Title: "Twelfth Night" (revised)

Author: Mary Ruth Keller

E-mail: mkeller@universe.digex.net

Rating: PG-13 for violence

Category: X - an X-File

Spoilers: "Syzygy" and assorted prior episodes

Keywords: Mulder/Scully Friendship, Phoebe Green, the Lone Gunmen

Summary: On the eve of the election, Mulder and Scully are handed
a case about vanishing homeless to keep them out of an
investigation about missing artworks. A very much attached Phoebe
Green is assigned to shadow Mulder's Mother, and there's unrest
among the younger members of the Consortium. Senator Matheson
works to move Mulder and Scully out of the basement, but one of
the homeless the X-team meets may know about more than just how to
keep warm on the streets.

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.
Any other characters or phrases the reader recognizes belong to
their respective creators and owners, are also used without
permission, and with no intent of copyright infringement. Readers
are free to place this story on any web-page or archive as long as
my approval is first obtained, and as long as my name and E-mail
address remain attached. This work must not be used for profit.

=====o=====================================================o=====

Part II - Lights (Disclaimed in Part I)

----------------------------------------------------------------

Antonio: Will you stay no longer?
nor will you not that I go
with you?

Sebastian: By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly over
me: the malignancy of my fate might perhaps dis-
temper yours; therefore I shall crave of you your
leave that I may bear my evils alone: it were a bad
recompense for your love, to lay any of them on
you.

Twelfth Night; Or, What You Will

----------------------------------------------------------------

Annapolis, Maryland
Thursday, November 28, 1996
6:11 pm

"If you two think you can behave yourselves, I have some calls to
make." Margaret smiled at her daughter and surrogate son from her
seat in the leather chair by the window.

Mulder was sprawled opposite her on the couch, and Scully had
pulled the afghan over herself on the loveseat.

He sat up as Margaret stood and headed for the coat hooks by the
door. "It's OK, Mrs. Scully. You and Scully did most of the
cooking. I'll clean."

"Thank you, dear. Oh, Dana, Mrs. Richards would love a visit with
you?"

Scully feigned sleep.

Her partner smirked. <Family obligations only run so deep, eh?>

The older woman crossed the hall and stroked her daughter's hair.
"Actually, Fox, I've cleaned up after bigger Sunday dinners, and
you're both as worn out as after that Mexican business. Why don't
you take after my truant girl and rest as well?"

He grinned, brimming with mischief. "No problem, I'll get her up
to help."

Unwilling to wait for Mulder's worst, Scully opened one eye. "Say
hi to Mrs. Richards for me, Mom." With that, Margaret left, and
her daughter pushed the wool cover away. "OK, Puck, let's get
started."

They worked quietly, Mulder observing to himself that having
shared so many meals at their respective apartments, some chores
proceeded almost automatically. "Scully?"

"Hum?"

"We need to talk." He passed her the wet turkey platter.

She began wiping it down. "So, talk."

He shook his head.

<Right.> "We'll go for a walk ourselves, OK?"

--o-0-o--

The Pomeranian trotted eagerly ahead of them, straining at the
leash. The path took them along a lazy creek, where the only signs
of their passage were bent blades of browned winter grass.

"I'm worried, Scully."

"Oh?"

"Now that my mother has found her family..."

"She won't come back to you?"

He studied the ground as they walked further. <It's not just
chores that are automatic, Mulder.>

They halted, confronted by a narrow drainage ditch. Jumping over
it easily, Mulder reached back to accept the squirming ball of fur
Scully passed him. She tried to gauge the depth of the depression,
considering whether to step in or leap, and sighed. He gently
dropped the dog, who immediately buried his nose in the cattails
and mud as his mistress backed up two steps, and at a jog, hurtled
herself over. As Mulder steadied her afterward, Scully could tell
from his eyes that fear over his mother's loss struck deeply under
his careful nonchalance.

He thrust his hands in his pockets, pushing at the bottom seams
with his fingers. "I wouldn't blame her. All I remind her of is a
missing daughter and a man who did nothing to help her own
relatives."

Angry at his repeated self-loathing, Scully remained in front of
him. "Mulder! You have to stop hating yourself for your parent's
mistakes! You were a child when Sam was taken, just a little boy."
She set her jaw. "It doesn't matter whether your sister was taken
by aliens, or twelve men in black suits. There were forces at work
so much more powerful than one skinny, overprotective big brother
that you didn't have the chance." She shook him by the elbow. "We
know that now, more clearly than we ever have."

He snorted.

"Beside, even if you are one of the most irritating men I know,
you're one of the gentlest as well. If I have to compliment you
until you turn as red as those beets we had for dinner to get you
to quit, I will." Turning to catch the end of the leash, Scully
dragged the protesting canine out of the tall weeds. "Listen to
me. You are the staunchest friend I could ever want. Even at the
beginning, when you thought I was a spy, you never treated me like
a stupid woman who couldn't understand your theories, just one who
wouldn't agree with you. You..."

He stepped away from her, his hands over his face. "Enough,
Scully! I get the point." He dropped his hands and looked her in
the eye. "And thanks. I just want her to come back, and I don't
know how to reach her. It's *worse* than Sam, almost."

She raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?"

He scuffed the grass with his boot, while the Pomeranian dug at an
empty rabbit's burrow. "With Sam, I have some idea who is
responsible for her disappearance, and I believe if I look hard
enough and long enough, I'll find her. But my Mom is alive and
fine, just out of reach, like a reflection. Everyone else can step
through the Looking Glass, except me. I'm locked out. What?"

His partner was smiling at him. "I'm glad to hear you talking
about this, Mulder. You seem to want to connect with her, when
three months ago, you wanted nothing more than to run away." She
chewed her lip. "We'd better get back. Mom should be home by now,
and she'll worry, even though we're together."

But Margaret was not there when they returned, so the partners
settled on the long sofa, watching the football games.

Scully had wrapped herself in the afghan again, and her weariness
soon had her nodding.

Watching her struggle, Mulder gradually lowered the volume until
he was following the game in silence.

One sharp drop of the head, one deep breath, and the fatigue won.

--o-0-o--

Annapolis, Maryland
Thursday, 11:17 pm

Margaret turned the key in the lock quietly. Through the glass in
the door, she had seen her two children asleep, and wanted to
leave them in peace. Using the left arm of the sofa as a pillow,
her daughter had curled up in a ball. Her tall partner's chin was
on his chest, the hand with the remote having fallen onto the
cushions, and the other resting limply across her swathed ankles.

The Pomeranian gazed up at her, his stumpy tail wagging as she
slipped in, but she wasn't stealthy enough. The partners jerked,
and Mulder leapt to his feet, reaching for the gun he normally
wore on his hip by instinct.

Chagrined when he touched bare cloth and realized whom he would
have injured had it been present, he blinked rapidly and sunk back
onto the couch. "Sorry, Mrs. Scully."

She returned to the chair, patting her lap for the dog, who jumped
up and spun around before settling down. "I'm sorry too, Fox.
Caroline was worried that you would get in over your heads."

Scully pulled the afghan back over her shoulders, leaning forward
to engage her mother's attention. "What does she know, Mom?"

The older woman shook her head. "She never really said that much,
just that it was highly classified at the time. I think she missed
not being able to work in the fifteen years she waited for you,
Fox."

Mulder rubbed his eyes, recalling the earlier conversation. "I
know. I just want her to be safe, that's all."

Tucking the dog under her arm, Margaret slid forward out of the
chair, bending down to speak with them on eye level. "You both
should get more sleep. Speaking as a mother hen, I could have run
model trains down the lines in your faces at dinner. Don't argue,
Fox. I have a warm comfortable bed for you upstairs, and I expect
to find you in it tomorrow morning, late, not down here. So, shoo,
both of you."

She chased them upstairs, waving Mulder towards Melissa's room.

Scully's room was next door on the left, sharing a bathroom, and
after Margaret retired, he knocked on the adjoining door.

After twisting the knob, letting the paneled hardwood swing on its
hinges, Scully returned to her duffel bag, lying at the foot of
the bed and to her unpacking. She picked a pair of jeans off the
steamer trunk so he could sit next to her.

He watched her work for a moment before he queried. "You've
prepared your Mom for the guys?"

She smiled. "Mulder, my Mother somehow managed to raise two boys,
Mel, and your truly. She already knows Byers from the spring. I
don't think the three of them will fluster her too much. I'm glad
we had this day, just the three of us, but they could have come
for dinner, you know."

He shook his head. "The Gunmen don't celebrate today, except with
'Wild Turkey' and 'Famous Grouse'."

Scully remembered opening her door to an inebriated Frohike during
Mulder's disappearance almost a year and a half earlier, and
giggled.

Frowning, her partner continued. "They refuse to recognize
government mandated holidays, especially Republican ones." She sat
at the head of the bed, covering her mouth with the red sweater
she was transferring at the moment, her shoulders shaking.

"What?"

"Do they refuse to use pennies and five dollar bills as well?" He
regarded her solemnly.

"They do?" She started laughing outright. "This is rich, Mulder.
And here I thought you were paranoid."

"Scully!" For rhetorical effect, he placed his hand on his chest.
"This is a matter of principle, not paranoia."

She flopped over on her back, propped up by the pillows, peals of
hilarity resonating in the small room.

Margaret thrust open the painted door from the hall. "Fox Mulder,
what are you doing to my...Oh."

He turned to her, a cherubic look of innocence on his face.

Scully sat up, rolling her eyes. "It's OK, Mom. Mulder was just
filling me in on the Lone Gunmen's reservations about Republican
holidays."

The older woman walked off, shaking her head.

When he heard the latch of her door engage, he leaned towards her.
"I know what will keep me in bed, late, Scully, or should I say
*who*."

She zipped the empty bag shut and carried it to the closet. As she
returned to the bed, she prepared and discarded several comebacks,
finally settling on the one she thought would be most effective.
She bent over until they were nose to nose, her hands on her hips,
letting him anticipate her response. "I do too, Mulder, but I know
how much you hate needles."

He grimaced.

"So, a good strong cup of hawthorn tea for you, coming right up."
She wiggled a small white packet under his nose.

He began to back out of the room. "Enough, Scully. You and Susan
have to finish that paper soon, so you'll stop picking up all
those herbal remedies from her. I've never drunk so much strange
stuff with you in the past four and a half years as I have this
last month."

"Good night, Mulder."

His response was delivered to the oak. "Good night, Scully."

--o-0-o--

Flat #2
Walford, London
Thursday, 11:30 pm

Phoebe shifted her weight in the bed, adjusting her shoulders in
Eric's arms.

He lifted the hand resting on his stomach and kissed the palm.
"Glad to be home from the USA?"

Her head slid back and forth on his bare chest, her pale face
contrasting with his dark, rich tones. "Home to you and wonderful,
foggy, wet London. Massachusetts is a miserable place. Nothing is
green and it's so cold and windy."

He turned his head to focus on her. "Oh, I wondered why a simple
meeting would take three weeks."

She squeezed his chest with her free arm. "It was all a background
check. I missed my flight at National that first day, so I hopped
a shuttle to Boston and drove to Chilmark. I wanted to review the
local records on Caroline Mulder. What I found took me back to DC,
and I had to use all the power of Scotland Yard to get access to
some fifty year old files. The British Embassy tried to block me
with a story about National Security, but I eventually worked
around them, too."

He rolled out from under her and propped himself up on one elbow.
"You went by his house?"

She settled on her back, running her hand along his arm. "I
couldn't. It had been blown up under mysterious circumstances in
September, as was his Father's place. He'd irritated the hell out
of some bigshot, no doubt."

She sat up, pulling the down comforter over her legs. "He wants me
to find Caroline for him. She knows things from the Second World
War, Eric. She worked on a highly classified project for the US
government then, that I can't tell you about."

He held up his hand. "Then don't Luv. Did I tell you I may have a
buyer for 'Artist and Muse'?"

Her shoulders slumped.

"No, Sweet, let's not start this tonight."

"But Eric, I'll buy it from you. It means so much to me."

He shook his head. "When we get married, I'll paint you a better
one as a gift."

"Who is this buyer, anyway? I'll call him and offer to double the
price if he'll sell it to me."

He brightened. "Would you, Phoebe? That would make it so much more
valuable. Have to know how to play the game. He wasn't at the
show, in fact he came by just three days ago, so he wouldn't know
you were connected with me."

She closed her hand over his. "Eric! I don't want you to sell it.
Who is he, anyway?"

He frowned. "No one I've ever met before. He said he was from
America, but he had a slight upper class accent. He was very
protective of his hands and kept having his assistant open doors
for him. He said he wanted it for his office in New York." He
lifted a card off the bedside table. "Here, this is his name."

Phoebe took the paper and slipped it in her case. "I'll check him
out tomorrow. I have a meeting with CI Williams to lay out an
itinerary for tracking Caroline." She slid over to him, not
wanting to tell him so soon, but not wanting to hold anything
back, either. "I'll be gone much of the time between now and
Christmas, Eric. She's probably in Vienna, or was. That's where
she was born and grew up, and she had family there, too."

"But you'll stop by periodically to see how my next masterpiece is
coming along?"

She pulled him down on top of her. "As often as I can, my Heart.
Count on it."

He stroked her face. "I will, I will."

--o-0-o--

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, DC
Friday November 29, 1996
7:30 am

"Enter." Walter Skinner rose slowly as the old man crossed the
carpet to the chairs in front of his desk. The AD's first instinct
was to whip out his gun, but he slapped it down. The next impulse
was to hide the coaster that he knew would be appropriated for an
ashtray, but the one time he had done that, the man had used the
floor. The accumulated ash and butts had saturated the rug with
their noxious stench so thoroughly he had been forced to replace
it at his own expense. He settled for glowering at the grey-suited
figure, waiting for the inevitable lecture.

"I thought you were told to warn Mulder and Scully off the
Sharpsburg problem." The hand with the burning weed waved. "For
their own good, of course."

Skinner leaned forward, deepening his voice well below its usual
bass timbre. "They were. Thanks to the inefficiency of the
People's own, I have a pair of walking zombies for agents, who
have driven, in essence, from DC to San Francisco and back, twice,
chasing a killer who may or may not exist. They haven't had the
time or opportunity to interfere in your internal problems."

The lined face exhaled a curling plume of grey smoke. "Are you
sure about that, Walter? I have evidence of illegal access to
private surveillance and secret documents by known associates of
your 'zombies'. Just because they didn't do the dirty work,
doesn't mean they weren't the instigators behind it all, and won't
get them off the hook when the time comes for heads to roll."

Skinner stood and leaned over the desk, whispering to contain his
rage. "And what about you? I still have a phone number on my speed
dial that rings New Mexico."

The stream was directed in his face. "Don't scare me with stories
of old men. All we have to do is arrange for a little accident and
you won't be able to place that call. Or didn't you think about
that, Walter? As long as Assistant Director Skinner is alive and
well, so are your bothersome agents. But without you..." He
shrugged, as Skinner gritted his teeth, refusing to give the
shadowy figure the pleasure of a cough.

The Assisstant Director's voice was hoarse when he replied. "No,
you don't get it. It's not just the FBI you have to coerce
anymore. If something were to happen to me, the Senate would get
involved, and not the Senate you had bought and paid for, either.
The People's Representatives may not be able to pass a budget, but
they know what makes for great television. To expose a multi-
decade clandestine operation that had an unlimited expense account
would be a spectacle like none before." He leaned back and took a
deep breath of the relatively cleaner air behind his desk,
watching the coldness settle behind the eyes of his adversary.

"Let them come, Walter. We have been saving the secrets for many,
many years. Let the American People know who had been on their
side all this time, and who has kept the world 'Safe for
Democracy'."

Skinner growled. "Then why haven't you gone public already?"

The old man stood. "Just keep Mulder and Scully out of something
that isn't their business, and the status quo stays right the way
it is. Good day, *Assistant* Director Skinner." He vanished
through the side door.

Walter Skinner ran his hands over his bald head. <Just what was
going on here?> He punched the call button for Gloria, replacing
the receiver before the first ring. She was at her son's, visiting
her first grandchild.

<Well, Walter, get it yourself. You have two good legs.> He found
the latest travel request for the X-files agents on her desk,
stamped 'CANCELLED'. Instead, they had submitted leave slips for
the today and Monday. <They need it.> Whatever this homeless case
was, it was far more effort than it was worth. If he had known of
anything else to keep them occupied, he would have pulled them
three weeks ago and reassigned them.

--o-0-o--

Annapolis, MD
Friday, 10:30 am

"Hey, wake up, Luke Skywalker, they're he-re!" Scully bounced the
mattress, jostling her partner and smiling at his groan. Her
mother had shaken her gently less than an hour before, barely
giving her time to shower and dress before the Gunmen had banged
on the front door.

The three were downstairs with Margaret, who had rejected repeated
requests for her daughter's hand from Frohike before Scully had
escaped upstairs.

Mulder whacked at her with a pillow before rolling back over.
"Don't want to get up. My head hurts."

She tugged the covers off. "You have to get up, Zeppo. Groucho,
Harpo, and Chico are downstairs. They can't start the show without
you."

No response.

"Mulder! Frohike is downstairs with my Mother. Think about it! You
have to save me from having him for a stepfather!"

He twitched, finally awake. "What, no coffee? I bring you coffee.
I'll bet you haven't drawn my bath either." Mulder rolled over,
pulling himself up and forcing both eyes open. "What time is it,
Scully?" She regarded him levelly and responded, eliciting a look
of confusion from her partner. "I haven't slept this long since
February. They're here already?"

She nodded, lifting a mug off the end table and holding it out to
him.

He smirked, drank it down in one long draught, and gave it back.
"Two more and I may be human."

She leaned over him. "Downstairs." Before she turned to leave, she
rested her hand on his shoulder. "You OK, Mulder? You usually only
sleep four hours a night and catnap in meetings."

He frowned. "I guess so. All the travel must have been tougher
than I thought." He pushed himself to his feet. "I'll grab a quick
shower and get down there. If Frohike marries your mother, I'd be
his surrogate son, too."

"Then he could take your videotapes, claiming it was for your own
good." She ducked, avoiding the pillow, swung for real.

"Yeah, right. See you in a bit." The bathroom door closed.

--o-0-o--

The Victorian mansion was criss-crossed with wires and cables when
the tall agent finally picked his way to the first floor, showered
and shaved. Margaret Scully's face alternated between expressing
horror at the tapping and banging, and delight at the antics she
was witnessing. Her daughter was bent over a computer, running
various detection algorithms and arguing with Langly over
triangulation locations. Frohike was standing on tiptoe on a
rickety wooden ladder, waving an antenna over the fireplace, and
Byers was inside the flue, calling out microwave frequencies,
waiting for a response from Scully, either "Clear!" or "Up!" or
"Down!".

Margaret turned to him. "Good morning, Fox."

The Gunmen echoed her, ribbing him with an emphasis on the
forbidden name.

Scully jumped. "Go back, Byers, back to 937.67 MHz. That's right.
Now watch this, Langly." She typed a command, the screen blanked,
and a full-scale plot of a steep spike materialized. "There's one
in there, alright. It's been transmitting on this frequency using
an encoded pulsed signal." She glanced up at Mulder, who was
standing over them. <Our precautions had not been in vain.>

He walked over to the fireplace. "Byers, can you tell if it is
audio only, or is there a video detector present?"

The normally precisely placed hair and beard were smudged with
dust as he ducked under the mantlepiece. "No video signal, Mulder.
Just this." He held out a tiny microphone to Langly.

The blonde Gunman inspected it closely under a hand lens. "Oh!
These are new! When we get back to the office, I'll take this
apart under a microscope."

Scully turned to her Mother, who had covered her mouth with both
hands, and hugged her. "Don't worry, Mom. We'll find the others."

Mulder stood beside them. "Do you have any idea when these could
have been installed? When was the last time you left here for more
than a just a few hours?"

Margaret shook her head before responding. "I haven't, Fox. Just a
trip to Potomac Mills at Labor Day, before you and Dana got back
from Mexico. Could they have done this then?"

Scully rubbed her Mother's back and stared at her partner. "We
don't know, Mom. I need to talk to Mulder, outside."

The agents left Margaret and the Gunmen, slipping as far away from
the house as they could.

"Scully, there could be more. We have to keep on searching."

She leaned close to him, still concerned about wiretaps. "I know.
That couldn't have been in place before we returned. Mom didn't
see anyone strange, and the dog would have raised an alarm."

"OK, so they've been waiting and installing one or two at a time,
when she steps out for groceries." He ran his hand through his
hair. "What does my Mother know that is so important?"

--o-0-o--

Flat #2
Walford, London
Friday, 6:30 pm

"That my girl?" Eric put down the brush and palette when he heard
the key in the lock. The door banged against the stops, and he
heard the thump of something heavy hitting the floor. "Phoebe?" He
ran into the main room, not seeing her at first. Then he heard a
soft whimper and crossed the space to close the door. "Oh, Luv,
what did they do to you?"

She was sprawled out on the rug, her coat torn down the back.
"Eric? Are you here?"

He pushed the door shut and knelt beside her. As he turned her
over, he saw bruises darkening on her face, and blood on her
hands.

"Eric?"

He held her close, crooning to her. "I'm here, Sweet, what
happened? Who did this to you?"

She struggled to sit up, lifting a hand to his shoulder.

"Where's you case?"

"They took it, Eric. It has something to do with that man who
wants to buy 'Artist and Muse'. It was empty, except for a photo
of him I wanted you to identify for me, and I was attacked in the
car park by three men." She swallowed, shaking her head. "I got
one of them in the face, but the other two were too strong, and
they took it."

He picked her up, carried her into the bedroom, and laid her
gently on the comforter. "We'll talk about it in a little bit,
Luv. Do you want me to take you to Hospital?"

She sat up on the bed. "No, I'll be alright. I just ache and I
think I sprained my wrist struggling to hold on to the briefcase."

He gingerly began to undress her. "Are you sure? All this blood
came from somewhere."

She nodded, trying to smile. "You should see the other guy."

He slipped off her blouse, and started rubbing her swollen arm. "I
should call the Yard, have them come out here to take a statement,
right, Luv?"

She shook her head. "This would only get buried. I think I know
why this guy is so important, and how he connects with Caroline,
but I need to find her and talk to her. I have to know what she
knows. Her life may depend on it." Fully undressed, she slipped
under the covers, letting herself be pampered for the rest of the
evening.

--o-0-o--

Annapolis, MD
Sunday, December 1, 1996
10:45 am

Langly dropped a box on the kitchen table. "That's it, guys,
that's the last of them."

Every room, including the bathrooms, had been tapped, and the
Gunmen and the Agents had worked round the clock to locate them
all. The wiretap microphones were each lying on cotton in
individually capped cylinders, and lined up in a small container.
The box was open on the kitchen table, and six heads bent over the
fourteen cylinders.

Mulder scanned the Gunmen's faces. "Can you tell us when they were
planted in the house?"

Langly pulled an electronics catalog out of one of the bags,
flipped it open, and tapped a photograph of a chip. "All within
the past month or so, G-man. The components are that new,
*really*. I've seen them advertised in trade magazines, but not as
parts of complete systems. Whoever is interested in these lovely
quarters won't do with anything less than the finest. Your Shadow
friends, perhaps?"

Scully shrugged. "Or the art dealers. They have the money to buy
the technology and the expertise to build it." She pushed her hair
behind her ear. "But I don't understand why they are so interested
in my Mom's house. Mrs. Mulder can only have known about what she
worked on before she married her husband, and we know all that.
Further, thanks to the net, *everyone* knows all that."

"Do we, Scully?" Mulder stared down at her. "I'm beginning to
think my Mom knows much more than she will ever be willing to
tell, but unless we get some information from her, it may kill
her, and Max."

Margaret excused herself, and her daughter followed.

Mulder turned to the Gunmen. "Thanks, guys. I think Mrs. Scully
will sleep better tonight."

Frohike stepped up to the tall agent. "We're splitting, Mulder. We
want to get back before the traffic gets too bad, and we'll
dissect these monsters for you. Besides, we wouldn't want to keep
you from the delectable Agent Dana and her equally wonderful
mother for too long." He doffed his cap to the two Scully women on
the sofa as they passed through the hall. "My offer still stands,
Mrs. Scully."

Margaret rose and thanked them, rubbing her face as she waved.

After they left, Mulder sat on the left end of the couch. "Mrs.
Scully? Do you think you can talk about this?" He touched her arm.
"We weren't planning on leaving tonight, you know."

Margaret looked from one worried face to the other. "So you will
stay through tomorrow?" They nodded. "OK, I think I'd like to have
a little quiet. It's hard to think that people have been in and
out while you were away for such a short period of time as a trip
to the corner market, and managed to put your most private moments
on tape. Excuse me, dears." She returned to the kitchen, and they
heard water running into a tea kettle.

He sagged against the back of the sofa as a deep, hoarse cough
escaped him.

Scully cautioned. "Mulder, you've been hacking like that since
last night. There's no telling what we might have been exposed to
in those shelters, and with as little sleep as we've had these
past few weeks, both our immune systems are probably suppressed."

He waved his hand at her. "I'll be OK, Scully. It's probably just
the dust from crawling around in the rafters. Besides, if I come
down with something, you and Sue will use me as a guinea pig for
one of your cures." He looked over. "What is odd is the placement
of the bugs. It's as if someone had to have plans for this place,
to know exactly where the taps could be installed for maximum
concealment with the minimum amount of work. We didn't have to
drill into any plaster, but without all the twenty-first century
gear, we never would have detected them by visual inspection
alone."

In spite of his objections, his partner felt his forehead, finding
his temperature normal. "Mulder, the layout of the house would be
easy to obtain. My father had the back extended for the modern
kitchen about ten years ago. The city planning commission required
detailed blueprints of the entire structure before it would
approve changes to an historic home."

"And those plans are a matter of public record. So anyone could
come in and take a look, even make copies, and no one would be the
wiser." He yawned. "You'll probably think I'm ill for real,
Scully, but I don't want to get back to work so soon. We can't
investigate the homeless case without travel funds, and I couldn't
face a week of paperwork if I had to."

Scully stretched her arms over her head, her sweater gaping at the
waist. "I know how you feel. We've slept all of four hours since
Friday morning, but at least I think the house has been swept
clean. We could call in and take a few more days off. The Bureau
is encouraging Agents to take leave, we have the time, and it
would help my Mom to have someone here until she gets over the
shock." She stood and walked over to sit by him on the arm of the
sofa. "Besides, you were waiting to buy new fish until we got back
anyway."

He grinned. "Yeah, Scully, the old ones took a look at that pink
alligator of your brother's and went belly up. So, how early do we
get up to call Skinner?"

It was her turn to look mischievous. "We don't. We use the voice
mail, so we don't have to argue with him, and call now, before we
feel guilty and change our minds."

--o-0-o--

Podowitz Residence
Vienna, Austria
Monday, December 2, 1996
8:47 am

"Guten Morgen."

Phoebe started at the family resemblance as the door opened. "Mr.
Isaac Podhowitz?"

White hair fell over his face, and he shoved it aside impatiently.
"Yes, and you are?"

She held up her ID. "Inspector Phoebe Green, Scotland Yard. I'd
like to ask you a few questions, if I may." She saw the old fear
pass over his eyes, a distant memory of a dark time, and she
wanted to apologize. "Please, sir. I'm a friend of your nephew's
from Oxford, and I need to find your sister, soon."

He stepped back, gesturing her in.

She followed him towards his sitting room, observing the family
photos on the walls, some daguerreotypes from the mid Nineteenth
Century.

He turned, aware of her interest. "How much do you know about my
family, Inspector Green?"

She smiled. "Well, Mulder never said much at University, but I've
been reading. You survived Dachau, Sir, and brought your uncle
back to this house that was originally his. It had been used as a
barracks during the war, am I right?"

He closed his eyes. "By *them*, yes, my dear. Daniel buried all
these treasures to keep them safe before he escaped, after we were
taken." He focused on her. "But you didn't come here to listen to
an old man's memories. How can I help my sister?"

She started again. <The tone of voice, the phrases, they were all
him.> When Isaac lowered himself into an overstuffed chair, Phoebe
took the sofa. "I think she may know something about the War, Sir,
and suddenly it's become very significant to the wrong people. Has
anyone else asked about her besides myself?" He shook his head, so
she continued. "This is very important, Sir. Have you seen anyone
waiting around the house, anyone just watching?" The shadow passed
again, and Phoebe cringed inside. "Sir, I don't mean to..."

"Recall old nightmares? You haven't, my dear. But they never go
away. One can be in a park on Midsummer's Day, hearing the
chattering of tree finches, and suddenly, it is as if one was
still there." He shook himself, banishing the images to the back
of his mind. "No, I haven't."

"Also, sir, do you know where she was going next?"

He considered her question. "I think, yes, I'm sure of it, Paris.
She wanted to visit the Louvre again. Our parents took us, when we
were small, and I am too old to travel much. But Caroline was
always the adventurer. I'm glad she can still do these things." He
raised an eyebrow. "You look extremely uncomfortable, Inspector.
Can I get you some tea or coffee?"

She shook her head. "No, Sir, thank you. It's just that...well,
you look and act much like what I think Mulder would at your age,
and I almost expect him to appear."

He laughed, the hair slipping in his eyes again. "Family is a
wonderful thing. I would love to visit with this nephew I've never
met. He was a good scholar at Oxford, Caroline tells me. Took a
First?"

She nodded. "He has a mind like a steel trap and picks up on
things faster than a cat. We were close for a while."

"Forgive an old man's impertinence, my dear, but you didn't part
on the best of terms, did you?"

Her mind wandered back to the circumstances surrounding the end of
their relationship. "No, Sir, we didn't. I hurt him very badly,
I'm afraid, through extreme foolishness."

He stood. "Are you sure about the tea? We old folks do love
company."

She got to her feet, resigned. "No, Mr. Podhowitz, as much as I'd
love to chat, I have to find your sister."

He escorted her to the door, patting her shoulder before opening
it. "You should be more careful, Inspector Green. I can deduce
from your limp that you've had an unfortunate encounter with
stalkers yourself not too long ago."

Her jaw dropped. <I thought no one could tell!> "Thank you, Sir, I
will be. I have someone worrying about me back in London, and if
anything happened, well..."

"He'd come after you with all the speed love allows. Good day, my
dear."

--o-0-o--

Annapolis, Maryland
Monday 11:45 pm

Margaret Scully sat up with a start. The Pomeranian was padding
around on the bed, yipping and excited. She smiled, hearing the
sound of quiet conversation float up the stairs. <It's good to
have someone here. The house is too large and empty otherwise.> As
she slipped into her robe and opened the door, she saw her
daughter, bobbing down the stairs, her latest nonfiction tome in
hand.

Scully turned back when she heard her mother's door creak. "Oh,
sorry, Mom. Mulder was having trouble sleeping upstairs, so he
woke me," she rolled her eyes, "to come watch the Sci-Fi channel
with him. You want to see 'The Beginning of the End?' or 'Mothra'
with us?"

Margaret shook her head. "I'd like some tea, though." The women
descended together, the Pomeranian bumping down ahead of them.
Margaret patted Mulder's shoulder, having heard him coughing from
across the hall. <That's more than just dust, Fox.>

Scully settled on the loveseat again, pushing her partner in the
back gently, and turned the table lamp on.

He tipped his head to speak with Margaret as she stood behind him.
"Don't worry about the microwave, I have some popcorn going in
there."

Margaret smiled as the popping slowed and he was on his feet,
walking beside her into the kitchen. Standing in the semi-
darkness, she felt him touch her arm, with that glancing, hesitant
contact he used to catch someone's attention.

Margaret forced herself to wait, to let him take the initiative.

"Mrs. Scully?"

"Yes, Fox?"

He stepped closer. "Thanks for asking me here for Thanksgiving.
I've really, well, for my Mom, I..."

She grasped his wrist, then hugged him. As usual, he withdrew into
his confused boy-self as she held him, slowly returning the
embrace, almost as if he expected a reprimand to follow.

Margaret's heart went out to him. <He must have been starved for
affection as a child.> "Thank you for coming, Fox. You and Dana
are such good company..." Her eyes were drawn to lights moving in
the woods behind the house. "That's strange. The Harrises are in
Pennsylvania this weekend. Who would be out there at this time of
night?"

It was not a confused boy, but the FBI agent, who called urgently
for his partner, and the two bounded up the stairs, only to return
seconds later, shod and armed, pulling their jackets on.

Mulder grasped her arm again, but the contact was authoritative,
commanding. "Stay inside, Mrs. Scully, and keep the doors locked
until we give the all clear, OK?" Then they were out the door.

The agents separated immediately, each moving towards the closest
of the lights to their left and right. Scully slipped into the
open bed of her mother's pick-up truck, crouching under the level
of the sides, waiting.

As the footfalls halted by the truck, she pointed her gun at the
light. "Federal Agent, freeze!" She heard a gunshot and ducked,
then pointed the weapon out again, directly into another
government issue barrel.

A similar command sounded in the dark. "Federal Agent, so let's
see some ID!"

Scully shook her head, holding her gun level and cocked, uncertain
as to the gender of the agent at the back end of the weapon. "I'll
show you mine at the same time I see yours."

The other gun rotated slowly until it pointed at the ground, and
an arm in black lowered it to the floor of the truck bed as Scully
holstered her own.

A round camouflaged face moved forward into the dim light, a U.S.
Customs photo badge beside it.

Scully was displaying her own ID, so the two women (the bulges
under the close fitting black sweater were obvious) extended their
hands, introducing themselves as Agent Scully and Agent Collins.

Scully checked back over her shoulder in the direction of the
gunfire and sighed. "I take it my partner is out there tracking
your partner?"

Collins grinned. "A guy?"

Scully nodded. "Let's go pick up the pieces, shall we?"

The women crept together towards the other source of illumination,
and each rolled their eyes when they saw the flashlight lying on
the ground.

The FBI agent noticed her counterpart's identical action and
smiled. "You have the opportunity to patch him up often?"

"Every chance he gets."

"Doctor?"

Collins shrugged. "Mom was a nurse. I practiced some as a kid,
more since becoming an agent. You?"

"Pathologist."

"He has a weak stomach, right?"

"Mm-hum." As they moved along, following a trail of broken and
flattened grass, Scully felt the need to defend her partner. "Make
no mistake, Mulder's a good friend."

"Same here."

"Bright, well-educated..."

"Mm-hum."

"Thoughtful, great insights..."

"Yeah."

Scully pointed. "There!"

The male agents were wrestling on the frozen ground, so the women
spoke to their counterparts in remarkably parallel phrases.
"Mulder/ Lomas, stop, they're Customs/ FBI."

The men pushed each other apart, reaching for their guns again.

The women passed a 'you must be kidding' look between them.
"Mulder/ Lomas, where is your ID?"

The guns lowered. "In my room/ Lost."

Mulder sat back down, rubbing his jaw where the Customs Agent had
landed a firm punch, and Scully crawled over to him, probing it.

"Ow!" He doubled over, hacking.

She shook her head. "Keep that up, Mulder, and you'll break
something." She could hear Collins fussing about this being the
third badge Lomas had lost in a night fight this year. "Agent
Collins?"

"Yes, Agent Scully?"

"My mother's house is right here. Do you want to call yourselves
in from there?"

"Sure."

Mulder shivered as she helped him stand. "Why is Customs
interested in your Mother's house?"

Lomas responded. "Stolen Art."

Scully snorted in surprise. "Not unless there's a black market in
first grade finger paintings."

The Customs agents stared back. "We have information that a stolen
Jan Steen would appear here in a few days."

Now it was the FBI agent's turn to stare at each other.
<Sharpsburg?>

--o-0-o--

Margaret Scully sat at the kitchen counter, watching her daughter,
enjoying the consummately professional side of Dana she rarely
saw. The four agents were drinking coffee and exchanging
information, colleague to colleague.

She knew, finally knew, that this was what made Dana happiest, not
that it was second best because no one had asked her to marry him,
nor because she would never have children, but because she found
it challenging and exhilarating.

Mulder too, had been different, the energy focused, directed, in
his hunter mode, as Dana called it. But at present, the hunter was
expounding one of his government conspiracy theories to the male
agent.

The woman from Customs was whispering in her daughter's ear. "Is
he always like this?"

"Wait until he starts on the aliens."

"We don't have all night!"

Nodding, Scully touched her partner's arm. "Mulder, stop."

He paused, then launched into the rest of his sentence.

She gripped his arm firmly. "Mulder..." She growled.

He snapped his mouth shut, sharing one silent look of exasperation
with his Customs counterpart.

Lomas turned to Collins, who was combing through her perfectly
curled pageboy with her fingers. He grinned. "I could come to like
these two, the red-head especially." Lomas pointed at Mulder. "You
want Steve Reeves here?"

The women groaned.

Mulder leaned towards Collins, his eyes alight with mischief.
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Peel."

Scully pushed aside the thought of expanding the bruise on his
chin. <Down to business, maybe?> "So it was Scotland Yard who
tipped you off?"

Collins nodded. "Inspector McCombs was contacted by Israeli
intelligence last month, and he contacted Lomas. We've been
tracking the Steen since then."

Pouring himself more coffee, Mulder responded as he refilled the
mug Scully had slid in front of him. "It belonged to Max Lowenberg
before it was donated to the museum. I had access to some
surveillance photos of it as it was removed from a bank vault in
Sharpsburg. Where did it go after that?"

The Customs agents glanced at each other.

Lomas queried. "How did you know about it?"

Scully sipped the coffee. "We were told not to look into it, so we
had a group of outside experts perform a preliminary
investigation, and they found the photos."

Mulder set the coffee pot on the trivet. He felt these two were
trustworthy, despite his usual paranoia. "I have them upstairs.
I'll be right back."

Scully shifted in her chair to address her mother. "Mom, you don't
have to stay up with us, you know. I'm afraid we'll only be
talking shop for the next few hours."

Lomas rose from his seat and extended his hand towards the older
woman. "We have even less time than that to take advantage of your
hospitality, unfortunately. When Mulder returns, we'll have to
leave to rejoin the rest of the search team. There is another
group sweeping a wooded area two miles north of here." He turned
as he heard Mulder bounding down the stairs.

Mulder held out the pages. "Here."

The four agents discussed the Gunmen's findings, Collins jotting
the addresses of the three suspects in her notebook before they
left. "This will save us weeks of legwork, Thanks." She shook
Scully's hand. "Good luck with him."

"Same to you."

Margaret took the opportunity to wish them goodnight.

Her partner was wired. "So, Scully, there is something important
happening in Sharpsburg after all." He was bouncing around the
room.

She reached out to steady him, knowing that once the adrenaline
wore off he would feel the full brunt of his symptoms. "Mulder!
Sit."

He rolled his eyes, sinking down on the sofa sulkily. <Lighten up,
Scully. It's only a cold, and it won't kill me.>

Scully flew up the stairs, reappearing with three pillows and two
blankets. She dropped one pillow on the loveseat, and stacked two
pillows on the end of the sofa.

Mulder studied the inviting bolsters. <Oh, well, if she insists.>
He slid against them, allowing himself the forbidden pleasure of
dependency as she adjusted the cushions and tucked the blankets in
around him.

Finished, she settled down herself. "Mulder?"

He lifted his head off the sofa back to focus in her general
direction, suddenly feeling achey and stiff. "Hmm?"

"You sure you don't need anything?"

He smirked. "You forgot my good night kiss, Mom."

Scully tossed her head. "See you in the morning, partner." She
cast the room into darkness with a click.

--o-0-o--

Annapolis, MD
Tuesday, December 3, 1996
7:45 am

Mulder put the remote down. He had been channel surfing, and a
name on the local Baltimore news had caught his attention. Having
found the long sofa almost as comfortable as his futon on previous
visits, he had slept soundly, awakening once to check that Scully
was still close by on the two-seater.

Increasing the volume, he reached over to shake her by shoulder.

The announcer continued. "Dr. Nora Samuelson was found strangled
in her office late last night. A senior physician at the Johns
Hopkins Hospital, she was working with the homeless to test
anti-hallucinogenic drugs for their rehabilitation. We now take
you to the scene."

Mulder listened carefully, remembering Nora from Chiapas, and from
Susan Miles' discussions.

Scully awoke slowly after his touch, thinking she could check on
her partner while he slept. She knew he was concealing his
illness, and wanted to respect his privacy, but her medical
judgement warned her that he had to be monitored. <Oh, no. He's
awake.> "Mulder? You're up?"

He pointed to the television screen. "Scully, check this out."

She sat upright, absorbing the new information. "Poor Sue. I'll
have to call her. When did this happen?"

After he filled her in, he paused. "I'm afraid our homeless case
just assumed new visibility." She chewed her lip while she
listened. "It's seems we may have an escalating serial killer on
our hands after all, not just random disappearances, despite the
lack of data from BS."

She stood behind him and rested both forearms on the sofa back,
touching his shoulder to draw his attention to her. <He's going to
fight me on this, I know it.> "Mulder, when we get back to the
Bureau, I want you to stop by the infirmary and have a TB test
done."

He frowned. "What? I thought that was wiped out years ago."

She shrugged, trying to keep the conversation low-key. "No,
unfortunately, it wasn't. A new drug-resistant strain is working
through the immigrant population, and you may have been exposed to
it in one of the shelters."

He pursed his lips. "Scully, I don't need you to play doctor with
me constantly. I *can* take care of myself, you know."

She ducked her head to conceal her grin. <Opening a Semi could
drive through, partner.> "No playing doctor? Or did I just
appropriate one of your best lines?"

He groaned, and the cough he was suppressing shook its way out of
him. "OK, just to please you, I'll go. But, if I'm exposed,
shouldn't you be showing symptoms as well?"

She shrugged. "Well, maybe ... unless ..." <Perhaps, just
perhaps.> "I know we've more or less abandoned the idea, but you
are the right age and race ..."

He synced with her thoughts, and stood up, excited. "Yes, I see. I
may have inadvertently become a test subject. How can we find
out?"

Scully considered. "Let's go visit Susan. She has the facilities
to test for anything strange in your blood or tissue."

He grimaced. "You'll get to stick needles in me yet, Dr. Scully."

The protest was delivered to his partner's back, as she headed up
the stairs to shower and change.

--o-0-o--

William Donald Schaeffer Youth House
Baltimore, MD
Tuesday 8:30 am

"Johnny, would you stop washing dishes and come sit down, please?"
Elizabeth Williams patted his shoulder.

He dried his hands before he followed the diminutive white-haired
woman. "What is it, Miss Williams?"

She hated to tell him, so she softened the blow with praise first.
<He's such an honest child. It's hard to think he was on the
street for two years.> "You've adjusted well to living with the
other boys here, and you keep your room clean better than all the
rest. How do you like school?"

He grinned. "School is great! I got through three chapters in the
trigonometry book yesterday. I like working at my own pace and not
waiting for the others. But what's wrong, Miss Williams?" He had
correctly read the concern on her face.

"I'm sorry to have to give you such bad news, but something
happened to Dr. Samuelson last night."

He shrank into the chair, his eyes wide. "She's dead, isn't she?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Unfortunately, yes."

The quiet confidence slipped out of the boy like air out of a
balloon. "How did it happen? Did she hurt?"

Elizabeth blanched, incapable of answering the boy.

"She did, didn't she?" He started rocking in his seat, sobbing
into his fists. <My medicine! What do I do now?>

He let his new friend hold him for a while, she being unable to
find words to comfort him for his loss.

--o-0-o--

The Johns Hopkins Hospital
Baltimore, MD
Tuesday 10:30 am

"Sue, I'm so sorry."

The classmates embraced while Mulder looked on.

Susan Miles sighed. "Nora was a good friend. She had been a nurse
originally, and had worked her way through Medical School. Do you
have any idea who might have done this terrible thing?"

The partners exchanged a glance before the tall agent replied. "We
may, Sue. My condolences as well...Hump!"

The woman had pulled him into a tight hug like Margaret's.

Scully smirked behind her hand. <Susan, Susan, what a surprise!>

Dr. Miles released him as he began to cough, listening to the
hoarse bark with her clinician's ears. "This sounds familiar,
Dana. Mulder, have a seat and roll up your sleeve."

He gritted his teeth. <More probing. Just what I need.>

Wax paper crinkled, then Susan pressed a tiny rectangular prism
into the Agent's arm.

He stared at the parallel rows of dots. "That's the TB test?"

"Yes. Come back in two days if the marks haven't faded. Now I'd
like to get a throat culture. Open wide."

As Mulder complied reluctantly, Scully's curiosity drove her to
question. "Sue, you said this sounds familiar. Where have you seen
it before? In the shelters?"

She nodded, preparing a hypo to draw blood. "It's most common in
the DC shelters, but cases are showing up to the North as more
homeless come in from the cold."

"What is it?" Mulder's squeak as the steel tip approached his
tourniquetted arm amused both doctors.

Susan rubbed his arm above the point of entry to distract him.
"The virus is new. I would describe it as an advanced retrovirus
that masquerades as TB unless one checks carefully, hence the
blood and tissue samples."

The needle withdrawn, Mulder resumed his investigator mode. "How
advanced?" He glanced at his partner. "Do you recognize the DNA?"

Sue regarded him. "Is it like AIDS, you mean? No."

Both agents shook their heads. Mulder was excited, but the deep
breath he intended to use for speech was expelled in a fit of
furious coughing.

Scully laid her hand on his arm. "No, I'm sure Mulder is thinking
about..."

"Aliens." They spoke simultaneously.

Sue chuckled. <Always with the alien theories.> "Sorry, the DNA
has all been cataloged, just rearranged. You've heard of designer
drugs?" They nodded. "Well, this is a specifically targeted virus.
In a healthy person, it basically knocks you out for a week. First
the cough, then three days of fever and nausea before finally
abating." She transferred Mulder's blood to a test tube and
scribbled on a label. "You won't feel like getting out of bed for
two days after that."

Since Mulder was hacking again, Scully took up the questioning.
"You said specifically targeted. How do you mean?"

Sue poured a vial of green liquid into a specimen cup and handed
it to Mulder. "Well, it seems to almost exclusively affect men his
age, rather than women or children or the elderly. We think it may
be triggered by male hormones, but we aren't sure of the
mechanism."

Scully considered this. "Male hormones?"

Sue waved at the untouched cup in Mulder's hand. "That's one of
the Chiapas drugs. I'll send you home with a week's supply. Oh,
it's safe, very much so. And although it won't touch the virus, it
will keep you from picking up anything else. You see, I know you
two. You'll be investigating Nora's death since it relates to your
case, regardless of how bad you feel, and this provides a modicum
of protection, so drink up."

He drained the cup and let out a grunt of genuine surprise.
"Either I'm becoming inured to these herbal flavors, or this
actually doesn't taste too bad."

Scully smiled. "It's women's medicine, Mulder, remember? Mothers
have to get it inside their kids, so it can't taste horrible."

Dr. Miles turned to her. "Dana, monitor him. As I said before,
you'll both be out there working your tails off to catch whoever
did this, but he will feel pretty rotten for a few days."

--o-0-o--

Louvre Museum
Paris, France
Wednesday, December 4, 1996
10:17 am

Phoebe stepped back into the niche, waiting for the young couple
to pass. She had spotted Max and Caroline Lowenberg walking
arm-in-arm, two galleries ahead. But she had also identified a
well-dressed man one room ahead of her carefully observing the
pair, avoiding bright lights, but never losing visual contact.

He looked like he was European, not like an American. If she had
to guess, she would pick Bavarian. The short hair was as blonde as
a Scandinavian's but his features were too heavy-set, and he
lacked the height of a well-fed Norwegian or Swede his age. So
that only left the south-western region of Germany, bordering the
old Austro-Hungarian Empire as the man's likely origin.

The Inspector found herself clenching her fists, thinking of the
fear in Isaac Podhowitz's eyes. <It was easier during the Cold
War.> Then, there was an overarching menace, quickly identified,
easily targeted. Now Europe was fragmenting along lines supposedly
long-forgotten, like the Bosnia mess, and Phoebe feared the little
drama she was observing was no exception.

<Well, girl, this is where you do your job and keep your promise
to Mulder.> She would watch and follow, keeping her CI informed,
but not take action, not yet. If two representatives of official
or quasi-secret organizations were tracking this gracious pair,
there might be more she should be alert for.

--o-0-o--

It looked to all the world like Max Lowenberg was the doting
codger, escorting his new wife for his golden years on a belated
honeymoon. But could their shadows have overheard the words he
whispered in his bride's ear, they would have comported themselves
with greater caution.

"Well, Caroline dear, how do you like being the object of so much
international attention?"

She smiled up at him. "After years of seclusion in Massachusetts,
wonderful! Oh, I know I should be petrified, and I'm probably
inviting misfortune by saying so, but since we've left Chilmark,
the travel and intrigue have given me new life." She squeezed his
arm. "As have you, my dear." She rested her head in the hollow of
his upper arm, checking over his shoulder with one eye. "And one
of the three is familiar, anyway."

He raised an eyebrow, wondering what the war years had been like
for her. "How would you know one of those spies?"

She tittered, then pulled on his sleeve, and Max bent to let her
whisper in his ear. "From one of Fox's Oxford photos. *That*
so-called spy by the Rembrandt is a woman."

Using the glass plate over a delicate watercolor as a reflector,
Max caught a clear image of the Inspector.

Caroline continued. "She's the one great love of my son's life who
crushed him like a blown eggshell, Phoebe Green. She works for
Scotland Yard, and of the three, she may actually be on our side,
or could at least be brought over."

Chuckling, Max straightened, delighted with his wife's nimble
mind. "I'm glad I have you tucked under my arm, Caroline. I don't
think I could keep up with you if I didn't. Why do you think we
might be able to trust her?"

She stood on tip-toe to spare her husband's back. "She's the only
one who openly approached Isaac, Max. The rest skulked in corners,
thinking they were being clever."

He kissed her cheek. "Yes, dearest, there are advantages to old
age. Everyone assumes one is either senile or witless once the
hair fades to silver, not that one might have years of experience
to use for one's own protection. So, shall we give our entourage a
scare, and take a few random trips on the Subway, before we ride
to the top of the Eiffel Tower?"

--o-0-o--

Apartment 42
Arlington, VA
Thursday, December 5, 1996
5:47 pm

Scully could hear the hacking from the elevator. <Whoever designed
this virus should spend several weeks suffering from successive
infections by slightly mutated forms of his or her handiwork!> She
knocked, and barely recognized his pleasant tenor under the heavy
croak.

"That you, Scully? It's open."

Now she knew the depth of her paranoid partner's illness and
turned the knob. He was flat on his back in his usual place,
bundled in her down comforter and the Maya blanket that she had
brought over from Apartment Five. The combination was the only
thing either of them owned that was heavy enough to give him some
comfort from the chills that set him shivering, as he was now. In
the darkness of the previous night, not even the thick wraps had
helped. As she had several times when he had been grieving for his
Mother, she had gathered him in her arms until he had fallen into
a fitful sleep.

Propelled by the flushed face and too-bright eyes, Scully hurried
over to him, placing her bags at the end of the futon. She sat on
the coffee table, checking his temperature with a digital
thermometer, relieved it was down to 101 degrees. "I won't ask how
you are, Mulder. I can see for myself."

His eyes flickered, and he replied through clenched teeth. "This
is hell, Scully. I've had less severe cases of the flu after a
week of exams at Oxford."

She reached for his glass beside her, refilling it from the spring
water she had purchased on the way over. After his tap water had
been laced with an hallucinogen in April of the previous year,
neither of them wanted to risk adding further complications to his
illness.

Sliding one hand behind his head, she held the glass to his lips
while he drank, grateful for her presence. "How high did the fever
go today?"

He grunted, so she moved the tumbler away, drained of its
contents. "103 degrees before I broke down and took some
ibuprofen. You need to go get more of that green stuff from Susan.
It helped the most."

Scully set the empty glass back on the coffee table. "I won't have
to, Mulder. She should be here within the hour. She called me,
saying she had Nora's case notes for us to examine, if you feel up
to it, and that she wanted to check you out for herself."

Mulder tried to push himself into a sitting position and give her
space on the futon, but he was struck by a wave of nausea and fell
back, defeated. "I won't be the best host tonight, Scully, but it
will be good to have some company..."

She started, and shifted from the low table to the futon, covering
the bright cheeks with her hands. "Oh, Mulder, if you needed me
here, why did you push me out the door this morning? The
interviews could have waited."

He unswaddled an arm to grasp her wrist. "Because you have to find
who killed Nora Samuelson. It may be related to this homeless
case, and the sooner we get it wrapped up, the better, as far as
I'm concerned. There are real X-files out there that this is
keeping us from and..."

She shook her head, hearing his voice switch from his hoarse croak
to a broken whisper. "No more, Mulder. Save yourself for Susan
when she gets here." Smoothing his hair off his forehead, she felt
his elevated temperature with her fingertips, and frowned. <If he
could only stay hydrated, it would reduce the recurrence of the
fever.>

--o-0-o--

Apartment 42
Thursday, 8:13 pm

"Dana?"

Scully opened the door, and took the stack of notes from her
collaborator.

Susan attempted to peer over Scully's shoulder. "How is he?"

Scully frowned. "Not good. This virus of yours is a real terror.
Between the fever and chills, he's been miserable for most of last
night, and I presume, today while I was working on the case. He
finally dropped off about thirty minutes ago, so be quiet."

Susan closed the door gently, following Scully into the living
room, where she examined Mulder, and whistled softly. "He's got it
bad. It's like the homeless men I've seen too many of. Their
bodies are stressed from exposure, just like his is, and this
virus plain knocks them flat."

Scully sorted the documents into two piles. "I always know how
sick he is by how hard he fights me when I try to take care of
him, and he's meekly accepted all my aid for a full day now. So
these are all of Nora's case notes?"

Susan nodded. "I've even brought over the recent folders in her
apartment, if you think that would help. You expect she knew her
attacker?"

The red-haired agent checked her partner before replying. "Yes.
There was no sign of forcible entry, according to the Baltimore
City police I spoke with, so Nora must have let him or her in
willingly. She had few contacts in the area outside of you, a few
other doctors at the Hospital, and all these homeless."

Susan frowned. "You don't suspect anyone at Hopkins, do you?"

Scully shook her head. "I've already interviewed your colleagues,
and each one has an alibi. So that only leaves a patient." The two
stacks were evenly high now; Scully handed the top folder off the
left pile to Susan and sat on the floor by the futon, giving her
friend the chair. "Look for anyone with a history of violence and
mental illness, or just strange behavior and mental illness."

Susan smiled. "Well the mental illness and violence part clears
your partner for sure. Although his sometimes strange theories
don't."

Both doctors jumped as the man they thought was sleeping
whispered: "Good to have you here too, Sue."

--o-0-o--

Photographic Lab
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Friday, December 6, 1996
4:38 pm

Smiling at the approaching figure, 'Ace' pushed herself away from
the keyboard. "Well, they found them all, just as you thought they
would. If Mister Smokestack had listened to you, he still would be
pulling down information, with video feeds, not just audio, right
now."

'Charlie' poked at his black glasses that were forever sliding off
his sweaty, puffy face. "He wanted the latest and greatest, with
maximum retrieval potential, so you gave it your best shot."

'Ace' frowned.

The young agent sat beside her, thrilled to have these stolen
moments alone together. <Don't fool yourself, she doesn't know
you're alive.>

'Ace' held up a glass and aluminum cylinder. "Yeah, but if I had
more time, we could have used these. Oh, and he knows about the
bugs in his place. He brought them over a week ago and wanted me
to ID them for him. Who had the orders to wiretap him, anyway?"

Shrugging, 'Charlie' took the tube from her hand, brushing her
fingers with his own. "We'll be meeting soon, and I'm sure that
will be one point of discussion. So these Gunmen guys know their
stuff?"

'Ace''s brunette curls bobbed. "As does Scully, apparently.
They're up on all the latest hardware and software, but as
Margaret describes them, they act like the Keystone cops. One of
them has a long-standing thing for Scully."

He returned the CCD. "Don't you feel funny, spying on one of your
Mother's neighbors?"

'Ace' shook her head. "It's all for a good cause, anyway. If
Mulder and Scully learn too much, they might stop the experiments
and tests before they are finished, and then how will we ever be
ready?" She placed the cylinder back in the foam hollowed out for
it and turned to him. "So, you want to go to a movie or something,
Drew?"

He smiled at her pet name for him. <Who would have thought a guy
who was heavy like me would have his own TV series?> "Sorry, no
can do. I have to transcribe Luther's latest tape from Europe
tonight so *he* will have it in the morning. I wish Luther would
do his own work, but he claims he's 'too old' to know how to use a
keyboard. Did 'Finn' get his paintings away in time?"

She nodded. "He'd moved them to his place in Penn three days
before the Customs agents started bumbling around in the woods. I
wish he hadn't asked me to hide them in the basement of the ruined
farmhouse. It's silly for him to waste his money on artworks just
to impress the old guys."

"Oh, he's not wasting his money, don't worry."

"You don't mean ... But that's nuts!"

He sighed. "He says it's the thrill of the chase, breaking into
those high security museums and making off with million dollar
canvases, just to prove he can. I think he's just inviting
trouble, if you ask me." He stood. "Well, gotta go. See something
good for me, OK?"

"Sure thing, Drew." She had already turned back to the screen when
the door closed behind her.

--o-0-o--

Apartment 42
Saturday December 7, 1996
7:32 pm

Mulder rolled over, grimacing at the stiffness in his lower back.
His hand bumped something hard, so he opened his eyes, aware he
wasn't still aching all over. <Oh, Scully, you didn't have to.>

The hard object was covered with auburn hair, and he knew his
partner had spent the last few hours (days?) by his side. The case
files were spread over his coffee table and floor. Their map,
mounted on a board, was propped up against his desk.

Focusing on her face, he reached out to remove the glasses that
were perched dangerously close to the end of her nose. After
setting them on a stack of folders, he lifted her head, hoping to
slip out and let her sleep. She stirred at his touch, papers
sliding off her lap as she stretched.

He called to her softly. "Hey."

Upon hearing his normal, healthy voice, she pulled herself
upright, surprised and relieved. "You sound better."

He sat up and shrugged. "Yeah, well, I feel better. So what did
you find out from Nora's files?"

She rubbed her face and gathered the loose pages off the floor.
"The only common element I could find was that several of her
patients were boys in a group home." She pointed at a pile of
folders at the far end of the low table. "Those patients all had a
history of mental problems and were in and out of institutions."
She passed him a smaller stack immediately beside it. "These are
any who have had violent tendencies. Are you thirsty? You've been
drinking water like a fish."

Grimacing at the thought, he held up his hand. "Not right now. In
fact, I think I need..." Mulder stood slowly and tested his wobbly
legs on a trip to his bathroom. When he reemerged, Scully was on
the sofa, entering data into her laptop. "How long was I out?"

She smiled. "Just over three days, two actually, if you start
counting from Susan's visit. You did have that homeless virus, by
the way, not TB. I had to pump you full of analgesics to keep the
fever from spiking too much. Mom wanted to come relieve me, but we
really don't know how this virus works, and she doesn't need to
get sick."

He sat next to her. "I remember Susan's visit, but not much else."
He touched her shoulder. "Thanks for being here, Scully."

--o-0-o--

Apartment 42
Saturday, 11:16 pm

Sitting in the chair, Mulder lifted his eyes from the file on his
lap and grinned. "Scully?" His partner was asleep again, her head
slumped against the back of the sofa. He was awake, despite a
pervasive lethargy, and could only guess how little rest she had
permitted herself during his illness.

Mulder rose from the chair to walk to the futon, avoiding the open
folders on the floor. He slid her gently to the center of the
couch, guiding her head to the pillow, and pulled the blankets
over her. Through it all, Scully remained deeply asleep, which
concerned him, since any prolonged physical contact usually
brought her to full alertness.

Resuming his seat, Mulder adjusted his glasses. He wanted to
review the doctor's files and see if there was anything other than
the group home that linked Nora Samuelson's death to their case,
before he dragged her up to Baltimore in the morning.

--o-0-o--

Apartment 42
Sunday, December 8, 1996
10:36 am

Warmed by the winter sun that shone in on her, Scully opened her
eyes to her partner's amused face.

"I didn't know I was such a difficult patient, Scully."

She yawned. "Ran me ragged, Mulder. Have you found anything?"

He opened one of Nora's folders. "Just this. One of her patients
was experiencing a bad reaction to her latest drug, TP-101. He was
seeing things, so I think we should go talk to him."

Scully sat up and tapped the name at the top of the first page.
"Yes, John Towser, I remember the file. His mother must have told
him some whopping bedtime stories, because all of his
hallucinations read like Joseph Campbell." She walked down the
hall, stopping by his linen closet for a clean towel. "Let me
shower and change before we go, Mulder."

Surprised, Mulder glanced over at her. <She brought clothes?
When?> "Just don't use all the hot water, OK?"

They grinned at the familiar argument.

As she disappeared into the bathroom, Mulder was suddenly aware of
how long *he* had remained unwashed, and headed for his bedroom to
find a clean shirt of his own.

--o-0-o--

William Donald Schaeffer Boy's Home
Baltimore, MD
Sunday, 1:10 pm

"John Towser?"

Johnny opened the door to his room and gasped. <It's them!> The
man was leaner then when he passed him the five dollar bill, but
he still had that nice lady with him. The tall man showed his
respect by stepping back and guiding her into the room with a
gentle hand on her back, and by the smile they exchanged as she
passed. His Aunt Sarah would have approved, since she had taught
him such manners as well.

The woman spoke in calm, even tones. "I'm Dana Scully, and this is
my partner, Mulder. We work for the FBI..."

The boy's eyes glowed in excitement. "G-men, like Elliot Ness on
TV?" Their shared laughter was relaxing.

He hopped on the bed, crossing his legs under him. The room was
sparsely equipped with a twin bed, a six drawer dresser, and a
beaten-up wooden chair from a discarded dining room set. The woman
sat on it, and the man stood to her left, his hands in his
pockets.

Mulder coughed and quipped to his partner. "But hardly
untouchable, right, Scully?"

She waved her hand at his remark, and focused on Johnny. "Yes, we
are agents with the FBI. We'd like your help finding out who
killed Nora Samuelson."

A brief shadow passed over the boy's face before he replied.
"Sure, Dr. Samuelson was my friend. What can I do? Do you want me
to work undercover with you?"

Mulder chuckled and took up the examination. "We wish all the
people we interviewed were that willing to help, but no, we just
want you to answer a few questions. When was the last time you saw
Dr. Samuelson?"

Johnny considered his response before speaking. "I saw her Friday
at around 4:30 pm." He leaned towards them. "She dropped me off
for dinner after she finished my tests. I had to help with the
vegetables that night."

They glanced at each other, then the woman continued. "I'm a
medical doctor, John. It would help me if you remembered what kind
of tests she performed. Did she take any blood or tissue samples?"

"Both. She said I was special, that the medicine wasn't working on
me, and I could help her find out why, but now she's dead. Can I
help you find out why?"

They smiled at him, then Mulder took a deep breath. "But you don't
remember her mentioning that she was planning on meeting with
anyone?"

The boy shook his head. "She only said she would work up my
samples immediately."

When man coughed again, the lady doctor looked up, concerned, then
turned to John. "John, have you had a cold or flu recently, or do
you know if any of the boys here at the home have been sick?"

Johnny's eyes widened. <They keep calling me John, like I'm a man,
not a boy.> "No, Ma'am, I haven't been sick, but Carl was sick for
four days last week, and they almost took him to the hospital."

Mulder lifted his hands out of his pockets, and took a step
forward. "Where is Carl now?"

"Oh, he's in the laundry room. It's his turn to fold sheets, but
he doesn't do a very good job of it. He thinks if he messes up, he
won't have to handle the laundry any more. But, he's never been on
the street, so he doesn't know it's better to have a few chores
and a roof over your head, than to sleep in the rain and have men
beat you for your clothes, or worse." He withdrew into himself as
they watched.

Mulder rested a hand on his shoulder. "You're right, John. It is
better. You've been a great deal of help to us."

The eagerness re-emerged slowly, then he walked them to the
basement door, chattering happily. Johnny knew they didn't
remember him, but his Aunt Sarah would have labeled them 'good
people'. <G-men, too!> He waved as they descended the stairs, then
sauntered off to the kitchen. <Time to help with the lunch
dishes.>

As they approached the laundry room, Scully commented to her
partner. "He's a nice kid. I'm glad he found a way off the streets
when he did, or he would have become one of those statistics we
read about."

Mulder knocked on the laundry room door. "Carl Eberhardt?" They
heard a ripping sound, then silence.

"Who wants to know?"

The agents snapped to attention at the edge in the brusque voice.
They recoiled further when the door was thrown violently open by a
short, dark-haired boy with a prominent scar denting his left
cheek. A silent exchange passed between the two agents, then
Mulder began the interview, while Scully observed, leaning against
one of the two washing machines along the wall. Along the other
were two dryers, and furthest from the door, assorted mops and
brooms mounted on hooks. Carl stood by the brooms, sulkily pushing
pillowcases into one of the dryers.

"I'm Agent Mulder from the FBI, and this is my partner, Agent
Scully. We'd like to ask you some questions, if we may." He
snarled at them, and turned back to the machine, raising Mulder's
ire. "Look, Carl, this is an official FBI investigation. We're
here to determine the activities of Nora Samuelson in the last
days of her life, and find her murderer."

The boy spun around and swung one of the laundry room brooms at
the tall agent. "Go away! I'm glad she's dead! All she cared about
were her drugs and her papers, not any of us. We were just test
subjects to her. Get out!" He threw the broom like a javelin,
barely missing Scully.

Mulder stepped between the boy and his partner, the muscles in his
jaw working. "We are Federal Agents, here..."

Carl shoved him out of his way to stomp up the stairs, slamming
the basement door behind him.

Mulder turned to Scully, who was staring alternately at the door
above and the broom, sticking upright out of a laundry cart full
of towels. He touched her back, reminding her he was there. "You
OK, Scully?"

"Sure, Mulder, I'm fine. But Carl Eberhardt's behavior has moved
him to the top of my list of suspects."

He led the way up the stairs, cautiously opening the door at the
top. "I think you're right."

--o-0-o--

Baltimore-Washington Parkway
Sunday, 3:52 pm

Scully shook her head, forcing herself awake. "You were saying,
Mulder?" She stifled a yawn, then failed to suppress a explosive
sneeze that was followed by a quick pair of hacking coughs.

Her partner picked up on her labored breathing. "Scully?"

She glanced over at his concerned face.

"This sounds familiar."

She squinted as the low winter sun shone directly in her eyes.
"Mulder, the laundry room smelled of years of detergents, and you
know I can't stand heavy perfumes. Besides, this isn't the
homeless virus, since it only affects men of a specific age."

The car sat at the Rosslyn interchange, so he waited until they
had passed through a series of lights and merges before
responding. "But how do we know that? Homeless women usually have
children in tow, and they may think the virus is just something
the kids picked up." Slowing in a line of cars exiting the ramp,
he reached over and felt her forehead. "You're running a fever,
Scully, just like I was, and you can't keep your eyes open. When
we get back to my place, I'm calling Susan."

Struggling against the exhaustion she felt, Scully's words sounded
distant in her ears when she finally spoke. "I'll be OK. You need
to check Carl out, Mulder. He may be the key."

--o-0-o--

Apartment 5
Alexandria, VA
Monday, December 9, 1996
9:16 am

"Mulder, are you here?" Dana Scully had never been so cold in her
life. Forcing her eyes open, she tugged at the heavy covers.

"Hush, I'm right here beside you."

She pivoted woozily towards the voice. What she thought were heavy
covers was actually a pair of arms that held her tightly, and her
head rested on Mulder's chest.

"You've got it, Scully. Susan stopped by last night, took one look
at you, and shot you up with another one of her experimental
drugs. I've brought you back to your place where you would be more
comfortable."

Her eyes drifted over the familiar furnishings in her living room,
down to the thick combination of comforter and bright wool
blanket. "Oh, no, I do. How?" When partner held a glass of green
liquid under her nose, rather than feeling the nausea she
expected, Scully realized she was incredibly thirsty. She drained
the tumbler, reaching up to grasp his arm with both hands. <Are
they really shaking that much?>

"Susan's not sure. She's taken a sample of your hair, skin,
throat, everything, in an effort to find out. She'll call me later
on today with the results."

Scully heard a rattling sound, and realized it was her teeth,
chattering in her head. "How bad is the fever?"

He shifted her body to bring more of it in contact with his own,
then held her again. "102 degrees, but if it wasn't for the
liquid, it would be much worse. You need to rest now, to try to
sleep through this."

<Oh, yes, that sounds good.> But a thought forced its way into her
consciousness. "What was in Carl's file?"

He pulled the covers back up around her neck. "Don't think about
that, Scully. You just concentrate on recovering and let me worry
about the case."

She struggled to sit up again. <I can't let him do all the work on
this, not this time.>

Mulder loosened his grip, until the vertigo hit, then Scully fell
back against him, shaken and limp. The words of reassurance she
heard as her green-blue eyes finally slid shut were as much
directed at himself as they were at her. "You'll be OK, Scully,
it's just a virus. You haven't been abducted, it's just a virus."

--o-0-o--
Hotel Noordwijk
Amsterdam, The Netherlands
Wednesday, December 11, 1996
7:47 am

Max Lowenberg approached his wife from the hotel lobby, coming up
behind her. "Good morning, my dear."

Caroline smiled up at her husband as he leaned down to kiss her
before settling in the opposite chair. "I'm sorry I didn't wait,
but I wanted to grab one of the sun-lit tables here in the
breakfast room before they were all occupied."

The white walls in the bright room contrasted with the stained
timbers that were the frame and support for the building. Along
the south wall, each small table sat by a window, and the red
checkered tablecloths accented the various colors of the forced
allium flowers in green windowboxes.

"That's fine, I needed the time to write this for you." He slid a
small box wrapped in gilded paper across the table.

A parchment scroll rested under the satin ribbon around the gift.
Caroline slid the note out first, the words Max had written
bringing a wistful expression to her face. She rerolled the
scroll, deep in thought.

He reached for her hand, so she took it. "I didn't mean to disturb
you, Caroline, and we don't have to go through with it unless you
want."

She took a quick sip of tea before responding. "No, Max, it's
important to you, and I have no real objections. In Vienna, my
parents emphasized Geist over Cheder, so I was never a very
religious person. Even though, to be blessed at your Temple would
make me feel we were really married."

He cocked his head, picking up on her reluctance. "But?"

She took a deep breath. "But asking Fox to be there? I don't know.
He hasn't had the chance to face Bill's death, really, and he
doesn't know you that well..."

"An oversight I hope to correct as soon as I can, Caroline."

She shook her head. "No, it's more than that. Fox has no respect
for religions at all. He blames himself so completely for
Samantha's abduction that finding her has become a Quest for him.
I wanted him to complete study for a Bar Mitzvah, but he would
have none of it. I've even heard him rage at God for letting her
be taken." She stared at the hyacinths in the window box. "Poor
boy, there was nothing he could have done at the time; those
horrible monsters saw to that."

Max tapped the table-top, summoning the waiter with more steaming
croissants and rolls. "Then tell him, dearest. From the few times
we spoke in Mexico, I could see the void in his soul. He doesn't
understand everything that happened when you and Bill separated,
and if you would speak with him, he might have a little peace.
Some sense of self-worth is what got me through the terror I had
to face in the camps."

Caroline thought of her promise, wondering what she could say to
the man her introspective boy had become that would not endanger
him. "I'll think about it, Max. But, today we are visiting the
Rijksmuseum, yes?"

He smiled, then nudged the unopened gift with his knuckles.

She tore off the paper and popped the box open. Inside was a
necklace with a single sapphire tear drop pendant.

Max fastened it lovingly around her neck.

She clucked happily. "Really, you shouldn't. You've given me a
wonderful little treasure every day since Thursday, and I don't
have anything for you. It's unfair."

He hugged her shoulders. "No, Caroline, you are the jewel I found
this year. And since all my money is bequeathed to the museum in
Haifa after our deaths, whom else should I spend it on? Hum? Let's
finish our breakfasts, then head out. I've always wanted to see
their collection of miniatures, and to revisit some old friends.
You see, some of Thea's and my Steens that are in the exhibit
there." He chuckled to himself. "Besides, our retinue awaits."

--o-0-o--

Apartment 5
Alexandria, VA
Friday, December 13, 1996
1:29 am

"Scully, can you hear me? It's Mulder. Wake up, please?"

She shuddered at the fear in his whisper and turned her head
towards it. "Sure, Mulder, I hear you just fine. I only fell
asleep a few minutes ago. What's wrong?" <Why can't I focus my
eyes?> Forcing herself to concentrate, she willed her partner's
face into view. His grey pallor shocked her, and she sat up.
"Mulder, you look terrible!"

He was bending over her, one hand wrapped gently around hers.
"You've been feverish for almost four days now, Scully."

She slipped her feet to the floor, finding she had little strength
to return the clasp. "This is worse than when you had it?"

Nodding, he sat beside her, seeking reassurance of her recovery.
"Oh, yes. Sue and I thought we should take you to the hospital
about three different times, but in each case, the fever subsided,
except you didn't regain consciousness." He rested his other hand
on her shoulder. "If you hadn't come around after this drop, you
would have found yourself staring at sterile white walls." He
grinned, ruefully. "But today is my lucky day; I think I finally
understand this case, and you came back to me." He released her
reluctantly, and stood. "Sue said to call her as soon as you were
awake."

Scully searched around for her cell phone, but her partner was
walking down her hallway, and she heard him knocking on her
bedroom door.

His voice echoed slightly in the enclosed space. "Sue, Scully's
awake."

"She is?" Susan Miles stepped out of the hallway, her sweater and
khakis rumpled from sleeping in them. "Dana, how do you feel?"

"Drained, Sue, but OK. I need to use the facilities, if you can
wait to take samples." She staggered off to her bathroom, Mulder
beside her until she closed the door. When she emerged, he was
pacing the living room, and she bit her lip to keep from fussing
at the overprotective streak that had taken control of his
personality. Instead, she let him guide her to the chair he had
vacated when she began stirring, and tuck a comforter in around
her.

Susan touched his shoulder. "Mulder, she'll be fine. Let me
collect the tissues and fluids I'll need, and why don't you hit
the shower."

A grim set to his lips was all the response Scully expected her
partner to exhibit, and she was not disappointed. Scully crinkled
her nose at him.

He grinned, accepting the silent reprimand from her, and headed
down the hall.

As she watched, Susan opened her medical kit and began setting out
the tools she would use shortly.

Scully rearranged the coverlet. "Sue, do you have any idea how I
could have caught this?" She glanced towards the bathroom as
Mulder yelped. <He always forgets to set the hot water before he
steps in.>

"I'm not completely sure yet, but I think your body is mimicking a
male hormone signature, in that your estrogen and progesterone
levels are slowly dropping, as they would in a man's body between
twenty and thirty-five."

While the blonde doctor scraped her throat and plucked a few
strands of auburn hair, Scully considered the full implications of
her classmate's logic. "The virus incubates for about three weeks,
which is long enough for a normal woman's body to cycle, and to
tell if the hormone levels are flat, as they are in children and
the elderly. But I've been experiencing a premature menopause
because of the surgery, and that tripped the virus."

Dr. Miles withdrew a hypo full of blood. "Yes, Dana, exactly. Now
I'd like to get back to my lab and start on these. I know you'll
have excellent care after I leave, but make sure he gets some
sleep."

Frowning, Scully checked her watch. "Sue, it's a little before two
in the morning and you want to drive back to Baltimore? Stay and
catch up on your rest, too. I feel like I've had enough of that,
finally, and Mulder will only use the couch."

Susan continued packing. "No, he was insistent that I sleep while
you were so far gone, so I'm fine as well." She slung the strap of
her bag over her shoulder. "Say, what gives with you two, anyway?
I thought you said..."

Scully shook her head. "Mulder? Oh, ever since my abduction, he's
taken it upon himself to be my full-time bodyguard. I used to
fight with him about it, but his emotions on the subject are
closely related to those about his sister, and it only hurts him."
Scully's memories of her capture by Donnie Phaster reappeared,
unbidden and intrusive. "Besides, it makes up for all the hell we
normally have to put up with on our cases."

Sue studied the Agent's pale face. "You know, It's so funny to
hear my very independent friend from school, talk about enjoying
someone pampering her as if she were a Princess Royal on a satin
pillow."

Scully frowned, remembering using that exact phrase on a plane in
March. "No, Sue, you don't understand. Mulder expects me, and I
intend to, pull my share of the load on this team. In fact,
witnesses relate more to me than to him, as well as my being a
better shot, both of which irk him at times. And I've hauled him
out of more trouble than either of us wants to admit." <As he has
you, Dana.> She stopped, unable to find the words that conveyed
the full import of the images that ran through her head. "Sue,
he's my... <It sounds so insignificant.> ...partner." Scully's
dissatisfaction with her incoherence showed in her pinched
expression.

"Well, whatever, Dana. I'm happy you have someone, that's all."
Dr. Miles held up a hand. "I know! It's not like that. Don't get
up, I can see myself out, and I'll call you when I know something,
OK?"

Scully attempted to stand, but her legs had other ideas, and she
settled back, hearing the outer door close. Despite the languor,
her mind was fully alert, and the sound of running water in the
bathroom turned her thoughts to the word that had failed her so
completely.

As long as she had known Susan Miles, men had practically lain
down at her feet, so Sue thought of them as one-dimensional, and
Mulder probably baffled her. 'Partner' sounded like a person one
met for golf on alternate Tuesdays, not the intuitive, quixotic
hunter she spent most of her waking hours with. 'Partner' didn't
sound like the concerned friend who brought her coffee, or the
droll character who knew how to lift her spirits with a dry jab at
life's inanities. But there was no other word for a union of
minds, in a culture that counted as significant only romantic
connections between men and women, or blood ties.

Scully tried her legs again, and found she could walk, albeit
stiffly, so she headed for her kitchen. The sea-blue mug from Ahab
stood alone on the top shelf of her curio cabinet next to the
kitchen doorway, one of the few personal items they had salvaged
on Halloween. Mulder had glued it back together for her, but as
usual, had ensnared himself in the process. He had firmly grasped
the broken pieces just long enough for the extra-strong ceramic
epoxy to cement his flesh in place on two of the cracks. She had
found herself separating his long fingers from the mug with deft
scalpel work, while he fussed, and her impromptu surgery had left
red patches on his fingertips for a week afterward. The memory of
his bandaged fingers and the incident, a microcosm of their
partnership, lifted one corner of her mouth.

Scully was still thirsty. With her stomach still unsettled, Scully
knew that rose hip tea, high in ascorbic acid, would help her body
fight off the lingering effects of this virus. So, the water set
to boil, she returned to her chair.

Toweling off his hair, Mulder emerged from the bathroom, wearing
his FBI sweatpants. "Scully, did I hear the door?" Checking the
kitchen, he noted the tea set out, and stood by her chair.

She looked up. "Yes, I asked Susan to stay, but she wanted to
start working up the samples she took from me."

Under the heat-rouged, shaved skin, Scully could still see the
ashen pallor in the dark circles around his eyes. "How much sleep
did you lose while I was unconscious, Mulder?"

He pursed his lips. "No more than you did when I was out of it,
Scully."

Unwilling to let the conversation slide into an argument, she
walked carefully over to the map. "When I woke up, you said you
thought you'd solved the case. What did you mean?"

Lifting an eyebrow at her determination, he draped the towel
around his neck and marshalled his thoughts. "Well, not who killed
Nora Samuelson, but how these dots could be related. If someone
*is* using the homeless to test designer viruses, then that person
will want to know why the bugs affected some people and not
others. So, collect the very ill and the seemingly healthy. Also,
if you could catch this, other women can as well. You were exposed
only because of your association with me, which led me to begin
working out the connections among the homeless themselves."

She nodded. "That makes sense."

He put a hand on her shoulder, guided her to the sofa, and pointed
at the sheets of paper covering her coffee table. "Look, I've
diagramed the relationships among the people in the DC shelters.
Our safety net is so bad anymore, that whole families have lost
their homes, but not all of them come in the married mom and pop
units we expect. Single men on the street often attach themselves
to women with children, and mostly, it's the members of those
families that are disappearing. I can't work out the rest of the
interconnections, though."

Scully sat on the sofa, studying his diagrams. "Well, Mulder, the
homeless are just human, too. I'm sure many of these unconnected
dots are related through casual friendships and sexual liaisons,
not only long-term contacts. But we still don't know who
introduced the virus, or how to stop it, other than through the
immunity that comes from surviving it."

Mulder dropped the wet towel on the floor, excited. "Or what
happens to the homeless once they vanish. If the DNA is all
terrestrial, as Susan indicated, then it can't be aliens spiriting
them off. Besides, after collection of necessary data, abductees
are usually dropped off somewhere close to the point of departure,
and so far, none of the homeless has reappeared."

Scully studied her partner's face, concerned that in his present
exhausted state, he would lapse into a silent depression about his
sister.

However, at present, he was pursuing not a lost little girl, but
the case at hand. "I only see one way to get to the bottom of
this, Scully. I've had the virus, and I'm pushing the upper age
limit that it is supposed to affect. Therefore, I'm a likely
target of interest to the group behind this." He turned to his
partner. "I know you won't like what I'm about to say, but I think
I should spend a few nights in the streets and see what I can find
out."

"Mulder! No!!" Scully was on her feet, fear and concern propelling
her. "I won't let you go by yourself."

He rose as well, defensive. "Scully, I need someone on the outside
I can trust..."

She put both hands on her hips. "No, Mulder, you listen. We have a
chain of hypotheses built up, none of which has been tested, and I
won't let you put yourself on the streets alone, where the Shadows
can grab you and you'll disappear for real!" <I know that doesn't
matter to you in your Quest for the Truth, but...>

He leaned over her. "That's not the point here..."

She stomped angrily around the room, surprised at the sudden burst
of energy. "It's exactly the point. Consider what we've concluded.
First, that this virus is artificially created, not naturally
occurring, which it may well be, since all the DNA are
terrestrial, and since retroviruses mutate rapidly anyway. Second,
that the homeless are test subjects, instead of a weakened group
that is more susceptible to any illness than the general populace.
Third, that when they disappear, it is due to directed selection,
not just faulty records-keeping and the shifting of a highly
transient population. Fourth, that whoever is out there knows that
you've had the virus and that you are slightly unusual for a
'test' subject."

Mulder studied her from aross the room <Back to all those steps,
are you?>

Scully held up a hand, hearing him gulping air. "By that same line
of reasoning, I should be the one they want, since I am truly
atypical."

Mulder had been lining up responses to her objections, but her
last statement drove them out of his head. "Scully! I won't let
you go without me!" He planted himself squarely in front of her,
and grabbed both her shoulders. "I can't let them have you, not
again."

She stepped back, and they glared at each other before she shook
her head. "Well, Mulder, if neither of us is willing to be the one
on the outside, then we should go in together, and let someone
else worry about us."

He expelled the breath he was holding to begin pacing. "You may be
right, Scully. This is official FBI business, not just a
preliminary search based on a videotape I bought. In a day or so,
after you've fully recovered, we'll talk to Skinner about sending
us out with back-ups."

The kettle whistled, and they used the distraction to end the
discussion. As she entered the kitchen to tend the tea, Mulder
remained in her living room, drained from the illness and worry.

When she returned, Scully walked over and grasped his elbow. "I'll
admit to exhaustion if you will." When he nodded, she settled into
the chair. "Mulder, thank you for looking after me. I know how you
felt earlier, I'm weak, but not sleepy. Why don't you get some
rest? I'd like to go over your charts to bring myself up to speed,
and beat our report into reasonable shape to give Director
Skinner. You know he'll give us the third degree over what we want
to do. It's still dark, but I'll be making noise, so feel free to
use the bedroom."

He moved over to the sofa and began rearranging the charts. "No,
you may need me to answer questions about my scribbles in the
margins. This will be fine."

Scully thought about protesting that she had years of practice
reading his scrawls, but she also had years of experience
deciphering Mulder, and knew he would stay with her until he was
convinced she was well.

--o-0-o--

Apartment 5
Saturday, December 14, 1996
9:53 am

"Mulder." His cel phone awakening him, he had thrown off the wool
blanket and reached over to the coffee table to answer it.

Scully looked up from her laptop, sending him a silent 'Who?' with
her raised eyebrows.

'Frohike' he mouthed back. She rolled her eyes, prompting a
lopsided grin. "OK, I'm at Scully's, so see you in a few." He
ended the call.

She queried him. "They're coming over?"

"No, not them, him. Byers and Langly are still working on the
wiretaps, but Frohike has something he won't discuss over the
phone on Max. I guess I shouldn't be curled up on your sofa in my
sweats when he gets here." He headed for the bathroom, carrying
his shirt and jeans, then turned to her. "Unless ..."

She launched his jogging shoes at him, one at a time. "Forgot
those."

He dropped his clothes, catching a shoe in each hand. "Yeah,
right."

--o-0-o--

"Well, Mulder, your mother picks out interesting men. You haven't
had time for a full background check on Mr. Lowenberg, have you?"
Scully remained purposely in the chair, so Frohike took the sofa,
Mulder standing between them.

Frohike had arrived while Mulder was still changing, and the agent
tucked in his shirt before answering. "No, the FBI doesn't approve
of using the resources of the Bureau for purely personal reasons."

Scully looked up, surprised at her partner's sudden regard for
protocol. <Perhaps he doesn't want to know.>

Frohike paused before continuing, confused as well. "It ties in
with the surveillance photos, in a roundabout way."

Now Scully's interest was piqued. "How so?"

Frohike graced her with what he must have considered his most
charming smile, but she pointedly ignored it, so he continued.
"He's a lawyer, or was, and a partner in some fancy law firm in
Manhattan, where, it turns out, Daddy D'Amato was a client."

Mulder began pacing. "So that's why Phoebe said he was irritating
the wrong people. It all keeps coming back, again and again,
Scully."

Frohike passed Mulder a photo. "No, don't get sidetracked, my man.
It was the firm, not Lowenberg, who knew D'Amato. Max's business
was corporate mergers, which made him a wealthy man, but his pro
bono work was all tied up with the emerging state of Israel,
specifically the restoration of Jewish treasures appropriated by
the Nazis." Mulder passed the glossy to Scully, and Frohike
pointed to one of the faces. That's Max in 1953 in Tel Aviv.
Recognize him?"

Scully tapped the image of a different figure. "Mulder, more to
the point, age this man by about forty years and he is?"

Mulder leaned over his partner's chair, considering. "Our friend
we met in Klemper's orchid house?"

Frohike leaned in, observing the personage under discussion.

Scully reached back to touch Mulder's arm. "Wait, Mulder, wasn't
he in that picture with your father and Klemper?"

He paced the room, thinking of the rows of unlined faces. "Yeah,
Scully, I'm sure he was. But it doesn't make sense for Max to have
been involved with Operation Paperclip in any way, so there must
be some other connection that we aren't aware of." He smacked his
fist against his open palm. "I wish I could get to him and my
Mother! There are so many questions I need to ask them."

Frohike took off his glasses for a moment. "Well, wouldn't he be
mentioned in the MJ documents that the old Navaho, Hosteen, has
memorized?"

Mulder shook his head. "He may well be, Frohike, but until he have
a name to go with the face, even MJ won't help."

Scully shrugged. "And he's probably not in the D'Amato papers,
otherwise they would have made a greater effort to recover them."

Excited, the tall agent crossed the room to stand in front of her.
"Unless his presence is under an alias we could recognize from the
personnel list."

Scully stood and joined her partner as he headed down the hall to
her computer in the bedroom.

Frohike followed, watching over their shoulders as she brought up
the Gunmen's web page and the computer images of the papers. "You
want I should find out about him? We keep files on most of those
high society turkeys." Two heads nodded, then Scully rose from the
chair, letting the short man assume control of the keyboard. "How
do you know this guy?"

Scully glanced at her partner, noticing he was deep in thought.
<Well, they know about the Smoking Man and Mr. X, so why not?>
"He's met with us in the past, to give us certain information it
was in his interest to let us know. He's somehow connected with
the Shadows, but we can't tell how."

Mulder took up the thread from her. "Yes, anything you can find
out for us will give us leverage to use against them. Thanks to
the medals and the power that Matheson wields, we're relatively
secure, but if Phoebe finds anything dangerous, we may be back at
square one again."

Frohike grinned and swiveled in the chair to face his friend.
"When did she drop by for a visit, Mulder? Always loved hearing
your stories on The Terror of Scotland Yard."

Scully let her curiosity get the better of her, and her eyes
twinkling, she tapped Frohike's shoulder. "Oh, what stories? That
woman is so, well, cruel, that..."

Both thick eyebrows shot up on the small Gunman's forehead. "Oh,
lovely Dana, is that what he's told you? Well, ahem, there were
certain incidents he's uh..." Frohike paused, leaving his friend
dangling.

A flustered Mulder lowered his head between them. "You guys STOP!
She's out of my life for good, and that's where I want her to
stay, so don't bring her up again." He backed off a few steps and
plopped on his partner's bed, his face reddening under her amused
gaze.

Scully arched one eyebrow. <Must have told them some whoppers,
Mulder.>

Mulder crossed his arms. "Let's just stick to Max, OK? How does he
connect to the art again?"

"Oh, that. Well, he had more than just that one painting we saw.
In addition to the synagogue treasures, he was responsible for the
recovery of much of the artwork taken from the homes of wealthy
Jews in Germany, or what little of it remained once the Nazis were
done relabelling it. Max and his wife Thea never had children, so
were quite the art collectors themselves, and built up a
respectable group of Steens. He retired in 1988, after donating
one of the largest single collections of manuscripts, as well as
the Old Masters, to a museum in Haifa."

Scully chewed her lip. "Mulder, I don't see the connections
either. The white-haired man we've both met is a part of the
Shadow Government, I suppose. But our three prime suspects are all
connected to Wall Street, and don't own property in Annapolis or
its environs. So why is Customs roaming the Maryland woods?"

--o-0-o--

Basement Level, Pentagon City Mall
Arlington, Virginia
Saturday, 1:17 pm

Three intense men and a brunette woman in their early thirties
faced each other around one of a sea of white plastic tables in
the food court. They looked like many other Washington
professionals, taking a break from their Christmas shopping while
snacking on a stromboli or fried chicken from one of the booths
along the convex wall of the triangularly shaped mall. A line of
children snaked around the raised dais in the center of the eating
area, waiting to visit 'Santa'. Kris Kringle was, in reality, a
harried mall employee sweating under a fake beard and padding, as
were his 'elves'.

The red-haired man frowned at twins fighting in a double stroller
before 'Andrew' spoke to his companions. "I'm sick of it, guys.
We're doing all their dirty work for them, and they sit around
drinking tea all day. We have a real crisis with the new Congress
coming up, in case they don't know it. Some of the information
Randall's had me prepare should scare them silly."

The blonde man grunted his frustration. "I've seen what Matheson's
planning. It's full-scale exposure, people, and we could all lose
our jobs and do real time, or worse, if we don't act fast."

'Charlie', overheated as always, rubbed his face. "They don't seem
to care, they just talk about how they beat the people's
representatives back in the early Seventies. But there must be
something else happening that will protect them, since something
or someone always has in the past."

The woman shook her head, worried. "I don't think so. It's too bad
so many of our people were turned out, but we have to do this
ourselves. I think it's time we took control." 'Ace' shrugged as
she crunched on a pita chip.

'Andrew''s red curls bobbed. "I think so, too. It doesn't matter
which party controlled Congress this session, because the Cold War
is too long over to continue as a justification for the funding
required for the Organization's efforts. If we told them why the
money was really necessary, of course, we'd be laughed out of
city. We know what we need to do, since we've been trained so
well. Why not turn their methods against them? There are many
others in the Organization that are as upset with the status quo
as we are. All it would take would be a few supplies from a
hardware store, and blammo!" He clapped his hands. "We'd be in
charge."

The four heads moved closer together.

--o-0-o--

END - TWELFTH NIGHT - LIGHTS
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Mary Ruth Keller "Is it possible distain should die while
Alexandria, VA she hath such meet food to feed it,
Phone: (703)683-1599 as Signoir Benedick?"
mkeller@universe.digex.net Much Ado About Nothing
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