collapsed. Mulder's paranoia and weakness for women (silly
man, leaving those tapes in his desk), and Scully's stubbornness and grief
over her sister (Krycek's error, not a flaw in "his" plan), had wedged the
partners apart. It was time to eliminate Bill Mulder's boy as a player in
the game. For his old friend's sake, he would not terminate the young man,
but would discredit his voice, letting his various vices reduce him to
insignificance. Dana Scully would still be useful, not as an actor, but as
a subject.
He coughed, almost in reflex, then turned to his desk. Tapping a small switch
illuminated the thick folder with a faint glow. The plan that was forming
in his mind would solve the problem developing with the son of yet another
friend from the old days. Antonio D'Amato had been of boundless assistance
at the end of the war. After all these years, he could still hear that accented
English: "Mussolini is a pig! He wants to ruin the homeland for his boundless
ambition! He makes all Italians into cardboard villains!"
But Tony had more going for him than hatred of Il Duce. He had connections
on both sides of the Atlantic, connections both legal and illegal. While
Tony had been ashamed of the less than honest way his father had begun the
family's fortune, he had not hesitated to exploit every avenue available
when the time had come to liberate certain materials and expertise from the
Axis countries. "America is a wonderful country. A man who is nothing, less
than dirt, can come here and make a new life for himself and his family.
Anything I can do to help my new home will be a pleasure."
The old man smiled, genuinely this time. The memory of the face behind the
voice recalled good times, long gone. As the smile faded, he congratulated
himself on his cleverness. The Mafia connection had been all that was necessary
to shield the Committee's actions from prying eyes. J. Edgar and the Mob
had an understanding. They didn't expose his Vice, and he wouldn't explore
theirs.
--o-0-o--
J. Edgar Hoover Building Tuesday February 6, 1996 7:00 am
Dana Scully shivered as she crossed from the door to her desk, sensing just
how cold the room had become overnight. The heat had failed in the huge office
building yesterday afternoon, but with the Budget nightmare, repairs had
been delayed until August, probably. And, as is typical with the Washington
area, a huge mass of Arctic air had moved in during the night, dropping
temperatures into the 20's, with forecasts of snow/ sleet/ freezing rain
later in the week. The temperature in the basement office she shared with
Mulder hovered in the low fifties. Only it was, for once, warmer than the
upper portions of the building, since the ground provided some insulation.
She hit the power button on the side of her computer monitor, then walked
around to pull out her chair and sit. A yellow post-it note was stuck to
the seat.
Scully,
Took another shot at the report on the Comity case after you left. I'll be
in late this morning. My mother called me last night. She wants me to meet
with some lawyer in Rosslyn about my father's estate. Appointment's at 10:00
am. What a life, right? Don't freeze your fingers off before I get back.
Mulder
P.S. The report is on my machine, under c:\wp\reports\unfinished\xf3013.wp
Scully sighed.
The week since returning from New Hampshire had been uncomfortably quiet
for them both. The partnership she thought had been the one solid thing she
could count on through all the insanity she had seen these past four years
was foundering. Neither of them had a clue as to how to resolve their
differences. They had different views on nearly every case they had worked
on, but they had always respected each other's opinions. They had different
approaches to nearly every problem, but they had, until now, always managed
to turn these weaknesses into strengths.
As she accessed the file to bring it into the word processor, she noted the
time: 6:37 am.
She usually came in around eight when they were in DC, but today she had
come in early to finish up some autopsy reports for the Violent Crimes Section.
As best the guys in VC could tell, these were more drug-related killings;
however, they were not gang- related. The VC section was baffled about the
connections between the victims. These dead dealers had been several steps
up and down on the distribution hierarchy, but there were no obvious links
between any of them.
--o-0-o--
J. Edgar Hoover Building Tuesday 11:00 am
Fox Mulder reached for the elevator button, punching the worn letter D
repeatedly.
Hearing the doors of the elevator roll apart, Scully looked up from the screen
to the entrance to their shared office. As Mulder passed through, she noted
the slouch in his shoulders and the deep circles under his eyes.
She found herself inhaling quickly before she spoke. "Mulder?"
He barely glanced in her direction. "Hum, Scully?"
"How did it go at the lawyers today?"
Squaring his shoulders as he crossed to his desk, he sat, heavily, before
replying. "Oh, okay. There was some question about the title of the house
in Chilmark. The land it sits on belonged to the local Episcopal Church back
about 200 years ago. It was sold for a farm around the time of the Civil
War, then re-sold to the family who built the present house around 50 years
later. However, the original transfer was lost in the courthouse fire of
1919, and the Church wanted to follow up on a copy of the title in their
records. Since it was all legalese, I tuned out about 10 minutes after the
meeting started."
Scully shook her head sympathetically. "I know how you feel. When we went
through my father's will, it took several months to determine who actually
controlled a small inheritance left to him by his grandmother."
Mulder examined his partner for the first time since entering the room.
Scully turned up one corner of her mouth slightly while handing a copy to
him. "If I didn't know better, I would have thought you had had it ghost
written. Not only was it not skewed into 60 different fonts with variable
margins and formats, but I think I can go along with most of what you wrote."
Mulder paused, then reached to take the papers from her.
Scully lifted that up-curved corner of her mouth. "You mean out of our famous
Basement Office? Exposing the X-files to the light of day? Such Extreme
Possibilities, Mulder." Since her wool pantsuit only kept out so much of
the cold, she slipped back into the coat she had earlier draped over the
chair.
A brief exhalation, then the tall agent propped his feet on his desk, beginning
to read.
Scully turned to her keyboard to open one of the autopsy reports she had
come in finish.
Silence settled over the room, disturbed only by soft clicks as Scully's
hands moved over the keys, or an occasional swish as Mulder turned pages
in the report.
--o-0-o--
Basement J. Edgar Hoover Building Tuesday 3:30 pm
Scully leaned back from the keyboard, having sent the last of her reports
to the VC Section across the local FBI net.
When the network lines had been installed in the building, Mulder had insisted
one of their computers stay off-line. "Trust No One. Remember, Scully, if
you can get out, *they* can get in." His Macintosh had remained isolated
from the rest of the building, a relict on his desk.
She looked over at her partner. He had shifted in his seat and was scribbling
on the paper in the report. Focusing on his face, she was relieved to see
he wasn't frowning at what she had changed, since one of her early drafts
had him storming out of the room, not to return until the following morning.
Inhaling deeply, he dropped his feet to the floor, but, as he began to speak
to her, the phone rang.
She quickly reached for it. "Scully."
Mulder watched her frown as she listened to the caller.
She responded to the message with a nod. "Okay, I'll pass that along to Agent
Mulder. Thank you, sir."
Mulder caught a slight flush to her cheeks.
As she replaced the hand piece, she turned to her partner. "We've officially
been relieved for the day. It seems the FBI is forced, by some government
regulation, to send us all home if the building drops to the sub-Arctic
temperatures we poor helpless agents," she told him, emphasizing her disgust
with a quick roll of her eyes, "have somehow endured for the past day or
so. Skinner also says it'll be two days before the repair crew can be paid
to work on the HVAC. Since they're Contract support, they've all gone home
already. Politics!"
Mulder nodded, picked up the report, and stood. "I'd like to speak with you
about your changes, if I could. Would you like to stop for a late lunch on
your way home, or could we talk at my place, or yours, or whatever?" He winced
as he spoke 'whatever'.
He smirked back. "Nope, they've been banished. Last time the guys came over,
Byers took one sniff of my bathroom and left. Said they wouldn't come back
until I majorly sterilized the joint. I got desperate. I hired a cleaning
service. Did you know that my carpets are actually green, not grey?"
Scully didn't know whether to laugh or groan.
"Ugh. Paperwork." Mulder paused for a moment, then turned to his desk to
collect some folders himself.
--o-0-o--
Theodore Roosevelt Bridge Arlington, VA Tuesday, 4:00 pm
Mulder glanced in his rear view mirror, looking for Scully's car.
He had returned from New Mexico, full of determination to uncover the Truth
about the Thinker's tape, his father's murder, and Melissa Scully's subsequent
death. Scully had said she wanted answers for her sister, but she seemed
so focused on the X-files she had allowed herself no time to grieve. She
had to deal with it, somehow, and with the guilt she seemed to feel every
day. Survivor's guilt. Now, *that* was something with which he was very familiar.
He had lost Sam, then his father, and effectively his mother as well. He
didn't want to lose Dana Scully.
He glanced behind him again, finally spotting her auburn hair back about
two cars and over a lane. He had time to look since DC rush hour traffic
had snarled, leaving long lines of tired commuters idling in a packed mass.
There was an accident on I-66 up ahead, or so WMAL had reported. He had punched
off the radio long ago during another report on the mess in Bosnia. He didn't
want to deal with listening to it.
--o-0-o--
Dana Scully scanned the crawling traffic. Somehow she had pulled even with
him so she had a good view of that familiar "tortured Mulder" look.
--o-0-o--
Apartment 42 Arlington, VA Tuesday 5:45 pm
Special Agents Mulder and Scully stood in the living room of his apartment,
juggling briefcases, laptop computers, and carry-out Chinese food.
Mulder crinkled his nose at his diminutive partner. "Eew, Scully, Tofu. How
can you eat that stuff?"
As she bent to place the notes and computer on his coffee table, she lifted
an eyebrow at him.
He stopped walking toward the kitchen.
She looked up, surprised to find him standing over her, worried. "Yes, I
am. But with all the things that have happened lately, I feel like being
careful. Even if I hadn't found out about those MUFON women, I still have
a family history to be worried about. Breast cancer took my grandmother at
fifty-six."
It worked. His dark mood lifted. "Okay. I'll get the food set out. See you
in a bit."
--o-0-o--
Dinner had helped. The ease with which their day had begun continued into
the evening. One of the cable stations showed Star Trek at six, so by mutual
agreement, they had settled back for a break before beginning work, only
to discover the episode was "Spock's Brain".
"Eeewww!" they had chorused at the teaser when they both realized what they
were in for.
Mulder turned to his partner. "Care for some fun at Gene Roddenberry's expense?"
She cocked her head. "Sure, is it MSTie time?"
Sully assumed the role of Tom Servo and Mulder became Crow T. Robot. They
joked, did their best (or worst) William Shatner impersonations, and threw
silly song lyrics back and forth during the commercials. They had begun watching
the show sitting at either end of the futon, but by the end, were shoulder
to shoulder, laughing.
As the Enterprise warped off the screen and the final credits rolled, Scully
tapped the mute button on the remote. "Mulder, I need to talk to you about
what happened at Comity last week."
He turned to her.
She arched both eyebrows. "I'm sorry I was such a, well, a bitch, while we
were there. You've been through so much in the past few months." She shifted
on the futon, suddenly, pulling her knees up to her chin and wrapping her
arms around them. "We've both lost people we love deeply, and I haven't always
been there for you, or I've tried to hang on to you too hard at the wrong
time."
Mulder's face softened as she spoke. "Scully, I..."
Her face set. "No, Mulder, please let me finish."
Mulder's eyes narrowed.
Scully clenched her fists. "I want our partnership to work, Mulder. I *need*
our partnership to work. I need to look the bastards in the eye that killed
Mel, and your father, and kidnapped Sam, as the secrets they have tried to
keep hidden all these years finally come out. I need for there to be final,
incontrovertible proof that we have the Truth. I want to see you there, too,
not go visit your lonely grave for the rest of my life. I may not see everything
the way you see it, or believe all the things you believe, but I want to
get to the Truth, just as much as you do. Can you understand that? Can you?"
Her eyes, that were somehow both green and blue, locked with his hazel ones,
hers blazing her determination to connect.
He stood to walk to the window. He thought back over the time of her abduction,
how his own emotions ruled him, how he had sought to lay all his fears aside
when she had been returned. But they had built up inside of him, little cracks
appearing after the case with Sammon Roque in Florida, until their encounter
with Lucy Householder. His feelings for that lost woman had set his fears
overflowing, raging out of control, venting at the only target available,
his partner. He bit his lower lip.
She watched him, her body shaking with the intensity of her emotions.
He rested his head on the window for a moment, then turned, crossed the space
to where she was sitting, knelt beside her, and wrapped her face in his hands.
"Dana, I'm sorry too. I need to lean on you, to bounce my ideas off you,
to know that you are there to cover my back when all hell breaks loose, but
I haven't been fair to you. You needed someone these past few months, and
I haven't been there. Please, I want to start over. Deal?" He looked at her
like a lost child.
The tears she had tried to stop slid down one cheek, then the other. She
slipped to the edge of the sofa to encircle his head tightly with her arms.
"Deal, Agent Mulder."
He pulled her into a gentle embrace, rocking her pliant torso back and forth.
Neither of them heard the heavy footsteps approach the door, but they both
heard the crack it made as it split in two.
--o-0-o--
"Well, what the fuck have we here?" The question came from one of the biggest
men either of them had ever had the misfortune to encounter.
Dana Scully stood quickly, starting to reach for her briefcase and gun tucked
beside the futon.
Mulder positioned himself between Scully and the intruder, then he gasped
as the giant stepped forward, and five other men, equally large, lined up
to either side of him.
"Think we have the right place, Joe?" The speaker appeared to be Hispanic,
dark curly hair, with olive skin.
"Looks like what the boss said to expect. Tall, skinny guy, and this must
be that short, red-haired girlfriend." The behemoth speaking was blond, with
a crew cut, wearing a skin-tight muscle shirt. The giant to his left looked
enough like "Joe" to be his twin.
The two agents grimaced, then Mulder spoke, forcefully. "We're Federal Agents.
I'm Mulder and this is Scully. What is the meaning of this?"
The six men snickered among themselves.
Scully, now standing beside Mulder, glanced at her partner, who looked down
at her with an "I have no idea what's happening here, but be ready." expression
on his face.
The one called 'Joe' replied. "Yeah, yeah, right. And I'm one of the Hoggettes.
We *know* who the hell you are, *Agent* Mulder, and we've come to deliver
a warning."
The six men swarmed across the room, three grabbing Mulder, and two Scully.
She quickly sized up their attackers. No guns, or if they had guns, with
all the tight clothing and rippling muscles, she didn't particularly want
to think about where they were hiding them.
Mulder, now slammed against the wall on the far side of the room, attempted
to break free as well.
"Well, little Miss *Agent* bimbo, I'd stop right there if I were you, before
we wring your sugar daddy's neck."
Scully froze and turned to face Joe.
The giant towered over her, returning her glare. "Like I started to say,
we came to deliver a fucking warning. Also to pick up some *goods*. The primo
stuff you sell will be burned to keep it out of the wrong hands, but we'll
leave enough behind so the police can throw your little dealing asses in
jail, *if* there's any shit left to clean up."
Scully's arms were grabbed, again, and the two men held her, more firmly
and further away from their bodies, than before.
"Special Agents." Joe shook his head. "What the fuck will they think of next."
He turned to Mulder, who was lifted off the ground. "This is your warning,
you Yuppie punk."
Scully struggled, but could only watch in horror as Mulder was pummeled,
over and over, in the face and stomach, by Joe and his twin, until he was
released and crumpled to the floor, moaning incoherently.
She was shouting in her frustration. "We're Federal Agents! Why are you doing
this? Who do you think we are?"
Finished with Mulder, Joe turned his attention to her, fully focused. "Look
bitch, stop playing games with me. We *know* who you are, and how you earn
your keep. If the Mr. Yuppie there is too damaged for you, maybe you should
try out a real man. One who doesn't deal in death. The only thing we want
to hear is where the stuff is stashed."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Scully drew herself up to her full
height, barely reaching Joe's chest. "We are Federal Agents, not drug dealers
or gangsters, or whoever you think we are."
"Hey Joe, come look at this!" One of the men who had restrained the now
unconscious Mulder emerged from his bedroom, holding out a pair of fur-trimmed
handcuffs. "Think she'll stick to the *agent* story now?"
Scully rolled her eyes.
One of the others plucked a video out of Mulder's special collection. "Sex
Princesses from beyond the Galaxy." As he read out the title, the six thugs
laughed, passing the tapes around, glancing meaningfully at Scully.
Joe chortled, then grew serious. "Well, since she likes to play fucking Special
Agent so much, use those to cuff her to the damn radiator. We have work to
do." The two men holding her arms lifted her off the ground, removing any
leverage she might use against them. "Reno, stay here and watch these two.
If pretty boy over there begins to wake up, use a little persuasion to help
him sleep again, okay?"
Reno tossed his head of long black hair and settled on the futon. "I don't
understand you, Lady. Drugs are used to exploit women for sex daily in the
streets of our cities, but here you are, living with a dealer. My mother's
people are Cheyenne. Once I heard the stories of how rot-gut whiskey and
gin were used to addict and corrupt my ancestors, and I saw how drugs continue
to ruin young people on Reservations today, I vowed I would do everything
in my power to stop those who deal in human misery."
"Reno!" Joe's voice boomed from the bedroom. "No talking!"
Scully heard the dresser drawers creaking as they were pulled out and the
contents dumped on the floor. Thump. Thump, bang, thump, thump.
"Bingo!" That was a new voice. "Found it, Joe." Plastic rustled. Joe reappeared
in the doorway, holding a large Ziploc bag filled with a white powder.
Scully frowned.
Reno shot her a look of pure hatred. "Want to talk to us now, babe? Give
us names, dates, drop locations."
She sighed. "I told you. We're Federal Agents. I don't know how that *stuff*
got in Mulder's bedroom, but he didn't put it there. I didn't put it there.
Agent Mulder and I are partners with the FBI. If you really think I'm lying,
then look in the briefcase by the sofa. I have FBI files in there. My badge
is in there. My gun, with an FBI serial number on it, is in there. If you
go get Mulder's briefcase from the hall, you'll find more files, his badge,
and his gun as well. The computer on the coffee table has a government property
number on it. If you boot it up, you can read our case files to your heart's
content."
One of the thugs lifted the laptop off the coffee table and turned it over.
"Hey, Joe, she's fucking right. There *is* a government sticker on the bottom."
Scully sagged to the floor.
Reno opened Scully's briefcase, saw the badge and gun, and blanched. "Joe,
there are FBI files here. I think some shit is setting us up." He studied
the top folder. "This autopsy report was filed by the examining pathologist,
Dr. D. Scully."
Joe frowned. "Who's D. Scully?"
Reno held up Scully's badge as he pointed. "Her."
Joe took the folder Reno then held out for him. Scanning the pages, he turned
to Scully. "Why do you have a report on Jamal Johnson's autopsy? He's one
of the bigger dealers in this area."
The other men in the room exchanged worried glances.
Scully sighed.
Joe spoke quietly to the other crew-cut blonde man and the one with black
curly hair. "John, start examining the data on her computer. Alex, get Mr.
GQ's briefcase. I don't like how this looks."
Reno knelt beside Scully to unlock the handcuffs. "If you are who you say
you are, I'm sorry, Agent Scully. I signed up to stop crimes, not beat up
Feds."
Nodding, Scully began crossing the room to Mulder, rubbing her wrist as she
walked.
Joe snorted. "Hold it, doll-face. Reno, I didn't tell you to let her go.
This might all be a trick. Alonzo, hold her." The African-American moved
over to take Scully's recently unbound wrist and twisted it, hard, behind
her back.
Scully gritted her teeth.
Alex looked up from the files in Mulder's briefcase. "Joe, I don't the hell
understand this at all. She has autopsy reports on several dead drug dealers,
but he has reports on alien abductions, psychics, kids who control lightning,
mental transference, cosmic alignments, and, oh man! Sentient metallic
cockroaches?"
John nodded. "Same here Joe. She has autopsies on file, but reports on all
those other things too."
Scowling, Joe stepped up to Scully, lifting her chin roughly. "Okay. Spill.
What is all this stuff?"
Scully jerked her head away from his fingers. "I work in the X-files Section
with Agent Mulder. We investigate cases that seem to fall beyond the realm
of normal experience. I know most of what you see there looks unbelievable,
but it all happened, or more precisely, appeared to have happened."
"On the taxpayer's dime? No, bitch, I don't believe you. The autopsies, well
those are real enough. But, this other stuff. It sounds like drug-induced
hallucinations to me. In fact, what this looks like is an elaborate scheme
to infiltrate the FBI to monitor their War on Drugs. Those, those X-files
are red herrings to give you deniability if caught. So, as I see it, we're
back where we started."
He pulled himself up to his full height. "I want names, dates, and contacts."
Scully shook her head.
"No? Well, we still haven't finished our search. Reno, cuff her again. No
talking, and this time I *mean* *it*, gawddammit."
The five men fanned out, opening cabinets, drawers, and closets, spilling
their contents onto the floor.
Scully winced.
They overturned furniture, ripping open upholstery, pulling out the padding.
As one point, Scully heard the springs on the bed creak, then a long tearing
sound.
Finally, the last of the dishes were pulled down, and the destruction stopped.
The five men returned.
Joe stood over Scully, furious. "Look, I've been a fair as I can be to a
tripped-out bitch like you. You really had us going there with that FBI story
for a while, but this is all I can take."
Her eyes widened as she steeled herself for what was coming. Alex and Alonzo
picked her up as Reno undid the cuffs. The first punch to her chin caught
her by surprise, but she resolved not to cry out. As the rest of the blows
struck her body, she mentally took herself far away from the room, from this
situation.
--o-0-o--
The first thing Mulder felt was the pain. Pain in his jaw, pain in his gut,
but the worst was the pain in his left side.
"Reaching for this?"
Mulder felt a sharp pain in his calf.
Reno lifted the small revolver out of the leg holster. "Don't think you'll
be needing that for a few years, Mr. X-File."
The thumping stopped.
"Mr. GQ is back?"
Mulder watched Scully slide to the ground as the circle opened and the group
moved towards him.
The one called Joe crouched over him. "Well, the *doctor* over there couldn't
tell us anything useful. Maybe you can. And don't start babbling about aliens
and metallic cockroaches, asshole."
"What do you know about the X-files?" Mulder's voice cracked.
Joe pulled him to his feet. "You mean your little cover-up? Lame try. We
want to know who your bosses are. We want to shut your end of the operation
down. Talk! Dammit!" Joe shook Mulder.
Mulder grimaced. "We're Federal Agents. If you don't believe us, call the
FBI and verify our identities. Call our AD."
Joe frowned, letting Mulder sag back against the wall. "Just who the hell
is your AD?"
"Walter Skinner."
Now all the men became agitated.
"Wrong! We know about him. I'm fucking tired of this." Joe turned to the
others. "If we didn't have explicit orders, I'd terminate both of these assholes
with their stolen FBI guns."
The men around the room nodded.
Joe picked Mulder up by the shoulders, pulling him up nose to nose. "We have
a kilo of Coke we found in your bedroom. We have stolen FBI property and
documents. I'm only going to say this once. Stop dealing. Go to the police
and turn yourselves in. Maybe you can work something out so you won't spend
the rest of your sorry life in jail. If you won't do it for yourself, do
it for her." He jerked his head back over his shoulder towards Scully. "Women
on drugs don't live very long, and they look like three- day-old shit, real
fast."
Mulder looked over at his partner, but he couldn't tell whether she was still
breathing. Joe lowered Mulder's feet to the floor. When his leg buckled under
him, he closed his eyes, trying to block out the pain. He felt something
land on top of him and a sharp thump on his jaw. His head snapped back against
the wall, then he felt nothing more.
--o-0-o--
Dana Scully rested in a dark place. She knew something was terribly wrong
with her. A sharp pain brought her back to reality as she was carried across
the room by rough hands. She felt herself falling.
Out in the darkness, someone heard.
--o-0-o--
Annapolis, MD Tuesday 11:00 pm
Margaret Scully jerked awake to discover her hands were shaking. Something
was deeply wrong with one of her children. She slipped out of bed, not turning
on the light in her haste to reach the address book she kept in the kitchen.
One of her children was falling into a cold darkness.
She dialed her answering machine. Four rings, and "You have reached the residence
of ..." Margaret killed the call and dialed the cel phone number.
Now she was really worried. She paced the kitchen floor, telephone in hand.
Dana would have told her if she were out of town on a case, in fact, most
of the time she kept her dog for her. There was no one else to turn to. Wait,
yes, Dana's boss, Walter Skinner, who had helped her keep in touch with Dana
when Mel was in the hospital.
She replaced the receiver, then poured herself a glass of chilled water.
She took a few deep breaths, drinking slowly. The feeling of dread was not
receding, even though the image of falling was.
Two rings and the call was answered. "Skinner."
Margaret let out the breath she had been holding.
"Yes, Ma'am. How may I help you?"
"I've been trying to call Dana and I can't seem to reach either her or Fox.
Are they out of town?"
"No, Ma'am, they aren't. They should both be at home. Have you tried their
cel phone numbers?"
"Yes, I get messages that both phones are out of service. Fox's answering
machine doesn't pick up either." She paused, uncertain now.
"Well, Ma'am, let me try to reach them. I haven't spoken to either of them
since I sent them home this afternoon. Given Agent Mulder's habits, I'm glad
you called. I'll inform you as soon as I know anything." Click.
Margaret hung up the phone.
--o-0-o--
Alexandria, VA Apartment 5 Tuesday 11:30 pm
The keys clattered to the floor. An old man in his undershirt and trousers
bent down, but the bald one who had introduced himself as Walter Skinner
was quicker. They had both pounded on the oak until the Pomeranian could
have developed back spasms from all his scratching and barking at the other
side in response. As the door swung open, a red ball of fur shot out into
the hall and streaked to the entrance of the apartment building.
"Looks like he hasn't been outside all day." The landlord trotted after him.
"I'll see he gets some water and care. Dr. Scully adores him."
Skinner nodded as he entered the living room. He quickly scanned the kitchen
and bedroom. All three were neat, tastefully decorated, and had not been
prepared for a planned absence by their occupant.
On the way out, he saw the red light blinking on the answering machine. The
message was just silence and the call disconnecting.
He looked up at Dana Scully's apartment building one last time before he
climbed into his car to drive away. He could see a short, fuzzy tail waving
happily as the landlord carried the dog back through the entrance.
--o-0-o--
Arlington, VA Outside Apartment 42 Tuesday 11:55 pm
Walter Skinner began running. As soon the elevator doors had opened, he could
see two pieces of thick oak, one lying in the hallway, one hanging crazily
off the bottom hinge.
The place looked like a cyclone had hit it. Passing into the living room,
something crunched under his left foot.
As Skinner approached while relaying his location to the dispatcher, Dana
Scully's head lifted off the floor. "Sir? Is that you?"
Kneeling, Skinner gently grasped her shoulder. "Agent Scully, can you tell
me what happened here?"
She frowned, framing her answer carefully, as she always did in his presence.
"I'm not sure, Sir. Agent Mulder and I were working on the files we brought
here when we were attacked. They appeared to be anti-drug vigilantes. They
kept lecturing us on the evils we were doing, telling us to turn ourselves
in. They seemed to think you were involved, too." She swallowed, then grimaced
as she sat up. "Why are you here, Sir?"
"Your mother called me. She had been trying to reach you, but your phones
were dead."
Scully turned to check her partner, who had lifted an hand to rub his jaw,
but kept both eyes firmly closed.
Skinner addressed him more sharply, attempting to keep him focused on the
here and now. "Agent Mulder!"
"Yes, Sir?" One hazel eye fixed on his AD's face, then sought out his partner.
"Scully, what did they do to you?" He pulled himself up until he was sitting
with his back to the wall, then curled his arm around her shoulders.
She had turned deathly pale, wrapping both arms around her stomach. "This
feels wrong. This shouldn't be happening to me." Scully slumped against the
arm behind her. "I shouldn't be bleeding like this."
The two men locked eyes over her head.
Fox Mulder was seeing one of his worst nightmares played out before him.
Walter Skinner, too, was recalling a time and feelings he thought were long
gone.
--o-0-o--
Arlington Hospital Wednesday February 7, 1996 1:30 am
Margaret Scully stepped into the Waiting Room outside of Emergency Surgery.
He rose from the seat, turning back to meet her in the center of the room.
"Agent Scully is still in there, I'm afraid. The last nurse I talked to said
they were trying to find the source of the internal bleeding." As Margaret
breathed in sharply, Skinner took off his glasses to rub his eyes. "I'm sorry,
Ma'am. Let me start at the beginning of what I know. Agents Scully and Mulder
were assaulted by a group of vigilantes earlier this evening. I'm not sure
why, outside of mistaken identity, but they were both badly beaten."
While walking over to a chair along the wall closest to the surgery doors,
she nodded. "Please, call me Margaret. Ma'am makes me feel like your den
mother."
"Thank you. Call me Walter, then. I'm not everyone's AD."
"How is Fox?"
Given the gravity of the situation, Skinner clenched his jaw to keep from
smiling at his thought.
"You said Dana was still in surgery?"
"Yes. Two broken right ribs. She was bleeding internally in the lower abdomen.
I don't know more than that. Please, sit down. Can I get you something while
we wait?"
"No, I'm fine. Thank you, though." Margaret sat, then turned as the doors
swung open.
While he focused on the older woman's face, a tall, slender doctor in scrubs
removed his surgical mask. The unconscious gesture revealed a salt and pepper
moustache under wire-rimmed glasses. "Are you Margaret Scully?"
She stood again, fearing the worst. "Yes, I am. How is my daughter?"
"I'm Dr. Anderson. Dr. Scully is in the recovery room. You should be able
to see her shortly. Mrs. Scully, to the best of your knowledge, has your
daughter ever suffered from Endometriosis?"
"No. Why?"
"Well, the cause of the internal bleeding was extreme damage to her uterus.
I've never seen anything like it. I know she was only assaulted externally,
but the injuries have the appearance of, well..., of some strange botched
surgery. There was very little we could do. We removed all the damaged tissue,
which was 95% of the organ." He paused, not wanting to say what came next.
"Mrs. Scully, I'm sorry, but your daughter will never be able to have children
of her own."
Margaret thought back to the dark days of Dana's abduction and shuddered
inside. Ever since her daughter's return, she had been afraid that there
would never be an end to the health problems her strange disappearance and
prolonged coma had caused.
"Dr. Anderson, will my daughter be all right otherwise?"
"Yes, she should recover from her other injuries fairly quickly."
Dr. Anderson's name rang out over the intercom system.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Scully. That's for one of my other patients. The nurse at
the recovery room desk will know where your daughter is." He squeezed her
hand gently before turning to run to the elevator.
Walter Skinner reappeared by her side. "Recovery is on the third floor, Margaret.
Agent Mulder is already in a private room on the fifth." He guided her by
a light touch on her elbow to a pair of open doors, but did not enter with
her.
"Walter?" She looked over in surprise.
"I'm not one of Agent Mulder's favorite people, so I'll leave him to you.
Nor am I family. And only family will be allowed up there this time of night.
Tell Agent Scully her landlord is taking care of her dog." He turned.
"Please." She touched his shoulder. "Thank you for everything. I know my
daughter is grateful. I'm sure Fox is too, in his own strange way."
Skinner smiled at her.
--o-0-o--
Arlington Hospital Room 521 Friday February 9, 1996 11:20 am
Mulder opened his eyes to a blank institutional wall. He was lying on his
right side, and his head rang.
"Fox? How do you feel?" Someone smoothed the hair off his forehead.
"Mom?" He rolled on his back gingerly. "Mrs. Scully, is that you?"
Margaret laughed. "Mom will do just fine, Fox."
"Where's Scully?" He sat up too quickly, generating more cramps and nausea.
"Right here, sleepyhead." Dana Scully teased from the other bed. "Two days
of rest have done wonders for the dark circles under yours eyes, partner."
Mulder looked from daughter to mother.
Both nodded at his unasked question.
Margaret smiled. "Yes, Fox. It has been two days. You really are quite a
sleeping beauty when you want to be. How did you make all your exams at Oxford?"
"Oh, that." He grinned. "I just never slept. Middle English is perfectly
comprehensible after staring at it for 48 straight hours. I even got visits
from old Herr Doktor Sigmund after a week with no sleep."
"Did you meet any good English ghosts that way?" Scully was enjoying herself.
"King Henry VIII himself showed me all the best pubs and loveliest ladies.
The original Party Animal." He sobered. "How are you, Scully?"
"Well, you have me beaten in the broken bone department, Mulder. The count
is two ribs for me; four ribs, a left tibia, and a concussion for you."
He leaned over, trying not to frown at her. "But you were bleeding. You were
still in surgery when they brought me up here."
She stared down at her hands before responding. "The beating exacerbated
a pre-existing condition I didn't know I had. My uterus was in shreds, so
they had to take it out. It's being tested for cancer, retro-viruses, even
for any strange mutations to my DNA. So far, nothing."
The long dark of Scully's abduction replayed itself in Mulder's mind, but
he felt a gentle squeeze on his hand and looked up into Margaret Scully's
eyes. He returned the gesture before responding. "I'm sorry, Scully."
She tossed her red hair, trying to lighten the situation. "It's okay, Mulder.
One less thing to worry about should I ever have gentleman friends for visits."
"Dana!" Margaret gave her a look of mock horror.
"Mo-om!" Dana Scully stuck out her tongue.
"I know, dear, you're a grown woman and a doctor, but I'll always be your
mother."
Mulder envied the comfort the two women took from each other as he tried
to find some part of his body that didn't ache to rest his weight on.
Having seen two active sons and one unstoppable tomboy through their childhoods,
Margaret recognized the twisting for what it was. "Fox? Should I have the
nurse bring some pain-killers?"
"No, Mrs. Scully. I'll be okay."
"Mulder, don't be Mister Macho Man. Broken bones are allowed to hurt."
His sharp glance silenced her briefly as her mother rose to depart.
Mother and daughter exchanged an unspoken question and answer, then Margaret
left the room.
He tried a glare. "I don't want to be coddled, Scully."
She stuck her tongue out at him too, which worked, lightening his mood, and
he grinned back at her.
Scully shifted on the bed. "Dr. Anderson's orders. If you demand a second
opinion, well, after almost four years of working with you, I'm an expert
at figuring out when you're covering up something. I asked to be moved in
here with you, since, as a doctor, I would *know*, partner. So you'll get
them and get better whether you want to or not."
Margaret reentered the room. "Dana, they're gone."
"What?"
"Your uterine samples. NIH just called to ask when they were arriving. They
left here yesterday, but were never delivered, apparently. I'm sorry, but
the rest of the tissue was incinerated after the samples were taken. Honey,
what is going on here? Are we ever going to know if you will be okay?"
Scully hugged herself, chewing her lower lip. "I don't know, Mom. I just
don't know."
--o-0-o--
Washington, DC Friday, 10:15 pm
A cigarette was stubbed out in the antique ash tray, another lit almost
immediately. The old man leaned back in the leather chair, closed the folder,
and nodded to himself. All was going as he had foreseen, except that complication
with Dana Scully.
--o-0-o--
END - SINS OF THE FATHERS - RECONCILIATION AND DECONSTRUCTION