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DO NOT ARCHIVE ANYWHERE
Rating:  X-File,Angst,Conspiracy/PG
Spoilers:  US Season Four - all eps.

ONE LIGHT
AN X-FILES FANFIC

by CiCi Lean, 1997
*************
All comments welcome.
Canny409@aol.com
*************************
Part One

MetroBus #656
Downtown, Washington, D.C.


"Don't stare, darling."

The mother gently prodded her small daughter and motioned that she turn
away from the elderly man who sat across from them on the rocking bus
heading past the closing shops and darkening streets of downtown D.C.

"But Mama, he looks sick," the little girl replied, in the loud, shrill
whisper of a child.

Indeed, he does look sick, the woman thought.  Sick in the way the dying
look sick.  At the point beyond hope, with glazed eyes and a loose body,
shaking without control, flopping with each movement, uncaring.  The woman
stared for a moment, unsure.  Perhaps he's just old.  Drunk, maybe.

I shouldn't get involved.

The bus hit a large pothole and every passenger flew up from their seats
with a loud *oomph*. They landed harshly, none the worse for wear, but
with the air knocked from their lungs.  With a sigh, the woman picked up
her overturned bag of groceries and kneeling, chased a couple of stray
items across the aisle.  Here is the milk, unbroken, thank God, the bread,
and my peaches.

My red peaches.

The woman gingerly picked a peach and inspected it closely.  A red juice,
no, a liquid, covered the outside of the fruit.  She put it down and
examined her hand.  It was sticky and dark red, smelling slightly of salt
and metal.  Why, this looks like...

Her scream made the driver slam the brakes so hard, the bus nearly spun
out of control. He got up with a curse and headed toward the back of the
bus.

"What the hell you yelling like that for, lady?" he asked harshly, the
four hundred days left until retirement counting off in his head like a
jackhammer.

She merely pointed. He followed her trembling finger to the man sitting
across the aisle.

The blood covered the elderly man's beard, red drops trembling from the
hair ends.  The front of his shirt was covered with a bright, crimson
stain that seeped past his waist, and soaked him down to his knees,
straight to his shoes.  His eyes were wide and out of focus, and his body
was completely still, no longer flopping or shaking.  There was a peace
there, the woman thought, but one that came at a terrible price.

The bus driver ran to the front cab and grabbed his radio.

"Can I look now, Mama?!" cried the little girl.

But her mother had already covered her eyes.


****************
Part Two

FBI Headquarters
X-Files Division

Dana Scully walked into her office and was greeted with two good sights
and one bad one.  The good ones were a hot cup of coffee sitting on her
shining, brand new desk and the bad one was a slide machine placed on said
desk, no doubt with its rusty and ancient legs digging scuff marks into
the desk's meticulously EnDusted finish.

She growled under her breath.

"Sore throat?" asked her partner, Fox Mulder, as he jiggled the slide
machine, to get the focus mechanism to work correctly.

Scully heard the scrapes of metal against wood and ground her teeth.

"Root canal?" he asked, banging the projector on its side.  It slid with a
loud *squeak*.

"Mulderosis," she replied, as she walked over and flicked a side switch.
The image came into crystal-clear view.

"Sounds bad," he replied, pushing his glasses up.

"It's a tragic fate," she said, and sat with a huff. Scully sighed and
rubbed her eyes before she slid her glasses on to view the projected
image.  An action that did not go unnoticed by her partner.

"How are you feeling, Scully?" asked Mulder, trying to sound casual, but
failing.

Scully gave a slightly exaggerated shrug. "I dunno. Like running off to
Cancun with my life savings, saying goodbye to high heels and hello to the
Savage Tan?"

Mulder blinked, then grinned. "I don't know whether to call 911 or grab my
shorts."

"Don't worry, I'm fine," she said, but her face betrayed a new set of
struggles that morning.  "So what do you have today?"

Mulder hit the projector button. "Dr. Theodore Butler, age 69, biochemical
engineer, doctorates from Stanford. Had the bad luck to die from a
cerebral hemorrhage on the 6:15 crosstown bus last Monday, not only
scaring the passengers half out of their minds, but leaving behind quite a
mess."

Mulder clicked onto the police photos showing a copious amount of crimson.

"OK, Mulder.  I'm following.  But forgive me if I don't see the X-File,"
said Scully, slowly. "People die in public quite frequently and the cause
of death, while dramatic, isn't unusual for a man that age."

"No, not unusual at all.  Especially for Dr. Butler.  He died in 1994 in
the same way," said Mulder, clicking past photos of bloody sheets and
ruler markings. "Talk about bad luck, huh?"

"What?!" asked Scully, incredulously.  "That has to be a mistake."

"How did I know you'd say that?"  He smiled and handed Scully a folder.
"Here's his file, medical history, *and* dated death certificates."

"Mulder," said Scully, looking through the file and already shaking her
head. "These documents must be either forged or in error.  Living people
are declared dead all the time. It's probably a bureaucratic mix-up."

"OK. Let me give you a quote from the interview I conducted with a nurse
who was present for his *first* demise," said Mulder, pulling out a manila
folder, flipping through it casually. "Let's see.  Here it is.  *Dr.
Butler was as dead as a doornail.*  Now, Dr. Scully, in your professional
opinion, exactly *how* dead is a doornail?"

Scully sighed. "Pretty damn dead.  But are we sure it's the same man?"

"Prints, teeth, DNA, the works.  He's a perfect match."

"Well, *something's* not right here.  A man can't die twice."

Mulder smiled wickedly at her.  "And you thought they called it the
X-Files because it was a cool name. But that's not all."

He pulled a small glass vial from his pocket and handed it to Scully.
"Recognize this?"

Scully examined the vial carefully and saw a tiny, round speck on the
bottom.  She shook it gently and heard the slight click of metal against
glass.  With a pounding heart she picked a magnifying glass up off of her
desk and examined its contents.  Inside the vial was a computer chip,
perfectly round and completely familiar.  An implant.  Exactly like the
ones removed from the necks of the MUFON women.

Exactly like the one they removed from her.

Scully drew in a sharp breath.  Mulder continued to click the slides
aimlessly, giving her a moment to compose herself.

"The pathologist removed it from the base of Dr. Butler's neck.  I tried
to scan it in the supermarket, but all I got was a slap on the hand from a
15-year-old cashier. I've gone through his personal belongings and
retrieved receipts showing that his last residence was a motel on the
outskirts of Fluke, Wisconsin.  I know you have you have doctors'
appointments this week, so I'll be hoofing it out alone, until you can
meet me there."

Scully held the vial up and watched the dim florescent reflect against its
content.

"In the meantime, I think you might want to get that chip examined here,"
said Mulder, still waiting for a reaction.

She didn't reply, but continued to hold the chip up to the light.

"Do you think we have an X-File, Scully?" he asked quietly.

Scully, not trusting her voice, just nodded.

****************
Part Three

FBI Headquarters
Sci-Crime Lab


Scully hadn't visited the Sci-Crime lab since Pendrell's death.

It didn't look particularly different; it was still as clean and busy as
the last time she was there.  Here are the lab tables, the computer
center, the usual flurry of activity and...

One empty desk.

They hadn't given it to a new agent yet. Perhaps they didn't want to. She
stood by it for a moment and looked at the covered computer terminal, and
the lonely in-box and its perfect emptiness. With an ingenuity typical of
scientists, the memorial roses were still there, carefully dried, muted
peaches and deep reds frozen in time. The chair stood vacant. The techs
had obviously taken great pains not to disrupt what was left of his
area... any small sign that this place was his.

Two books remained. *A Brief History of Time* by Stephen Hawking.

And a collection of sonnets by Shakespeare.

"May I help you?"

Scully turned and found herself looking up at a very tall woman, obviously
the agent in charge, a woman with a stern demeanor and unsmiling eyes.

"Uh, yes." Scully's voice wavered uncharacteristically.  "I'd like this
microchip examined and compared to some previous evidence that I brought
in here about a year and a half ago."

"Certainly," replied the tall agent.  "The forms are on top of the filing
cabinet." She went back behind her desk without another word.

Forms.  Scully blinked.  She hadn't filled out evidence registration forms
for an examination in years.  Two years, to be precise.

Pendrell had never been too fussy about procedure.

"I'm sorry, but are those necessary?" Scully asked the tall agent, her
throat beginning to burn for some strange reason.  Must be my medicine,
she thought.

"As you are fully aware, the filing of requests is standard procedure,"
she replied coldly, tossing some carbon forms in front of Scully.  "You
may begin with these.  We'll need them in triplicate and approved by two
*H* level superiors.  After that you can log it in and place it on the
bottom shelf of case *B*.  We should get to it in about two weeks."

"I'm sorry, but I need it sooner than that," said Scully, her throat
tightening further.  She began to have trouble swallowing.

"All special requests may be made through the Assistant Director," said
the tall woman, leaning back in her chair, folding her long arms across
her chest. "Should he feel it necessary to rush the evidence, I'm sure
he'll let us know.  Until then, the sooner you fill out the requests, the
sooner your evidence will be examined."  The agent turned back to her work
in a precise, clipped manner.

Scully swallowed her pride along with her pain.

"You couldn't possibly make an exception with this, I suppose?" she asked,
trying to sound consolatory, but even she heard the choking in her voice.

The entire lab turned silent. Scully could feel the blood beating hotly in
her throat.

"Why on earth would I do that for you?" she replied slowly.

Scully could feel the hostility in the room taking on a life of its own:
the eyes of a dozen lab technicians trained coldly on her back.

The tall agent leaned in so close to Scully's face that their eyelashes
nearly touched. "Perhaps I've given you the impression that I'm willing to
do favors for you?  I'm very sorry, Agent Scully, but that's not the
case," she said softly, her expression one of dry contempt.  Her features
turned catlike, all narrow eyes and sharp points.

"For I'm not nearly as enamored of you as Agent Pendrell was," she
whispered.

Scully turned white, but kept her gaze fixed straight ahead.

"Not by a long shot," she said, coolly flicking a piece of lint from
Scully's shoulder with a small, disdainful gesture.

Scully felt her back stiffen, but said nothing.

The tall agent continued in a loud voice, her eyes satisfied and cold. 
"So we have concluded then, Agent Scully, that you will submit your
evidence like every other agent.  Preferably via interoffice mail.  You
will await the results that will be returned to you in writing, when we
feel we are ready to complete the reports.  You will not submit items of
personal interest, nor ask for immediate results unless approved.  Oh, and
one more thing...."

"Yes?"  Scully could barely grind the word out.

The tall agent flashed a furious smile. "You'd better be *damned* sure you
never ask ME for a piece of MY arm."

Scully felt the pressure between her eyes grow and her vision dim.  She
knew what was coming.  She carefully grasped the edge to the lab table to
guide herself toward the door.

The tall agent smiled sweetly at her. "Have a nice day, Agent Scully," she
called out.

Scully fled the room if only to avoid the stares of those who had never
seen the blood that was flowing from her nose, almost twice a day now. As
she ran down the hall, she pretended to be smiling under the handkerchief
with the spreading crimson stain, pretended not to see a concerned
passerby reach out to help her.

She pretended not to hear the cheer that erupted from the lab upon her
exit.

**********************
Part Four

FBI Headquarters
X-Files Office


"Any luck with the implant?"

Scully hesitated before answering Mulder's question.

"They're working on it," she said into the phone, grateful that Mulder
couldn't see her face, slightly blotched from angry tears, her eyes
itching and swollen. "Where are you?"

"The lovely town of Fluke, Wisconsin.  Blue skies, rolling fields, grazing
livestock, secret military bases..."  replied Mulder, his voice sounding
open and far away.

"What?" asked Scully, but not with as much surprise as she used to be able
to muster up in the past.  You're getting soft Agent Scully, she
reprimanded herself.  "How did you find this?"

"From the town's oldest resident, a Mrs. Alisha Sweet, 103 years old and
doesn't look a day over 97.  Her husband was the bus driver for the
installation since the '40's.  They were so secretive that the workers
were bused in from six different towns on a rotating schedule, almost
always at night.  She also told me that her husband saw some strange
things during his limited looks at the base, up to and including flashing
lights and blue beams from an unknown source."

"Uh, huh.  And I assume you don't doubt her impeccable memory?" said
Scully, with a sigh.

"Well, it's worth a look, don't you think?" said Mulder. "If only for the
four hours and three pots of herbal tea it took to get this information."

"What makes you think Dr. Butler was ever at this base?"

"Besides the fact that it's the only thing around here for 50 miles
besides cow patties and the post office, it seems like just the place for
a biochemical engineer to be hanging out in his spare hours, doesn't it?"

"Mulder, I'm not going to argue with you.  I know you're only going there
for the light show.  So enjoy.  If you want to get back to the case let me
know," said Scully, with only mild annoyance.  She rubbed her eyes again
and looked for something to blow her stuffed-up nose into.

The phone was silent for a long moment.

"Is everything all right, Scully?"  came the voice from the receiver, soft
with concern.

"Yes.  Everything's fine," said Scully, feeling the slight numbness of
exhaustion in her legs.  "Why do you ask?"

"You usually don't give in that easily."

"I'm tired," said Scully honestly.  She was tired.

Tired of so many things.

"That's it?"

"That's it.  Now be careful and keep in touch with me.  And if your theory
about Dr. Butler's presence on the base proves to be true,  call me right
away and I'll meet you out there.  OK?"

Scully could feel the heaviness in her arms.

"OK. I'll call you in a couple of hours," he said, with nagging concern
tinging his voice. "All right?  Scully?"

But Scully had already flipped the phone shut and sank her head down to
the desk.

I am so tired.

****************
Part Five

Area 12B
Fluke, Wisconsin


"Ow!"

Fox Mulder shook his hand out, grimacing in pain as the last clip of the
wire cutter was slightly harder than he had expected.  He shook the chain
link fence and it gave way.  He crawled in, stepping through high, unkempt
grasses toward the small, nearly an invisible gray hanger that stood in
the distance.  Mulder chuckled to himself.

"Budget crunch hitting hard everywhere, huh?" said Mulder, to no one in
particular.

The base looked completely abandoned, its roads covered with encroaching
wild-flowers in spectacular colors.  Nature always wins, thought Mulder,
as he moved on.  After about thirty minutes of walking, he quietly
approached the front of the looming hanger.
He slowly pushed against the side door and was surprised at how easily it
gave way. This place is truly gone, he thought.

Not even the dead would bother haunting here.

Mulder wrinkled his nose at the musty smells that assaulted him.  Stale
air and dust, steel and tobacco, a hint of burnt wires and old technology.
 Scully will have a field day with this when I get back, he thought with a
smile.  But that's all right.  Might cheer her up to have a little fun at
old Spooky's expense.  I think I can handle it.  She's given me the
benefit of the doubt often enough.

Maybe I'll surprise her with a *Scully, I was completely wrong.*

Nah.

Mulder relaxed as he lifted old plastic sheets from steel work stations,
feeling more foolish by the minute.  He absentmindedly kicked a small bolt
across the floor and it skittered to the wall like a marble across cement.
 The sound echoed throughout the giant hanger.

As did the footsteps behind him.

Mulder instinctively reached for his sidearm, as the tapping sounds were
amplified through the empty, steel shell of a room.  He whirled around,
just in time to see a small figure in the distance abruptly turn and run
toward the far end of the hanger.

He sprinted after the runner, knocking aside rolling tables, jumping over
various debris, thanking God for his long legs and good lungs.  He rapidly
overtook the figure, who was slowing considerably as they reached the
north wall.

Time for cops & robbers, Mulder thought. "FREEZE!!!  I'm armed!" he
yelled.  It echoed impressively in the huge, empty space.

The man came to a wavering stop, his hands already starting to go over his
head.

"Don't move, or I'll shoot," said Mulder, slowly advancing.

"OK.  Hold your fire. I've been shot before.  I'm not that nuts about it
happening again."  said the man, with a young voice.  His back was facing
Mulder and his hands were raised high over his head.

"Turn around slowly, keep your hands up." said Mulder, almost
unconsciously waving his gun in small circles.

The man turned slowly, as instructed, his hands held high.  Mulder kept a
firing stance, not willing to take any chances.  He had seen too much. 
But he wasn't prepared for the sight that stood in front of him.  A man
whom Mulder was almost sure was as dead and buried as the stale air that
surrounded him.  Mulder blinked twice, but the vision didn't disappear.

It was Special Agent Brian Pendrell of the FBI's Sci-Crime lab.

Standing right in front of him. With his hands raised.

Fox Mulder could do nothing but gape at the sight.


*******************
Part Six

Greenwood Cemetery
Alamont, Virginia

"Agent Scully, we're ready for the opening."

Scully sighed with exhaustion as the casket was plopped unceremoniously
next to the freshly exhumed grave of Dr. Theodore Butler.  Another day,
another stinking corpse.

Great.

The workers plied their crowbars against the edges of the casket, wincing
in advance at the inevitable sight and smell that lay ahead of them. The
older worker smacked his crowbar into a small water-worn crack in the
casket's top and the wood began to groan.

Scully pulled out a small bottle of Vick's VaporRub and dabbed it under
her nose.  Enough rookie posturing, she decided, as the hot scent filled
her nostrils.  I'm not ashamed to say that this makes me sick.

And I'm sick enough.

With a loud *crack* the casket flew open and everyone present turned away
instinctively.  Scully simply closed her eyes, trying to turn her
repulsion into a slow blink.  She waited for the odor to nearly knock her
flat, medicated rub under her nostrils or not.

Then waited a bit more. But there was no smell.

Scully heard the surprised murmur before she actually confirmed with her
own eyes what had been lying in Dr. Butler's grave.

A big, old coffin full of nothing.

Surprise, surprise.

Scully knelt besides the casket for a moment and looked at the untouched
white silk.  Now, *that's* the way to go.  All the pomp and circumstance,
none of the ugly reality of rotting away in such soft luxury.  We should
all go like this, thought Scully.  But we won't.

I won't.

Dana Scully slowly walked back to her car, ignoring the questioning looks
of the diggers and the grave keeper.

***************
Part Six

Area 12B
Fluke, Wisconsin


"I'd say *hi*  Pendrell, but the only thing running through my head right
now is the thirty bucks I wasted on your funeral spray." said Mulder,
lowering his gun, but only slightly.  "Perhaps you can explain this to
me."

"Not really, Agent Mulder." said Pendrell, lowering his hands.  But only
slightly.

"Well, maybe you'd like to explain it to Agent Scully then." said Mulder,
hot anger starting to rise in his voice.  "Because she wasted a lot more
than thirty dollars the day they buried you.  I don't know if you consider
tears a type of currency, but I do.  And she spent quite a few over your
*death*."

Pendrell's eyes widened.  "She did?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

"Why? Does that make you happy?" asked Mulder, his eyes narrowing.

"No...I mean...no, of course not.  I just didn't think..I mean...I didn't
know that she even thought..that she..." stumbled Pendrell, his eyes
confused against a pale face.

"Pendrell, what the hell is going on?"  said Mulder, holstering his gun
with a sigh.  "Just tell me. Are you with them?  Do you work for the
smoker? Tell me now.  Save yourself the grief."

"The smoker?" asked Pendrell, his expression becoming even more clouded.

"OK.  Who then?  Why are you here now?  This place is completely
abandoned.  What is it here that you were looking for?"  asked Mulder
sharply.

Before he could answer, Mulder heard new echoes.  The echoes of footsteps.

Leather boots against a steel floor.  Dozens of them.  Without another
word he grabbed Pendrell's elbow and dragged him toward the north wall
doors.

Together they ran for their lives.

*************
Part Seven

FBI Headquarters
The Office of The Assistant Director


"So where is Agent Mulder, Agent Scully?"

The Assistant Director tapped his finger impatiently against the file in
front of him.  Scully straightened out, trying to present her most
professional demeanor, remembering that this posture always worked in the
past.

More or less.

"He's following up on other leads out-of-state, Sir," she replied, with a
weary expression.  How many times do I have to go through this particular
grill before it really becomes boring?  "I stayed behind for the local
forensic examination."

"And what does  Agent Mulder expect to find in Wisconsin?"

"Well, Sir he is..." Scully began, but was forced to stop.

The vision in her right eye turned to black.

Scully did not scream, but simply put her hand against her eye, as if a
touch could bring back her sight.  She opened her mouth to continue, but
the blood began to flow, a red and steady stream from her nostrils.  Not
the drip that she had been forced to deal with for the past few months,
but a geyser of crimson, spurting with each heartbeat, past her chin to
her chest, spraying life to her knees.  Her mouth filled and she felt the
thick warmth, but saw nothing until she was forced to spit to keep from
choking. She felt a sting behind her left eye.

She went completely blind.

When the world turned black, she fell to the floor. Perhaps, if she'd
wanted to, she could have held herself upright, but she no longer felt the
need to prove that life was more important than death.

I am blind.

I am bleeding.

I am so very tired.

She heard Skinner's yells, either into his phone or past his office door.
She felt his arms cradle her as a sergeant would hold his wounded soldier.
 She vaguely thought of gratitude and speeches of thanks, but something,
somewhere inside of her, thought it best to sleep.

Yes, I will sleep now.

For I am very tired.

*************
Continued in One Light 2/2
CiCi Lean
Canny409@aol.com

All comment welcome.

Subject: NEW:  *One Light* by CiCi Lean 2/2
From: canny409@aol.com (Canny409)
Date: 24 Jul 1997 19:17:56 GMT
Message-ID: <19970724191700.PAA07920@ladder02.news.aol.com>

One Light 2/2
by CiCi Lean
Canny409@aol.com
*************
Part Eight

Dead Dog Farm
Fluke, Wisconsin


"I hope I'm not supposed to say *nice place*, Pendrell."

Mulder grimaced as he entered the dusty and ruined farmhouse basement,
nearly choking on the abundant amounts of dust that flew into his face,
nostrils and eyes.

Pendrell ignored him and stepped deeper into the dark, instinctively
knowing his way through the blackness and leaving Mulder to follow.  "Here
we are."

Mulder heard Pendrell's voice ahead of him, but still saw nothing. "Yeah,
here we are.  Where are we?" Mulder stumbled along rotted floorboards,
trying not to yell as a huge splinter dug into the hand that he ran
blindly along the wooden walls. A thin, sickly light suddenly filled his
eyes.

He blinked at the unexpected brightness and tried to take in his
surroundings.  A small cot, frayed and worn, boasting neither a comforter,
nor comfort of any type, stood as the centerpiece of the tiny corner room.
A duffel bag, a book or two and a small box of candles made up the rest of
his meager surroundings.

"Sorry.  Can't offer you anything I'm afraid," said Pendrell, as he sat
and booted up a battered laptop, jerry-rigged amongst a host of dangling
wires and cables atop a precariously balanced table.

"No problem." said Mulder, trying to shake off the oppressive feeling that
was threatening to overwhelm him. "But I wouldn't mind an answer to my
earlier questions."

"Sure." said Pendrell, not looking up from the small screen in front of
him.

Mulder leaned over and folded the laptop's cover down.  It buzzed in
protest.

"What the hell is going on?" he asked, closely against Pendrell's ear.
"What happened to you?  We were told that you died from a gunshot wound
over six months ago.  Agent Scully and I placed a certain amount of faith
in you, Pendrell. I would hate to think that we were wrong to do so."

Pendrell sighed and closed his eyes. "I don't expect you to believe...."
he started sadly.

"Try me," interrupted Mulder, sharply.

"All right," began Pendrell, in a slightly stronger tone. "But I can only
relate what I remember. I can't explain everything, because honestly, I
have no rational explanation for much of what's happened in the last
twenty-four weeks. If you can live with that, I'll tell you."

Mulder leaned against the rotting walls, his arms folded. "It's a start."

"I remember getting shot." said Pendrell, hopefully, as if this memory, as
terrible as it was, kept him within some frame of reality.  "It burned,
you know.  That's all.  If I didn't have so much trouble catching my
breath, it wouldn't have been half as bad as I'd have expected.  But
that's where it ends.  I remember the ambulance, but only vaguely."

"According to Scully, you were pronounced dead in the operating theater."
said Mulder, somewhat impatiently.

"She held my hand during the ride." said Pendrell, as if he were speaking
to himself.  "Agent Scully, that is. But after that, everything falls
apart.  I remember white rooms, some pain, men talking in whispers, the
words *inventory* and *merchandise*.  These things may not make sense,
Agent Mulder, but they are all I have. Until...."

"Until?"

"I was brought to the base." said Pendrell, his expression clouding.  "I
had no idea how I got there or when I got there, but I was certainly
alive. They told me I was lucky.  That they chose me. That I had a chance
to make history.  It didn't make much sense at first.  Until they gave me
one of these to work on."

Pendrell handed Mulder a small glass test tube.

Containing an implant.

"I wasn't alone.  I was assigned to work with a group of other scientists,
from all fields.  Genetic biology, biochemical engineering, you name it. 
We were together, trapped on this base, but it was so blurry, so
confusing, none of us thought to ask too many questions,"  continued
Pendrell.

"Didn't you try to leave?" asked Mulder, studying the implant in the dim
light.

"The guards were well-armed." said Pendrell, sheepishly.  "And I really
hate being shot."

Mulder almost smiled.

"But, I recognized this chip.  This is the same type of chip that Agent
Scully brought to me over a year ago.  It mimics memory functions.  It
also records the impulses that make up our mental processes. It can
replicate, duplicate and store every thought in a person's head.  It only
has one problem."  said Pendrell, opening the laptop and digging for
computer disks under the table.

"And that is?"

"The chip corrupts DNA during its memory retrieval and storage process. 
And that's a big problem.  It's an unintentional side effect, and it
appears to be unavoidable.  So they decided that instead of modifying the
chip, they would work on the cure."

"The cure?" Mulder asked, a terrible hope rising in his heart. "The cure
for what?"

"The cure for the cancer that the chip causes." said Pendrell, his hands
flying over the laptop's keyboard. "An engineered cancer can have an
engineered cure. The corrupted DNA of these particular cells is much like
a computer virus.  It simply has to be rooted out and the correct commands
reloaded. Or, at least, that's the theory."

Mulder nodded, not sure what Pendrell was saying, but certain of what he
saw on the back of his neck.

A small, red incision scar.  Barely a half an inch long.  Mulder gently
pulled his collar back.  Pendrell jumped and whirled around, his eyes huge
against a white face.

"You have it, don't you?" asked Mulder quietly.

Pendrell said nothing but returned to the screen in front of him.

"Well?"

"I guess they thought it would be more *inspiring* if we had a personal
interest in finding the cure," said Pendrell, bitterly.  "Unfortunately,
the experiments were more time-consuming than they realized.  Most of us
died during the course of the research. The ones that didn't die from the
cancer, they..."

He stopped, and for a long moment was unable to speak.

"There are only two of us left, maybe only one," he finally continued,
biting back tears for his dead co-workers. "Teddy Butler and I were the
only ones to escape."

"Dr. Butler," said Mulder, shaking his head. "I'm afraid you're right,
Pendrell.  You're probably the only one left."

Pendrell nodded, with a resigned expression. "Teddy was very sick.  I told
him not to go to DC, but he insisted.  He wanted the world to know about
these men. They're murderers, Agent Mulder.  But the one thing they
weren't counting on is right here."

Pendrell carefully dug into his pocket and pulled out a tiny vial.

Its contents shone brightly in the dull light.

"What is it?" asked Mulder, examining it closely.

"It's the work of fifty scientists in a race for their lives." said
Pendrell, staring at the vial with an expression that was part awe, part
hatred.  "Stem cells taken from the umbilical cords of genetically
engineered embryos.  Designer humans, created only to harvest genetic
material and then destroyed.  The material needed to cure the cancer, that
these men themselves created and spread."

"The cancer that Scully has," whispered Mulder, forgetting for a moment
where he was and who he was with, as he stared at the tiny bottle of hope
that Pendrell held.

"Yes.  And that's why you have to take it to her." said Pendrell abruptly
standing and placing the vial in Mulder's hand. "I know that the chip she
brought to me was removed from her neck. Her name was on the manifests.
That was nearly two years ago.  She must be terribly ill by now."

Mulder continued to stare at the vial in his hand, as a tiny rainbow of
light shifted and reflected colors throughout its contents, dancing on the
walls.

"A doctor with a working knowledge of stem-cell therapy and genetic
splicing should be able to apply the treatment.  Here are the disks with
all the information they'll need." said Pendrell, hurriedly shoving a
small pile of computer disks into Mulder's pockets.

"And what'll happen to you?" asked Mulder carefully.

"The type of cancer I have from the implant is different." said Pendrell
grimly, biting his lip and refusing to meet Mulder's eyes.  "Completely. 
But Agent Scully has one of the older implants. She should respond well. 
The last tests we conducted were very promising."

"You're lying, I don't believe you."  said Mulder vehemently. "It doesn't
have to be like this, Pendrell.  Not one or the other.  If we take this
back, with you, as proof of what went on here, of what they are trying to
hide, neither you nor Scully will have to die.  We'll get everything we
need.  I'll do my damnest to make sure of that, I promise."

Pendrell groaned and shook his head in frustration.

"Agent Mulder, listen to me.  It took years of work from some of the best
scientists in the world to formulate that, and it took months to create
the actual product. Not days, not weeks, but over three months to make
what's in that tiny vial you hold in your hand." said Pendrell, irritably.
 "You can't pick it up at RiteAid, all right? By the time it's analyzed
and recreated, Agent Scully will be dead."

Mulder winced at the mere words.

"Do you want that, Agent Mulder?  Because I don't. God, if I could..."
Pendrell stopped, not trusting his voice. He took a deep breath before
continuing.  "Take it to her.  She'll understand once she sees it."

Mulder's cel phone's insistent ring interrupted any possible protests.  He
flipped it open with an annoyed gesture.  "Mulder."

The voice on the other end was sharp, urgent.  Mulder listened closely and
soon Pendrell saw his face first flush...then turn pure white.

"Right.  All right.  I'm on my way,"  whispered Mulder, his entire body
starting to visibly shake.  He flipped the phone shut and Pendrell
instinctively knew what had happened.

"It's Agent Scully, isn't it?  The tumor has broken through, hasn't it?"
he asked, the panic-stricken look in Mulder's eyes confirming what he
already knew.  His voice became stronger.  "There's still time, Agent
Mulder.  You can still save her."

Mulder looked at the thin, pale man in front of him and then, the vial in
his hand.

"Go.  There's still time," Pendrell repeated, pushing Mulder toward the
stairs, the ones that lead out of the basement, to the light.  "The
treatment works quickly, but you have to leave now."

Mulder took a step back, unsure.  "What about you?  I can't leave you
here."

"Well, I can't come with you.  You saw how many of them are still looking
for me.  The airports are probably crawling with them.  I'd be no help at
all."

"But," began Mulder, stumbling another step back.

"Just go.  And do me a favor.  Don't tell Agent Scully about...about...
Just tell her I'm fine.  And that I send my...regards. No need to mention
anything else.  Can you do me that favor?"

Mulder nodded distractedly, the staircase's first step underfoot.  "All
right, Pendrell.  But here.  Take my credit card.  There's a cabin for
rent less than a mile down the road."  Mulder ripped through his wallet
with violently shaking hands, as plastic cards and paper slips fell to the
floor. "Rent it in my name and stay there.  Whatever you need, just charge
it to the account.  Food, clothes, whatever..."

"Go." said Pendrell quietly.

Mulder began backing up the stairs, the vial clutched tightly in his hand.
"And don't go anywhere.  I'm coming back for you, no matter what happens. 
Just keep a low profile...here.  Here's my spare gun.  Keep it and use it
if you have to."

"Go," repeated Pendrell, in a louder voice.

"Remember, I'll be back.  So don't go anywhere."

"Go, goddamn it!!"

Mulder turned and ran up the stairs without looking back.

****************
Part Nine

Georgetown Hospital
Washington, DC
Two weeks later


"Where did you get this, Mulder?"

Fox Mulder peeked out from behind the huge bouquet he was holding, only to
see his partner sitting up in her hospital bed and carefully reading
through printouts of the computer disks he'd brought back from Wisconsin.

"You look better," he said, setting the flowers down on the nightstand.

She did look better, he thought gratefully. Sure, she was still too thin,
too pale, but there was something new and wonderful there.

The fire had returned to her eyes.

"You didn't answer my question," replied Scully, not looking up from her
reading.

"Got it in Wisconsin.  It was part of Dr. Butler's research that was
conducted on the base." said Mulder, honestly.

"Mulder, this type of stem cell therapy is in its infancy as a science.
What you have here is advanced beyond anything I've ever read or seen in
this field.  Now do you mind telling me exactly who gave this to you and
why?" asked Scully patiently, knowing that he wouldn't hide the truth from
her.

So Mulder told her.

He told her about the base and its emptiness.  The scientists and their
prison.  The experiments that they were forced to do, for men who thought
nothing of slowly killing their researchers in a quest for knowledge, the
knowledge that they considered power.  And the scientists triumph over
their wardens, even at the cost of their lives.

He told her about the chase.

He carefully and slowly told her about Pendrell, and as requested, didn't
mention his illness.  Or his sacrifice.

Dana Scully listened silently...thoughtfully.  When Mulder got to the part
about Pendrell, she neither flinched nor started. She simply pulled the
bed covers aside and swung her feet over the edge.

"Get me my clothes, please," she said directly.

Mulder's protests died on his lips when he looked at her face.

And he did as she said, knowing better than to argue.

***********
Part Ten

Lake Bliss
Fluke, Wisconsin


Her smile nearly blinded him.

As immune as Pendrell thought he'd grown to any ideas of hope or
happiness, he couldn't deny the joy of the face in front of him.  With a
single spinning, dizzying motion, Scully leapt upon him and he twirled in
her embrace. He was amazed that only seconds before the world held nothing
but darkness and grief, while at this moment he was filled with her and
her light, with arms so tightly wrapped around him, that there existed
nothing else.

"Well, Agent Pendrell.  It's good to see you again." said Scully, after
she stepped back. She was slightly breathless, and amazingly happy.

He couldn't speak.

"I've arranged for your trip back to D.C." continued Scully, politely
ignoring Pendrell's shell-shocked appearance. "When we arrive, you'll be
placed in witness protection. We'll discuss the details on the flight."

He could barely breathe.

Scully picked up his jacket and held it out to him, smiling.  "All right? 
Come on, we have a lot of catching up to do and, if I remember correctly,
you still owe me a birthday drink.  Did you think I'd forget?"

And he thought his heart would break right there and then.

"You didn't tell her?" he asked Mulder hoarsely.  Mulder shook his head. 
"That's my fault.  I asked you not to."

Scully's smile faded slightly.  "Tell me what?"

Pendrell hands began to motion mutely through the air in front of him, as
if they could help him explain without words.  When that failed, the words
came, but trembling and miserable.  "I don't think I'll be able to come to
DC.....I mean, I want to...but I..."

Scully's eyes narrowed.  "Why not?"

"Because..I can't go." Pendrell stammered.  "I can't.  I want to.  Agent
Mulder will you explain?  I can't..."

"I don't understand this." Scully said, her eyes turning cold.  "Now, if
you can't accompany us back to Washington, I'll need an explanation and
I'll need it..."

The blood began to drip from Pendrell's nose.

Scully's eyes flew open, as Pendrell cursed and tried to blindly reach for
something to wipe the offending liquid off with.  He found nothing, and
was forced to hold the back of his hand underneath his nose, the blood
flowing harder now, over his hand, dripping from his fingertips.  Scully
strode over to him and brusquely examined him, pulling his hand down,
looking at the blood and then in his eyes.  Without a word, she turned him
around and pulled his collar back.	She made no sound when she saw the
mark, because she knew she must be mistaken. It wasn't an implant mark. 
It just looked like one. That's all.

And she would know.  Wouldn't she?  But the next remark shattered the air
around her.

"Because I'm dying, Agent Scully. That's why I can't go," he said,
breathing harshly and trying very hard to clean the blood from his hands
and face.  "I won't survive the trip and I'm sorry, but there's nothing I
can do about that.  This damn thing, this cancer, there's no hope for it,
and I can't help that.  I'm sorry, but..."

"No."

"No?"

Scully grabbed a cloth and began to wipe his hands and face, with harsh,
strident gestures.  "I refuse to accept that. I cannot and *will* not
believe there is no hope.  What nonsense that is.  Of course you're coming
back with us.  "

Mulder's eyes widened as he watched his partner move furiously around the
room, like an infuriated, caged creature.

"Agent Pendrell, you are returning to Washington with us."  said Scully,
picking up and throwing various items into the small duffel bag that lay
besides the door.  "Immediately.  I'll evaluate your situation when we
arrive."

Pendrell threw Mulder a stricken glance.

"Scully, I don't think that's possible," began Mulder, trying to avoid
Pendrell's white and shaken look.

"No. He *is* coming with us. I will not be told otherwise. I am not, I
repeat, am *not* going through this again." Scully hissed, oblivious to
the miserable look on Pendrell's face and the frightened one on Mulder's.
"There are no sacrifices that are worth it anymore.  No more lives are
going to be wasted in this search.  The truth will come to ME.  When I'm
ready for it, dammit!  To me!"

Her breathing became more labored as she grabbed any item that came within
her raging reach.  "You are going to live, Agent Pendrell.  Do you hear
me?"

"Scully..." said Mulder, alarmed at both his partner's behavior and
Pendrell's trembling frame.

"You're going to be just fine." Scully's voice began to thicken and crack,
betraying an awful grief.  "Are you listening to me?"  She began to
blindly throw more clothing into the bag, her voice almost incoherent with
tears.

"I'm sorry." Pendrell whispered, reaching out fearfully, to touch her arm
in a consolatory gesture.

Scully flinched at the touch, feeling as though she would scream with
rage, when Mulder's face caught her eye.  It was a miserable look, one not
only of fear, but of a strange disappointment.  Suddenly, Scully threw
down the bag she held in her hands and walked to the window.  Outside, the
sun was just beginning to rise and as she stood, she could feel its warmth
through the glass.  She held her hands, her forehead, against the panes,
and wondered at how deeply the sun's light could touch her, and yet how
she was unable to return its embrace.  She breathed deeply and examined
her surroundings.  The lake looked crystal clear in the summer morning
light, and she slowly, quietly, turned back to the two men behind her, her
voice wooden and numb.

"So this is where you'll be staying, Agent Pendrell?"

He nodded mutely, his voice having deserted him completely.

"I see. Would you mind if I joined you here for a while?"

He shook his head, his eyes turning damp and bright.

"Mulder?" she asked, quietly.  "Would you mind?"

"Sounds like an idea to me," said Mulder, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Good." Scully held her hand out to Pendrell, who took it with shaking
fingers.  "Now. How about giving me the grand tour?"

He nodded with a thin smile and together, they walked toward the door.

***************
Part Eleven
Lake Bliss
Fluke, Wisconsin

"I really hate places like this."

The breeze off of the tiny Wisconsin lake was cool enough for comfort in
the summer heat and there was a delightful promise of chilliness when the
night fell.  Mulder picked up a few of the millions of pebbles that lie on
the ground under where he crouched and he rolled them in his hand, feeling
them grind against one another, eroding under his fingers.

"Shhhh." Scully gently shushed him and nodded toward her lap, where
Pendrell lay deep asleep. He was in nearly the same position he'd spent
the entire afternoon, partly from exhaustion and partly because Scully had
pulled him to her and he hadn't argued.

"When we went on vacation when I was a kid," continued Mulder, in a
quieter voice, settling down on a section of the rough blanket they'd laid
out earlier by the lake's edge, "this is the type of place we would always
come to.  Some far away, lonely place, almost exactly like our own home,
empty and desolate, where you didn't even feel like you were on vacation. 
Just another, slightly greener, version of your own hellish life."

Scully nodded.  "We moved too much to really take vacations.  Mom used to
say that every new town was our home away from home.  I just never found
out where that home was."

Mulder looked down with sadness at thin face nestled against Scully's
knee.  "Wonder what he would say."

"If I had to take a guess, I'd probably say that he went to the country
every summer and the mountains every winter, like clockwork."  said
Scully, gently brushing a stray hair from the pale forehead that rested
beneath her.  "And I wish he could go back to that life.  A normal one, an
ordinary one...but I don't think that's possible anymore."

"Scully, I don't think we...you, should give up hope yet.  If he could
help you, there might still be a way to turn this thing around."

She said nothing, but gently ran a finger along the scar on the back of
Pendrell's neck.  One that looked exactly like her own.  She looked at his
fingers, no longer ruddy, happy or full of life, but thin, miserable and a
deathly shade of white, as hers used to be...just weeks before.  Slowly,
she entwined her fingers with his, shades of life and death laced as one.

Scully sighed.  "I don't know."

Mulder looked up watched the sun begin its true descent.  He turned toward
his partner and the man who lay against her with such a peaceful
expression.  How odd.  He had never seen anyone look sicker in his life
and yet there wasn't a trace of pain in his features. He glanced back at
Scully, her bright auburn hair and clear, flawless features shining in the
fading light.  No wonder he feels no pain, Mulder thought.  She's probably
just the doctor he needs.

Scully motioned to the darkening skies.  "We should go in.  It gets cold
once the sun goes down."

"Tell that to Rip Van Winkle here."  Mulder reached over and gently shook
Pendrell's shoulder until he stirred.

Pendrell looked confused when he awoke, the sleep still in his eyes.  "The
sun's set already?"

"Yep, day's gone and done." said Scully, forcing a brightness she didn't
feel into her voice.  "I think we should head inside.  I hear Mulder's
going to make us some dinner."

"Interesting rumor, that," replied Mulder, rising and giving them both a
hand up.

"I can't believe the sunlight's gone." Pendrell said, trying to rub the
exhaustion from his features, as he tottered to his feet.  "It was so
bright just a few minutes ago."

Scully put an arm around his waist to steady him as they walked toward the
cabin.

"Tomorrow's another day," she said quietly, trying to lead him away, to
the light of the house in front of them.  "We'll sit in the sun tomorrow."

But Pendrell turned and looked back, over the lake, at the shadowing skies
and waters that were fading to black in front of the horizon.

"I guess so."

************
Part Twelve
Lake Bliss
Fluke, Wisconsin


When Mulder awoke at 5am the next morning, the sky was still dark.

He'd gone to sleep on the cramped and musty couch the night before, giving
Pendrell the bed.  Scully had taken up residence in the bedroom's old,
wooden rocker and when Mulder peeked in to say goodnight, she'd nodded at
him from the bedside, rocking slowly, her hand firmly grasping the quiet
one next to her.

Mulder stretched and tried to return to sleep.  It refused to come, so he
watched the hands of an ancient grandfather clock tick away the long
minutes as he lay.  Finally, he rose, no longer able to rest. The sun
still hadn't risen, and the house was silent and dark.

Too silent, thought Mulder.

He went to check on his partner and walked to the bedroom door.  It was
slightly ajar and when he pushed it open, he noticed that Scully was
sitting up in almost the same position he had left her the night before,
awake and quietly rocking.  The figure on the bed was absolutely still.

Too still.

"Is he sleeping?" asked Mulder, his breath catching in his throat, when he
saw Scully's face.  It was stone and marble white.

"No," she whispered, and turned back to motionless form in front of her.

Mulder felt his heart begin to pound, and then slowly calm, as Scully
carefully removed the cross from around her neck and began to twine the
thin gold chain between the stiff and cold fingers beside her.

"When did it happen?" asked Mulder, feeling a strange pain snake into him,
hot and choking.

"Less than twenty minutes ago," said Scully as she smoothed the small
cross against the back of Pendrell's hand, with small, trembling pats. 
"There didn't appear to be any pain.  We'd just finished talking as a
matter of fact."  She looked up at Mulder, her eyes dry, but her voice
thick with grief. "His name was Brian."

Mulder quietly sat next to her.

She continued to slowly rock, with two fingers carefully smoothing the
sheet that lay over the bed's edge.  "When we were talking, he'd mentioned
that he'd been told many times over how irrelevant he was, and how, after
the experiments were over, no one would notice or care about his death."

Mulder looked away, out the small window.  Outside, the sun was rising,
pale and pink over the horizon.  "I'm not surprised. That's how these
people think, Scully.  On that plane, I had a conversation with the man
who shot him.  He talked about a single light.  About how if  that light
was extinguished, no one would ever notice, amongst the thousands of
lights that existed, the dousing of a single one."

"I was taught that heaven notices the passing of a sparrow," replied
Scully, as the sun's rays began to light the room.  "That the hairs on my
head were all accounted for.  And that another's death, was as important
to me as my own.  Especially since..."

Here she stopped and a small tear snaked its way down her face, dropping
and falling onto the bed covers, leaving behind a small stain of salt and
water.

Mulder took his partner's hand and held it tightly.  "The sun is one
light, Scully.  And without that single light..."

"Everything dies." she finished, with a wan smile.

He returned the smile, and soon, the sun lit the room, its single light
filling every space imaginable with its brightness, its warmth and its
life.

**********
Fini.

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