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 III - Solstice (Disclaimed in Part I)

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

Sebastian: A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled
me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but,
though I could not with such estimable wonder
overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly pub-
lish her; she bore a mind that envy could not but
call fair. She is drowned already, sir, with salt
water, though I seem to drown her remembrance
again with more.

Twelfth Night; Or, What You Will

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

Murphy's Grand Irish Pub
Alexandria, VA
Sunday, December 15, 1996
1:15 am

Walter Skinner glared at the X-files agents across the table in
the nearly empty restaurant. <I can't believe they're serious.>
"So this is what you dragged me down here in the middle of the
night to tell me, people?" He crossed his arms. "It's tough enough
getting support from the powers that be for most of your cases,
Mulder, but you want me to let you go undercover, *with*
surveillance, at this time of year? Agent Scully?"

The woman pulled herself up straight. "Yes, Sir, we believe the
only way to find whoever is responsible for the disappearances is
to become homeless ourselves. You've read our report and seen the
medical evidence from the virus as Agent Mulder and I were exposed
to it. If the FBI is serious about this case, then it should be
handled as thoroughly as the drug busts that go down once a week."

The Assistant Director stared at the reflection of the busboy in
the window, then snapped his head back to face his subordinates.
"Normally, I would agree to this. The circumstantial evidence is
too strong to ignore, and for once, I can show this preliminary
report around without snickers. You've done more than sufficient
legwork to narrow down the sites of introduction to the DC or
Baltimore area, and it's for a local case that I can shake loose
some support funds. But, for you two, I have be more circumspect.
Why can't we put other agents undercover once they're briefed?"

Mulder shoved his hair off his forehead, impatient with his
supervisor for not acceding to what he considered an obvious
request. "Sir, it's the virus. We've been exposed and recovered,
so we would be of interest to them. Any other agents could only
observe, not draw whoever is behind this out. Besides, no one else
needs to come down with this thing. I'm surprised the police
haven't found bodies as a result of it."

Skinner shook his head. "Look, the fact that we're discussing this
in a bar in the middle of the night means we all have a specific
group in mind for our suspects."

Mulder and Scully glanced at each other, but it was the red-haired
agent who protested. "Well, actually, Sir, no. This wasn't the
case you were warned about, it was Sharpsburg, or so you said. The
reason we wanted to meet you here, not in your office, was so the
Shadows wouldn't catch on until we could plan a defense strategy.
Believe me, Sir, we've discussed protectionary tactics in great
length."

Mulder grinned down at his partner.

Skinner wondered how heated those arguments had become, and who
had given in to whom. "OK, then, I think I can get funds and
reinforcements. But for me do so, I want two things in return.
First, and this means you, Agent Mulder, I need to do some
checking of my own, before I give this the green light, so sit
tight until you hear from me. Thanks to our support on the Hill, I
can get what I need in a day or two. Second, I want to know all
the details of your safe-guards. I mean *all*, even the parts
involving those three oddball friends of yours. I'm still not
entirely convinced that this little operation will go totally
unnoticed by certain Grey Suits. You dragged me out here to drop
this bombshell on me, and I'm not catching any more shuteye
tonight. Agreed?"

Scully nodded, obviously relieved.

But her partner, while in assent, was far less enthusiastic. "Sir,
they *will* have reservations about close cooperation with any
official agency..."

Skinner's lips set in a firm line. "Well, *Agent* Mulder, they
*have* somehow managed to bend their scruples enough to work with
one or two official FBI types from time to time, so persuade them!
I want us all reading from the same playbook here." He placed both
hands on the table and leaned over it. "You don't hear what I
hear, but if all goes well in this case, the X-files will no
longer be a forgotten section shoved in the basement." His voice
dropped to a whisper, forcing the partners to hunch over to catch
his words. "The new Congress is very interested in certain
organizations, and if possible, would like to restrict the scope
of their activities, either by touching their financial pipeline,
or by exposure, if you catch my drift." He sat back and exhaled.
"So, I believe the operative phrase here involves cessation of
minor dorsal irritation through simultaneous digitation." He
looked from one to the other. "Well?"

--o-0-o--

Autobahn
Munich, Germany
Sunday, 8:19 am

"Max, we don't have to make this trip, if you don't feel you're
ready." Caroline reached over and laid her hand on her husband's
thigh. "You were talking in your sleep again last night."

He glanced quickly at her before passing another Mercedes. "No,
Caroline. Everyone must confront his demons sometime. To see that
place again, emptied of the faces in my mind, will lay to rest
many of my own fears. I'm struggling to think of it as a visit to
an old primary school, where I'll find the teachers and rooms all
much smaller and less intimidating than I expected." His white
moustache twitched. "Besides, you must pay your respects to your
parents."

She closed her eyes, remembering Mother weeping as she boarded the
train to Switzerland, waving and holding Papa's arm. Papa, of
course, had his beloved Goethe tucked under the other. <How wrong
we were, all of us!> Her family had believed the Austrian
Government too civilized, too respectful of the economic and
cultural power that the urbane, assimilated Jews of Vienna
possessed, to yield to the Fuhrer's demands. But in the end, it
was only their twisted definition of race that mattered. Isaac had
told her how they were dragged out of their house late at night,
then herded onto boxcars with Czech peasants who spoke only broken
German, and smelled of the farm.

"Yes, of course I must. Thank you, Max dear."

Since the exit loomed ahead, he decelerated to turn off.

Caroline checked her side view mirror. "I see them, or more
correctly, I see her, three cars back." When she saw her husband
was gripping the steering wheel, white-knuckled, she touched his
hair. "Max?" His gaze was distant, so she felt compelled to call
to him again. "Max, stop the car!"

As if in a trance, his foot moved from the accelerator to the
brake, and the silver vehicle slowed to a halt, engine idling.
When Caroline shook his arm, he blinked. "I'm sorry, Caroline.
This is harder than I thought it would be. The camp is just ahead,
so you go on. I'll catch you up."

She peered out at the thick forest ahead of her. "Max, I don't see
anything at all."

His face reddened, then he pounded the steering wheel once. His
voice emerged from deep in his throat, angry and afraid. "They're
still there, Caroline. I can see them in my mind's eye. All those
gaunt, sunken cheeks; all the wizened children who were once
honored elders. I can't!" He was sobbing, his head in his hands.

Shaken, she held him. <For my sake, you'll brave spies and
intrigue that you barely understood, but these memories
overwhelmed you.> "Hush, dear. We've seen enough. I prefer to
remember my parents as I last saw them in life. It was hard enough
to see their faces in the Museum in Washington. Let's go back
now." She rocked him, then jumped as another car pulled up behind
them.

It was the Inspector from Scotland Yard. Phoebe looked worried as
her face was framed by the car window. "Mrs. Mulder, I mean Mrs.
Lowenberg, is everything alright? Is Mr. Lowenberg feeling well?"

Nodding, Caroline rolled down the window. "Yes, Ms. Green, it is,
and he will be."

Surprised, Phoebe stepped back. "How do you know me? We've never
met, even at Mulder's graduation." When Max straightened,
whispering that he needed some air, the Englishwoman opened the
door for him. <Just like him, there's more to these two than meets
the eye.>

Caroline smiled in gratitude, still supporting her husband as he
leaned against the hood of the car. "He did send pictures
occasionally; I had bought Fox a Nikon as a high school graduation
present so he would."

Phoebe coughed, covering a snicker as she resolved that this
dignified woman would never know some of what that camera had
photographed.

The older woman rubbed her husband's back. "Max, let's go,
please."

Still shaken, he let her guide him to the passenger door to take a
seat.

Phoebe stood beside them. "Mrs. Lowenberg, we need to talk.
There's a small inn about three kilometers further along off the
Autobahn where we can have some tea, if that would help."

Caroline held her husband's shoulder for a few moments, then
turned to face the younger woman. "I think it would, my dear. I'll
follow you." She shaded her eyes, looking back towards the main
road. "Oh, look, here come the other two."

Both of Phoebe's eyebrows shot up. "There were two? How did you
know?"

Caroline smiled enigmatically. "I didn't just darn socks during
the War, Inspector."

--o-0-o--

Dining Room
Hotel Bavaria
Munich, Germany
Sunday, 9:18 am

Phoebe studied the men and women, sitting in small groups,
clustered around thick pine trestle tables. "Mrs. Lowenberg, can
you tell me which of the men in this room have been following
you?"

They had waited for Max to regain his composure before initiating
any further conversation into Caroline's past. The darkly stained
walls and small windows enhanced the somber atmosphere, keeping
the few late risers and travelers on breaks silent.

Max was sipping a cup of Earl Grey, holding his wife's hand, and
he chuckled at Phoebe's question. "She can probably tell you their
family history, if you let her get close."

Smoothing out a paper napkin, Caroline sketched the layout of the
dining room and drew X's by two of the rectangles. She had
indicated both the Bavarian that Phoebe was aware of, and a
balding middle-aged man in thick glasses. Caroline thought of the
old man in the dark room in Washington. <He's one of yours, you
old devil, you haven't changed at all.> "You were aware of the
German, I take it?"

A single quick dip of the head.

"But, the other, well, I..." The words caught in her throat, and
she gasped. <I can't tell anyone anything! But what if it's too
late?> "...I can't say any more, Inspector. You see, during the
war, we all had to take oaths of secrecy not to reveal what we
did."

"But, Mrs. Lowenberg, it's fifty one years later! Surely by
now..."

Caroline's fierce expression stopped her.

Phoebe connected the troubles of mother and son. "It's about those
papers, isn't it?"

Caroline considered the implications of her next words before
answering. "No."

Max turned to his wife, wondering again, just who this quiet woman
really was. "Caroline, I thought you said we could trust her."

The password echoed in her mind as she rested her head briefly on
his shoulder. "It's not a matter of trust, dear, it's a matter of
protection. I have to look out for all those I love, so it is
better if I trust no one with what I remember." <For all I can
tell, I may be one of the last who does know.> "I do think you are
a responsible person, Inspector, but I must follow my own best
judgement in this case."

Phoebe smiled, finding the firm, but polite, resolve strangely
familiar. <Everything about his family seems that way.>

Caroline continued. "And, young woman, do call me Caroline. When
you call me Mrs. Lowenberg," she patted her husband's arm, "I feel
like a schoolteacher."

"Very well, Caroline, do you have any idea why the Bavarian
operative would be following you? Or the American? And please call
me Phoebe."

"About the American, I can't say, so don't ask. But the Bavarian?
I have no idea. There's nothing I know that could be of interest
to the present government in Bonn."

Now recovered and alert, Max sighed. "But I think I know."

The women focused on him.

Max slipped his arm around Caroline to squeeze her apologetically.
"Just as you have secrets, my Love, so do I. But unlike you, I
have no one to protect, not anymore."

Phoebe raised an eyebrow. "So he's following you, Mr. Lowenberg?"

"Yes, most likely, and call me Max, since I'm no one's
schoolteacher either."

Phoebe nodded.

He took his wife's hand again. "I helped locate art the," he
closed his eyes, "National Socialists had stolen, so your Bavarian
may be tracking me, although for what specific reason, I couldn't
begin to hazard a guess. The recovery process was conducted with
all due respect for the laws of the nations involved. What art
Thea and I owned personally is in a museum in Haifa. We settled
our estate before we moved to Miami. I only have the house in
Florida and another one on Santorini." He smiled at Caroline. "The
villa is all light and warmth, dearest. I've wanted to show it to
you ever since we shivered in the woods in Massachusetts. After
the New Year, we'll escape down there until you feel ready to
visit the States again."

Phoebe's thoughts flew back to the flat in Walford.

It was there they remained, until Caroline touched her shoulder.
"Phoebe? What do you know that we should as well?"

Taking a deep breath, the Inspector shook herself mentally. "Well,
Caroline, first I should tell you that I spoke with your son last
month, and..."

The older woman leaned forward. "Fox? How is he? How is Dana?"

Phoebe paused. <Dana?> "He's worried about you two. He made me
promise to look out for you, and despite how deep the rift between
us was when we broke up at Oxford, I will honor that pledge. So
I'll tell you what I know, and maybe between the three of us, we
can work out what's really going on."

--o-0-o--

William Donald Schaeffer Boy's Home
Baltimore, Maryland
Monday, December 16, 1996
1:15 pm

Elizabeth Williams cleared the newspapers and files off two chairs
in her glassed-in space so the agents from the FBI could sit. They
were both drained from the virus, and thinner than when she had
seen them just nine days earlier, but she could read their
determination.

Once her visitors were situated, she closed the door and walked
across her office to take her customary place, from which she had
counseled hundreds of boys. "So, you want to discuss one of my
charges? Has he done anything wrong?"

The male agent, Mulder, leaned forward. "Yes, John Towser, and no,
he hasn't. Is he still adjusting well to life in the home?"

An image of the eager face formed in her mind's eye. "Oh, yes, and
if anything, he's more garrulous by the hour. I wish all my boys
were that easy to work with."

The agents glanced at each other before the red-haired woman
spoke. "Has he exhibited any signs of the flu or TB?"

"You mean this homeless virus that Susan Miles keeps going on
about? No. If he's succumbed, it was before he left the streets to
live here, and since Carl's outbreak, none of the other boys has
suffered from it. But, I've found out you have, Agent Scully."

"Yes. Although I remember very little about it, I'm told it very
nearly put me in the hospital last week."

Elizabeth stored this information away, as well as the deeply
protective glance Mulder sent her before he resumed his part of
the discussion.

"Miss Williams, we would like to know if John is stable enough,
mentally that is, to help us in our investigation."

Elizabeth threw her head back, hooting with laughter. "All he's
talked about since you left is G-man this, FBI that. If you were
to ask for his help now, it would be the best Christmas present
that boy could have." Sobering, she entwined her fingers and
rested her hands on the desk in front of her. "As far as his
mental stability goes, well, as long as he takes his lithium,
he'll be fine. TP-101 didn't help him much, according to Nora."
The dead doctor's name stuck in her throat.

Scully leaned over to speak in her partner's ear, giving her time
to compose herself. "Mulder, we haven't heard from Skinner yet,
you know."

Both eyebrows shot up as he smirked. "What! We don't have the
official blessing of the powers that be?"

She hit him with a silent 'Mulder!'

"Just consider this a little preliminary work, Scully, no harm
intended."

When Elizabeth cleared her throat, they focused in her. "I don't
foresee any problems with John helping you out, provided what you
have in mind isn't too taxing. Would you like me to bring him in?"
Opening the door, she called down the hall for him.

Johnny was pushed forward by the other boys, who had congregated
in the passage when the mysterious visitors arrived. He bounced
through the door, grinning from ear to ear, looking over his
shoulder at the heads around the corner before he sat in a third
chair Elizabeth had emptied.

Mulder nodded at the heads before he spoke to the boy. "John, you
offered to help us find Nora's murderers when we visited with you
last week, and Agent Scully and I have decided that there is
something only you can do." The boy's eyes grew wide. "We think
the killers are introducing a virus into the homeless population,
then kidnaping them off the streets and out of the shelters for
tests. Dr. Samuelson, we believe, somehow found out about it. But
we need to see this happening so we can make an arrest. Have you
ever been to any of these places?"

Producing a list, Scully handed it to him.

The boy scanned the names. "Yes, Agent Mulder, I know about most
of them. Are you really planning on working undercover?"

At their affirmation, he beamed, but Scully cautioned him. "John,
this is a serious matter, not a game. The people we suspect are
very dangerous, which is why we need you to be our guide to these
places, so Agent Mulder and I don't stick out like sore thumbs.
You see, not only do we need you to show us the shelters, we need
your help to blend in."

Thinking of all the responsibilities he had assumed for his Aunt
Sarah, Johnny sobered. "When would you like to begin, Agent
Scully?"

She glanced at her partner. "In a few days, John. And John?"

"Yes?"

"How do you feel?"

He straightened. "I feel fine."

She glanced at her hands. "No, I mean, how much time did you spend
with Carl before or during his illness?"

"None, Agent Scully."

Mulder leaned forward. "John, are you still seeing things?"

The boy grimaced. "I don't see things, Agent Mulder, and I don't
hear voices either."

Scully raised her eyebrow. <Where is he going with this?>

Mulder persisted. "But, John, it's OK to admit that you see
things, since I see things too sometimes. Agent Scully doesn't
believe me, but I do."

John's eyes rolled towards Elizabeth and back to them. "Well, I
don't." He snapped his mouth shut, adamant.

Scully touched her partner's wrist and they excused themselves,
walking down the corridor until the view from both the hallway and
the office was blocked. "Mulder, he won't admit to anything, not
with Elizabeth, who can keep him from participating in this little
adventure with a single word, right there. Even if he did see
things, she said the lithium is working."

Sighing, he ran his hand through his hair. "OK, Scully, I believe
that now. I'd like to speak to John by myself, if you could draw
Elizabeth into some discussion of the boys. I'm very curious about
those visions of his. Until the Seventeenth Century, people like
John were used as seers and treated as holy. What if they still
are? You may have been right earlier, that there is more at work
here than just the Shadows, and John may be the key." He raised
his hands to forestall the explosion, but to no avail.

"Mulder! If all the things that we read in his file were true, we
could just whisper the right words and fly the killers into jail!
We've come so far beyond the days of magic that I can't believe
you're taking him seriously."

He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Scully, wait. I'm not saying
it's magic so you have to discard all Science from the Descartes
to Sagan, not at all. But his visions do have a basis in Jungian
psychology. Archetypes, remember? Cultural memories? What if those
are real, and John is somehow tapped into them?"

She leaned against the wall and sighed. "OK, I think I can go
along with that, for now. I'll draw Elizabeth out and you talk to
John. But we can't move on this until we have Skinner's approval.
Agreed?"

One long hand rose. "Scout's honor."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't say that, Mulder, or I'll be asking
for a certain non-duplicate limb as collateral."

He leaned towards her. "Ooh, you are a wicked, wicked woman, Dr.
Scully."

--o-0-o--

New Scotland Yard
London, England
Tuesday, December 17, 1996
5:57 pm

Phoebe Green stopped the film reader to rub her eyes. <I always
knew he got it from somewhere.> Max and Caroline Lowenberg had
been far different from what she had expected. Mulder had never
spoken much about his parents or his childhood, but had it not
been for the silent vigils on his sister's birthdays, she would
never have known about his family at all.

But the life she had led during the War! The recently declassified
accounts of the activities her group had undertaken sounded like
something out of John le Carre. Phoebe smiled. If only her life at
the Yard were half as exciting, she would have stories to tell her
children for years. <Children? Am I that serious about Eric?> He
was probably home right now, specked with Forest Green or Burnt
Umber, creating another of his lovely surreal landscapes.

<Well, girl, back to work.> She sat up straight and advanced the
film another frame. <Yes, there was Caroline's name again.> To be
able to speak most of the languages of Europe, as an educated
woman from that center of culture could, had placed huge demands
on her time. She had found herself shuttling back and forth across
the Atlantic in the service of her monolingual adoptive nation
almost continuously until 1946, when she had married Bill Mulder
and dropped out of sight. <Does Mulder know any of this about
her?>

She spun the control wheel, stopping the celluloid when it reached
the year she wanted. It was strange how paths cross, time and time
again. Max and Caroline had remembered meeting once briefly in
1945, just after the war's end, but before the women in Caroline's
office had all been summarily fired. She had been brought in to
aid in the recovery of several medieval manuscripts, all of which
now resided in the University of Pennsylvania library. <Wait,
Pennsylvania.> Phoebe rewound the film, powered down the reader,
and entered her office.

She sorted through the memoranda on new cases that had accumulated
on her desk in her absence. <Yes, that's what I remembered.> A
robbery of a Sharpsburg bank by three suspects with British
accents had flagged the interest of the Yard. Carrying the
thinnest of the notices, she headed to the fifth floor to speak
with the agent of record. "Richard?"

The Scotsman's ruddy head turned towards her. "Phoebe? I though
you were in Germany. Come in and have a seat."

She laid the papers on his desk. "What can you tell me about the
robbery in Pennsylvania? Any leads?"

He walked to a side table to collect photos and folders. "I just
finished reviewing the case for our CI, so you're in luck; I think
I can give you a good idea of the operatives behind it." He
chuckled. "Those crazy Americans! Trying to hang on to the Cold
War as if it would make all their problems disappear in a puff of
smoke."

--o-0-o--

Downtown Washington, DC
Wednesday, December 18, 1996
9:42 am

Johnny was bouncing in the back seat of the Taurus, chattering
happily at the sights.

Scully and Mulder rolled their eyes at each other, and her cocked
eyebrow <You're sure this was a good idea?> was answered with a
shrug <Didn't have many options, did we?>.

Between the lack of funds and the holidays, Skinner had found
support for the homeless case only to the extent that they would
be tracked by a single undercover agent, but no more.

Mulder glanced down at the faded jeans, dirty jogging shoes, and
stained down jacket, so different from his usual work attire. His
partner wore scuffed, blackened boots, pink polyester pants, and
one of his faded, moth-eaten sweaters from his high school days,
under a torn overcoat. Waiting at a light, he tapped the sewn
crease in the thick fabric and wrinkled his nose, ribbing her
again for the color. She had protested vociferously when John had
pulled them off the rack at Goodwill. <At least you'll be easy to
spot, Scully.>

"Oh, boy, it's the FBI building!" John slid to the left side of
the car, pointing out the steam grates in the wide sidewalk.
"Those will keep us warm tonight."

Scully closed her eyes. <I hate winter.> It was coming to be the
time of year when no matter how many clothes she wore, she was
perpetually chilled. With the weight loss from the illness, she
knew the next few days on the streets would be like the inner
rings of Dante's Inferno, all cold and dark. But Mulder was right,
the sooner they finished this case, the sooner they could return
to the X-files.

Pulling into the official FBI lot, Mulder signed the check-out
form, then dropped the keys in the kiosk's return box, noting the
small sign, 'Back in five minutes.' Slipping out onto the streets,
they followed their now somber guide up Pennsylvania Avenue to the
Ellipse.

John filled a discarded paper cup with water from a public
drinking fountain before he carried it over to a bare patch of
ground. He poured the water out, mixing it with the dirt, and
waved them over. "You guys are too clean." He smirked. "You first,
Agent Mulder."

The tall man stepped up and blanched as cold mud was smeared over
his cheeks and forehead. Johnny patted the mess on his clothes,
finishing with two handfuls in the agent's hair.

Scully stared pointedly at her feet, knowing how fastidious he was
with his appearance, chewing the inside of her cheek to keep from
laughing out loud.

"Agent Scully?" The boy was less certain as he addressed her.

She bent down by the rapidly drying soil to begin marring her own
appearance, smearing the clay vigorously into the hated color as
she knelt.

"No fair, Scully." Her partner leaned over her to plop some of the
mud from his head into her hair and eyes. As she met his gaze, the
hazel eyes flashed from amusement to deep concern, no doubt as he
recalled the argument they had conducted the previous afternoon in
the basement office.

--o-0-o--

"Are you sure about this, Scully? I can go in alone so you won't
be a target, too." He was pacing in front of her desk.

She stopped herself before remarking that they were both targets
now, no matter where they were. She stood in front of him.
"Mulder, we're partners. I don't see Duane Barry or Donnie Phaster
anywhere, and the group behind the homeless abductions has nothing
in common with the Shadows."

He threw up his hands. "But Scully! How do we know that? Just
because the virus contains all terrestrial DNA doesn't mean they
couldn't! It's perfectly possible that not all the clandestine
government experiments involve aliens and alien-human hybrids." He
grasped her shoulders, pleading with his eyes as he spoke. "Don't
do this, Scully. I can't lose you, not again. Stay on the outside,
please."

But she had been just as insistent. "Mulder! Don't be so selfish!
I'm not letting you out of my sight this time because it would be
the perfect opportunity for them to eliminate you once and for
all. I can't let you take that risk alone, do you hear?" She
paused after each word in the last sentence for emphasis. <No more
boxcars, partner. No more calls from X telling me to collect your
battered person from a hospital in Iowa in some small town I have
to ask the State Troopers directions to. No more!>

He dropped his hands, shaking his head. "You're right, Scully. We
both have too much at stake to do this any other way." He ran a
hand over his face. "At least let's have one good dinner before we
start standing in lines, OK?"

--o-0-o--

Stepping back, Mulder banished his fear for her to the back of his
mind, and forced himself to joke, but his monotone and stilted
phrases betrayed him. "You look beautiful, Scully; Frohike would
be overwhelmed by this vision of loveliness I see before me."

Scully responded to his intentions, rather than his tone. "Well
Mulder, it beats taking a week of leave, flying to Hawaii and
paying good money to lie in mud packs all day."

Johnny's head turned from one to the other. "That should do fine.
You're both good and dirty, so let's go. The shelter on Fourteenth
Street will open for lunch soon, and we need to get there before
the gangs do."

Mulder started at this new information, his trepidation over his
partner's presence obvious to her. "Gangs, John? We didn't hear
anything about gangs when we interviewed the shelter
administrators."

Johnny continued walking while speaking over his shoulder. "That's
because they don't know. The groups only shake down the rest of us
out on the street, and expect us to keep our mouths shut once
inside one of those Church places. Why do you ask?"

Mulder gave Scully a <You thinking what I'm thinking?> look, then
she caught up with the slender blonde boy. "How often do the
gangs kill or injure one of the homeless?"

John shrugged. "Not very. It's pointless, you see, unless the
person has snitched on them, or unless they want to make an
example of someone, but the territories they control are well
established. Everyone is terrified of them." As the boy withdrew
behind an expressionless mask, they wondered if he was speaking
from unpleasant experience again. "Besides, they don't make people
disappear."

Mulder understood. "Otherwise, they wouldn't be an example."

--o-0-o--

Flat #2
Walford, London
Wednesday, 5:45 pm

Phoebe shrugged reluctantly out of Eric's enfolding arms. She had
driven directly from Heathrow to the Yard, letting the
anticipation of their reunion buoy her until the evening.

"Luv, why didn't you call? I would have fixed a real Jamaican
special for tonight, not my usual bachelor fare. But, no matter.
While my girl sleeps late, I'll round up the..." He tilted her
chin up, concerned. "You will be here for the weekend, won't you?"

She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against his chest,
willing him to understand. "I'm sorry, I have to leave Friday
afternoon, late. Max and Caroline will be back in Vienna by
then..."

"Oh! Phoebe, when did you move to first names with his mother?"

For the first time in their relationship, as he turned his back on
her, she caught a glimpse of his temper. She threw her arms around
his waist, shoving aside her own fear, struggling not to burst
into tears. "It's not like that, Eric. Max nearly collapsed
outside Dachau and I helped her, so she asked."

He pulled her tenderly around to his chest, enfolding her again.
"Sorry, Sweet. I shouldn't worry, you're only doing your job. I
couldn't bear to think he would steal you away now."

She stood on tiptoe to kiss his nose. "No worries, My Heart, no
worries. I'm yours for keeps if you'll have me."

He lifted her over his head. "Luv, a reverse proposal! How quaint!
And yes, I will, so don't you fret either. Now, let me wash my
head to get the paint off, and I'll treat my girl at a little
place I know."

--o-0-o--

Eric dipped the strips of roasted chicken in a fiery green
jalapeno sauce before gulping them down, amused by Phoebe's curled
lip. "Try it, Inspector, it's what keeps me hopping. But this Max
is something of an art collector, you say?"

She sipped her glass of Red Stripe and nodded. "Was, anyway. He
collected Steens with his first wife, Thea, but the paintings are
in Haifa now."

He leaned back, his eyes fixed on the wall behind her. "Oh, *that*
Max Lowenberg, I thought the name was familiar. He bought two of
my pieces when I was still in Jamaica, back when he was a lawyer
and I was a struggling accountant whose mind was elsewhere. My
firm let me go shortly afterwards, so his money kept me in beans
and rice long enough to get started."

She squeezed his hand. "Eric, I didn't know you were anything but
an artist."

He glanced grimly at the approaching waiter. "I have a degree from
the University of Florida, but my mother had pushed me into it,
and I hated it. She never believed I could make it as a painter.
But I proved her wrong, what?"

Smiling, they began placing their orders.

--o-0-o--

Podhowitz House
Vienna, Austria
Thursday, December 19, 1996
11:13 am

"So the Inspector from Scotland Yard turned out to be the one,
eh?" Isaac passed a teacup of amber liquid to his brother-in-law.

Max accepted it, stirring in a spoonful of Demerara and a dash of
cream before carrying the drink to his wife, waiting on the sofa.

Caroline smiled up at him as she accepted the China cup and saucer
and replied. "Yes, she was. I can understand why Fox was so deeply
attached to her. One thing I do know about my boy is that he only
pretends to be attracted by sexy women with long legs and
curvaceous bodies. But it's the intelligent ones who capture his
heart. His senior year in high school was the only time he was not
morose and withdrawn." She placed the cup gingerly on the saucer
in her lap. "You see, he was in a furious competition for
valedictorian with Janice Peters, and she was all he talked about,
even after she beat him by 0.02 points on her GPA. But, poor Fox,
she spent all her time studying Physics and Calculus in
preparation for MIT, and barely knew he existed."

Max and Isaac chuckled as she spoke.

Her husband queried her. "And Dr. Dana Scully?"

She shrugged. "I know what those two say, but her mother and I can
always hope."

Isaac sipped his tea, intrigued. "This Scully is his partner?"

Max put the China down on the side table. "Undergraduate degree in
Physics and licensed pathologist. You should have seen him leap
across the room when she appeared down in Mexico. He was like a
drowning man reaching for a life preserver."

Isaac lifted an eyebrow and sobered. "I hate to interrupt, but we
were talking about Phoebe, not Dr. Scully, although from your
words, either would be fine companions for my nephew. She will be
appearing here tomorrow?" He looked from one to the other as they
affirmed his statement.

Max brought the teapot back to freshen his wife's cup. "Actually,
Caroline, that Eric Conners of hers is quite the artist. I met him
in Jamaica when I was conducting an multi-national merger, and
bought two of his early pieces. Wonderful things. He had a natural
flair for Van Gogh type landscapes, so I bought them while he was
still an accountant. I'm glad to hear he's made a go of the
painting career. He was a miserable bookkeeper and almost sank the
deal with a few poorly placed decimal points."

Isaac and Caroline both smiled, remembering the days when Daniel's
house rang with similar conversations.

Caroline countered. "Well, dear, perhaps both his greater and
lesser talents will be useful to us over the next few weeks, when
we flush out these shady characters on our tail."

Isaac laughed out loud. "They're down there in the alley still,
you know. Perhaps we should send out some eclairs and coffee to
keep them warm."

--o-0-o--

Pennsylvania Avenue
Washington, DC
Thursday, 7:30 pm

Unbeknownst to the comfortably ensconced trio, the son and partner
they were so merrily conjoining would have been grateful for the
hypothetical pastry and beverage. Early in the winter, the jet
stream had dipped to Georgia, driving out the cooling air of the
fall, and emplacing a dry Arctic mass. The temperature hovered in
the twenties, and the homeless had crowded the shelters. But
Johnny and the two agents were not among them.

Mulder leaned close to her. "Can you hear that, Scully?" The
partners were crouched behind the protecting wall for the Archives
Metro escalator.

Scully cocked her head, listening. "Yes, Mulder, it sounds like
our old friend has snagged another victim."

From a ragged lump on the steam grate, a familiar hoarse cough
emanated, so the three slipped forward to investigate.

"Hey, hands off!"

Scully had reached out to touch the shiny forehead only to have
her fingers nearly crushed by the gloved hand.

"This is my corner, not yours, so go away."

"But, you're sick, you have a fever, you should see a doctor."

One eye peered out from the rags, then two. They were sunken and
set in a bearded face that regarded them suspiciously. "It's
doctors who made me like this, so don't send me back to those
quacks."

Scully had to bite her lip to keep from blurting out that she was
a doctor. <Titles and degrees don't mean a thing out here, Dana.>

But her partner intervened. "Sorry buddy, we just heard you
coughing. What do you mean, doctors made you like this?"

The heap of rags shifted and assumed a human shape. "I was just
fine with my Ma and Pa until some school administrator decided she
knew better, took me away, and sent me to a mental hospital."

Scully touched her partner's shoulder, her eyes transmitting her
conclusions. <He's not what we want.>

They backed away as he continued to drone on.

His blue eyes dark, Johnny looked back over his shoulder. "He's
one of the first people I met on the street, and I could have
ended up like that, but I'm OK now." The quiet tone was both
reassurance for the speaker and matter-of-fact.

Mulder patted his shoulder. "Yes, John, you're OK. Elizabeth told
Scully that you were enjoying school?"

"Oh, yes, Agent Mulder, but this is fun too. It won't last
forever, and I will be helping you out. I won't miss much, since I
have so much to catch up on, but I could take Chemistry this next
semester, Elizabeth promised, and it's so much like math that it
has to be interesting..."

The partners frowned as the stream of words rolled over them.

--o-0-o--

Fourteenth Street Shelter
Washington, DC
Thursday, 9:14 pm

"Hey."

Scully jumped when the hand stroked her face. Since she was in the
first stages of sleep, she grabbed the fingers, her self-defense
techniques uppermost in her mind. <No, wait, it's...> She opened
her eyes and apologized. "Sorry, Mulder."

He was wearing a familiar anxious expression.

She realized she had him off his guard. "I'm not used to being
petted at night." <That should snap him out of it.>

The eyes flashed as he nimbly parried the remark. "Well, that's
something I can certainly remedy, Scully."

Housed in the basement of a Baptist Church, the shelter had
separate quarters for the men and women, to keep the support of
the more conservative members of the host congregation. It
occupied three large cinder block rooms, one a dining room with
the trestle tables that they had visited on Halloween, the other
two sleeping quarters, each containing four long rows of cots.
John had pointed out the broken lock on the door between the men's
and women's bathrooms, through which the tall agent had reached
his partner.

She pulled herself to the edge of the cot, concerned that his
fears had driven him here. "I'm OK, if you were worried. It's so
noisy I've had trouble falling asleep, but you should go back to
the men's side, before we call too much attention to ourselves."

He responded with a curt nod before slipping his arms around her
shoulders, one hand sliding her head over until her ear was
directly below his mouth. "Don't yell, Scully, I just read that
note Langly slipped me on my tray when he served us our dinners
tonight. Two of the missing men have reappeared in Xenia, Ohio."

She clenched her jaw, but still it took all her will not to cry
out, so she grasped his shoulder, squeezing as hard as she could.
"What?"

He was nodding, his nose pushing her hair back and forth as he did
so.

"Don't tell me you think this somehow involves aliens now,
Mulder." She was whispering, but her intensity disturbed the tiny
girl in the cot by her head.

Mulder caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and cupped
his hand over her ear, muffling his soft speech still further.
"No, Scully, I don't. The men clearly remember everything that
transpired, from the time they left the shelters, through the care
they received from *human* doctors, to their return via truck.
Further, each was in the throes of the virus when they were taken.
I think someone would like the uninitiated to believe so, but you
and I have debunked too many false abductee stories for this to
distract even me."

She relaxed, soaking up his warmth, feeling the chill from
thirty-six hours in sub-freezing conditions deep in her bones.

"You really OK, Scully? Your face still feels like ice." He rubbed
her ear between his thumb and forefinger.

"You know me, Mulder, reptilian to the bone." She shifted closer
to him. "I'll be fine; I have to warm up soon. Where are the men
now?"

"Langly E-mailed the information to Skinner, and the Ohio office
is holding them until he gets out there. One way or another, we'll
nail these turkeys, Scully." He looked up at the next cot, where a
woman was tending a squalling toddler, and frowned. "I don't see
how you put up with this. I'd sneak you back to the men's side, if
I could, since all we hear over there are snores." Squeezing her
briefly, he sat back, and she pulled the blanket up around her
neck as he slipped away.

Even though she would never complain, Mulder knew his partner was
rail-thin from her illness, her immune system barely recovered. He
was relieved that they had to come off the streets tonight, at the
Gunman's signal. <The last thing any of us needs is a bad case of
hypothermia or to pick up something else from these people.> He
rubbed his chest as he pulled the thin blanket over himself on the
cot. Their dinner sat like a lump in his stomach, and he grimaced,
remembering John announcing upon their arrival that this was one
of the 'better places'. <Are we too late? Is the experiment over
and is the FBI being brought in at the last minute to assist in
the cover-up?> He felt a tugging on his blanket.

"Agent Mulder?" John appeared beside him. "You should see this."

Mulder slid out, fully dressed still, having taken the boy's
warning that his scuffed-up jogging shoes and smelly jacket would
be highly prized quantities. He followed the slender figure to one
of the few windows, where they watched as two stretchers, each
occupied, were loaded into a truck. One of the supine figures
coughed, and a voice in the dark consoled him, telling him that
the hospital they would reach shortly knew 'just how to handle
this'. <Two leave, and two more are brought in.> The outside doors
were locked for the night, so Mulder was powerless, and could only
observe.

--o-0-o--

National Portrait Gallery
Washington, DC
Friday, December 20, 1996
2:14 pm

The stocky man with a full moustache studied the exhibition flyer
he had purchased, as he waited for his superior to arrive and
debrief him. Since he was estranged from his family, and the
surveillance was expected to run through Christmas, he had
volunteered for this assignment.

An outsider would pay no attention to the man in well-made,
imported dark wool suit, over a white shirt and red silk tie, or
to the grey-haired fellow who walked up to him, his apparel as
undistinctive.

Both were here on business, not pleasure, so the tall senior with
aquiline features spoke without prologue.

"How far as the investigation of our charges progressed?"

Prepared to give his report, the one who was seated rose as the
older man waited before him. "Not very. They're working on
blending in with the local homeless population, so they've stopped
by four of the shelters under investigation over the past three
days. I believe they witnessed the removal of two test subjects
last night."

They wandered through the gallery, avoiding the tourists.

The recent arrival glanced over. "Oh?"

The younger man nodded. "They have not left the vicinity of the
Fourteenth Street Shelter, but I don't see what they will learn
there."

"Ah. And the woman?"

The younger man shrugged. "She seems a little worse for wear, to
be frank, Sir. The virus may have affected her most of all."

"I see. If she weakens any further, we'll have to bring them in,
won't we? Thank you, Nichols. I shall speak with you in a day or
so."

--o-0-o--

Somewhere over Switzerland
Friday, 6:45 pm

"Eric, you really didn't have to come. I could have brought in an
Inspector to help with this, Richard McCoombs, for instance. He's
already aware of many of the details of this case, and I won't
have to worry about you."

He clasped her hand, entwining their fingers. "No, Luv, you don't
understand. Max Lowenberg helped me when no one else would, and if
he is in any danger, then I should be there." He shook their
hands. "Besides, how can I bypass a free trip to the city of Klimt
and Gerstl with my girl?"

Phoebe sighed, relieved. "Eric, Caroline wanted you to be there,
but I just didn't feel right asking you for your help, given our
personal connection. This is a complicated deception we wish to
create, and only an accomplished portraitist could pull it off.
You're sure you can copy the painting?"

He smiled. "Of course, Sweet. That's one of the ways an artist
learns, by making detailed copies of the Masters. When I was
making duplicates to support myself after first moving to England,
I found, if I studied a painting long enough, I could almost get
inside the creator's head. You see how the colors were layered and
textured, which reveals both the composition as it was originally
conceived, and how creative variations were handled. Are you three
sure this is what they are after?"

"I don't know, Eric, that's one of the reasons I wanted you to
stay home. Caroline won't confirm or deny any of the information I
relayed to her, claiming to still be bound by some fifty-one year
old oath..."

"Hey, don't knock faithfulness, Phoebe. I intend to keep a certain
vow at least that long."

She glanced down at the diamond solitaire on her left hand. <I
never expected this. It must have cost the rest of his profits
from the show.> "Eric, please. She was involved in some high level
work, at least from what the Fiche records told me, but with all
the women being let go, it should have ended there. She acts as if
some of what she was involved in is still going on, and it may
well be. Otherwise..."

The pilot's warning of turbulence interrupted her, and they
buckled in as the plane dipped and turned.

--o-0-o--

Near the Ellipse
Washington, DC
Saturday, December 21, 1996
2:45 am

"John? Are you sure this is where you saw the man?" Mulder had
finally convinced the boy that they were aware of his visions, so
he had led the partners back here.

The three of them were tucked into the roots of the oak, Scully
shivering slightly, even with the extra layers she had picked up
at the shelter the previous night.

Johnny nodded. "Yes, Agent Mulder, only I keep telling you, he was
a deer, too. So just keep quiet, and maybe we'll see him again."

Mulder twisted around to speak to his partner. "Scully? You OK?"

She glared at him. "I'm fine, Mulder. I'll just sit here freezing
until Herne the Hunter appears and steals me away. You ready for
that?"

He gave her a puzzled look. "Herne?"

"It's from those Celtic legends my father used to tell us kids,
remember? Herne the Hunter is the man who is a deer. The woods are
his kingdom, although I'm don't know why he should leave Windsor
Forest and take up residence in downtown DC."

His eyes half-lidded, Mulder shrugged. "Oh, downsizing affects
everyone, even divinities, Scully. Maybe he's taken a job lobbying
for the environmentalists."

Allowing herself a slight smirk, she rolled her eyes. "Only you
would try this on the longest night of the year."

Mulder shifted closer to her. "You're right. It is the solstice."

She crossed her arms. "Yes, the original mid-winter's festival,
not Christmas, as you may recall."

John glared over his shoulder at the agents. <Why aren't they
paying attention?> "You guys, look!" He pointed into the dark.

As they watched, three lights bobbed towards them. Mulder could
eventually distinguish three human shapes, one an older woman, her
grey hair pulled back, one a bald man in white, and a third in a
grey suit, whose face was obscured. When the man in white called
out to him, Mulder walked towards the light, only dimly hearing
his partner cautioning and questioning him.

Scully rose from her perch on the oak's roots. "Mulder, where are
you going? John, what do you see?"

The dark-haired agent sensed that the man wanted to speak with him
alone, so walked for some distance after the figure, attempting to
catch a glimpse of the apparition's face. Finally, the specter
stopped moving away so Mulder could focus on the features, but did
not recognize them, not immediately.

The spirit reached out to communicate. "You know me, Son, or
should I say know of me."

Mulder frowned, then a shredded photo he had held in his partner's
apartment appeared in his mind. "Captain Scully! What are you
doing here? Shouldn't you be trying to talk to Scully?"

He sensed a denial from the shade. "I've come to you for two
purposes, Fox Mulder, one for your father and one for myself."

"Was that other..."

"Yes, Son, it was. But there's so much he wants to say, and we may
not have the chance, you see. Your young friend will be making a
choice soon, at the end of the halcyon days, and one of his
choices will close the Gateway."

"The Gateway? What Gateway?"

The spirit became impatient, so Mulder stilled himself to listen.
"That's not important, what is important is this: Your father has
spent the last few weeks with your sister, visiting her whenever
she descends into sleep or a trance."

"So my sister is..."

"Alive and well, yes. He told her you are looking for her,
desperately looking for her, if I might add."

Mulder turned away. "No, Sir, I haven't been. I've been too
wrapped up in..."

"Trying to stay alive, Son, yes, we know. We've watched you from
the Over There, and we know. We mean in your heart, you see.
You've never given up, and one day, you will find her, with my
daughter's help. But before you do that, you need to make peace
with your Past."

Mulder closed his eyes, feeling hope leap like a wild stag in his
heart. "You mean with my Mother? But I can't reach her, it's
like..." He spun around, holding out his hands.

The spirit radiated affection and deep sympathy. "A reflection in
a still pool of water? Yes, your Mother is part of that, but she
is not all we mean."

Mulder felt a tingling in his skull. "What are you..."

"You must make peace with your Past, all of it. You have a new
friend who can help you, both with your Mother and your Past. Let
him."

Mulder covered his face with his hands. "I don't understand." He
was whispering, on the verge of tears. "Please tell me where Sam
is, please."

As the tingling enveloped his whole body, he felt tranquil. In his
mind's eye, an image of a beautiful woman, with a mane of long
wavy brown hair, materialized. Her face resembled that of the
clone who had appeared at his Father's home, yet it was sharper
and more radiant. The tresses that flowed unbound down her back
were whipping in a breeze, over a long sky blue robe that billowed
and clung. He could see light reflecting off features so like his
own, the amber tones flickering, too strong to be a candle, and he
suddenly knew it must be a fire.

He reached towards the woman, but she was only in his mind, and
his hands grasped the empty air. Sam was walking in a circle
around flames that curled themselves around a single prodigious
log, then she lifted a copper chalice off the ground. She sipped
once, turned the cup over, and the light flared at the added fuel.

Mulder fell to his knees, tears flowing unheeded, and when he
could speak, he looked up. "Thank you. Thank you so much. But this
looks like some sort of ritual she's performing?" He sensed
affirmation from the phantom.

"She's seeking, just as you are, but in her own way, and not with
the resources at your disposal."

Mulder fixed his eyes on the spectral face. "But you're a
Catholic, and the ritual doesn't look Christian at all."

The apparition emitted amusement. "Why should that matter to you,
Fox Mulder, who will have nothing to do with any religion? There
is some piece of the truth in all of them, if you only look; but,
no, it isn't. I respect it simply because it was too strong to be
eliminated by the Crusaders and the Inquisitors, and I honored it
every Halloween when I told my Starbuck and her siblings those
Celtic legends of Fionn and Mabon. Christmas may be the Birthday
of the Christ, but the specific day of the year has nothing to do
with my Faith. Eventually, even the Popes had to recognize this
time of ending and renewal by assigning a feast of paramount
significance to it. Not all good things come down from above; some
spring up from below."

Mulder pushed himself to his feet, brushing off his knees, feeling
the tingling in his right shoulder.

But there was more for the agent to hear. "To my second purpose: I
just wanted to thank you for standing by my Starbuck. She needs a
good friend, you know."

Mulder shook his head. "I haven't been good enough; I've let them
take her twice." His breath caught. "I'm sorry, Sir, the first
time I was too late, and the second time, well, I don't even know
when the second time was."

"No, Son, you're not omnipotent. You brought her back the first
time, and have tried your best for the others. You know that,
inside."

The agent stepped back, wondering if this kindly spirit had heard
his cruel words in Comity, or his accusations before she shot him,
or the many instances when he had cut her off.

The tingling touched his chest under his sternum.

"We were only thinking of your heart. You have so much pain, Son,
and so does she. But you two understand that pain and can help
each other work through it..."

Mulder gasped. "You don't mean..."

"No, you really don't understand. That we don't mean, since you
two are bonded by what you have endured together, and are closer
to each other than to your families or your friends, what few you
have. For the tribulations coming in your lives, this is as it
should be."

Mulder stared at the ground. "Thank you, Sir. Sometimes I feel..."
As his right arm tingled, he sensed sympathy and support.

"How confusing it must be for young people today, thinking there
is only one kind of love that means anything." Mulder turned to
leave. "Wait, there's more I need to tell you, or to be exact,
that you need to tell Starbuck."

Suddenly anxious for his partner, he closed his eyes and inhaled.
"Yes, Sir?"

The tingling permeated both shoulders. "Tell her I was always
proud of her."

He jumped. "I will, Sir, I will."

--o-0-o--

"Mulder, where are you going? John, what do you see?" Scully
watched the two men walk away.

"Let them go, Dana."

She turned to the voice. "Who are you?"

The apparition danced before her. "You don't know me, Dr. Scully,
but I'm Fox's father, Bill Mulder."

<I must be so cold I'm starting to hallucinate.>

"This is no hallucination, child, just a lonely spirit looking to
give a mortal some peace."

She jumped. "You mean me? But I've already come to terms with
Melissa's death..."

"I know you have, Dana. But you still feel like the responsibility
of the world rests on your slender shoulders. That's not true, and
you need to lay some of your burdens down, before they break even
your sturdy back."

"But I have to be strong and responsible! What if Mulder..."

"My son depends on you, to be sure, but he is also more than
willing to help you. You should know that by now, Dana. He won't
think less of you if you share your troubles with him, and he's
tried to tell you that, now and again, in my boy's own peculiar
way." She sensed amusement and resignation.

"But Sir, he needs my help so much! He'd fly off on some tangent
and get himself killed if I weren't there for him, and he can't
build up a case methodically, like an agent should. He sees
through to a conclusion, yes, but without proof, we can never show
that his ideas are correct."

"He knows that, child, which is why he works with you, not on his
own anymore, as he also tried to tell you not too long ago. Before
he met you, he usually landed in far worse trouble, always off
chasing his UFO's. Because of you, his self-destructive times are
fewer and further between than I could ever stop him from in his
youth."

Both her eyebrows shot up on her forehead. "Mulder? He was more
self-destructive?" She sensed affirmation and waved at the shade.
"I don't think I want to know."

"Don't misunderstand me, we never feared for his sanity, but he
was always sabotaging himself, little by little. He deserves
peace, as do you, Dana Katherine Scully. I need you to give my boy
a message, if you would."

<Oh, well, Dana, at least this hallucination has a point.>

"Please tell Fox I love him. It's the hardest thing a Father can
say to his Son, and I never was able to tell him while I was
alive. I may never have this chance again. Please."

She nodded, thinking of how much her father's love meant to her,
and felt relief wash over her.

"Oh, and thank you for standing by him all these years. He was
always a solitary child, but you've given him some reason to
connect to others."

"But we're not..."

Now she sensed impatience. "Nor should you be. My boy is battling
too many dragons, both within and without, for him to be able to
take on the beasts that Englishwoman planted in his soul. I'm
afraid I never set a good example for him either; you were raised
in a close family, with unconditional love and acceptance. His
mother and I never gave that to each other, and being the
sensitive boy he is, he felt that absence more deeply than either
of us."

"But Sam I thought..."

"Oh yes, his little sister loves him very much, but she couldn't
make up for the lack of his parents, and besides, she's far away
from here. I did make certain they would never harm her, even if I
could never see her while I still lived."

Scully frowned. "Then she is alive? He's not searching in vain?"

"Yes, he will find her, with your help. But, all in good time,
Dana Scully, all in good time. It's late and we need to go now."

The phantom vanished, leaving her standing alone and cold under
the bare branches of the old oak.

--o-0-o--

It was just the three of them again, Johnny thoughtful, and for
once, blessedly silent.

Mulder's somber face was streaked with tears, but he was
completely focused on his shivering partner's back. "Scully?" His
hands rested on her arms, the solidity of his touch buoying her
flagging strength.

She turned to face him, noticing the puffy eyelids. "Mulder, I may
be hallucinating, but I think I've just spent the past few minutes
with your Father. If it was your Dad, I'm supposed to let you know
he loves you."

He gasped and pulled her to him, enveloping her. "Scully, I
haven't been hallucinating, and I *know* I've just spent time with
your Father. He showed me Sam, and he wanted me to tell you he was
always proud of you."

Confused, she began to back away, then her exhaustion broke down
her reserves, and she found herself clutching him for dear life.
"Mulder, thank you. It's so cold."

His voice, already hoarse from the dry air and his emotions, was
muffled by her hair. "I know, Scully. We're going home, at least
for tonight. I don't think we'll learn anything further out here."

--o-0-o--

Podhowitz House
Saturday, 8:26 am

"Max!" Eric clasped the outstretched hand of his one-time
benefactor. "Good to see you again!"

Phoebe and Eric had taken a roundabout tour of the city the
previous evening, and now stood outside Benjamin's home.

"And you as well, Eric. Your Inspector told us you've had your own
show. Congratulations." He noticed the ring on Phoebe's finger
before he called over his shoulder, up the stairs. "Oh, Caroline,
I see more felicitations are in order."

Caroline descended, delighted when she spotted the diamond. "Come,
dears, we'll have a toast."

Tucking her under his arm, Max beamed down at his wife. It seemed
that in this vibrant city of her childhood, she had finally put
her dark life in America behind her. Now she was blossoming into
the role that time had stripped from her as mistress of the great
family house.

But the Inspector was all seriousness. "No, Caroline, I must speak
with you, urgently. It's about Mulder. I think he's in greater
danger than he realizes."

Caroline's intensity appeared, suddenly becoming as old as every
minute in her seventy-six years.

--o-0-o--

"So this is the beauty you need me to copy." Eric stepped back and
whistled. "You had some fine pieces, you and Thea."

The portrait of the artist's wife as Isis, her arms lovingly
cradling their infant son as Horus, surrounded by linen-clad
attendants, was in the basement of the Podhowitz home. Down here,
the temperature and humidity were controlled, one of the
conditions for the loan of the late Nineteenth Century work.

"You say one of your Steens was stolen?"

Max was standing by the painting, lost in the memories surrounding
its purchase. "Hum? Yes, it was. Given the problems in Israel
right now, the police haven't had the manpower to devote to
pursuing a lost work of art. So, since it may tie in with our
mysterious Bavarian friend, I volunteered to aid in the
investigation, with the help of yourself and Phoebe, of course."

Eric leaned in to examine the goddess' glittering collar, a
jeweler's eyepiece pressed into his right socket. "The only
problem I foresee is with the gilding on the canvas. It looks to
have been electroplated, and I'm no expert in that. Won't the
metal be easy to date?"

Max smiled. "Actually, that won't be. The lead in the solder
underneath decays slowly enough that we are well within the first
ten percent of its half-life, so they won't be able to tell the
forgery from it. We had to scramble to find canvas of the right
age and provenance, though." He pointed to a row of tubes. "These
too are historically accurate. We've even scraped a bit of the
pigments off the original and mixed them in with the duplicates,
to fool any chemical analyses."

Eric mounted a spare piece of canvas to begin testing the old
paints. "There will be a specific flow I'll need to adjust to,
Max. I'll try not to waste them."

The older man shook his head. "Not to worry. Here." He held out
several pots. "These equivalents have the same viscosity, so you
can experiment until you feel comfortable." Max unfurled several
full-sized X-rays of the painting. "You can plan your outlines
from the depth images of the original."

Eric poured over the films, noticing the sliding position of one
of the attendant's arms with each successive application of
colors. "How thorough should I be? I can duplicate each layer
fairly quickly, if you like."

Max shrugged. "Spend the majority of your time on the uppermost,
of course, but these collectors are young, hungry, and love
technology, unlike the fellows I bought and sold with, who would
have known the artist's techniques themselves. So, take your time,
and do your best." Max patted Eric's shoulder. "I'll leave you to
it, my friend."

--o-0-o--

Apartment #5
Alexandria, VA
Saturday, 5:49 am

"Scully." She was up to her neck in hot, soapy water, luxuriating
in the warmth, her cel phone by her ear. It had been a frustrating
hour of running and begging before they could find a cab that
would accept three smelly customers with hard cash.

Mulder had taken Johnny back to Apartment 42, where he was calling
her from. "How are you doing, Scully?"

She turned the left valve with her toes, running hot water until
even the very top corners of her windows were completely steamed
up. "I'll be fine, Mulder. Let me have a good morning's sleep and
Agent Scully will be ready to pound the pavement until we catch
these guys. How's John?"

Mulder leaned out his kitchen entrance to check on the boy. "Oh,
he's parked on my sofa, watching videos."

She sat up, sloshing water over the tiles. "Mulder! Not your
tapes..."

He pursed his lips. "No, Scully, he's picked out 'The Day the
Earth Stood Still' and seems fascinated, but I expected him to go
for 'Star Wars' or 'ET'. You still in your tub? It's been over an
hour since the cab dropped you off." He tossed the remainder of
the pizza back in the box and slid it in the refrigerator.

"Yes, I am. It took me far longer than I expected to scrub myself
clean, and now I'm just starting to thaw out. I'm not wearing
those awful slacks out on the street, Mulder, I have some old
paint-splattered trousers of my own." She settled back, careful
not to dip the phone in the suds as the water level rose.

He grinned. "Ooh, need me to wash your back? John should be
occupied for at least another hour or so."

"Mulder!"

He smirked at her quick response. <She is feeling better.>

"How long can I sleep in this morning?"

"How long do you want?"

"Does Sunday sound good?"

He snorted. "It's OK with me, but Byers left me an E-mail that
Skinner will be back in town this afternoon, and wants to meet
with us ASAP. That's why I called." <And to check on my frozen
partner.>

She reluctantly climbed out of the tub to wrap herself in her
bathrobe. "OK, pick me up around 11:30. Five hours sleep in my own
bed is better than eight at a shelter."

"Yeah, right."

--o-0-o--

Apartment Complex
Alexandria, VA
Saturday, 11:15 am

Johnny peered at the brick building. "So this is where Agent
Scully lives."

His phone on his ear, Mulder nodded. <She hasn't answered any of
my calls.> "Stay here, John, I need to make sure Scully is OK." As
he ended the call, he slipped the phone back into his jacket.

The extremely cold air was forecast to move out of the area, and
the temperatures had already warmed to just above freezing.

John watched as Mulder disappeared inside the building.

--o-0-o--

"Scully, it me. You alright in there?" He pounded on the door one
final time before reaching in his pocket for his keys. "Scully?
Scully?"

His heart racing, he checked first the living room, then the
kitchen and bath, before turning the knob on her closed bedroom
door. <She shuts her bedroom door when she's alone, too?>

Scully was still in bed, the down comforter wrapped tightly around
her neck.

Mulder sat beside her, shaking her gently by her shoulder.
"Scully, wake up." <Please, don't be sick again.> He felt her
forehead, expelling his breath once he touched cool skin.

Pulling back the covers, he blanched. She had fallen asleep
straight from the tub, in only her bathrobe, a thick blue towel
tucked in around her neck. He reached for her shoulder again, but
stopped, dropping the hand on her side.

The dark patches under her eyes had deepened since Thanksgiving,
so he considered pulling rank as Senior Agent and leaving her here
for a few more hours. <You want to stay a whole man, Mulder?>
While he had been given a week of enforced inactivity to
recuperate, his partner had pushed herself back into work almost
immediately upon regaining consciousness. <No, not inactivity.>
That week had been a living hell for him, fearing that the virus
would affect her far more severely than it had him.

He glanced over at the arm of the sofa projecting into the
hallway. If they didn't have to contend with John and Skinner, he
might simply have walked out to her living room and settled in
himself. <Not the first time, Mulder.>

He would talk seriously with their boss about that leave when this
case was finished. Further, as personally distasteful as it was,
he might take Benjamin and Miriam Jenkins up on the offer of a
visit, just so she could be somewhere warm for a few days. <You'll
need a really good excuse for that one.> He sighed and shook her
torso, calling her softly. When the second nudge brought no
response, he lifted her off the mattress to settle her on the
pillows, rubbing one hand between his two until her eyelids
flickered.

She stirred. "Mulder, what are you doing here?" She squeezed his
hand briefly before drawing hers out, needing both to remove the
damp terrycloth.

His eyes held hers for a few moments until she had awakened fully,
then he rubbed his face with both hands. <I should just have let
her sleep.> Dropping his arms on his knees, he focused on her
face. "It's 11:15, Scully, and you weren't answering your calls."

She checked the nightstand, noting that, just as she had left it
on Wednesday, her alarm clock was turned off. The portable phone
was lying on the table, where she had dropped it after her
conversation with Mulder, the batteries now fully discharged. "Oh,
no. I forgot to set my alarm. It's that late? I'll get dressed."
She slipped out the other side of the bed to begin collecting
clothes.

The bathroom door clicked shut, then her voice emerged through the
ash. "Where are we meeting Director Skinner?"

"His flight arrives at National in twenty minutes." He spoke while
walking over to stand in the hall. "We're to pick him up there and
talk over lunch. Are you sure you're up to this, Scully? You were
really out of it."

Running a comb through her hair, she opened the door, surprised he
was directly outside. "Of course, Mulder, I just haven't slept
well for several nights. I'll be OK." She was wearing her
spattered jeans and the boots, but had added several layers under
his brown sweater, and stopped to dig in her dresser for a second
pair of gloves. "Let's go."

--o-0-o--

Podhowitz Living Room
Saturday, 10:49 am

"I'm sorry, Caroline, but I can come to no other conclusions,
given the evidence available to me at the Yard." Phoebe leaned
back in the overstuffed chair, letting her words sink in.

Deeply afraid for his nephew, Issac was uncertain as to how they
should proceed.

His sister, however, was formulating a plan of action, but she
wanted to run her thoughts past the others. "Fox is a bright boy,
and he has Margaret's daughter as his ally. Between them, they
will figure out a defense against my old colleagues. But I'd like
to give them some insurance, as well as remind that Ancient
Chimney that I am neither enfeebled nor senile, and I will tell
what I know if he threatens my son."

In a few simple sentences, she elucidated her idea, which both
delighted and petrified her husband. "Caroline! Are you sure this
is the only way? You're seventy-six, not twenty three."

She patted his hand. "Of course, Max, my dear. That's why the
Inspector will handle the physical aspects, and leave the mind
games to me. Those were always what intrigued me anyway, and
besides, you and Isaac are too old to be handling firearms."

--o-0-o--

Down in the alley, the two spies checked the windows, one warily
eyeing the other, each only dimly cognizant of his counterpart's
agenda. Neither heard the stealthy approach behind them until it
was too late. The middle-aged American suddenly found himself in a
hammerlock, the muzzle of Phoebe's revolver pressed into his neck.

All avenging fury, Caroline Lowenberg appeared before him.
"Greetings to you and your superior from an old comrade-in-arms.
I'd like you to take a message back to him, if you would be so
kind."

His eyes bulging in terror, the man nodded.

"Tell him I know what he's up to, and I consider it a violation of
the oath we swore during the war." She shook her head. "You may
not be aware of it, but your superior was at one time a kindly and
well-liked fellow, something of a geek, his mind full of electron
tubes and five-digit binary number sequences."

When the man's breath caught, Caroline knew she had the advantage.
"But now, he deals only in death, and for what end? Enough!"

She plucked his pocket recorder out of his jacket and spoke
directly into it. "Well, my mystery man, so we will meet again, at
least by voice. Did you enjoy incinerating my home? You or one of
your minions tried to kill me, and had I not been quick and
stealthy, you would have succeeded. But just as my son was a dead
man two springs ago and survived, I was a dead woman and have
survived." <So down to business.> "You bound me to silence, now I
bind you to inaction with this: I have my secrets all recorded and
safe, locked away where no one will ever hear of them, unless
something happens to any of the ones I love. Then, whether I am
dead or alive, they will be published in several major world
newspapers. Be sure of that." Caroline clicked off the recorder
and dropped it back in the man's pocket.

He had found his wits and was beginning to struggle. "It won't
work, you know. No one threatens him and gets away with it."

She held her head up proudly. "My son has, and now I have."

At the sound of approaching feet, the American began wrestling
with Phoebe, knocking her gun out of her hand, but he was too
late. On que, Isaac had notified the police, who led the spy away.

Once the alley was quiet, Caroline spoke in German towards the
shadows. The Bavarian, silent throughout, waited for the two women
to reenter the house and slipped out of the darkness, her warning
ringing in his ears.

--o-0-o--

Union Station
Basement Level
Saturday, 12:51 pm

Walter Skinner leaned across the wobbly plastic table towards his
two agents. "I'm returning to the Bureau this afternoon to write
up a justification for more assistance for you two. After what
those two bums told me, you need a more official presence on the
street."

Johnny had been dispatched to watch one of the movies at the
Multiplex Theater in the center of the cavernous facility. The
basement level of the old train station had been converted to an
eatery, food stands along every wall. With the constant noise from
the crowds and trains, covert monitoring of their conversation
would be impossible. So, for an hour or so, the partners could
consult with the Assistant Director.

Mulder was responding negatively to his boss' suggestion. "But,
Sir, if we do that, we risk drawing attention to ourselves. I've
already phoned in the license number on that truck, and the Gunmen
are running the plates as well."

Skinner wondered what those three strange men had done to win his
paranoid agent's complete trust before he turned to the red-haired
woman. "Agent Scully?"

She frowned. "For once, Sir, I must agree with Mulder." The two
men started, each surprised for different reasons, and she held up
her hands, palms towards them. "Look, the men who were taken
Thursday night were already suffering from the virus. We know from
our interviews that some were healthy and some ill before they
disappeared, but all were unexceptional in any way, which is why
it took so long for us to work up a hypothesis about the
disappearances. If we are suddenly joined by other 'homeless', we
may blow our cover, and this whole operation may vanish without a
trace, except for a run of bodies in dumpsters."

Mulder picked up the thread. "Let me make an alternative
proposal."

Now it was Scully's turn to be surprised. <Mulder, rational?>

Oblivious to her glance, he continued. "If they are looking for
us, we'll shift the operation to Baltimore. It may be that with
the quick transportation between the two cities, our source is
there, and the victims are coming to DC for the easier pickings
the Capital provides."

Idly rubbing the stained top of the plastic table with his finger,
Skinner considered the suggestion. "It would get you in range for
pursuing Nora Samuelson's killer, since the City of Baltimore's
finest are still baffled by her death. I'll contact your shadow
and inform him. That boy you have in tow for the duration, is he
alright? I thought you said he was a non-stop talker?"

Mulder responded. "We had a few things happen last night that were
unexpected, and I think he learned something his young mind needs
to consider."

Scully was grateful that her partner chose not to elaborate, and
that their AD nodded and left, since she would not pronounce
Mulder correct about visitations by ghosts.

--o-0-o--

Office of Senator Matheson
Washington, DC
Saturday, 5:47 pm

Walter Skinner spoke almost upon entering the Senator's plush
private office. "Alright, Rich, I read your message as soon as I
returned from Baltimore. What was it you needed to tell me?"

While the Senator's furnishings had nowhere near the opulence of
the Majority Leader's, the antique rosewood desk and tables and
overstuffed matching sofas were too comfortable for Walter
Skinner's Spartan tastes.

Matheson gestured at the television while he increased the volume.
The men watched without comment as rain fell on the survivors of a
pipe bomb explosion in another Manhattan high-rise, until Skinner
leaned forward, recognizing the surroundings. "It's their office,
isn't it?"

Richard Matheson nodded. "My sources told me something was wrong,
Walt. It's fortunate that Mulder and Scully are off on this
homeless case, or else they would have been in this one up to
their necks, and I'm not sure we could shield them from the
fallout." The senator turned at the knock, called his aide in, and
took a Fax from him. "Yes, it took out most of them." He handed
the paper to the Assistant Director.

Skinner scanned the list. "All but three, who somehow managed to
avoid this special session of the Committee. How do they do it?"
He laid the paper on the sofa. "Mulder was right to move their
operations to Baltimore. Sometimes I think that man leads a
charmed life, Rich."

"Yes, but, who's behind it, Walt, and how does it affect our
efforts to dissolve the shadow government? Is this a coup, or
self-destruction?"

The men continued to silently observe the clean-up efforts, both
well aware that only time would tell.

--o-0-o--

Podhowitz Basement
Monday, December 23, 1996
3:12 pm

Phoebe bounced down the basement stairs, pleased to have so many
uninterrupted days with Eric, even if all she could do was sit and
watch him paint. She wanted to sneak up behind him and cover his
eyes with her hands. If it were one of his landscapes, he would
use her as his muse, adding a few extra brush strokes at random to
help 'modernize' his art. But for this, she had to be more
circumspect. <How long can it take to duplicate one of these
works, anyway?>

"Phoebe, come take a look!" Max was downstairs already, hovering
over the half-finished piece. "Eric has the second sublayer
finished!"

She walked over to them, wrapping her arms around her fiancee's
neck. <That doesn't look like much.> "Forgive a neophyte her
ignorance, but why not just copy the picture and be done with it?"

Eric chortled, the rumbling in his chest and throat vibrating her
arms. "This is the most elaborate duplicate I've ever done, Luv.
When you and Max present this beauty, it will be subjected to
twenty-first century probing, and it has to pass muster. Besides,
I'll have it finished in a week or so, which is just long enough
for us to stay and enjoy a real Viennese New Year's Eve."

The three smiled, since Caroline and Isaac were upstairs even now,
arranging for caterers, florists, and a string orchestra (twelve
or sixteen players was the raging debate). The siblings wanted to
throw a grand party, like the ones they remembered of their Uncle
Benjamin's, in honor of their family's partial reunion.

--o-0-o--

St. Brigid's Catholic Church
Annapolis, Maryland
Tuesday, December 24, 1996
11:50 pm

Margaret Scully paused during the Invocation to check down the
rest of the walnut pew. The heads of her sons and their families
were all bowed in prayer, since it was the beginning of the
Midnight Mass. She only wished her daughter could be here as well,
but Dana had told her not to expect either her or Mulder for the
festivities this year. She had exhibited her best motherly
acceptance at the time, but now she was half-hoping to see them
drive up at the last minute, some ready excuse at hand.

They had not appeared, but at least wherever they were, it was
together, unlike last year, when her sullen girl had pointedly
ignored her queries about her partner. Margaret recalled her
daughter's petulant complaint: "Don't talk to me about Mulder,
Mom, we're driving each other crazy at work right now. I wished
him a Merry Christmas before I left the basement. But he'll be at
the Gunmen's, I know, swilling eggnog and poking fun at Jimmy
Stewart."

Margaret remembered calling Fox that Christmas night, only to find
that he had spent the entirety of the day lost in regret and guilt
over his missing sister. After thanking him for the present Dana
had brought, she sat to listen to his jagged voice as he wept,
pouring out his failures of the past year to her. How he had left
his father unguarded and he had been killed, to which she had
responded: 'He was in his own home, Fox; one shouldn't need
protection there.' How he had barely rescued Dana from the
assassin he thought was a alien pilot. (But you made it, dear boy,
you saved my girl.) How he was losing her even now. (Relationships
just go through phases, Fox, this will pass.) How yet another year
was done, and his sister was still missing. For that, she had no
comforting words.

This year, however, the two were thick as thieves, so if anything
could give him the strength he needed to persevere, she knew it
was her iron-willed daughter. <Take care of each other, children,
I'll be praying for you.> And so she did.

--o-0-o--

Inner Harbor
Baltimore, Maryland
Wednesday, December 25, 1996
7:54 am

"Here yah go, buddy, Merry Christmas." A five dollar bill
fluttered through the air to land on Mulder's lap as he crouched
in the alcove, sheltered from the wind.

Johnny had convinced the agents that one didn't really appear
homeless unless one sat and begged for a day or so.

Scully watched the disbelief grow in her partner's eyes, since
after all their time together, sometimes she could read his
thoughts like a book. <Oxford-educated FBI agent and street bum.>

Johnny smirked, but said nothing.

The red-haired woman playfully tugged at his five day old beard,
thick and bushy on his chin, but still scraggly on his cheeks.
"Well, you do look the part, Mulder."

He was turning the bill over and over, his mouth silently opening
and closing. When he finally composed himself, he turned to his
partner. "Shall we save this for our next movie rental?"

As she rolled her eyes, Johnny felt compelled to speak. "That's
good money, Agent Mulder, in fact, you gave me a five once." Both
heads turned towards him. "It was outside the Fourteenth Street
Shelter, on Halloween."

Mulder gaped again, but found his voice a little sooner. "I'm
sorry, John, I didn't know it was you. I'll never look at the
homeless the same way again."

Johnny sat, pensive.

Scully knelt to rest her hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong,
John? Agent Mulder and I have noticed how quiet you've been. Is
there something you'd like to speak with us about?"

The blond head bobbed up and down, then he shifted around on the
stone ledge. "Please, Agent Scully, don't be angry, but Agent
Mulder says you don't believe, and..."

Mulder cocked his head at her.

She stood, walking towards the public rest rooms so they could
speak in private.

"It's OK, John, Scully may not believe, but she wouldn't have
ridiculed you either. I couldn't work with her if she didn't at
least consider my ideas seriously enough to argue about them, so
tell me what's on your mind."

"Do you remember Friday night when we were on the Ellipse?"

"Yes, John, I do."

"My Aunt Sarah came to speak with me. She told me I had to believe
or the Gateway would stay open, and although nothing bad had come
through yet, if I didn't believe, there would have to be a
sacrifice to close it."

Mulder sat down, his arms linked around his knees. <Gateway.
Captain Scully mentioned the Gateway.>

"Agent Mulder, am I crazy?"

Mulder examined the anxious face, having heard the same question
from any number of abductees. "No, John, you're not. You're unique
and special, and you see things others don't. What is it you're
supposed to believe?"

The boy smiled at the compliment, then sobered at the question. "I
don't know, just that the voices used to make me promise every
Halloween to believe, and this year I didn't because the medicine
kept them away. Aunt Sarah was an astronomer, so she didn't
believe any of these magical things, but she's dead, and she came
back to tell me the magic was right. Will there have to be a
sacrifice now?"

Mulder looked up, watching his partner as she crossed the square,
returning to them. <She won't like this.> "If you will excuse me,
John, Agent Scully and I need to talk." He walked briskly over to
her, meeting her in the middle of the square. Taking her arm, he
guided her behind a low wall, blocking John's view, and with luck,
his hearing. "Scully, I think we have a problem."

She smirked at his unintentional reference. "So it will get much,
much colder for the three of us soon?"

Shaking his head, he snorted. "No, John told me what's been on his
mind, and I'd like you to talk to him, to hear him out, but save
the explosion for me, OK?"

She frowned, preparing for the worst as she headed over to their
young charge, as Mulder stepped into the men's room.

--o-0-o--

While bending over a sink, Mulder was attempting to scrub his face
and neck, but found he was fighting the flow control faucets with
their automatic cut-off valves instead.

"Agent Mulder."

He lifted his eyes, seeing behind him in the mirror.

X was standing in one of the stalls, wearing his usual mask of a
face. "You're looking a bit ragged, if I may say so." The bearded
man glided forward. "I'm here to warn you: There has been a
shake-up in the hidden powers. Old enemies are gone, and new ones
will take their place."

Mulder spun on his heel. "Stop toying with me! What are you
talking about?"

X snarled back at the agent, stepping directly in front of him. "I
can't name names, Mulder, they would be meaningless to you in any
case. You've left yourself in an extremely vulnerable position,
sitting on street corners with your partner and that boy. You
should have agreed to the back-up when Skinner wanted to provide
it."

Mulder grabbed X by the lapels. "If I shouldn't be out here, then
tell me who is taking the homeless and why, and I'll vanish of my
own volition. Life on the streets is no block party."

X backed Mulder against the sinks, and the agent felt a gun press
into his ribs. "It's no one you would ever suspect, and although
you may arrest the persons who are fronting the operation, you
won't be able to touch the real powers behind them, ever." He
shoved Mulder away, throwing him to the floor.

Mulder's head struck the sharp edge of the counter as he fell.
Lying on his back, he watched the lights in the ceiling start to
rotate, and the world went black.

--o-0-o--

"Mulder? Mulder, it's me. What happened?"

He opened his eyes and winced at the dull throbbing in the back of
his skull.

Scully and John were kneeling beside him, his partner cradling his
head in one hand. Several faces appeared in the doorway, the words
'Drunken bum' floating over him. John and Scully helped him to his
feet, guiding him into a waiting van with the title 'WDS Boy's
Home' on the side.

As the vehicle pulled away, their observer spoke into a hidden
microphone before walking off among the dispersing crowd. Across
the street, a truck's engine stopped, the driver having heard the
command "Postpone collection operation".

Scully kept her arm around his shoulders, speaking to her partner,
assessing the seriousness of his head injury. But all he could do
was answer in monosyllables, fighting the urge simply to put his
head in her lap and sleep.

Eventually the fog cleared and he felt the pain sharpen. "Scully?
How long was I out of it?"

"Just a few minutes, Mulder, but you may have a mild concussion.
How did it happen?"

He glanced up at the front of the van, where John and Elizabeth
occupied the passenger and driver seats, respectively. The older
woman's eyes flicked to the rear view mirror every few seconds,
and he wanted to keep their mysterious contact from becoming
public knowledge.

When he mouthed the letter 'X' at her, she nodded, raising her
head to whisper in his ear. "We'll talk at the boy's home, Mulder.
Now that you've fully regained consciousness, I'll do my second
job as your acting physician and tell you to sleep."

He slumped down, finally resting on her lap and smiled. <Best gift
I've received all day.>

--o-0-o--

William Donald Schaeffer Boy's Home
Wednesday, 1:17 pm

"Scully?" Mulder forced himself to awaken, expecting to see the
plastic upholstery of the van in front of him. But he was in a
sparsely furnished room that smelled like a dormitory. <Good, not
a hospital.> He checked down the bed, noticing he was still in his
clothes, but lying under a threadbare blanket.

"Mulder?"

His partner's voice seemed to come from below, so he rolled over
to look at the floor, gripping the mattress as his head swam from
the motion. Curling up on the floor beside him, Scully had wrapped
herself in another thin blanket.

He reached out to rest his hand on her back as she sat up,
blinking and rubbing her eyes. "Where are we?"

"How do you feel?"

Each spoke at the same time, and smiled.

Mulder shifted over on the bed. "I'm OK, Scully, or I will be as
soon as the room stops spinning. How did I get here?"

She sat on the mattress beside him, letting the cover fall to the
floor as she probed the base of his skull gently. <Good, no
concussion this time.>

His eyes flashed as he reached back to touch her hand. "Now if you
really want to make it a Merry Christmas..."

She rolled her eyes, a slight upturn to her lips. <No damage
there, Dana.> "We're at the Boy's Home. John remembered that
Elizabeth was running the van today, helping pick up homeless boys
so they could have a hot meal on Christmas. When I called, she was
close by, so we were able to get you here without blowing our
cover. You should be OK, Mulder. Why did X attack you?"

He sat up and shrugged. "I can't say, Scully. We were sparring as
we usually do, then he threw me against the sink and stuck a gun
in my ribs while growling about old enemies disappearing and new
ones taking their place."

She dropped her eyes, staring at her stained hands. "I've been
thinking about that, Mulder. I don't believe we can blame the
homeless disappearances on the Shadows, not anymore. The evidence,
especially if you factor in what Skinner told us about the
facilities where those men were taken, is too overwhelming."

He frowned. "Oh?"

She stood and walked to the small window that overlooked the
street. "I'm beginning to suspect one of the major drug
manufacturers." She turned to face him as he swung his legs off
the bed. "Oh, if this were 1986, or even as late as a couple of
years ago, I would have agreed that some secret part of the
government is involved. You see," she was pacing, "we know the
Shadows are involved in many covert operations, presumably not
just the ones regarding human experimentation, Mulder. But they
must get money from somewhere in the government, and even the NSA
is hurting." At his look of surprise, she smiled. "I didn't get
that from Byers and Company, but from the Washington Post."

Picking up her train of thought, he stood. "But the drug
manufacturers are rolling in the bucks, pulling down several
thousand percent returns on any particular product, since they
will charge whatever price they can, as with AZT."

She nodded, pleased that her mundane explanation sparked the
excitement she saw in his eyes.

He crossed the room to stand beside her. "X said we would never be
able to touch whoever is behind this, even if we catch a few of
the underlings, and the drug business is certainly big enough to
qualify. In a way, we've been through this drill before, Scully."

"I know, Pinck Pharmaeceuticals and the prison outbreak. But this
goes beyond that. Before, all we were involved in was a clean-up
campaign. Now, it appears we have unscrupulous executive or
multiple executives, willing to inject a group like the homeless
with a new virus. They don't seem to care who catches this
disease, perhaps because it isn't fatal."

Mulder nodded. "Right. It can be passed off as just a case of the
flu." He shrugged. "Without you and Susan, that's all I would have
considered it. Then, they pull the victims off the street to test
various treatments for future marketing."

Scully' jaw set. "They would claim, of course, that they were
working for the good of all, necessary risks in the search to find
a cure for the common cold or something, that the ends justify the
means. But we have for too long used disadvantaged persons as
guinea pigs."

He watched out the window as a squirrel industriously patted down
the dirt over a walnut it had just buried, before he touched her
shoulder. "Perhaps we can find out who killed Nora Samuelson,
anyway. I think we were right before, Scully, and that she deduced
who was spreading the virus from her work with TP-101. Or, she may
have been doing it herself and her conscience began to prick about
it, so they killed her. But I do know we won't find the answers
here..."

At the sound of knocking, they turned.

Elizabeth poked her head in the door, smiling at the sight of
Mulder on his feet, and walked in, carrying a tray with two mugs
of hot cocoa. "I see he's feeling better. Care for a little
Christmas cheer? I know you agents don't drink, but no one can
resist chocolate, right?" They accepted the mugs, blowing on the
surface to cool the liquid, while she waited. "I'm having a party
for the boys downstairs, if you care to join us."

Mulder sipped the cocoa once before resting the mug on the
dresser. "No, we need to get back out there. Thanks for your help
today.

The white-haired woman smiled back. "Well, you'll have to drag
John out by his heels, I'm afraid. He's the center of attention
right now, regaling the other boys with all your stories."

Scully glanced at Mulder. "And loving it?"

The three laughed.

After the door closed, he turned back to his partner. "How much of
a chance did you get to talk to John?"

The room's furnishings were almost identical to those in the spare
quarters where they had first interviewed the boy, and she moved
the chair over to the bed before sitting on it. Mulder lounged on
the twin bed, propping his head on the pillow after he turned it
on its side.

Scully rubbed her temples, having hoped she could dodge this
particular subject. "You mean his stories about the Gateway?" She
shrugged. "I don't know, Mulder, it sounds either like a bad
horror movie or like the Celtic myths about the Tuatha De Danaan."

He smirked. "Leprechauns? Scully, I'm delighted. Now if I could
get you to believe in little grey men as well, my Christmas would
be complete!".

She waggled her fist under his nose. "Mulder! I thought we were
talking about Jungian archetypes here!" She crossed her arms, her
eyes widening. "Oh, no, don't tell me you think the Gateway is
real, and Poe will finally come forward to repay his secret
admirers."

The smirk broadened into a full crooked smile that brought her to
her feet.

"Mulder!" Scully was working up a head of steam.

He watched, amused, while she paced and raged. <My partner in full
attack mode. Second Christmas present of the day.>

"You said what you *thought* was my father's spirit talked about
the Gateway closing as a result of one of John's possible choices.
So, when John reports similar words from what he *thought* was the
ghost of his Aunt Sarah, you're all ready to abandon the homeless
and go chase what?"

He covered his grin with his hand. <Take a breath, Scully.>

She stalked over to the bed, glaring down at him. <He's enjoying
this too much.> "For all we know, what the three of us experienced
may have been comforting hallucinations brought on by the cold and
fatigue, Mulder."

He propped himself up. "But if they were comforting, why not your
Father for you and mine for me?" He cocked his head. "My
hallucination had to introduce himself, Scully."

She threw up her hands. "I don't know, Mulder, they may have been
side-effects of the virus, too. Did you think of that?"

He slid off the bed, using his height to drive home what he
considered his final point. "But John never had the virus. He's
been hearing voices all his life and he's used to the streets,
unlike us."

She began pacing again. "We don't know that for sure, Mulder. The
second time we talked to him, Elizabeth was there, so he wouldn't
admit to anything that would have prevented him from going out
with us."

"True, but John would have let us know, somehow. You must realize
that."

She was clenching and unclenching her fists, then sat down,
forcing the emotions to drain out of her. <You're too worn to do
this, Dana, and so is he.> "Look, we could argue about this the
rest of the day, but it won't get us any closer to the conclusion
of this case. However, I think we can both agree that we need to
be careful about what we say to John. His is not the most stable
personality. If he thinks too much about the Gateway, he may come
to the conclusion that he is responsible for some cosmic error and
become suicidal."

Mulder settled back on the bed, nodding. "Your diagnosis of John's
instability is much similar to mine. He flips too easily from
excessive cheerfulness to deep withdrawal. He should be on more
than lithium if he is to survive. We should warn Elizabeth,
right?"

She passed him his hot chocolate.

He stuck his tongue out when he saw it was now a thick cold
sludge. "We'll drop these in the kitchen on the way out."

--o-0-o--

Carl had drawn kitchen duty that day, and he poured the contents
of the mugs down the drain. The man had taken a few sips, while
the woman had left hers untouched.

<Too bad, it wouldn't be enough.> He would have to try something
else if he wanted to take revenge on the agents for making him
lose his temper when they interviewed him, and the next day, his
job.

--o-0-o--

Elizabeth closed the door to the office, but the partners remained
on their feet. They had relayed their concerns to her as they
walked from the main room here.

Now, she sought to reassure them. "John was fine the whole time he
was here, not even a sniffle. I'll speak with Susan after you
leave and see if Nora had anything else in her pharmacopoeia that
might help him. You aren't taking him back out on the streets
today, are you?"

Mulder shook his head. "No, in fact, I think he's helped us
enough. We'll wish him a Merry Christmas and be on our way. It's
far too risky for him to stay with us."

Scully turned and looked up at him. "It's more risky than you
think, Mulder. I didn't get a chance to tell you upstairs, but I
called Skinner while you were asleep. Our back-up has been killed,
in what looks like the work of a professional, not a random street
crime."

He grimaced. "That settles it. Would you ask John to step in here,
please?"

--o-0-o--

Pratt Street
Baltimore, Maryland
Thursday, December 26, 1996
8:34 am

Mulder and Scully pressed themselves into the shadows as the City
of Baltimore Police car circled the block for the third time. They
couldn't continue the investigation from a jail cell, and John had
warned them that the police would often pick up vagrants to reach
their arrest quotas towards the end of the month. The blue and
white vehicle pulled to the curb, and they watched as the
uniformed officer stepped out and approached them.

"No loitering in the parks, or haven't you two been warned enough?
Let's go, get in the car."

Mulder decided to play along, frustrated at his impotence, since
pulling out his FBI badge would blow their cover completely. "But
Officer, it's the Holidays. Have some pity, please!"

The sergeant flipped off his sunglasses, tucking them in his shirt
pocket. "No loitering. In the car."

Scully scrambled to her feet, bending down to pull her partner's
arm and hiss in his ear. "We'll call Skinner and get this
straightened out at the station, OK?"

--o-0-o--

Inner Harbor Police Station
Thursday, 8:59 am

"This was the only way I could locate you two once you left the
Boy's Home." Walter Skinner leaned back in the folding chair, his
large frame shifting to keep from sliding off the small metal
square. His agents were seated on the other side of a worn table
in the otherwise bare, windowless interrogation room. "That
license plate you phoned in was from a pick-up truck stolen in
Montana."

Mulder rubbed the bump on the back of his head.

Skinner noticed Scully's shoulders sagging. "Agent Scully, are you
alright?"

"I'm fine, Sir, just tired. I haven't had a good night's sleep in
over a week."

After looking down at her, Mulder leaned forward. "So we don't
have any leads at all?"

The Assistant Director sighed. "I didn't say that. The panel truck
you described was also reported stolen, but here in Baltimore. It
was removed from a rental lot on Tuesday, when, fortunately, the
night watchman had the sense to look, but keep silent. Here's a
police artist's sketch of one of the men he saw briefly in the
street lights before they drove off." He passed them a curled
piece of Fax paper.

Mulder glanced at the face before passing the sheet to his
partner. "Sir, that's Carl."

Their boss frowned. "Who? No, that's Richard Apel, a former
employee of Broadway Pharmaeceuticals. He was placed on long-term
disability about a year ago for severe depression. He's undergoing
long-term treatment at St. Elizabeth's in DC."

Mulder shook his head. "Well, he goes by Carl now, and he's at the
Boy's Home. Agent Scully and I have speculated that the drug
companies were behind these disappearances, but we didn't think
they were this thoroughly planned."

Skinner nodded. "OK, you two have done the legwork. The Baltimore
PD will bring him in for questioning. By the way, Mulder, I had
another discussion with our smoking friend, and he seems concerned
for your well-being, both of you. Any reason why I shouldn't pull
you two right now?"

Scully shrugged. "There's still Nora Samuelson's death. Carl was a
patient of hers, true, but she died without a struggle. She knew
about his violent tendencies, Sir, and we've experienced them
ourselves. He's not the type for subterfuge, unless he was working
with someone who was directing him."

Mulder took up the justification. "The only way we'll pick up the
information is the same way we learned about Carl, by being out on
the street."

Skinner checked first one drawn face and then the other,
considering the hours these two had been without protection
already. "It's not necessary, but you both want to see this
through to the end, I can tell. I've lined up another agent to
watch out for you, but it was hard work." He rose to leave. "The
Baltimore PD will drop you back where they found you, but they'll
be watching too. I don't want to explain your disappearances to
any Senators. Oh, and Agent Mulder?"

The younger man looked up. "Sir?"

Skinner bent over the table and growled. "The next time I see you,
I want that disgusting thing off your face, is that clear?" He
left without waiting for a response.

--o-0-o--

Office of Senator Matheson
Washington, DC
Friday, December 27, 1996
10:18 am

Walter Skinner stood at attention before the Senator's desk.
"Rich, whoever is behind this pipe bombing has it in for the FBI.
The techniques all so closely match the Unabomber's MO that the
press is howling about the FBI and DEA failing in their missions
once again. The Attorney General had directed that every effort be
undertaken to ensure the validity of the evidence against the
present suspect."

Richard Matheson rotated his leather seat to gaze out his window.
"You're sure Mulder and Scully know none of this? We must keep
them clear, Walt, so we have a few ready weapons to use against
whoever is replacing the old men."

The Assistant Director walked around the desk, his hands behind
his back, to join his friend by the window. "They're completely
focused on the homeless case, and as far as I know from my
contacts in Customs, have had no further involvement in the
Sharpsburg investigation."

The Senator stood to face him. "Don't mistake my esteem for your
people, Walt. Dana Scully is a first class agent, and Mulder is a
good man..."

Skinner sighed. "But something of a loose cannon. Yes, I deal with
that regularly, Rich. His talents are best used when he can run at
full tilt at a problem, except when Scully can rein him in and
focus him."

"They're still working well together?"

Their supervisor nodded. "Mulder and Scully are two halves of a
whole. I'm relieved they figured that out before one of them was
killed last winter."

--o-0-o--

William Donald Schaeffer Boy's Home
Baltimore, Maryland
Saturday, December 28, 1996
11:42 pm

Johnny dumped the last load of towels in the dryer, thinking as he
did so that this was where Agents Mulder and Scully had first met
Carl. He puffed his chest, reminding himself that he had helped
them prove that he was really a criminal, not just a very angry,
unhappy man. He hoped the agents were alright. He hadn't seen them
since Christmas, and they weren't among the officers who had
arrested Carl. He had wanted to ask, but Elizabeth wouldn't let
any of the other boys near the police.

He missed the tall man and the red-haired woman who had been such
good friends to him. Agent Mulder had the greatest apartment, and
Agent Scully hadn't made fun of him. She just held his hand,
nodding sincerely as he told her about the Gateway, not like the
doctors who had looked down their noses at him at the county
hospital when he told them about the voices.

When he saw them last, they both asked him not to worry about the
sacrifice, reminding him that it wasn't his fault. Because of his
help, they could work the whole thing out now. Agent Scully
advised him to study hard, because the world needs more good
mathematicians, and maybe he run his own observatory like his Aunt
Sarah if he did well in college.

But his Aunt Sarah had told him last week that it was his fault,
that he *would* have to sacrifice to close the Gateway, before the
bad things started to escape. Closing the laundry room door, John
thought about all the responsibility Aunt Sarah had given him
while she was still alive. Now that she was dead, she was giving
him another, and he wouldn't let her down. <But what was the
sacrifice?>

--o-0-o--

Baltimore Museum of Art Park
Monday, December 30, 1996
1:16 am

The panel truck sat, parked along the street, as the driver and
two attendants scanned the shivering clumps of men and women,
scattered on the benches and under the yew bushes. The driver
pointed, and the two men moved out, gliding silently towards a
pair of closely huddled lumps under an ash tree. A brief struggle
ensued, but the two were subdued and carried back to the truck.
Two other pairs of eyes watched from the darkness, and as a
matched team, they slipped to the back of the truck.

"Federal Agents! You're under arrest! Stop what you're doing and
put up your hands!" Mulder waved his badge in the air, but found
himself flung into the bushes when the driver backed the truck
directly into him.

He rolled onto his hands and knees, gasping at the pain in his
side, watching his partner being dragged into the truck. "Scully,
No!"

She had pulled free, leaving her coat in the men's hands, and was
headed for him, but turned at his command to wrestle with the
attendants. They were both grabbed and dragged inside, as the two
homeless took off, rousing the others in the park. Mulder wondered
where their backup was, afraid he might have been eliminated as
well.

"Well, strap them down, we have a long ride ahead." The voice
belonged to Elizabeth Williams, and the agents exchanged a glance
as they struggled with the attendants. Once they were subdued, she
addressed the pair directly. "Surprised? Don't be. We don't all
work for charity, as you and your friends are foolish enough to."

Scully was fuming. "You killed Nora, didn't you? She wouldn't open
her door late at night for a violent patient like Carl, but she
would for you."

The older woman laughed. "They'll love having you to test on, Dr.
Scully. All those brains, and no hormones to mess up the data..."
Hearing a commotion outside, she turned.

"Freeze! Police!"

Elizabeth laughed. "Not likely! We have hosta..."

The agents used the distraction to push past the woman, throwing
the door open. But before they could leap out of harm, the truck
lurched as the driver engaged the clutch, seeking to escape.
Scully was thrown to the ground, rolling across the pavement until
she wrapped around a tree. As Mulder teetered on the edge, the
truck pulled away and he slipped, hitting the back of his head on
the bumper as he fell.

--o-0-o--

Baltimore General Hospital
Tuesday, December 31, 1996
5:17 pm

Hearing his partner calling him, Mulder reached towards her voice,
feeling her hand gripping his. "I'm OK, Scully, I'm OK." He opened
his eyes, wincing when he observed the scrapes on her cheek and
arms.

"You've been out for two days now, Mulder." She pushed his hair
off his forehead. "Only you could hit the same spot on your head
twice without trying, but at least you just bruised the ribs on
your right side, this time."

He looked over, noticing her street clothes. "What about you? Last
time I saw you, you had turned into a full-time member of Earth
First." He struggled briefly.

Grimacing as she stood, she bent over to help him sit up. "Oh,
I'll live." As she eased back onto the bed, Scully rubbed her
abdomen. "Lots of bruises, but we were both lucky not to break
anything."

He lifted her chin with his hand. "Except?"

She bit her lip, dropping her voice as she spoke. "Except I had to
perform an autopsy, Mulder, one I never wanted to do."

He closed his eyes. "No, Scully, not..."

She nodded. "John Towser threw himself off the top of the Boy's
Home around the same time we were arresting those men and
Elizabeth." She stopped, composing herself, while he rubbed his
face, fighting to keep down the sorrow he felt. "It was the end of
the halcyon days, Mulder. Nothing bad is supposed to happen,
according to legend, but he killed himself then."

Mulder remembered her Father's words, 'a choice at the end of the
halcyon days', before he pushed his thoughts aside. He stretched
his arms towards her, but she pointed to his side and shook her
head. He settled for clasping her hands between his, each too
weary to reason or rage, yet needing the other's presence for
comfort.

Finally, she stood up, walking aimlessly around the room, rubbing
the back of her neck. "But I know why John was never sick with the
virus, Mulder. You see, he was a carrier."

"What?"

She nodded as she walked back to the bed, grasping his arm after
she sat. "Somehow that nice, crazy kid was immune to it, but every
fluid in his body was full of those bugs. Anyone he touched
eventually came down with the disease, yourself included, and
through you, me. Oh, and one guess who was paying for the tests on
TP-101?"

He wrapped his hand around her upper arm. "Broadway?" When she
nodded, he slid his hand down to rub her fingers with his thumb.

"Yes. Nora was hired as an independent expert. She would do that
periodically and give the money to the shelters, Sue told me."

He frowned. "So you don't think she knew?"

Scully shook her head. "Susan ran some tests on TP-101. It was
never a real anti-hallucinogen, but was the delivery system for
the virus. Nearly all the test subjects came down with virus,
except for John, who was also the only person in the test group
with untreatable neurological symptoms. Nora had sent several
tissue samples back to the company for them to analyze, so they
must have known he was a carrier from them. When she kept the last
set, they realized they had to act before she could work all this
out for herself, which she was attempting to do when she was
killed. The police found several pills crushed and in growth media
when they searched Nora's apartment." She released his arm,
rubbing her face with both hands.

He stared out the window, reflecting. "Elizabeth must have gone by
to check up on how much she had discovered, Scully, and when she
saw, she killed her, or had Carl do it for her."

His partner was shaking with rage. "That whole test was a sham,
Mulder. It makes me so angry, doctors are supposed to help people,
not do things like this! Nora was brought in, with all her good
intentions, and she passed their little pills out." She stopped,
checking her anger. "From a medical standpoint, what's chilling is
that retroviri don't usually survive outside of a warm body for
more than a few hours, but here they have developed a strain that
can survive and reproduce after freeze-drying and rehydration.
What's next?"

Her partner shook his head. "We'll never be able to tell who else
was involved with this drug, will we?" At her sharp glance, he
raised his hand. "If there was anyone else. Let me guess, Broadway
is denying the whole thing, and the management has produced a
scapegoat?"

She nodded. "But some of Nora's friends at Hopkins Hospital are
keeping after the company. All the TP-101 patients are being
tracked down so their white blood cells can be saved by the CDC
and the Surgeon General's Office." She began wandering aimlessly
again.

Mulder wondered how much she had slept in the past two days. "What
happened to John's body, Scully?" He pushed the covers aside,
steeling himself to walk to the bathroom.

She helped him to his feet. "Susan and I took the boys up with it
for the funeral in Hagerstown yesterday and he's buried with his
parents and his Aunt Sarah. Mom came in and sat with you during
the autopsy and the funeral." Her lips curved momentarily. "She
shaved you then, in case you wonder where your beard is.

He touched his chin, then smirked. "Ah. OK. You and Skinner hated
it so I'll probably never go for that rumpled professor look."

Scully's cheeks dimpled before she continued. "Your doctor
believed that you could wake up disoriented, and wanted someone
you knew and trusted with you when you did." She guided him to the
washroom door and waited for him there, handing him his sweatpants
when he was ready for them.

When he reemerged, pale and sweaty from the bending and twisting,
she supported him, gritting his teeth as he proceeded laboriously,
until he walked to one of the chairs in the room. She pulled the
other chair next to him to settle into it. She lifted both corners
of her mouth, too drained to express the depth of her relief at
his rapid reawakening.

Mulder touched her fingers, drawing her out of herself. "Did you
get any rest at all?"

She snorted. "Not as much as I'd like, but this is over, and
tomorrow is a holiday." She tipped her head. "New Year's, Mulder,
tomorrow is the start of 1997. The good news is your doctor had
agreed you can go home as soon as you feel ready."

"That's it?"

"Hm-mum. The better news is that the leaders of the new Congress
have officially congratulated the FBI on its handling of this
case, specifically, the five agents involved, including Agent
Rivers, posthumously."

He ran his hand through his hair. "The suspense is killing me,
Scully, the best...?"

Now she found the energy for one of her beautiful smiles. "The
best news is that we've been promoted, so if all goes well this
next session, the X-files Section has been promised a bigger
budget and our own offices on the second floor. Skinner's kept his
word, and we're going places, Mulder. Right now, we'll be allotted
two agents to assist us and our own secretary!"

He smiled back. "So, can I go home now, Dr. Scully?"

She lifted an eyebrow. "How did you know I assigned myself to be
your doctor?"

"I figured, with all this good news, I must be on a roll."

Scully walked to one of the dressers, lifting a pair of socks and
running shoes out of a drawer. "Well, Dr. Schwartz did look you
over for me," When she offered him his footwear, he shook his
head, so she knelt to slip them on. "Agreeing that as long as I
monitor you for signs of permanent trauma, you could leave as soon
as you woke up." Looking up at his face, she frowned. "I know how
much you hate hospitals, Mulder, so we're taking the rest of the
week off, that way *you* can rest at home. The changes for the
X-files won't be official until the new Congress is in session, so
you can relax."

His eyes twinkling, he ribbed her. "You said we'd have our own
offices?"

Finished, she returned to the chair. "With adjoining doors, of
course."

"But no partner three feet away, looking askance at my creative
filing system?" After she untied the hospital robe, he shook it
off, taking the Oxford sweatshirt she offered and pulling it over
his head before she had a clear view of the purpling bruises on
his side and stomach.

She lifted one corner of her mouth. "Just a partner six feet away
who can close the door and live in blissful ignorance."

He pushed himself out of the chair, waving her proffered hands
away, forcing himself to walk on his own back to the sink in the
bathroom. Doubling over carefully, he ran the hot water until it
steamed, and scrubbed his face and neck, cleansing himself of the
streets and the case. "But two people, good people, died, Scully.
We shouldn't be this happy."

She crossed the room to the doorway, leaning against it, and
holding out a white towel. "Three, Mulder, counting Nora, John,
and Agent Rivers. We'll just have to work that much harder, to
make their sacrifices mean something."

--o-0-o--

Podhowitz Home
Vienna, Austria
Tuesday, 10:57 pm

Max bent over his wife, who was writing at a low table in their
bedroom. "You'd better finish that letter, Caroline, your guests
are arriving."

She put the pen down and folded the pages in thirds, stuffing the
blue paper in an air mail envelope, labeled with both a
destination, and for the first time, a return address.

Max rested his hand on her shoulder. "It's really safe to do
this?"

She rose, sealing the envelope and taking his arm. "Yes, Max, that
monster knows I don't make idle threats. Besides, if anyone can
get Fox to a spot and keep him there, it's Margaret. You need to
spend time with my boy, and he needs to meet you as father and
son."

They left their bedroom, Max stepping back to guide her out the
door first. "But I'm not his father, Caroline, as much as I would
be honored and pleased to claim him as my own. Let's consider this
a first step, dear." He patted her hand where it rested on his
arm. "He's so, tortured, I suppose, that it may take years for us
to be comfortable with each other. Ah, the music."

The opening bars of the Blue Danube Waltz accompanied the arrival
of the Champagne, and as they swept down the stairs, he kissed her
cheek. "Come, my jewel, your salon awaits. You look lovely in blue
satin."

She beamed. "And you look divine in a tux, Max."

--o-0-o--

Outside Apartment 42
Arlington, VA
Tuesday, 7:37 pm

"You sure you can carry all that, Scully?" He looked down at her
hands, the Chinese food in her left, and the briefcase and laptop
strap in the right.

She had insisted she carry the bags to rest his ribs when they
climbed out of her car, and used her best LOOK when he protested.
"Sure, you just get the door." She stuck her tongue out at him.
"Doctor's orders."

He groaned, digging for his keys. As the door swung on its hinges,
he frowned, fumbling for the light switch. "I'm sure I left the
hall table lamp on, Scully, didn't I?"

She sniffed, an acrid aroma wafting out the open door. "Mulder,
when did you..."

They exchanged a glance, then scrambled for their Sigs.

Once armed, he signaled her back, then pushed the door open,
taking his shooting stance, pointing the gun into the darkness.

"Come in, Agent Mulder, I'm alone and unarmed, permanently, sad to
say."

Mulder stepped in, the tobacco smell growing stronger with each
stride.

Scully followed, gun cocked and aimed at the figure dimly visible
on the sofa, while her partner checked the rest of his apartment.

Mulder emerged from the bathroom, dipped his head once, crossing
the living room to whisper to her before he walked out the door.
"Keep him covered, I'm checking the building."

She heard the click of an old- style lighter opening, saw the
brief yellow flame, then a glowing red ring.

"This really isn't necessary, Agent Scully. I am unarmed and
powerless to harm either of you, ever again."

She sidled over to a table lamp, reaching to turn it on without
taking her eyes off him. She switched the three-way knob to the
highest setting, then circled the room, activating every light in
the living area, taking grim delight in his increasing discomfort
before she sat down opposite him.

"I've been stripped of all power, Agent Scully, and I came here to
make peace with your partner, to give him some of those answers he
has always sought." The cigarette bobbed up and down as he spoke.
"I'm a marked man, now, as are all the old men you have feared."
She lifted an eyebrow, the only visible sign of her surprise. "The
rules of the game are changing, so you need a few pointers to keep
playing, you, Mulder, and my old friend Walter."

She shook the gun. "If you're handing out answers, then tell me
why you wiretapped every room in my mother's house over the past
few months."

Caught off-guard by the unexpected question, he expelled his
breath through his teeth, smoke curling upwards as from a dying
campfire. "Your Mother's house? I did no such thing, nor did any
of the Agents I once controlled. Shall I tell you who killed your
sister?" He grimaced, the best approximation of a grin he still
could form.

Mulder reentered his home, moving her bags and the dinner to a
table inside the door. "Scully?" Her eyes never left the sagging
face. "I'm searching him."

She waved the gun upwards.

The old man sighed, tamping out the cigarette beside a pile of
butts on Mulder's coffee table. "Oh, very well." He placed his
hands on the wall, spreading his legs so Mulder could pat him
down.

Finished, the tall agent stepped back. "He's clean, Scully."

Lowering her gun, she reengaged the safety as she walked into the
front room to her briefcase. Dropping the gun in her holster, then
slipping the leather and weapon away, she heard hands sliding on
fabric and a soft strangled cry. <Mulder, don't!>

She spun on her heel, horrified to see her partner, all towering
rage, his hands around the old man's neck as he pressed him
against the wall.

--o-0-o--

END - TWELFTH NIGHT - SOLSTICE

================================================================
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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