Date: Mon, 09 Feb 1998

TITLE: Meeting (1/1)

AUTHOR: Shannon O'Connor

E-MAIL: shannono@iname.com

DISTRIBUTION: Wherever; please let me know

RATING: PG

CLASSIFICATION: V, A

SPOILERS: 'Redux II'/'Christmas Carol'

CONTENT WARNING: Bit of bad language

KEYWORDS: Mulder angst

SUMMARY: A meeting in a car raises more questions than it answers.

DISCLAIMER: These two characters, and others mentioned herein,

aren't mine. I'm borrowing them -- and the backstory -- from Chris

Carter, Fox, 1013, and the various writers and actors.

COMMENTS: Set sometime in the near future. Just a little interpretation

of past events. Feedback always greeted warmly!

**********

Meeting

By Shannon O'Connor

        He entered the car warily, watching the man in the driver's

seat. <If this is some kind of trick,> he thought, <I'll be damned if I'm

falling for it.>

        The two men, old and young, sat for a few silent moments. Then

the sound of a long exhale from the man in the driver's seat cut through

the air, and a cloud of smoke billowed forth and began to dissipate.

        Finally, Mulder spoke. "I'd like an explanation," he said, in an

almost conversational tone.

        The other man didn't move, the half-gone Morley held in a death

grip a few inches from his face. Then the corner of his mouth lifted into

a sardonic smile. "I'm surprised at you, Mr. Mulder," he said. "After

everything, you still believe your 'truth' is out there."

        "It is." Mulder fairly growled the words, his teeth clenched,

fighting

back the urge to wrap his long fingers around this man's throat and

squeeze. Hard.

        The man's expression never wavered as he took another draw on

his cigarette, and the silence lingered.

        Mulder could wait no longer. "If you're not going to say anything,

then why did you call me?" he asked, his voice still raw.

        Another draw, exhale, smoke slowly clearing. "I believe you are

partially right, Mr. Mulder," the man said. "You are owed an explanation,

but not necessarily for the reasons you think."

        No response. The man continued. "You know now that my death

was a ploy, a sort of plot device, if you will," he said. "The reasons were

twofold. First, my employers were not wholeheartedly behind my efforts

to draw you into our fold." Another semi-smile added its creases to the

heavily lined face. "Apparently, they knew you better than I."

        Another pause, then, "At any rate, they felt a punishment was in

order. But they knew they couldn't just kill me. They needed me too

much." He shrugged. "A shooting and presumed death was the next

best thing."

        He went for another drag, then continued. "The second reason,

Mr. Mulder, was more complex. My employers felt that a faked death

would serve their purposes well in other ways. Believing me gone, you

and your partner were that much more likely to believe the 'beautiful lies'

you had been told, at least for a while. And with me dead, they could

keep you from finding your sister again."

        He stopped again, waiting, until Mulder responded. "Why did

you take her?" he rasped.

        Smoke billowed. "Haven't you figured that out yet, Mr. Mulder?"

he asked. "We took her to ensure your father's silence about our work.

He was a moral man, you know, and he was ... disturbed by some of the

things he saw and did. He was wavering, a weak link in our plans. We

had to do something."

        "Why her, and not me?"

        "We did allow your father a choice. We know your mother

couldn't decide, so he chose. But you know this also. What you do

not know is the reason why."

        "Why?"

        "I would think it would be obvious by now, Mr. Mulder. Your father

was not her father."

        A sharp intake of breath came from the passenger seat, as the

man on the driver's side crushed out his cigarette in the ash tray and

pulled out a fresh one. Silence again invaded the car, with only Mulder's

soft, ragged breathing to be heard.

        After a time, Mulder found his voice. "You black-lunged bastard,"

he growled. "You're her father, aren't you?"

        A faint smile greeted the question. "Why, Mr. Mulder, you're

beginning to act like a real FBI agent again. Your powers of deductive

reasoning have always served you well."

        "You took her!" Mulder cried out. "You held her for twenty-four

years! You lied to her, you told her Mom was dead, that you didn't know

where I was. If she's really your daughter, how could you do that to her?"

        The smile faded. "I am not proud of all my actions, Mr. Mulder.

But you may be assured that I have always done what I thought best for

my daughter."

        "Why should I believe you?" Mulder's voice was still rough, but

his anger was nearly spent. "After all the lies, the denials, the

deceptions,

do you really expect me to believe you now?"

        The man blew out another cloud of smoke. "Believe as you wish,

Mr. Mulder," he said. "But you must ask yourself this: If you refuse to

believe, how will you know when you've found the truth?"

        The man reached for his door handle, but Mulder's hand shot

out to grip the man's arm. "Not yet," he said in a low voice. "I have one

more question: Why did you take Scully?"

        More smoke. "A mistake, actually," he said. "We had originally

planned to take her, then release her almost immediately, as a sort of

warning to the both of you. But then Mr. Barry intervened, and our

colleagues were forced to follow through on her abduction."

        Again, Mulder inhaled sharply, and then his control nearly broke.

"A *mistake*?" he fairly screamed, his hand tightening on the man's arm.

"She lost four weeks of her life, lost her health, lost her right to have

children, and you tell me it was all a *mistake*?"

        The man just sat, maddeningly calm. "Mistakes do happen, Mr.

Mulder, even with my colleagues," he replied.

        Mulder wrestled with himself, still fighting a need to watch this

man die, preferably at his hands. Finally, he loosened his grip on the

man's arm and managed to speak. "Why are you telling me all this

now?" he asked harshly.

        The man smiled again. "Because it suits our purposes, of

course," he said. And this time he did leave the car, walking away

with long, unhurried strides.

        Mulder sat for a long time before climbing out and crossing the

parking lot to his own car. He got in and headed for home, another

sleepless night stretching before him.

**********END**********

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