Date sent: Thu, 7 Aug 1997
From: Barbara462@aol.com

Subject: SYNTHESIS by Barbara Barnett

Synthesis (part 1/6)

by Barbara Barnett
SA (and much deep abiding love, a lot of UST...maybe a hint of romantic
aura)

Summary: My ending to Gethsemene (moot of course by season
5's start). M & S attempt to put together all the clues they've gathered
over
the five years of their partnership and try to understand what is real,
what is illusion, what is hoax and what is acuality.

Spoilers: All seasons, all episodes.
Disclaimer: These wonderful characters are the creation of the guys at 1013.
No profit intended or accepted...Just read it folks! No copyright
infringement intended.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dead. DEAD. By all outward appearances it would appear so.
Dead. It was a strange mantle to wear. Mulder had thought long and hard
about the implications. Well, maybe not long. Implications. Yes, well
there was money. An income source. Taken care of. Money was something
that Mulder had never really thought about much. He'd always been blessed
with ample financial resources. He sold most of his holdings and now had
enough cash to last a very long time...as long as would be necessary to
sustain his *life* as a phantom. As George Ellery Hale.

Of course there was his mother. Right. He watched his own
funeral from far away. There was his mother. Stoic to the end. Chin up.
Yankee pride and dignity unmussed. A twinge of regret. She would now be
alone. Truly alone. She'd left him so long ago. Still... Mulder buried
the
thought, thinking back to the funeral. It was a strange business, watching
your own funeral. He had been surprised to see so many people there,
especially given the way in which his life ended. Suicide. What an
unpleasant
business for the FBI. Keep it hushed up to the degree possible. Put up the
good front.

They'd all filed past the casket, bidding a farewell in the spring
sunlight, the smell of cherry blossoms infusing the air with an oppressive
aroma. Skinner. Mulder closed his eyes. Sorry, Skinner. We couldn't let
you know. Couldn't involve you in this one. Mulder felt a pang of sadness
as he remebered Skinner nearly breaking down in front of the casket, mouthing
words that Mulder couldn't hear from so far away. Didn't know how much you
cared, Walter. Not really. Not till lately.

The Lone Gunmen choir. Hewey, Dewey and Louie. What had it
cost them to rub elbows with all those government dudes? Thanks, guys. I'm
not really gone. You'll know soon enough. And then there was Scully. The
only one who knew. The only one who ever knew. Anything. Everything about
him. They had talked in the morning. Argued. Could she go through with it?
Give a eulogy. Make it sound convincing. Sincere. She was adamant.

"Mulder, I *am* grieving for you, you know. For all you've lost. For the
deceptions, mind games, all the time we've lost. I grieve every day for
this. It won't be a leap to give this eulogy. *They* just won't know what
specifically I'm eulogizing."

He had watched from so far away. It wrenched his soul watching
her. Pain on her face. Tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks. He
couldn't hear the words. But across the distant yards her soul communicated
her feelings to his and he knew. He understood.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scully's apartment
Evening Day 1

"Thank you sir. I really appreciate the quick service." The
sweep of Scully's apartment revealed three separate listening devices.
One in the living room, one in the bedroom. The bedroom! And a last device
near her computer workstation. Her phone was not wiretapped. Well thank
heaven for small favors.

Scully picked up the receiver, dialling the unfamiliar phone
number. "Shoream Hotel. Good evening."

"Room 2235, please."

"Our guest in 2235 has restricted his phone calls to certain
callers. May ask who is calling?"

"Hester Prynne." Scully almost giggled at the code name they'd
selected. Hester Prynne, indeed!

"One moment. I'll connect you."

The call was answered but no voice spoke into the reciever.
Scully could picture Mulder waiting for the caller to speak first. Paranoid
to the end, she thought, a wisp of a smile overcoming her features.

"George?" Scully could feel Mulder relax at the sound of her
voice. "Dana." The sound of Scully's voice warmed him to his core.
Speaking her first name felt foreign to him. But everything seemed strange
now. And would continue to be so for as long as it took to finally and at
last uncover the truth.

"The coast is clear, Dana. No ears, no eyes. The place has
been swept twice by two different vendors."

"Mine too. They found three bugs...no wiretaps. My place is
clean."

"I have a suite at the Shoream. When can you be here?" His
voice was calm, professional, dispassionate. The job they were
about to undertake required this demeanor. Of both of them. For as long
as it took.

"I'll be there in 20 minutes."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later the same evening:

Anywhere else in the world, she would have appeared out of
place. But in the lobby of the Shoream at 10:30 PM, she blended into the
crowd of diplomats, lobbyists and politicians moving about,
people-watching and schmoozing with purposeful intent. Scully glanced around
the lobby, smiling warmly at someone she didn't know, and, briefcase in hand,
slipped into the waiting elevator.

Her heart beat loudly and she gasped for air as the elevator
ascended. Scully was nervous. She hated lying to people. And this was
the biggest of lies. They don't get much bigger than this, she thought.
She
fumbled in her pocket and removed a small white envelope, finding the key
inside. She checked the door and inserted the key. Mulder had not wanted to
come to the door...too much chance of being seen by...anybody, he'd said.
The key had been delivered by messenger that morning with no note and nothing
to sign for.

"George, I'm here!" She awaited his reply. Scully eyed the
room, smiling, impressed at the grand and gracious hotel suite. Mulder had
not
heard her come in. "George? Mulder?" A momentary flash of worry. Then
she saw him. He was sitting on the bed in the spacious bedroom, headphones
on, listening to a tape. He was completely absorbed, rapidly typing notes
into
a laptop computer, surrounded by files, notes and audio cassettes.

Mulder looked up, holding up his index finger, requesting another moment of
patience. He smiled, switching off the cassette player and removing the
headphones. He stood, inches from Scully, not speaking. His eyes searched
her face, not knowing what to say, now, finally--finally that they were (at
least for the moment) safe. He felt like a schoolboy. She looked so good
to him. The wear of the last days; the isolation from everything
and everyone; the fear of exposure and the danger it would pose
to him and especially to her. And now he was at a loss for
words. He feared saying anything would cause his voice to break
into a million sobs of grief and joy. But she understood that, too.
Her own eyes moist at the release of the week's tension and
anxiety. She fell into his arms, holding him, being rocked by
him. He *was*--*is* alive. Really and truly. "I'm so sorry,
Scully," he said finally, a hoarse whisper. "It's the only way.
I, we," he corrected himself. "We have to know. Have to
understand what's real, what's propoganda, what's truth."

She nodded into his chest. "Oh God, Mulder, what if it doesn't
work. What if we can't put it together, make any sense of it. What then?
What if they find out...?" Mulder closed his eyes. It was the
unthinkable. He shook his head. Failure was not an option. He
hugged her more tightly, shuddering slightly at her words. She
knew the answer.

Scully expected the room to be a catastrophe. After all they
were intending to analyze.... how many case files had Mulder said?
Nearly 100? Aside from the files on Mulder's bed there were several portable
file crates, each stuffed to more than capacity. Now how had he gotten them
up there unnoticed?

"Mulder, weren't you taking a big risk stealing those files?" Mulder
shrugged. " They're personal copies, not official. I offprinted them from my
computer." She then noticed the small ink jet printer on the nightstand. He
handed her a digital tape. "Scully, remember our first case together when
everything was destroyed? Everything, " he repeated, recalling the affair.
"Well, since then, I've scanned every photo, every note, every report into
the computer
and kept it on this tape...just in case... and voila. A trip to the office
supply store for some file folders, plenty of ink, paper and my laptop and we
have an instant X-files command center...sans poposters, drafty basement and
unwelcome visitors. The accomodations are far superior, dontcha think?"

Mulder seemed pleased with himself at that moment, exuding an air
of confidence she'd not seen in him for a very long time. But it
*was* Mulder...his *other* self. The side of Mulder few people
had sought out anymore and fewer had seen. Mulder--the keenly
analytical, organized and impresively logical solver of
impossible puzzles. He so seldom presented this Mulder,
prefering to foster his image as village eccentric for the
edification of the local FBI gentry. Over the past four years
most FIBBIES forgot his nickname of Spooky originated not from
his predilection for the paranormal but for his spookily
brilliant mind, able to piece together the mysteries of the
criminal mind into prosecutable cases.

And that was their current task: to piece together nearly five
years of cases into something that made sense. Finally, once and for all.
And, Mulder believed, this was the only way to do it without
interference and without interrupted time. And as dead man and
grieving partner, they had all the time they needed. Period.

The hour was late but both agents were anxious to set about the
task at hand. They talked briefly of strategy. They agreed to
re-examine each old case in detail, trying to recall what wasn't
in each case report as importantly as what had been written
officially. Much they had witnessed had been carefully omitted
from the official reports to protect themselves, and especially
Mulder, from ridcule and further sanction. Often the information
had been omitted after heated argument and over Mulder's
strenuous objections. But the mainstream nature of the reports
had, in Scully's belief, enabled them to continue operations much
longer than she thought possible.

Whatever she put in her official reports, Scully had kept
detailed personal notes on each case as had Mulder. Now these
personal logs had become as critical as the case reports
themselves.

"Where do we start," asked Scully with a sigh?

"I figure we can start pretty much with any case, because we
can timeline it after we've finished analyzing. This is what I think we need
to do: Take each case. I think for now, tho we can dispense with the cases
that have nothing to do with aliens or conspiracies...you know, like our
encounters with Tooms, consults on VCS cases, stuff like that. We need to
deconstruct each relevant case and determine what might have been reality and
what could have been hoax or red herring, propoganda. At this point, I'm
not trusting anything to be real on its face. We need to look at everything
as a possible hoax or maniupulation." Mulder took a deep breath before he
went on, struggling to maintain his objectivity; his calm. He looked
deeply into her eyes now.

" I need to know, Scully, how badly I've been had. I know there
must be *some truth in here*. It can't all be lies. Not even I'm that big
a sucker. We need to find out. I need to find out. I need to know Scully
how much of my life has been nothing but a lie...a meaningless
manipulation..." He trailed off and looked away from her, the confidence
seeping away from his voice.
He was suddenly very intently staring at his hands.

Scully knew how bady Mulder was hurting. Words she had spoken to
him a week ago still stung. This much she knew. That he still trusted her
at all; still valued her input, her judgement was an incredible testament to
his integrity and faith.

She deeply regretted her part in causing him this kind of pain. She
understood that despite the sumptuous surroundings aforded by the Shoream,
this was a grim excercize, a desperation move at best. Scully understood the
cause and result of Mulder's despair, his pain. The two things Mulder had
always valued in himself (perhaps the only things, Scully thought) were his
intellect and his instincts. To be unceremoniously informed, and for Scully
to be convinced, that he'd been manipulated, used and intellectually
victimized all his life was as if to rip away his last shreds of dignity. It
was the deepest kind of humiliation a man like Mulder could suffer. It was
akin to rape. And, if Kritchgau was telling the truth, Mulder had been
victimized by this intellectual and emotional rape over and over again for
many, many years.

Scully reflected back to her words that night, telling Mulder that she was
infected with Cancer to make *him* believe. That *he* would cause her death.
She had been angry, tired, at the end of her own emotional rope. But she'd
never meant to wound him so deeply. The cruelty of those words, her words,
had hit him with the impact of a high caliber weapon to the head.

"Mulder," she said suddenly, breaking the silence. "I'm so sorry. I never
should have said those things to you about my cancer. I..." The words
emerged suddenly and out of context. She needed for him to hear her regret.

"Why not? It's true, isn't it? Maybe not in the way Kritchgau said, but
you were taken because of me. Experimented upon because of me. Ergo..." His
words emerged sardonic, bitter with self-hatred.

"NO." She stopped him from continuing. "No. I was taken....by whoever
took me...not because of you. Because of me. I was sent to debunk your work;
to spy on you as you had correctly surmised. But I wouldn't play their
games. I began to believe, not in your theories necessarily, but in your
instincts,
your ability, you. It was me that wasn't playing along like the good soldier
and that's why I was punished. It had nothing to do with you. You have to
believe that. It's their fault. Not yours, not mine."

An ironic smile. "Belief in me," he interjected flatly. " Now *there's* a
waste of time and taxpayer money." He sighed, having no energy to pursue
that avenue. "Let's to work and see how badly I've been had, Dr. Scully,
shall we?" A false lightness infused his speech, in vain attempt to cover
the hurt and anger that would otherwise be there.

She hated to see him this way. The sarcasm dripping from his
words did not obscure the sorrow in his eyes. "Mulder, we don't have to do
this tonight. Let's just sit a bit; enjoy the luxurious surroundings,,," she
paused, a mischevious grin on her lips. "I bet they even have adult movies
on the hotel TV."

He understood what she was trying to do. Part of him hated the
thought of being patronized like that. But he was also grateful for her
efforts to drive away the darkness and demons that were now his constant
companions.

"I'm fine, Scully." He grinned slightly. "The sooner we figure this out,
the sooner I can come back from the dead."

His voice no longer quavered, she noted. "Look, Scully. I know what you're
trying to do. I do appreciate it. God, Scully, I don't even know why you've
agreed to be in on this with me, but I'm glad you're here. I'd be foolish
not to acknowledge that I'm depressed, extremely depressed, clinicaly
depressed over the possibility that my entire life has been one huge lie,
that I've
been had and badly and easily so. But I also know that everything that we've
seen is not a confabulation, a hoax or some elaborate scam to get *me* to
believe in the existence of ebe's. I'd have to have one hell of an ego to
think the government has gone to that much trouble for my sake. The whole
notion is ridiculous. But as our friend Deep throat once said, a lie is best
told between two truths. And that's what I need to do here...what *we* need
to do here. Find the slices of truth between the lies. I think it's all
here. Everything we need to know. We've just never sat down and tried to
put the whole thing together. I think once we've separated the bullshit
from reality, we'll
know enough, have enoughevidence to exert some power of those
bastards. I think that's the only language they understand. If we can put
this thing together into a case...a profile...."

"Yeah, but how and who would prosecute it? Those guys are too
well connected to ever bring them to justice."

"We won't need to. I think the threat of exposure will be enough to make
them share what they know about a cure for your cancer." Scully looked at
him in disbelief, the reality dawning on her.

"Mulder, you can't be serious. Is that what *this* is all about? We're
going to do this...you've faked your own death...are using up your cash
reserves to *threaten* them? Mulder, you're crazier than I thought you
were. What about exposing *the truth*?"

"I've thought about that Scully. And I'd be willing to let it go." Now
Mulder turned completely away from her, leaving Scully to stare at his back.
Mulder swallowed hard before continuing. "For me, Scully, the truth is
everything. You know that. But to have the truth exposed...to have that
kind of victory,
knowing...knowing that in the process I've lost you, that the price is your
life. Scully, no truth, no victory, nothing would be worth that to me.
Ever. Not even recovering my sister would be worth your life. Not to me."
Scully's eyes moistened rembering a trade on a bridge two years earlier.
And she knew
that Mulder spoke the truth.

" I hope...I pray, Scully..." Now he turned back, looking up directly into
her face, seaching out her eyes, so she would have no doubt of his meaning.
"I pray, Scully, that you also know *that* about me." Suddenly, Mulder
started to laugh as a sudden irony struck him.

"You know Scully, and I can tell you this now because, after all, I'm
dead...but for several years now, I've wanted to take you in my arms, make
love to you for a week and never let you get more than three feet from my
side ever after. And I've never acted upon it, never even mentioned my very
strong feelings to you in hopes that you might be mutually inclined. Do you
know why?"

He didn't wait for her reply to the purely rhetorical question. "I was
afraid. Afraid that our cigarrette puffing friend and his cabal would
somehow use our relationship against us. Have, as it were, an effective
tool. Threaten one lover to get the other to acquiesce. Do you know how
ridculous that is? As if a physical relationship would somehow makeit easier
for them. It just
occured to me how funny that is. Not only could they do it now (or at least
before I died)...they *have* done it. Over and over." "Sorry Mulder, I must
have zoned out. Could you repeat the last part of what you just said?" Her
voice was weak, and her knees.

"Um...from where?"

"From the part about having strong feelings for me..." Mulder looked away.
He could not believe he was blushing.

"Scully," he started, sounding exhasperated, "that was hard enough to say
once. I'm not sure I could..." He felt a cool hand on his fire-hot jaw. The
fingers small, delicate, but strong. They turned his head to face their
owner. Mulder's eyes closed, almost involuntarily, at the overwhelming
sensation of Dana Scully's gentle pressure on his cheek.

A week's worth of tension seemed to drain from his face and into those cool
fingers. And then she was kissing his eyes...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning brought croissant, cinnamon espresso and a large bowl
of fresh fruit to the door along with the Washington Post. "Damn it,
Scully, I'd give anything, to go for a run right now. I think
that's the worst of this. I feel like I'm in prison. I *am* in prison."

"Mulder, it's hard to look at this suite as a prison...but I do understand.
C'mon lets 'to work' as you said last night. Besides I'm stuck here, too,
now. I can't risk being seen around here, either. I'm supposed to be
camping in Maine, grieving for my dead friend and partner, not holed up in
the Shoream. So enough ruminations," said Scully emphatically, broadly
smiling. "...She closes her eyes...reaches in a hand and removes a
file....And the winner is...." She grandly pulled a file from the crate.
She glanced at it briefly. Oh, here's a loverly old, case, she thought,
but I don't think it will help us on our current mission.

"Where's the discard pile Mulder? This one's not relevant."

"Thought we decided to make those determinations together."

"Trust me on this one Mulder. It's not relevant."

"What is it?"

Scully sighed, "Pheobe Greene and her pyromanic. Next time trust my
instincts, huh? So which is the discard pile?" Mulder shrugged,
not meeting Scully's eyes. Talk about being had, he thought, grimly.

"Proof once again, Scully, that my reputation for not trusting
anyone is ill deserved. Am I really as gullible as I seem to be at this
juncture? Or am I just stupid."

Scully sighed deeply. "Mulder, you are neither." She thought for a
moment. No time like the present. "Mulder, I think, you want so hard to
believe in people, in their possibilities that...." No this was not coming
out as intended. Start again. "You are the most honest and ethical man I
know. I think you want to believe, not only in extreme possibility, but in
the innate goodness of people. You are not paranoid, not when it's not
justified, not really. You trust, sometimes, too easily. So, you leave
yourself open to being hurt, used, even. But even with amount that you've
been hurt your whole life by everyone from your father to Krychek to the
Ciggarette guy, you still keep that openess about you. You wear it close and
try to camouflage it with that aura of suspiciousness and mistrust, but it's
there for anyone who cares to look hard enough. Yeah your're more jaded, a
bit more weathered, a whole lot more beaten up.

"Mulder, it's not wrong to believe and it's not wrong to trust. But I
honestly believe that the one you have the most trouble believing and
trusting in is yourself." She felt a sudden need to lighten the
conversation. "So that's why you have me---to do that for you."

Mulder's heart melted as that rare and radiant Scully smile appeared from
nowhere. "Scully, have I ever told you what an amazing smile you have? It
could light the arctic in the middle of winter. Thank you."

"For..."

"Just thank you." An awkward pause. They continued going through the
files: Mulder working on one crate Scully on the other. The cases were
triaged into three piles: obviously non-pertinent cases; definetly pertinent
cases and maybes. The "maybes" formed the largest group, since Scully
hesitated putting anything into the "definite pile" and since the discard
pile was only for those cases that were completely obvious.

More files, more maybes, a few definites and several discards: Tooms, A
psychotic computer; a psychotic VCS section chief; Luther Lee Boggs. Mulder
had drawn Boggs' file. He glanced at Scully sitting cross-legged on the
floor surrounded by a pile of files of her own, deep in concentration. His
leg still occasionally ached from that case.

It had been one of their first cases together. Perhaps the first time Mulder
had felt something more than grudging tolerance for his new partner For so
long he had vowed over and over to never again work with a partner...or if he
absolutely had to, not become involved in a friendship. He renewed that vow
when the Bureau h had saddled him with Scully.

But there was something he had observed during the Boggs case. Something
indefinable that revealed an inner saddness about her, despite the
hard-as-nails exterior. Almost as if something inside of her reached out to
something inside of him. He remembered how she had tried so hard not to
reveal her grief, to hide behind a professional demeanor, but she had also
trusted him to see the cracks in that demeanor. He had wondered, just then,
how often she had allowed anyone to view that part of her. He'd bet it
wasn't often.

He guessed it was around then that all bets were off on his vow about
partners and friendships. With a sigh, more audible than he intended, he
threw the file into the discard pile. Scully looked up from her perch on the
floor. "Something?"
"No, just Boggs." More silence. More files. Luchtime came and
went--sandwiches from room service-- and by 9PM they were finished with this
first pass through the files.

"Well, Mulder, that's it for me. My last file."

"Me, too, Scully. Let's organize these stacks back into crates so they
don't get mixed up and call it a night, OK?" His eyes burned. He rubbed
them hard with the heels of his palms, pushing his reading glasses up onto
his forehead.

"My eyes are on fire, Mulder. I have enough paper cuts to use up a box of
badages. I'm with you, if I can ever uncross my legs. I think my right leg
is asleep. Tomorrow we swtich. I get to work sitting on bed. You get the
floor."

"Actually I think we'll both be better off tomorrow working at the big table
in the sitting room. Now that we've gone through these once, maybe we can
start some preliminary analysis as we go through the stack with a finer
toothed comb.

"Whatever. Look. I'm starving, Mulder. What's for dinner?"

"You're heart's desire, Madame...as long as it's on the room
service menu."

"Mulder, these guys are going to think we're on our honeymoon or
something if we keep ordering room service..."

"Or something?" Mulder replied laciviously, one eyebrow raised. A smile
from Scully. "Oh, Scully, you've got to stop with those smiles, or I won't
be responsible for my actions."

"Seriously, Mulder, how can we continue to order room service indefinetly?
This must be costing a fortune."

"Seriously, Scully, it doesn't matter. We have no choice. If either of us
is seen, the jig is up and we're both dead. Really dead. I don't want to
take that risk. Not now. Maybe this will only take a couple of days. For
my the sake of whatever remains of my sanity, I certainly hope so. But
however long it takes, we will figure this out. We have to--for both our
sakes."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Night had fallen and the last of the relevant files had been organized and
placed back into the crates. From the corner of her eye, Scully caught
Mulder peering out the terrace doors down to the busy streets of Northwest
DC. He shifted nervously from foot to foot, hands clenching and
unchlenching, head resting on the glass.

"Hey, Mulder." She was standing behind him, her voice warm.
"Hey yourself, Scully." His eyes closed but he remained glued to the
window. "I'm finished in the shower. I left you a little hot water..."

"That a subtle hint, Scully?"

"Ah, so you do still know how to smile." A beat. "So," she began
impulsively, "can we sit on the terrace, or is against the rules? I see
dinner has arrived, and I thought..."

"Sure. I think it would be alright. We're 22 floors up. I doubt anyone's
watching us at this point... Ah, dinner under the stars with the enigmatic
Dr. Dana Katherine Scully...the stuff of my fantasies." An air of melancholy
surrounded the lightly spoken words.

He turned around abruptly, almost knocking her over. She caught his elbows
in her hands. "And mine," she replied tenderly but under her breath--not
quite meant for his ears. "C'mon, let's eat this before it gets cold." She
moved her hand down his forearm to meet his hand. She pulled him toward the
silver cart. "Bring out a couple of chairs; I'll wheel this thing outside.
I'm starved."

The air was cool but pleasant. The dinner sumptuous. No words were spoken
during most of the feast. They basked in a sweet, familiar silence.
Finally, it was Mulder who spoke. "Oh, I almost forgot." He reached for a
bucket attached to the side of the cart. "Wine?"

end part 1/6

Disclaimed in part 1
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Scully startled, flashing briefly to a recent case. Another bottle of wine.
She tensed momentarily, perceptible to Mulder's supersensitive radar. He
frowned. "Remember, Scully? I'm no Eddie van Bluhndt. I think that's a
*good* thing."

Scully had to smile. At least he finally understands *that* she thought.

"I'd love some, Mulder. But you know Eddie was right about one thing..."
Now it was Mulder's turn to tense. Scully continued, ignoring Mulder's
sudden mood shift. "He was right *only* about one thing. That we never
*just talk*. We're always so caught up in the intensity of the moment--the
case; the danger. When we talk it's usually about the work or the darker
aspects of our lives. You know, I don't even know what books you
like--other than Sir Arthur, that is...oh yeah and Criminal Psycholgy
monographs and UFOlogy books. Oh, and let me guess, Richard Hawking...maybe
Carl Sagan. I don't even know your real taste in music...but I suspect it
isn't Barry Manilow...at least I hope
not..." That smile again. She sipped the white zinfandel.

"I guess you're right. OK, I'll tell you. My favorite authors are Thomas
Pynchon and Richard Powers...the Godfather and son of techno-fantasy literary
fiction. For the classics, I turn to Tolstoy. What can I say? I like *big*
books. Seriously, Scully, you didn't know I live and breathe for the Stones?
I
also like Little Feat, Queen Ida and Handel. I live for Bach. And..." he
finished with a grin "I adore Holst's 'The Planets' and Mussgorsky's 'Night
on Bare Mountain'. It's creepy and beautiful. Ok. Now that I've bared my
soul, it's your turn for small talk."

"What? what about Elvis? I thought he was your idol." He smiled.

"Well, that goes without saying, of course."

"Well, I'm embarassed, Mulder. My tastes aren't nearly as esoteric as yours.
Must be the difference between that Kennedy-esque life of yours including
the Oxford Education and my, more humble, middle class upbringing." The
look on Mulder's face made Scully regret the sarcastic remark.

"I'd trade in a minute, Scully," he declared flatly. "No. I take that
back. I'd never wish it on you, even in trade. My Kennedy-esque life, as
you put it-- as you know--came factory-equipped with Kennedy-esque family
tragedy."

"Sorry. Anyway, my favorite authors are Arthur Clarke and Carl Sagan,
especially Sagan's non-fiction early in his career." She grinned at Mulder's
surprised look. Arthur Clarke? "Close your mouth, Mulder. Don't look so
surprised. I was a typical science geek as an undergrad. Like all
slide-rule toting science geeks, I loved scifi...but I went for the harder
edged stuff. And like I said, Sagan's best work was his more technical
non-fiction. His theories on exobiology, the very real possibility of life
on other planets, in other star systems. As for music, I like Ellington and
the Beatles; among the classics, no one outlasts Mozart as far as I'm
concerned."

"Scully, you're like a flower, you just keep on unfolding more layers." Now
it was his turn to grin. Scully shivered. "Getting cold, Scully?"

"A little, but I like it out here. It's peaceful. It must be my
imagination, but I think I can smell the cherry blossoms, even way up here.
It's nice." They sat awhile longer, each lost in thought, enjoying the
peacefulness; the silence. Again, it was Mulder who broke the silence.

"How *are* you, Scully? Really." His voice was serious, quiet.

"I'm..." she started to say 'fine' and thought better of it. "I saw the
Doctor the day before all of this started. The day you called me to meet you
and Arlinsky. Mulder, the tumor has metastasised. The prognosis is not
good." She tried to maintain the professional cool of a doctor reporting on
the condition of a
patient. "Mulder, if something does not drastically change, and soon, I
probably have about six months. Three of relative normalcy and three of a
living Hell." The facade was crumbling fast.

Mulder stared at her. He got up abruptly, nearly knocking over the cart.
He swept his hand over the cart, sending the wine bottle and its contents
careening to the edge of the terrace. His fist came down hard on the cart in
fury. Mulder stalked to the terrace wall, glaring into the night sky ,hands
on his hips, uttering silent curses to the stars above. He was struggling to
maintain control. He was losing the battle. Mulder turned his glare onto
Scully who still sitting speechlessly in her chair. She knew *this* Mulder.
Mulder, the enraged, whose temper flared, not often, but white hot. She had
not expected *this* reaction.

"Damn it, Scully," he said finally, his breath rapid and hoarse, still
trying to control his rage. He closed his eyes in supreme effort. "Damn it,
Scully," he repeated, this time quietly, dangerously so. "Why didn't you
tell me. How could you *not* tell me." The fury in his eyes changed
perceptibly to sorrow. "Oh, God, Scully. Every time I've asked you. Every
time you've answered 'I'm fine, Mulder'--somehow I've known you were not
*fine*. What did you think, Scully, that somehow I'd treat you differently;
that I'd betray your confidence? I needed to know, Scully."

"Why? There's nothing you could have done."

"That's not why, and you know it. Damn it, Scully, you're a Doctor. What,
did you think that you'd just fade away and die, and that I'd never notice
and life would just go on as before. Even if there's nothing I can do, even
now. I need that time to prepare myself. To say things that need to be
said; do things
that need to be done. And, more importantly than that, Agent Scully, no one,
NO ONE, do you hear me? NO ONE should have to go through this alone. You
are so brave, so resolute, so stoic. But you have to be afraid. I know you,
better than you know yourself, better than I know myself. You're not afraid
of dying, I *do* know that; you're afraid of being incapacitated. Those
three months of Hell, as you put it. You can't do that alone! Don't do that
alone! And there's something else."

"You mean you're not done ranting at me?" Her words were bitter, defensive.

"No. I'm not. This set-up. This whole little project of mine,of ours. So
far, it's taken a week. A week we've now lost. A week we can't afford to
lose. I'd never have done this. I'll go to that ciggarette-puffing bastard
tomorrow. Call the whole thing off. Agree to anything. Anything. We don't
have the time
to be doing this. To be playing this kind of game. We...I can't be playing
with your life like this."

Scully finally understood how hard this was for him. Almost harder for
him than it was for her. Mulder's anger had dissipated, the fire in his eyes
doused by an unwelcome gathering of tears, turning his eyes to glass. Clouds
had gathered and lightning flashed in the western sky. Hebreathed in
shakily. Waiting.

"This is not the time to change strategy. We can do this. This is *my*
life to do with as I see fit. I really and seriously doubt that the end
result our activities here will change the ending of the story of my life,
but it can and *will* change
yours. Kritchgau cast doubt on the very foundation of your life, your
family, you. I played a big part in helping him do that to you. If it's the
last meaningful thing I do in my life, I have to help you work this out, to
work though it. I can't die letting you feel your life has no meaning. I
know that it's not true, but you need to understand it, too. If, by some
miracle, we're able to save my life, too, great. But I'm not counting on it
at this point. Let this be my legacy to you, if that's what's meant to be.
Please?"

The rain was falling now. "I love you Dana Katherine Scully."

"I know." Her voice was tender.

"I can't let you die, willingly."

She closed her eyes. "We may not have a choice in this one. Let's go
inside."
The rain continued to fall for several more hours. Mulder and Scully sat in
the darkness of the sitting room, terrace shades open, the eerie light of
receding lightning providing the only illumination. Words were not spoken
for a long time as they enjoyed mother nature's light show, fascinated by the
awesome
beauty of the strong spring thunderstorm.

"You know, Mulder," said Scully finally. "I've always enjoyed those
stakeouts when we've sat together like this through a thunderstorm. There's
always been a sort of strange peacefullness, especially as the storm
subsided, like now. You know, the thunder diminishing, leaving the air
somehow
electrified and alive." Mulder nodded slowly, slightly. Still not speaking.
He continued to gaze, unspeaking, unmoving, into the night sky. "Mulder?"

No response. She waved her hand in front of his eyes. "Hey Mulder! Hello?"
He blinked, startled. He turned to face her, smiling sheepishly.

"Sorry. I...just...I guess I was just thinking," he stammered, snapped
suddenly out of his thoughts. "Will you be OK, Mulder," she asked seriously,
a concerned expression crossing her face.

"I'm fine, Scully."

"Hey, that's my line," she laughed. Then serious again. "Seriously, Mulder.
When...if...I...if we can't beat this thing and I die..." He looked away,
burying his face in his hands. She continued. "If I die, when I die,
whatever....will you be ok? I need to know that you'll get through it. I
know you'll grieve. Damnit! You'd *better* grieve! And I know it will be so
very hard for you." Her voice became soft and tender. Scully reached for
his hand. He, in turn, grabbed her hand in both of his.

"I don't want to lose you, Scully. You're about all I have left. There's so
much we haven't done yet. A lot we have to prove as a team--and to each
other. I can feel us getting so close to answers we've been seeking. After
we do know....I can't predict the future...but...if somehow we come out of
this whole...there's an entire future I want to...' He stopped, suddenly
afraid to
continue this train of thought.

"I can't give up yet. I won't give up. But, I'm no idiot, Scully. I know
that with each passing day, we lose another 24 hours." There was resignation
in his voice coupled with words so hopeful, prayerful.

"Everyone does, Mulder."

"That's not what I mean and you know it. But, despite what you may sometimes
think of me...I also *do* understand thlat we may lose this battle. And
you'll be gone. Somehow, Scully, I *will* manage to survive. I can be
pretty resilient when I have to be. Even you know that. I can't promise I'll
go on unchanged, fighting the fight, questing the quest. I can't think that
far
ahead right now. Please don't make me do that now.

"You know, Scully. That night...the night I came back to the hospital after
your encounter with Scanlon? As I sat there in the hall through the night,
by Penny Northern's room, waiting for you, needing to know you were going to
be OK... I read your journal. You know I told you that I'd read some of it,
the part
that related to Penny. But I'd read it all. I know you said that you were
going to tear up those words, but those words, the words I read...those words
will stay with me forever, Scully. They *will* give me strenghth. They will
help me get through...this, even if..."

He couldn't finish the sentence. Scully gazed at him....a sad smile.
"C'mere," she whispered through tears unshed. And in the aftermath of the
storm, the moon appeared and bled through the terrace doors, creating a
luminous glow that enfolded the two friends as they slept entwined within the
private sanctuary of each others arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Day three
9AM

Mulder stood between the white marker board and the flip chart. He looked
every bit the college professor, reading glasses pushed up into his hair;
dress shirt with sleeves rolled up ; blue jeans. Scully had to smile as he
stood, marker in hand. "What? Mulder asked self-counsiously. "Is my fly
unzipped?"

"No. Nothing." Scully blushed, smilling even more broadly.

"So you're not going to let me in on it, then. By the way, Scully, you
remember what I said about those smiles....I was serious." Now his own smile
reflected hers. A silence of several beats, awkward beats.

"Um...OK...so what were you saying about the file?"

Scully hadn't realized she's locked into his eyes until she blinked back to
the reality of what they were doing. "Oh...uh...well this is the file from
our first case. " The file was thin. Of course they'd had lots of photos,
documents and
x-rays that had been destroyed in the fire at their motel. "The only piece
of objective evidence is the implant taken from Ray Soames' nasal
passage...which, as you know, I gave to Blevins."

"Scully, why did you do that? Give it to Blevins." He didn't need to wait
for the answer. He knew. It had infuriated him that she had insisted on it.
Given it to *them*. He had known it would dissappear into an irretreivable
oblivion, a dimension of plausible deniability. But *she* in all of her
naievte and
barely-out-of the-lab enthusiasm refused to believe the worst of the ones in
authority. It was small recompense that she'd had taken a series of
photographs before handing over the object. That she'd had it analyzed.
"the object....no known substance." It was a tiny vindication a trace of
evidence to support the extreme possibility that forces other than those of
known science
had been at work in the affair.

Scully peered at the photograph she had made of it before giving it to her
section chief. She looked at Mulder, hoping that his eyes would forgive her
that early betrayal, one made in innocence; the innocence of a first case.
Her eyes conveyed the why's. He looked away. He understood, and was
struggling to get past it. It still ranckled him, if only occasionally.
They both
knew they would have to be able to get past petty annoyances with
each other; differing interpretations of the facts; differing--very
differing--worldviews--in each of the cases --both at the time of the
incident and now-- when re-analyzing the facts in the light of hindsight and
history.

Mulder drew a long breath. "So, what do you think happend to ththe
implant, Scully?"

A sudden flash of recognition, recall. "Mulder, wait. I remember something.
As I was leaving Blevins' office, that man, the one who smokes the
cigarrettes, he was going into meet with Blevins. He was also there when I
was assigned to assist you in your investigations." She was speaking
rapidly, as she remembered details that, at the time, seemed
insignificant--probably normal bureau procedure. "And, wait, he was there
behind the two-way glass when you and Dr. Verber did the regression session
wiht Billy Miles."

"So you think he may have taken the implant? Been involved somehow?"

"At the very least, Mulder, he was very interested in this case. That much
is very clear now." Mulder was writing on the flip chart.

"So far, Scully, I think we can agree on these two facts about this case. She
glanced at the chart. He had written "Implants" and "Cigarette Man." I
think these are two threads we've found common to lots of our cases. That's
why I put them on the flip chart. Let's dissect the case--so to speak--"
added Mulder with a wicked grin. "Let's dissect it to figure out why the
Cigarette Man was involved. The fact that he *was* says a hell of lot to
me. The other thing I was thinking, Scully, is that we need to make sure our
analysis is objective. So...let's try to apply at least two theories to each
case, one from your usual
point of view; one from mine a sorta ' Whodunit?'--the aliens or
the government baddies? Or both together. And given each case
what makes more sense...Before you cry foul," Mulder put up a
hand defensively before Scully could say anything. He *knew*
that face she was presenting to him.

"Scully, I know you don't believe that *any* of what we've experienced has
anything to do with aliens, alien technology, genetic hybridization with
alien life...anything like that. But I *do* know you believe, as do I, that
there is a subversive conspiracy by some group--military--corporate,
whoever--- supported and protected by people within the government involved
with it. Whether the conspiracy has acted only within our known world...or
has had, and continues to have, contact with beings outside our
world...perhaps that's something we'll never know until we've done our job
here, and maybe not even then, at least not conclusively. At this point, I
think the issue is a
practical one. I believe in the existence of extraterrestrial life, and that
those beings are here. You do not. For this discussion, let's agree to
disagree. I think the question is important and crucial in the long
run...philosophically,
scientifically and personally. But what we need to do with this little
project project of ours is much more nuts and bolts in the short run. It
doesn't matter if they are aliens or government hacks. The results are the
results and we have to find out why and how. And I think we both need to
remember to try to keep an open mind about what we may discover during this
journey.

"But I think putting the case to the two theory test will help us both to
open ourselves to objective analysis,forgetting *both* our personal biasses
for the moment." Mulder crossed his arms in front of his chest as he
finished.

Now Scully was sure of it. A college professor. An associate professor.
Idealistic, young, earnest, intelligent...one sure to have high class
registration among the female students. She grinned.

"What?" He became suddenly flustered by the way she was looking at him,
enigmatic grin tweaking the corners of her mouth.

"Nothing. ...Oh yeah. Fine. It works for me. Mulder, you know if you ever
decide to come back to the living and then resign from the FBI, you'd have a
great career as a prof."

"What...was I pontificating again? Sorry." Scully shook her head.
Clueless, she thought. Back to business, she sighed. The Billy Miles case.

"Let's visit the implants angle a minute. We've got lots of cases where
there was some kind of implant. So we know... I think we can agree that....
implants play one part in their scheme. But what part? and why? and how do
they do it without the victim's knowledge?

"Also, I think we can safely assume there also is some kind of
beyond-state-of-the-art genetic engineering going on. They're tampering with
biology...and they're doing it in secret."

"Scully, I think those are two excellent areas to focus on to start. Hey,
maybe by the time we're finished our worldviews will be reversed. You'll be
thinkin' aliens and I'll be the skeptic."

"Yeah, right! So what do you think, Mulder? You still really buy into the
aliens calling the kids to the forest scenario?" He winced. Of course he
did...and, as Mulder had stated upfront, it was beside the point. "Sorry.
Just the facts ma'am. OK. Obviously the kids were being controlled.
Something,maybe that
implant was sending a signal directly to the brain, telling the kids to go to
the forest. For what? We know that the "Project" involves testing. Oh,
yeah, write 'testing' on the flip chart....a third commonality in our cases.
So maybe the kids were test subjects of some kind. Billy Miles was kept in
that
waking coma--convincingly, too, until he was signalled, and then
he was brought out of his vegetative state to carry out orders--deliver test
subjects, whatever."

"We can't forget about the genetic changes made to those kids. The
corpse..."

"Who could foget that. It was my first X-file. It scared the shit out me."

"Really? I never would have known that. You just seemed so unaffected.
Well, until you got those mosquito bites and..."

"You would have to have a photographic memory, Mulder. I'm so embarassed
about that. I'm glad you never put it in your field report." Mulder gazed
at her seriously. "Scully, now why would I have done that?" He seemed hurt
that she would even have thought it.

"Well, Mulder, at the time, you didn't trust me. You had no reason to. You
knew why I was sent to work with you. It would have been real easy, right
then and there, to discredit me and get rid of me in one fell swoop. You
have no idea how I feared my little indiscretion would wind up in my
personnel file.

"You have no idea how grateful I am to you that it never has. The way you
handled that situation." She closed her eyes briefly. "I can't think of
anyone I know, especially someone whose wings I had just been sent to clip,
no, sever, who would have treated a half-crazed, freaked out, terrified,
not-to-mention half-naked partner with such tenderness, compassion and
discretion.

"It spoke volumes about the kind of man and the kind of FBI agent Fox Mulder
was...and continues to be." Scully could hardly believe how many emotions
that single act brought to the surface, even now. "Mulder, the consortium,
the ones who sent me to you. They lost me at that moment. They never had me
back. Not for an instant. I know you may not believe that, but it is true."

"I *do* believe it Scully," he replied quietly. Mulder began to think that
this project of theirs was going to take a while longer than anticipated. If
a case so old still carried feelings, both of theirs, this close to the
surface... Still, it
was good that they were talking about it. They never discussed
how cases had affected them personally, how it changed and grew
this beautifully complex relationship of theirs. He smiled. Mulder
remembered something a chemistry professor had said in an organic chemistry
class he'd taken at Oxford. He'd been talking about complexity of some
compound. "Why make something simple, when you can make it complex and
beautiful?" The words were out of his mouth before he knew he'd uttered
them aloud. Scully
looked up, puzzled. "Huh?"

"Scully, I know you didn't know me at the time. You only knew what *they*
had told you--and my reputation...good old 'Spooky' Mulder."

"Mulder, you and I both know that "spooky" refers to your spooky instincts
and not...Let's not get off on a tangent here. Let's get back to the case or
we'll still be here when your money runs out. OK, what else about this
case?"

"Let's go back to that corpse for a minute, Scully. It was obviously...it
had to be the victim, don't even agree with that now in retrospect? I know
you thought it was some sort of orangatan. But, Scully, that body looked an
awful lot like what I saw in the boxcar in New Mexico..."

"And no so different than how some of those victims appeared that Leper
colony. So, do you think it's a connection? Do you think that whatever they
do to subjects...it alters their biology somehow...permanently? There's some
sort of mutation? What causes it? Why do *that* to someonsomeone?"

"What if...*what if* the physical manifestations of the mutation don't
appear until death and then they are revealed only upon decomposition of the
body."

"But what about the lepers, they were test subjects, too. But their
mutations presented and they were alive. OK....so...what if the presence of
leposy, a physically deforming disease to begin with accellerated or
exacerbated the physical manifestations? Another entry for the flip chart:
'Gross physical mutations as result of testing.'"

"No, how about just 'Testing'. Maybe there were multiple kinds of
experiments, some with gross presentations, some with less visible
signs...maybe are connections we can figure out. OK. So, we've just
remembered three cases with these phyisical deformities: one we know is a
post mortem presentation; one presented before death; the third...that
boxcar...I don't know Scully. I only saw them dead. Could they ever have
been human? They did'nt look like it to me...but, God, Scully, they had
vaccination marks on their arms...vaccination scars, a new item for the
chart. Vaccination marks have figured in how many
cases?"

"Mulder, slow down. Maybe we should stay with our original plan...one case
at a time. This is getting a bit to stream of conscious ... it's good
brainstorming..but let's just slow it down a bit. How about we pull those
cases and look at them next...the deformity cases; the vaccination cases; the
implant
cases...but one at a time." Scully paused momentarily, thinking about the
cases they were about to tear into. Mulder almost died in one of those
cases. Melissa and Mulder's father, were murdered in the same case. And
implant cases...was she really ready to discuss Duane Barry? She suddenly
realized that they'd have to do it. The thought terrified her.

"Mulder, let's finish with the Billy Miles case. We've gotten a strong
start, lots of directions to pursue from it, and then take a break. I think
we need to talk about where the next batch of cases is going to take us..."
a beat. "Take me."
Her voice trembled slightly. Mulder put his hand to his head. What was he
thinking. Implants...Duane Barry. Shit. The MJ tape case. Was *he* ready
to deal with it? Mulder knew he was still emotionally fragile from that one.
He knew *that* much about himself. Could he handle it? What had they
gotten
themselves into here? Cases. Just cases. Yeah. What had he been thinking
to think that they could just look dispassionately at these cases...*these*
cases. But then again, what other choice did they have? No wonder they'd
never done this before, he thought grimly. Shit!

"You're right, Dana." He sounded suddenly tired. "Is there anything else
from that case? Well, aside from the fact that the evidence was destroyed,
systematically. Now where have we seen that before? Puerto Rico. The sleep
eradication experiment. John Barnett. Duane Barry--remember, I told you he
was killed by Krychek--then Krychek disappeared. The MUFON..." He stopped
mid-sentence. The MUFON women. Killed by cancer. The same
cancer that Scully has. Every path seemed to lead to fragile territory.
Eggshell roads with no emotional safety nets. "Let's break, Scully," he said
abruptly. "I think it's time for lunch. What's your desire?"

The Caeser salads arrived and were eaten in silence as they rummaged through
the case folders, searching for the files they had agreed to discuss next.
It was going to be a very long day. And the rain started falling again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was sudden. Scully had seen them several times before, but each time,
the suddenness unnerved her and scared her. The attacks had subsided but not
completely disappeared. At first Mulder had welcomed them, but the
flashbacks had become more distorted, confused and contradictory. But, at
the same time, they had intensified, causing terrible headaches, dizziness
and
uncontrollable shivers when he finally snapped out of them, Thankfully they
were now a rare occurence, happening only once every other week or so.

Mulder no longer trusted the memories he saw in the flashbacks. He believed
that there was truth in what he saw, but it was increasingly difficult for
him to extract anything concrete. He'd pieced together some things from the
earlier flashbacks but he'd gotten nothing new or useful for weeks. Now he
only wished for them to go away; leave him alone.

To Scully, the episodes resembled epileptic seizures. Mulder thrashed
around, in evident pain. This time, Mulder was in the shower when the
episode began. Scully heard him cry out in agony. Her eyes widened, knowing
Mulder could be killed in the shower. He could drown, hit his head.

"Mulder, I'm coming in," she warned, knowing he would not even perceive her
presence during the episode. She grabbed the white Turkish towel bathrobe
from the back of the bathroom door, immediately moving to turn off the water.

"Mulder! C'mon Mulder snap out of it. MULDER!" She knew it was useless to
arouse him, but she continued shouting at him, trying to break into the
flashback she knew he was having. She stood at the side of the tub willing
him not to fall as he stood holding his head, sagged against the tile wall.
And suddenly it was over.

end part 2/6

Synthesis (3/6)
by Barbara Barnett
disclaimed in part 1

Mulder was panting with exertion. His pulse was racing as he sat down in the
tub. His eyes remained closed, but he knew Scully was there. He held up a
hand, begging a moment, a moment to regain enough energy to open his eyes or
speak. Slowly, he opened his eyes, closing them quickly again, at the harsh
white light of the bathroom. Scully understood and turned out the
light.

"You OK, Mulder?"

"Yeah. Just a minute." He was still breathing too rapidly to speak full
sentences.

"Was it bad?"

Mulder nodded. He stood slowly and shakily. How different these flashbacks
were than the first ones. He'd come out of those almost euphoric, with a
heightened sense of well-being. Now he only felt the need to take to
ibuprofen and sleep.

Scully helped him out of the tub, wrapping him in his robe. "How long has it
been since the last one?" she asked as she led him to the bed.

"I don't know. A few days. Five days, I think." His voice was thick,
uncertain.

"I thought they'd subsided to one every couple of weeks."

"They had. Scully, I need to sleep. Sorry." His sad eyes begged her
indulgence. Pleaded for peace. Scully sighed.

"Mulder, I think I'll just keep at this. I'll pull the files and maybe
categorize them by type. OK?"

"Yeah. I just need to sleep. I'm so tired."

Scully picked up a crate of files and went out to sit on the terrace. She
closed her eyes remembering that terrible night, two months earlier...She
remembered each detail. She would not soon forget...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"I'm so tired. I want to know Scully, I just want to know." His words still
haunted her dreams, her waking. A prayer; a plea spoken in words
barely audible, just as they had been now.

"I know, Mulder, I know." Her words had come silently, then, as now,
communicated though the warmth and gentle caring of her embrace, rocking
him, trying to comfort, knowing that it would not be possible to do so.

She had not known, not then. It was the one thing he still had kept from
her. Scully had always known that he was obsessed with finding his past; his
sister; the truth. He was a truth seeker; he was angry at the demons who
took his sister from him; shattered his family and ripped away a part of his
soul. It was what drove his passion for justice; what made him empathic to
victims, made him Mulder. But he'd kept this disturbing, frightening side of
that obsession deeply under wraps. She'd known something was wrong, terribly
wrong the moment she'd picked up the phone with Mulder, disoriented and
frightened on the other end of the line.

"I'm so tired Scully." Even now Mulder's words playing back in her made
brought tears to the rims of her eyes. He had turned around in her embrace,
no longer on all fours, until his eyes met hers. "Help me Scully!" they
said. "Help me climb from the abyss back into the peaceful night air," they
pleaded with her soul. A silent plea so earnestly conveyed, it broke her
heart into a million pieces. She continued to rock him. "Let it go," she
repeated softly. "Let it go, my love. I'm here. Always here," she had
continued with words felt but unspoken.

Detective Imhoff and his officers had entered the house as Mulder finished
emptying his weapon into the study wall. Twenty years of anger, of grief, of
unrelenting sorrow, of chasing an ever-elusive past. A night. Just one damn
night. Why couldn't he just remember it, he had asked her, almost pleading.
Scully knew how, like a powerful acid, it had eaten away at his soul for 20
years until every breath held the bitter taste, unrelenting. A demon.

The officers, upon seeing the two FBI agents slumped together on the floor,
had looked to Imhoff for guidance. He glanced toward Scully. Her eyes
glowering beneath the sheen of tears unshed. They warned the officers off
with the fierceness of a lioness protecting her wounded young, protecting
the dignity of her shattered friend from the eyes of outsiders who would not
understand She barely understood, herself. They fled the house. Mulder
and Scully sat unmoving from their position for hours more. She knew then
that
they would need to talk about it. But not that night.

And here it was two months later, still they had not discussed it, not
really. Mulder groaned in his fitful sleep. Scully sighed, trying to turn
her attention to the folders lying before her. But the images of that night
still played in perfect
recollection, invading her thoughts, relentlessly.

They had both been deeply shaken, and, long after Imhoff and his crew had
vacated, and as night had become morning and the first rays of sun glinted
off the ocean and through the French doors of the summer house, Mulder
finally had looked up at his partner. His eyes were haunted, as they had
been still, with this latest attack. The pupils still dilated from the
Ketamine made his eyes
shine like polished onyx. He glanced down at the handgun, still resting
loosely in his hand. He'd been horrified at his own actions, his own
desperation. No glib comments would do here. No making light of it. No
banter. "Scully, I..." She had chosen the same moment to speak.

"Mulder, how could you have done this to yourself? What possessed you? You
really would have done it, killed yourself. Do you understand that. Can you
understand that? Are you so much in pain? Were the truths locked inside
your head so painful that you couldn't live with them when they emerged? Why
did you go back to Dr. Goldstein?"

She still did not understand, and she fully believed that had she not
intervened, Mulder would committed suicide. Irony of ironies, to the world
around him, that's exactly what he *had* done, only seven weeks later. Maybe
that's where he got the idea, she thought, grimly.

She remebered his words in response: "I had to know." To Mulder, she knew,
memory was everything, second only to truth. Mulder had been blessed, or
cursed, as he would say, with a photographic memory--an eidetic memory,
exceptionally vivid and total with recall. To be missing memory, such a
significant memory had always been painful for him, in the extreme. Coupled
with the kidnapping of Samantha... She understood but did not condone
Mulder's need to recapture the memory, even if it meant risking
his own life in the process. At the time, Scully would not give him the
luxury of her understanding. She was furious and concerned.

"Know what? What did you learn? What did your mother say to you
that would drive you back to that...that butcher? What truth could be worth
sacrificing your life. God damnit, Mulder, you're a psycholgist.
You, of all people, should know that sometimes the truth is banished to
recesses of the mind because we're just not ready for it, can't handle it."
The words had been difficult to start, but once she started she couldn't
stop. She had to make him understand just how irresponsible his actions had
been.

He had sat back against the wall, hugging his knees agains his chest.
"Scully, do you know what it's been like for me. What it's really been
like?" He had started evenly, words measured with care. "Twenty three years
ago my sister disappeared. You know that. I know you don't believe she was
taken by aliens." He had smiled sardonically, listening to his own words and
how "out there" they sounded, even to him. "I think she was taken. No, I
know she was taken. Now I know by who, and I think even why. It was him,
Scully. Even back then. It was him.

"The cigarette-smoking guy. The one who's plagued our lives for
four years. Who's behind your cancer, your own abduction. My father's
death, your sister's. And now it's clear. I saw it in my own memory. It
was him. He took her. He worked side by side with my father. He had some
sort of relationship with my mother. Oh my God, Scully. The pieces
hadn't come back together completely. They still haven't. That's why I
needed to know. Why I needed to go back to Goldstein: to find out. To
remember.
When my mother had her stroke last year. I knew it was after she'd met with
them. I had no idea that they even knew each other. I knew he'd worked with
my father. I couldn't evven imagine them being other than the most distant
of
colleagues. Didn't want to believe it.

"I saw him Scully. In those flahbacks. He was there that night." Mulder
had stopped, seeming to struggle for breath. His eyes closed involuntarily,
trying to block out the vision. "He was there. They had some kind of
argument. Him, and my parents. Samantha and I watched it from the loft of
our house in Chilmarc. I remember being frightened...of him...of the
arguments. He was
shaking my mother in one instant, caressing her in another. He held
Samantha in his arms as if he were her long lost uncle. But I saw the fear
in
her eyes. There were lights. She was gone, calling my name. I couldn't
see her, couldn't help her...Samantha!" His arms had reached out into the
room grasping at the air. Scully had become frightened that she was losing
him again. She shivered, continuing to play back the incident in her mind.
Tears brimming in her eyes.

He had turned, then. Looking at Scully, unshed tears glazing his eyes, he
sighed and went on. "I realized he took her. Not aliens. A real flesh and
blood monster. Did to her what they did to..." Pausing again, Mulder looked
deep into Scully's eyes. "I couldn't help her anymore than I could help
you." He finished sardonically, looking down at his hands, which had begun
to tremble. "Hell of an FBI agent, I am...'all 'round smart guy'" The words
emerged bitter, acid on his tongue.

"Mulder it wasn't your fault." She had pleaded with him with as if she was
trying to talk a jumper down from a roof. "You've got to know that. You
were 12 years old! Maybe it was your parents, the cigarette guy, even John
Roche. It wasn't you. You have to believe that."

"Yeah? And what about when they took you? I wasn't 12 then, was
I? I should never have given you that chip they took from Duane Barry.
I should have told you what I thought it was."

"And would I have even believed you? I was the impulsive one. I ran it
under the grocery store scanner. I never told you this but the scanner went
wild. If it was a tracking device...a homing signal of some sort, maybe
that's how Duane Barry found me. Maybe it signalled back to him in some way.
Anyway, I should have had it analyzed and not done something so stupid and
impulsive. There was nothing you could have done differently. You've got to
believe me, Mulder. Anyway, this isn't about me now. It's about you. You
scared the Hell out of me last night. I really thought you were going to do
it, you know."

Mulder had glanced at her through the corner of his eye. "Kill you? I
thought it was him, Scully. I saw...him. But through the noise, the lights,
the pounding pain, I heard an angel call my name." He smiled weakly. "It
said 'this is not the way to the truth. Let it go.' The voice of reason
amid my insanity. Then I saw your face supplant his. I...Would I have
killed you, if you hadn't reached inside and pleaded with my soul to stop?
Thank God I'll never know. I don't want to know. The fact remains I almost
did. It's something I'll...we'll have to live with the rest of our lives. I
understand you'll never be able to trust me in the same way. What the Hell
kind of a partner do I make, Scully."

His voice was becoming dangerously quiet again. "Mulder, I know you couldn't
have killed me. I knew you could be suicidal when I went in. I knew you
were armed and desperate. That's why I called out the cavalry to guard the
house till I could get there. No, what I meameant was that you almost killed
yourself. Even accounting for the drugs, Mulder...even accounting for the
pain of the flashbacks, I think we have some serious issues here to deal
with. You are in such pain, Mulder, I honestly don't know if you'd try it
again. And that scares the Hell out me. Not because I'm your partner and I
think you're a danger to me. But because you are the closest person to me in
the world. I care so much for
you, I don't think I could deal with the loss of someone so important to me
right now. I need you to be whole and OK. I'm dealing with so much now,
Mulder. I can't get through this without you to be there for me. You have
to
hold on. Talk to someone about this. I mean a professional. For me. So,
when this cancer that has taken up residence in my body wreaks havoc, you'll
be there to make the pain go away, to help me fight back. Please."

The tears had brimmed over her eyes and on to her cheeks, betraying the calm
tenor of her words. "Scully, how can I help, if you don't let me in?
Whenever I ask, even probe, you only say 'I'm fine.' What am I supposed to
do? How am I
supposed to help, if you don't trust me enough to let me past the garden
gate? I know you're afraid. Afraid of losing control of the situation,
afraid
of appearing anything less than stoic. Afraid you'll let me down in
some way..." Mulder smiled an ironic smile. "You know, Scully, we
deserve each other. We're both classic psych text cases, you and I. I think
we both need help. And I think we can help each other. And I think we've
made a start....but just a start. I think it's time we both stopped
being so afraid of the truth and each other. We say we trust each other.
But I
think it only goes just so far. I think we need to really start trusting
each other. Starting now." She looked deep within his eyes. He was right.

It had been then, that morning in Quanicotaug, Rhode Island that they had
begun to trust each other again. And to plan. They had to get him. Get
them. For good, but within the law. Cleanly. Scully looked at her watch.
Four O'clock. Mulder had been out for four hours. She walked into the
bedroom. He was awake, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. He turned
to her as
she entered the room.

"Feeling better?" She put on her Dr. Scully bedside manner demeanor.

"Scully, I'm scared. I saw something. In my flashback. I don't know if our
little project triggered it or if I've seen it before and only now am
processing it." Scully stared at him, and in his eyes were a fear she had
*never* seen there.

"What was it." She was trying, and failing, to remain calm.

"It was about the Cassandras---and Dr. Goldstein. They know, Scully."

"Who?"

"Scully...Oh God, Scully, he knows!" The words were blurted loud and
anguished. He was trying to drown out the pounding sensations in his head,
defeat the demons that had infested his...another seizure. Only this time no
flashback, only pain and a sensation of drowning. "Sculyyyyy"

"Mulder!" She shook him violently. His hands seemed glued to his face,
covering his eyes to no avail. She kneeled before him, trying to calm him,
calm the tremors shaking his body and soul. He was gone, somewhere else.

"Please..." He gasped at the pain, never knowing a pain so intense, so pure.
He opened his eyes looking straight at her, eyes empty, wide and unfocussed.
And then, as quickly as it began, it was over. He blinked, his eyes slowly
refocussing. Scully continued her hold on him and he crubmled into her arms
onto the floor, breathing still ragged, but better.

"Mulder, can you speak? Was it another flashback?"

Mulder nodded slowly, then correcting himself, shook his head "No." Scully
was puzzled. "Mulder?" Her tone demanded an explanation. Mulder sat up,
back against the bed; Scully still holding on to his arms.

"This time, Scully, there was no flashback...only pain, intense pain."
Then, picking up exactly where he'd left off when the seizure hit, he
continued. "Scully, he knows...about all of this..." he broadly gestured
his arm around the room, instantly regretting the sudden movement, as it sent
more ripples of pain
to his throbbing head.

"Wait, Mulder." Scully got up and grabbed the blanket from the bed, wrapping
in around Mulder's shoulders. Then she walked into the other room, returing
with a glass of water, three ibuprofen tabs and her briefcase. "Mulder, I
don't like this. These symptoms are getting worse again, and more frequent.
You need to be checked out, and soon." Her gaze bored into his eyes.
Mulder
was still gasping, trying to speak between the desperate grabs for air and
relief. He pushed her hands away, taking the ibuprofen, drinking the water.
Ignoring her concern.

"He knows, Scully."

"You said that. How could he know? More to the point how do you
know he knows?"

"I remebered something about Goldstein. I saw, in that first flashback, what
Goldstein did to me. Scully, I think Goldstein is working for *them*. I
think he implanted something in my head. Those scars, the incisions? Like
the one that Amy Cassandra had? I also have one in my forehead. But
Goldstein
had said the procedure was non-invasive. He was obviously lying. I've
the scar to prove it. Why would he do that? And why would he think he
needed to lie about it?

"I think he was implanting memories, erasing memories, short-circuiting
memories, whatever. When I went back to Goldstein, the second time...Scully,
the during the attack I had before...I flashed back on that he drilled a
second time. I saw him, Scully. I remember my eyes were covered, as were
my ears. But I saw him, somehow. He placed something in my head. I *know*
he did."

"But, Mulder, you went voluntarily. Goldstein didn't know you'd go to him,
the first or second time. How could he have known. *You* didn't even know
you were going to go back to him. You didn't even remember him!"

"They know me better than I know myself, Scully. You don't think I may have
been manipulated into seeking out the Cassandras? Her picture was on the
front cover of Abductee magazine, for God's sake! Right in the same
neighborhood where my parents had a summer house. They knew I'd make some
kind of connection, at least check it out.....remember? It's me Mulder the
sucker. Push the right button and he jumps. Just say how high." Mulder
shook his head, pale as a ghost, a sour look on his face as a reallization
dawned on him. "My God, Scully, chalk up three more deaths to the grand
scheme to manipulate me. I'm racking up quite a score, aren't I?"

"Mulder, you don't know for sure that you've been manipulated into seeing
Goldstein... To what purpose? To give you an implant? To alter your
memories of Samantha? Your memories are already so unreliable about that
night, what more can they do?"

"The more screwed up my memories are, the harder they are for me to deal
with...just keep piling it on: guilt, fear, frutstration, confusion. I was
already desperate. How much farther did they have to drive me to such
despair that I would take my own life. Not very. Not very far at all,
Scully. When
I failed to kill myself back in Rhode Island, they brought out the big guns.
This thing with Kritchgau."

"But why? Why do that to you?"

"They're afraid. If they kill me, too many people know my work. Maybe
they're afraid I've too good a paper trail, and evidence or no evidence, if
I
die, and people suspect foul play, my work will go on. They think people
will make into some kind of martyr to the cause, draw too much attention to
them...too many eyes looking, and those eyes not bound by the kind of oaths
that bind us as FBI agents to the rules of evidence and proper procedure, not
to mention the maintenance of state secrets.

" But if I commit suicide, I'm discredited. People, who believe in what I
do, are going to think I betrayed them, allies are going to distance
themselves as far from my name as possible. Even you...even you, Scully.
You would know I had betrayed you in the worst way possible, at this time,
when you are sick and are already overburdened emotionally. Scully, the more
I think
this through, the more certain I am. They know the buttons to push. Hell,
they invented some of them."

"But Mulder, you're still not making sense. If what you're saying is true,
then, why do that now, after four years?"

"I've gotten too close. I wish I knew to what. But Scully, that flashback I
just had. Of the second treatment by Goldstein. Like I said, I *saw* him
put something in my head. I don't know how. But I know. I think it might
have been a tracking device...not something to play with my mind, but to
track me.
During that flashback, I felt electrical sensations of some kind. Almost as
if there were electrical signals being transmitted..." Mulder smiled. "Do
you think it's a leap?" She smiled. Of course she did.

"I know, I know, I know. Scully, it sounds crazy. I know that. I can't
describe the feeling tho. I've never felt anything like it. Scully, I also
flashed on him. On Cancer Man. Heard his voice in my head. The voice said.
'Good. we've got him.'"

"What? Mulder, you sound...How can you trust what was going on your head
during the episode? You were in monumental pain. How could anything cogent
come out of that? He can't know."

"Scully, I don't know if I'm having delusions or seeing something in my head
I'm not supposed to see. But I think we need to concentrate now on some of
our more recent cases. What could I have gotten so close to ... to force
them to act against me now. To act against us now. Sorry. We have to
figure out what they are trying to do. What's the essence of the project. I
don't
think we have the luxury of time to go meticulously through these cases, as
we started doing. If there's the slightest possibility that my notion is
right, we flat out may have nearly run *out* of time."

Mulder closed his eyes in concentration. When he opened them his eyes were
on the flip chart. He crossed to it and scrawled a quick list:

Bees, Perfect Soldiers. Master race. Immunity to biological weapons. Genetic
clones/alien (?) clones. Gulf war syndrome. Drones. Smallpox

Disinformation--to hide what?

Vaccines for smallpox. Genetic markers for (?) tracking--genetic
implants, id cards
Mutations caused by??????

Smallpox eradicated
Morphing clones/aliens?????
Green blood-toxic to humans
a hoax? real?

Abuductions by????
Allentown women
Reproductive genetic material for????

When Mulder finally moved away from the board, it was covered. He ripped the
sheet off, pinning it to the wall. Finally he spoke. "I think this is what
we need to focus on. The implants, I think we know, are meant to track
people real time. Send signals. I also think it's safe to assume that the
Cancer guy is
involved throughout all of this...And, I think that there have been several
small, side projects they've undertaken--that are only minimally related to
the main agenda...remember the stuff with... having to do with mind control,
memory alteration. Stuff like that--well maybe it's not just minimally
related, but tangential to the main project. What do you think, Scully."

"I think you're right, Mulder. Let's at least start here. Let's flesh it
out then go find the cases our findings relate to. Then we'll fill in detail
and paint a more elaborate profile of the project. But I'm still concerned
about you, Mulder. You have no idea how you just frightened me with that
latest seizure. What
if the next time you stroke out on me. Your bp must have been racing to the
moon. And let's bring the project board into the bedroom, I want you lying
down in that bed. I'll write."

Mulder did not protest. The sudden adrenaline rush abated swiftly and an
overwhelming fatigue hit him with a stunning force. By the time Scully had
gathered their supplies into the bedroom, Mulder was asleep. Scully pulled
up a chair next to the bed along with flip chart. She sat close to her
friend, regarding his sleeping form. "Sleep, Mulder," she sighed. And she
began the task of putting the pieces together. Scully did not leave his
side as she
worked. She was having better time distancing herself from the events
being studied with Mulder alseep. No hidden meanings, no having him
self-conciously avoid with her potentially painful subjects, skirting around
issues, afraid to trample on her emotions. Yes, she was *much* better off
working this way, pretending that abductions by shadow governments, implants
and genetic tests had nothing in common with Dana Scully. Yeah right. She
glanced at the LCD screen of her Powerbook computer reading back over what
she'd just written.

Scully was trying to copy Mulder's list into the computer, make some hasty
first-impression notes. Her plan was to then get rid of the charts, the
white board...and then what to do with the files. If Mulder was right....Oh
Lord, what if he *was* right?! Then nowhere was safe. They would have to
work fast, build the case and be ready and waiting when they came. Scully
grinned at
her own mounting paranoia. She was begining to think like Mulder. "Now
*there's* a dangerous notion," she reflected audibly. She went back to her
notes: "Bees--Bees have figured in two cases, both within the past year.
Neither case contained hard evidence of the existence of genetically
engineered bees, or bees, as Agent Mulder contends, that have been altered to
spread the deadly and assumed extinct disease of smallpox. Agent Mulder
contends that bees of this nature were being farmed on a farm in Alberta,
Canada--a farm revealed to him by Jeremiah Smith last fall. A farm that was
worked by, what Agent Mulder has referred to in his notes as clones, clones
of his sister and a boy. Of course that cannot be substantiated. However,
the case file for the Smith affair contains several photgraphs. One of the
photographs is of children. Boys and girls. There are three boys and five
girls
in the pictures. The boys are identical as are the girls. Monozygotic
triplets? Quints? Now there's quite a coincidence. The girl looks
familiar. Very familiar." Scully paused from her typing, looking on
Mulder's nightstand. She knew it would be there. The picture. His
cherished picture. Sam and Fox in the blush of innocence. She looked back
at the file photograph. Her
eyes went wide. It couldn't be possible. She continued typing: "It cannot
be completely ruled out that the girls in the photgraph are genetic clones of
Samantha Mulder. The resemblance is incredible and cannot be dissmissed as
coinidence without further investigation. However, the techonogy for this
type of cloning is very far beyond anything remotely possible at this time.
Besides the fact that Samantha Mulder dissapeared more than 23 years ago
would tend to argue against the possibility that this is her or even a clone
of her. On the other hand apparent monozygotic multiples have been observed
in several
cases involving possible conspiracy connectons. These include the multiple
Jeremiah Smiths in the same case; the multile Dr. Gregors in a case handled
by us two years ago, and another case from this year, involving a multiple
named Curt Crawford. I only met one of the Curt Crawfords. However, the
very little that Agent Mulder has revealed to me about that case includes his
assertion that there were indeed several Crawfords in existence. He also
contended that the Crawfords were in fact the boys he observed on the
Canadian farm." Scully sighed remembering that case. Allentown
Pennsylvania. It had been a difficult time for both of them, the month
before that case; it only got worse, much worse from there.

"Stop it Dana! Back to work," she whispered to herself. The click of the
keyboard keys soothed her as she continued her writing, glancing again at the
photograph from the file, wondering suddenly why Mulder had never shown it to
her, never shared it with her. "Probably because you would have shot him
down, quickly, efficiently and happily, Dana; because he didn't think he
could handle it then--knew he wasn't in the right frame of mind to
argue--with X dead; his mother recovering from a serious stroke, that's why,
idiot!" Why did she never win an argument with herself. The photograph,
back to it girl, she
thought to herself.

"The photograph also lends credence to Agent Mulder's contention that there
has been in existence a farm, although there are no bees apparent in the
photo. It also supports his contention that there are genetic clones and
that they are employed as drones or workers on this and perhaps other farms.
The fact that this farm exists in Canada suggests, if Mulder's contentions
have any truth to them, that the conspiracy is International.

end par 3/6

Subject: Revised ***Synthesis***by Barbara Barnett 4/6

"There is nothing either in the photos or the files that suggest allien
involvement in this project. It is my feeling that these "clones" or twins
or whatever they are have to be a product of the project. But why and what
is their purpose?
Possibilities--to create:

Perfect Soldiers--we've seen this before. The results of a
failed attempt by the military to produce soldiers that, through,
surgical techniques, do not require sleep were the subject of an
investigation conducted by Agent Mulder and Agent Alex Krychek
three years ago. Documents and other evidence gathered during
that case were destroyed, maliciously and intentionlly by actors
specifically wishing to have the information supressed. Another
case, involving concerned the abilities of a physicist to channel
a deadly energy via his shadow. Agent Mulder and I both
witnessed the effects of this energy and a police detective lost
her life as a result of the case. The physicist was, according
to Agent Mulder, taken by military forces and was studied to
capture the technology and information that made this possible
with the express desire to create a sort of weapon.

"Death row serial killer John Barnett likewise was the subject of
an experimental procedure that greatly interested the military,
enough so that he was pronounced dead, only to turn up alive and
younger, with a regenerated hand created by a cutting edge
technology. Before his death, the subject was, according to
sources that cannot be verified, negotiating for his freedom in
exchange for the technology, which he stole from the researcher
who developed the procedures.

"As an investigator, I have witnessed several instances of an
ability to somehow alter appearance or perception. In one case
the perpetrator assumed (to me) the appearance of Agent Mulder,
only to attack me, then change into someone else before my eyes.
My understanding of nature would suggest to me that these people
somehow are able to alter our perception of them so they can
appear to be someone else, someone probably non-threatening.
However, the deception is short-lived and the perpetrator soon is
revealed to be who he (or she) really is. I do not know the
psychology involved in such a venture. However, this explanation
is more plausible to me than Agent Mulder's contention that these
are alien beings with the ability to "morph" into whomever they
wish." There is another possibility: the possible existence of
striated muscle tissue and hair follicle anomalies that enable
the subject to radically alter their appearance at will. We have
seen this anomaly in Eddie van Bluhndt, a fairly recent case.
The value to the militarity of such an ability would be great.

"Of course the question persists as to whether any of these
multiples, "morphing" beings or other potential weapons are the
creation of secret, state-of-the-art genetic engineering and
technology. And that technology is planned to be used not for
the creation of a better soldier, but of a master race." Scully
shivered at this possibility, just entered into her head.

Mulder stirred as Scully stretched, looking outside. It was
dark. 8:00?

"Hey, Mulder." She smiled sweetly as he shook the sleep from his
head and rubbed sand from his eyes.

"Scully, what time is it," he groaned?

"Eight o'clock, sleepyhead. I've been busy."

He read her unfinished digest of cases recent and old.
"Good work, Scully. Why didn't you wake me?"

"You needed sleep. You really scared me with those two seizures.
Are you OK now?"

"Yeah, thanks. Did you order dinner? You must be starved."

"Forgot all about it."

"Scully, you need to eat. You know that." She looked down,
taking the scolding.

"Sorry," she replied sheepishly. "So, no time like the present.
The rain finally stopped again." He mentioned nothing of the
visions he'd seen during the first flashback. The panic was
gone; he was no longer pale. Scully saved her file and closed
the computer.

Broiled swordfish and asparagus...more white Zinfandel. Silver
service and a rose bud in a crystal vase. "To success, Scully."
It was the only thing to toast. If they did not succeed.....

Dinner passed and the two agents continued their grim and
emotionally difficult review of cases past. Splitting the case
files, they agreed the work would go faster, and would be less
emotionally draining to work individually and then put the full
picture together. "So what happens after we've worked out their
plans?" Scully broke the silence. Mulder looked up from his
notes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I've thought about that, Scully. I think at that point we need
to bring Skinner back into the picture. Show him what we've got
and any hard evidence, like the photograph of the Ray Soames
implant; your implant; the implants of the MUFON women..." He
stopped suddently, eyes wide. The ova. He'd never told Scully
about the test tube of her ova. He tried to put the thought out
of his head for the moment, and finished what he was saying.
"Yes, um...and the biopsy information. Remember you told me what you did,
taking the small pox scar information from the biopsies you did on
yourself and Pendrell? Do you still have those documents?"

"Yeah. I brought them with me...oh, and the social security
administration data. I still have my hard copy of that too--and
I brought *that* with me,too."

"Scully, you're brilliant -and- beautiful." Mulder got up from
the sofa where he had been sitting next to Scully. He ran his
hand through his hair, pacing. He mouthed words inaudible,
seeming to have an internal argument.

"Mulder, are you OK?" He startled and remembered that Scully was
with him. He caught her gaze with his and moved slowly back to
the sofa, sitting at the opposite end. She repeated the
question. "Mulder?"

"Scully, I've never quite known how to discuss this with you..."
How to approach it? "The time was never right; the fact of your
cancer. I didn't think you'd believe it anyway, given your
skepticism about this stuff anyway..." he was babbling, trying,
unsuccessfully to rationalize his not telling her.

"Mulder, what are you talking about?" He looked away, playing
with a thread at the hem of his shirt. "Talk to me, Mulder.
What's going on?"

"Scully, what *do* you remember about your abduction? Never mind
if it was little grey men, or military or whoever. Just what do
you remember--even little pieces. I know...I *know* how hard
this is for you to talk about Scully. But I think it's
important. It's evidence and there's....I think it could help to
solve this quicker if we can put some of what you remember
together with what we already know about the project. I think we
both know that your abduction has *everything* to do with their
project, right?"

Mulder knew that this was the only way to
approach it. They needed to talk about it. But he also knew
that for Scully the emotions ran much too close to the surface,
even three years later. Even Mulder still had nightmares about
that time. And then there were the ova. One thing at a time.
Mulder thought that this approach would help Scully
intellectualize some of the horror she remembered, even if it
wasn't much. Be an investigator, not a victim. Then, maybe
then, he could bring up the issue of the ova.

Scully nodded. She, too, understood the importance of discussing
it for the sake of what they were seeking to reveal about the
project. "I still don't remember, Mulder." She was fighting it,
still fighting it. The struggle going on within Dana Scully
played out on her face in her hands. She crossed her arms in
front of her stomach: a defensive posture.

"But you *do* remember some things. I know that much, Scully.
The doctors , the fact they were doing something to you in an
operating theatre. You've told me enough to know that the same
men involved in the alien autopsy on that video...in that
case..." Mulder burned his fists through his eyes, trying to
forestall an oncoming headache. "The case that..." her eyes
bored into him.

"I know what case, Mulder. How could I not remember. You almost
*died* in that case." She did not want to travel *that* road
again. Not now. No petty differences to fog the end result
they were going for.

"So what else, Scully? What did they do? Did they do anything
to your abdomen?" Mulder did not, himself know why he thought of
that. Something he recalled flashing in his own mind on that
night, the night on the mountain...Duane Barry. Only imagining
the horrors being done to Scully. He remembered that night and
how hard he concentrated on her, calling to bear all of his
insight, his focus to be directed toward her and only her.
Trying beyond all hope to forge a connection with her, to find
her, find out if she was alright. The images that had flashed in
his mind did not serve him well. The told him she was not
alright.

Scully blanched at the question. "Why did you ask that?" There
was fear, but there was recognition in her eyes. But then she
closed them. "Something, pain, cramping...Oh God...a drill..NO!"
Then it was gone. Scully was cowering in the corner of the sofa,
knees drawn up, hugged by her arms. She opened her eyes.
"Mulder, I'm sorry...I can't...I'm sorry."

"Ssh. Hey, it's ok. It doesn't matter." His words were soft,
soothing. Scully knew that it *did* matter. It mattered so
much. To him. But he understood the not remembering.
Intimately. The pain involved in remembering. But to him, to
Mulder, the pain was worth it. The result is what mattered.
Scully was not ready to leap over the cliff, or even approach it,
even cautiously. Not yet. The wounds were too fresh. Maybe
they always would be. "I'm sorry. I know what this means to
you. I just can't. Not now, not yet, maybe....maybe never."

"Scully." He was very close to her, gathering her into his
embrace, tucking her head in the crook of his neck. "I...it's
ok." He fought to keep the dissapointment from his voice. He
fought the urge not to tell her about the ova. He didn't know,
given her state of denial and fear, just how she would take it.
But he couldn't keep it from her. Not now.

"Scully, I've learned something about what was done to the women
who were abudcted." He stared over her head at the window. Keep
it distanced, keep it in terms of the abuducted women,
depersonallize it. He was chanting this to himself as he
continued, determined not to strip her defenses any further,
leave her vulnerable to her memories. "Betsy, Penny, those MUFON
ladies. I found out when we were in Allentown, when you were in
the hospital. Scully, I traced the computer information we had
discovered in Betsy's computer to a facility for reproductive
medicine, connected to an infertility clinic of which those MUFON
women--all of them--were patients. They all were being treated
for infertility. I traced the data to the Lombard research
facility in DC. That's where I found out about Scanlon. Some of
this you know from our discussions about Scanlon. You know he
was on staff at this Lombard research facility. I went there
late one night, broke in....you also know that. What you don't
know is that I walked into a room where I encountered several
Kurt Crawfords. They were working around tanks, like the tanks
we'd seen before. Tanks with living, alive humans in them, boys.
I'd seen these boys before, back in Alberta, on the bee
farm...they were the same boys, Scully. I"m positive of it. The
Kurt Crawfords told me some things. I've no hard evidence, and I
know you won't believe the story, so I won't give you the
details." At that Scully looked quizzically at him.

"Why?"

"We agreed, Scully, to not get into philosophical debate here,
and remember, we're also working on the assumption, that at least
some, if not all of what we've experienced was a hoax, so I can't
necessarily trust those facts. But, Scully, I *do* know this. I
was shot at in that facility. Almost killed. I also know
*this*: the Kurts showed me to a room. A freezer room. In the
room were dozens of storage drawers; some with names, some
without. Betsy Hagopian's name was on a drawer; so was Penny's."
Mulder thought a moment. He knew Scully had to ask the
question. "I saw what was stored in those drawers, Scully." Her
look implored him to continue. He held her more tightly. "Human
ova taken from test subjects like Penny. What the Kurts said
were experiments in superovulation, harvesting of human ova,
rendering the subjects infertile."

Scully broke from his tight embrace, her eyes wide in horror.
She knew there was more. More he wasn't saying or had yet to
reveal. "And?"

"Scully, the Kurts said that the procedure used to induce the
superovulaton caused cancer. The fact that Scanlon is on staff
at the research facility lends some credence to what the Kurts
were saying."

"Mulder, how do you know any of this is true? You said yourself
that we have to assume some of all you've....we've experienced
has been a hoax of some kind. How do you know this isn't just
part of the plan to string us along?"

Then she knew. "You were given Cancer to make Mulder believe."
Kritchgau's words rang in her ears. She'd never asked: believe
what? In the existence of EBE's? How would that make Mulder
believe? It was ridiculous. Besides, although Mulder's belief
EBE's living on earth was a big part of his worldview, Mulder's
quest was to find his sister, no matter *who* took her. A large
part of Mulder understood that Samantha was taken by the same
thugs that kidnapped her, and it didn't matter whether the
kidnappers were little green men or very human monsters.

She remembered suddenly what Kritchgau had said about the little
lie...the disinformation, the instilled panic and anxiety about
the presence of EBE being used to deflect attention from the
bigger lie...the project---the deeply held secrets kept the
consortium and the Ciggarette guy. And then she knew. She
understood. Those men had no idea who Fox W. Mulder was. He
sought the truth--the real truth. He was an enemy of the
conspiracy as much as it's victim and potential tool of
disinformation. *They* understood Mulder's quest to be about
aliens and Samantha's abuduction by them. They didn't understand
Mulder at all. They had seriously underestimated him. Perhaps
something had happened to make them understand Mulder's agenda
better, understand taht he really was an enemy and a very
dangerous enemey. And that's when...Scully now understood.
That's when the consortium decided to destroy Fox William Mulder.

Mulder took Scully's hands in his, understanding the impact his
next words would have. He caught and held her gaze, forcing her
to believe with all his will that he was, and always would be,
there for her. "I have a vial of the human ova in my possession.
If it is analyzed and the contents verified, we would have proof
of a terrifying and enormous conspiracy, a government conspiracy,
*the* proof."

"If that is true, why haven't you had it analyzed?" His eyes
changed perceptibly. A sorrow and pain traveled the bond between
his soul and hers, telling her something she did not want to
know. And craved to know.

"Mulder, who's ova are they?" She knew the answer, yet still
denied it. He pleaded with God to not make him say this, to make
her understand, to know his mind, his heart, his soul. He drew a
shaky breath, his grief for her lost children almost
overwhelming. His eyes moistened as he fought the tears forming
in his deeply set eyes.

She had to look away, break the connection. It was too powerful,
consuming. She didn't want to know. Couldn't know. The
knowledge would shake her already shaken faith to the ground.
*Had* shaken her faith. For now she knew. Her ova. Her
infertility. Her cancer. He gently pulled her face back to look
at him.

"How do you know?" She asked indignantly, both acknowledging and
not accepting the fact. He shook his head slowly, afraid to
speak, afraid his emotions would render him unable to utter more
than a word or two. He drew a cleansing breath, rubbing his
eyes, knowing, understanding that he needed to play *her* game.
That was fine, necessary, even.

"I don't." She looked at him, puzzled.

"Your name is on the vial; was on the drawer. Kurt pointed me to
the drawer. I don't know, Scully, Maybe you're right. It's a
hoax. After all, it could be a vial of anything. But doesn't
science demand that we find out? Have it analyzed?"

"Why haven't you?"

"I couldn't."

"Why?"

Now it was Mulder's turn to look away. "I...These are your ova.
I couldn't tell you about it. I never knew how to. But I
couldn't have the vial contents anlalyzed without your input,
your scientific knowledge. So, I was stuck." THey were back on
intellectual ground. Scientific inquiry, investigation. It was
much more comforatble for both of them.

"So now what? Where are they? Where's the vial?"

"It's in a freezer storage compartment in a storage facility. I
change locations monthly; new facility, new city. It's safe."
"Scully, there's another reason I've not had it analyzed. If
it's true. That these are your ova, and that you are infertile,
these ova may be the only chance you have of creating offspring."
She put a hand up, interrupting him.

"I don't want to hear this Mulder....it's pure speculation."

"The point is, Scully, I didn't want to destroy the contents of
this vial without your consent. These may be your ova. If they
are, you are the only one who can decide what's to be done with
them. Is there a way to DNA test these without destroying the
entire contents?"

"Yes. But I don't think..."

"Let's just do it. One way or the other we'll know." His plea
was earnest. But he understood the implications for her, for her
belief system, her faith...in everything, if the vial was
analyzed and confirmed to be *her* ova.

"Scully. I know what this must be doing to you. I'm not going
to push you. I think you need to think this out for yourself.
Only you know if you're ready for what may be the results. I
can't make this decision for you. I accept it either way, and I
don't want to bias you." he fought the urge to explain that
results of a DNA analysis either way would provide hard and
damning evidence for one side of the argument or the other: hoax
or reality. Mulder glanced at his watch. It was 2 AM. "Scully,
let's get some sleep. We can talk more in the morning, OK?" He
didn't want her to decide this now, to make a decision she would
be unable to live with in the morning.

He remembered their conversation in the Smithsonian that night
after they'd met with Arlinsky. Her resolve, her unrelenting
refusal to open up to extreme possibilities. This decision would
mean potentially deconstructing her entire view of the world, of
government of the military, of science, of everything he he knew
her to believe in. He could not ask her to do that. She had to
decide for herself, and not impulsively.

"We have to know, Mulder. We need to do it. No matter what I
think or feel. I need to know, as a scientist; as a woman;
damnit...as a human." The fear was metamorphosing to anger then
fury. "How could they, Mulder? How could they do that? *Who*,
what monster would do that." Scully suddenly became nauseous and
bolted for the bathroom. Mulder followed, staying close behind
the closed bathroom door, waiting, knowing that the knowledge, a
terrible knowlege had hit her. Hard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Scully emerged from the bathroom, eyes sunken, looking older and
more tired than Mulder remembered ever having seen her. She'd
only been in there five minutes and the changed was stunning,
even accounting for the very late hour. The vomiting had
triggered a nosebleed. He'd noticed, but said nothing. Nor did
she.

"Scully, you need to sleep." She stared at him, saying nothing.
"I'm going to clear off the bed for you. I'm..I.." He stammered
absently trying to think of something to say--anything to say to
break the now uncomforatable silence between them. Her movement
was abrupt, unexpected. She simply crumpled into him, sobbing.
They just stood there for an endless moment until Mulder picked
her up, a feather in his arms. He carried her into the bedroom
silently, placed her gently into the large bed. He surrounded
her with the down comforter, brushing away a stray strand of
auburn hair from her eyes. "i'm here, Scully." A whisper. She
held onto his hand tightly, continuing to weep. She wept for her
future, she wept for her lost children; she wept for her sister,
for her father, for her mother's endless grief; for Mulder.

"Mulder." A statement. "Don't leave." He sat on the edge of
the bed.

"i'm here, Scully," he repeated. "Oh, Mulder. What have they
done? It's worse than what any serial rapist could do; what any
serial killer could do. We have to get them. We have to know."
The weeping had diminished to sniffles. "But how? How can we
risk retreiving and then testing the sample?"

"I think it's time we call Byers. I think they can help us. if
it's real, then I think we have all the evidence we need, the
test results combined with what we've gathered. God, Scully, I
hate this. I feel like I'm in prison."

"You're not in prison." A smile crossed her face electrifying
every nerve in his body. "You're dead. And I am doing better,"
she said, sighing deeply.

"OK, Scully. I'm going to let you get some rest." Mulder knew
he had to leave *now* or...

"Stay. Stay with me awhile." He looked away, unable to deny her
this simple request, but unsure that he would be able to abide by
the agreement they'd made that first night in the Shoream. ...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
It had been so difficult, nearly impossible. She had kissed him,
kissed his eyes, his hair. He had craved her mouth. But he was
facing away from her, in front of her. He had turned to her,
wanting her with every cell, the power of his desire for her was
staggering. He remembered thinking in a haze of sensation,
wondering why they had denied themselves...why he had denied him
this singular pleasure for so long. A moment of clarity in the
haze of desire. "We can't."

Mulder had almost not even realized that it was *he* who had said
it, whispered it. Scully stopped dead, glaring at him in
disbelief. "WHat?"

Mulder half regrette, even now, his next words. His body, his
heart, his soul screamed at brain. But his brain won the battle.
"We can't."

"Why?"

"Scully, I know myself. I know how I feel about you. I've told
you how I feel. I think, I hope, you feel the same." His
breathing was almost back to normal. He continued. "When I said
I want to make love to you for a week. I was not exaggerating.
If we do this now. Tonight. I will not want to stop tomorrow
morning and go back to work on this little project of ours. I'll
want to pitch it all. Forget the world, forget Cancer man,
forget all I've....we've ever done and bask in the glow of your
radiance. I *want* this. I *want* you, more than I've ever
wanted anything in my life. My heart and my hormones are telling
me that I'm nuts for stopping this. But my brain knows better.
Scully, this almost the most difficult thing I've had to do.
Almost harder than *dying*. When this is over we can revisit the
issue. And if...well..." She smiled at him then. That smile.

"Mulder, you are incredible. You do know I love you, don't you?
I know I've never said it in so many words. I've never met
anyone like you. I *know* you're right. This needs to be right.
And it's so tempting." They broke apart then, reassembling their
clothes, quickly and silently.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder arose from the bed. "Where are you going, MUlder?"

He smiled. "A chair. I'll be right back. I"m just going to get
a chair," he repllied softly. "Sleep, Scully." Mulder sat vigil
at her bedside. When she fell asleep he retreived Scully's
laptop and continued the report she had begun. He fought the
urge to sleep; a renewed feeling of urgency to close this, to get
on with life, fueled his continued work on the report.

He stared at the list on the computer screen. Why create a race
of genetically altered soldiers; soldiers with a radically
different biology? He remembered something that Kritchgau had
said, something about his son being very ill with Gulf War
Syndrome. Gulf war syndrome. Mulder knew the etiology of that
disease, the disease so vehemently denied by the military, could
be chemical or biological. He dismissed the notion that the
syndrome was psychological in nature as some had speculated.

He wrote:

"The next war will not be nuclear; it will not be fought with
conventional weapons either. Instead, as we were shown in the
Gulf War, the next war will be fought with biological weapons,
with chemical weapons. To recruit (or even create) soldies that
are immune to the effects of currently available and future
biological and chemical weapons would likely be a priority of the
military long range plans. But how? We have seen at least two
possible techniques for this during the years of our
investigations.

Using genetically engineered DNA (gene therapy techniques),
manufacatured DNA or (sorry, Scully, he smiled) an
extrextraterrestrial DNA..."

He thought about that momentarily. Should he erase it? After
all, he and Scully had agreed to only put down on paper those
things, those "facts" upon which they both agreed.
Extraterrestrial DNA. He continued:

"Agent Scully first verified that a DNA bearing amino acid
sequences unkown to our world were detected in an Erhlenmyer
flask collected from the laboratory of a Dr. Berube more than
three years ago. She was told by biochemists at Georgetown
University, that, by definition, the origin of the DNA was
extraterrestrial. All DNA (found in nature) contain four
nucleotides. These nucleotides are found in sequences that form
amino acids, the building blocks of life. All life forms on this
planet contain only these four nucleotides. The DNA in the
flask, contained two additional nucleotides, and that those
nucleotides did not occur in nature. If not extraterrestrial,
then the nucleotides, hence the DNA would have to be
synthetically created...manufactured. But why manufacture a new
DNA? To what purpose, since all life on this planet is composed
of the same genetic material?

"This DNA had been used to treat cancer patients with excellent
results, not only curing the cancer, and providing the treated
subjects with superhuman strenghth and endurance. However, the
treatment also rendered the blood of the patients toxic to
humans, as we have personally experienced. The substance, called
Purity Control, was also used on teenagers in a small Wisconsin
town for an unknown amount of time, causing erratic and violent
behavior among the test subjects."

HIs mind flashed back to severall months earlier, to a time he
wished he could erase from his vivid memory. He had not told
Scully the whole story. Now he would have to do so.

"Several months ago, Agents Mulder and Scully followed a lead
concerning a rock mined from a place called Tunguska in the
former Soviet Union. This rock was in turn studied at Goddard
research center and found to contain a deadly substance--a living
substance. The substance seems to be some sort of a parasite
that causes paralysis and catatonia. Upon death, which may or
may not be caused by the organism, the parasite emerges from open
cavities. Parasite it wormlike, but almost liquid in appearence.
During the investigation, Agent Mulder was taken captive in the
former Soviet Union and subjected to this organism during some
sort of test or experiment. However, it is also believed that
Agent Mulder was given a vaccination against the effects of this
organism before he was infected. That, in fact, the reason for
the experiment was to test the effectiveness of the vaccine.
Other test subjects/prisoners described the disease caused by
orgnaism as the "black cancer". The rock from which this
organism emerged may have come from a meteor that crashed in the
Tunguska region nearly a century ago. I can only think of one
reason to agressagressively seek, mine and then attempt to protect
against such an organism. That is-- to use it in biological
warfare."

end part 4/6

part 5/6
disclaimed in part1

"This case came to our attention when parties attempted to
smuggle this organism into the United States. The fact that it
was attempted in a diplomatic pouch and that the U.S. government,
including members of the Senate as well as Military officials
have tried to cover up the affair and refuse to hear evidence on
the case, even in light of the fact that a prominent physician
and board memeber of the World Health Organization lost her life
in connection with this affair, lead me to suspect U.S.
involvment in the development of this potential weapon. It is an
interesting irony that the physician who lost her life during the
affair, Dr. Karne-Sayer was an expert in Variola viruses and was
a strong advocate of destroying the last remaining quantities of
small pox vaccine." Mulder stopped, connections trying to form
in his memory. How...is it possible...could there be some
connection between the contents of the Tunguska rock, the "black
cancer", and the bees. The bees that carried smallpox.

Mulder rubbed his eyes, remembering how that ER doctor looked at
him as if he was insane (wouldn't be the first time). Smallpox?
There is no smallpox, not anymore! So what had those kids died
of? And what about the telephone repair man in Alberta...If it
wasn't smallpox, it had to be some sort of mutated variola
virus...carried by what? The bees? Why? What was he missing?
What else about smallpox? He was tired. Suddenly, so tired. He
glanced at his watch. Three-thirty AM. He save what he'd typed
and closed the laptop. He looked over at Scully. She was
sleeping fitfully, perhaps having a bad dream. He instinctively
leaned over her, pullling the blanket more securely around her,
gently so as not to waken her. He swept a hand softly across her
forehead, swiping strands of her hair from her eyes. He let out
a shaky breath of exhaustion and regret at having to leave her,
and headed for the couch in the sitting room. Sleep came
quickly.

Mulder awoke to the bright sun streaming through the terrace
curtains and the smell of strong coffee. He opened his eyes a
crack, still more than half asleep. Scully was sitting at the
table, laptop open.

"Mornin' Scully. What time is it?"

"Ten. What time did you get to sleep?"

"Late. Around three, I think." He was certain that she hadn't
read his notes. She would be pissed at him if she had, and she obviously
wasn't pissed at him. "i'm impressed. Coffee, scratch that, espresso;
croissants; bagels; melon." He walked by her on his way to the
bathroom, kissing the top of her head as he grabbed a grape.

"You feeling better?"

"No, but I'm coping," she replied a bit sadly. "Damnit, Mulder, how can I be
'better' when I know I can never have children. That those sons of bitches,
who are somehow connected to my sister's death, to my cancer have...that now
I find out that even if I don't die of cancer I can *never* have children.

'You know, Mulder, after I was returned, I had no recollection of what had
happened to me. Just that I was gone. I had no idea it was for three
months, so my sense of violation was tempered by the not knowing. The
cancer...well so many things can cause cancer. Yes, the evidence was there
that *they* had caused it. Kritchgau said it, and for some reason I believed
him. But this,
*this*. If it's true that they, whoever they are, took me stripped my ova to
create supersoldiers, clones or a new era a master race...You can't imagine
how violated I feel. You can't even begin to imagine." Damn it, Scully
thought. Tears again.

"You're right, Scully, I can't. I...I can't begin to feel the kind of
loss..."
She looked up. He was kneeling beside her. She put her head on
his chest, seeking comfort where she knew it would be. A
sanctuary, *her* personal sanctuary. "But Scully," he continued.
"I'm here for you. You know that. We can work though this. We
*will* work though it...together. So let's finish this report,
at least the draft. We'll call Byers and see what we can do
about that vial. Then we're on the final lap. We'll bring in
Skinner, Matheson..."

"Mattheson? But Matthesson wouldn't even return my calls last
year when I was trying to get you off that train. How do you
know they haven't gotten to him?"

"I know. I just do. He couldn't call you back. He has a lot of
enemies, not only because of his alliance with my work, and his
support for me, but because as one of the lone voices of reason
on the Senate intelligence committee, he's not a popular guy.
But, Scully, for him, this would be vindication of everything.
Of his work. As it would be for me--ven if it turned out not to
be extraterrestrials."

"Mulder, for someone who's personal mantra is 'trust no one' you
certainly are trusting."

"Just like a flower, Scully, didn'cha say it once to me...always
uncovering those new layers." A smile. "OK. Let's get this
finished. We have a date, you and I, and the sooner we finish
this....well...."

"Wait, Mulder. Look, I read what you wrote last night. Why
didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know...didn't want to worry you, I guess. It had no
impact on the case. No side effects...besides, if I was treated
with the vaccine, it apparently worked, because I *was* exposed
to those worm things, and I didn't go comatose, and obviously I
didn't die...so...Sorry. So let's to work, milady."

"By the way, Mulder, I think you're on the right track with your
ideas about the biological weapons. I think there's probably no
connection between the oily worm and the bees, tho...just two
weapons. I think Dr. Karne-Sayer's work on Smallpox and her
death in this particular case are not related to each other. I
don't doubt she was involved in the development of the oily worms
somehow, I just think her work on small pox, while a striking
coincidence is unrelated."

"Ok, Scully, I'll buy that. At least for now. But I want to
talk about smallpox. For some reason, aside from the oily worm
organism, small pox and small pox vaccines seem to play an
awfully big role in their project." Scully began typing notes as
she and Mulder discussed all they had witnessed together and
separately concerning smallpox.

The small pox vaccination scars had come to their attention more
than once. The MJ documents contained on the digital tape, the
one stolen by Krychek, encoded in Navajo, had mentioned something
about tests and smallpox vaccinations, using genetic markers to
catalogue people, document them.

"A high tech identity card. That's what Byers called the altered
DNA that was present in your blood after you came back from...
Could there be a connection?"

"Mulder, those documents are from the 1940's. There was no way
we had that kind of technology then...we don't even have it now."

"But what if...if originally, the smallpox vaccinations were
originally given to serve that dual purpose...to innoculate but
also to give people a genetic marker of some kind. We know that
they did. You even put yourself on the line and reported it
Skinner and some of the FBI brass. You know, what you discovered
with the biopsies taken from yourself and Agent Pendrell. So
what if...ok...so smallpox was eradicated. We know that. So now
they need a new genetic marker. What if that's one purpose of
the alien DNA, to somehow be that new-tech identity card?"

"Yeah, but Mulder, that stuff is so toxic. You've seen what it
does. But wait....maybe purity control is made from this bizzare
DNA, but is a product. So the DNA is also used to create a
marker in another product. That would make more sense."

"OK, so what about what I witnessed in New Mexico? Scully, what
I saw in that Boxcar. My God, Scully. I can still see it so
vividly, that it still makes me nauseous. They had small pox
vaccination scars, Scully. I'm sure of it. But they didn't look
human. They looked llike....my God, Scully....they looked like
Ray Soames corpse. Is that what happens to a person after
they've been treated with purity control....that the corpse
deteriorates into *that*?"

"So are you saying that the kids in Oregon, on that first case of
ours...were test subjects....that they were treated with purity
control or somehting similar, causing the metamorphosis of the
body post mortem? You know, I've seen...you know that
woman...who you thought was Samantha. That you...that after I
was kidnapped..." Mulder put up a hand, telling her silently
that it was OK about discussing the case.

"When she was taken out of the river, dead, her body corroded,
changed, shrunk, shrivelled in to a green goo covering the lower
layers of skin. I'd never thought to view the corpse later...But
I'm guessing perhaps she might look a lot more like Ray Soames
post mortem than you."

"But she was a clone, Scully. She had to be. When I went to the
abortion clinic there were several of them, looking just like
Samantha, or at least that original clone her. Another
connection to Purity Control, but perhaps a third connection.
Back to the clone concept...our perfect soldier, perfect drone,
worker, member of the Herrenvolk, the master race to be." He
shivered. "Let's get back to the small pox for a minute. Small
pox has been eradicated. We know that. No more vaccination of
babies, no more disfiguirng scars on the upper arm, right? This
is a good thing, right...but for some reason..."

"For some reason, some organizaiton or group wants to reintroduce
smallpox into the environment. Why would anyone want to do that?
It's crazy."

" Scully, I know what I saw. It wasn't the small pox we knew, it
was more virulent, more deadly. Those children...Scully it was
horrible to see. But I know what I saw...and it was confirmed.
Finally."

"Doesn't it make more sense, that if...*if* a new strain of
smallpox has been discovered, that it evolved naturally? And
that it is somehow carried by these bees. It makes a whole lot
more sense than some covert organization farming and letting
loose killer bees whose sole purpose is to reintroduce the most
horrible infectious disease to affect modern civilation? Mulder,
think about it!"

"I have, Scully, and I know what I saw. I know the lenghts they
went to in covering up their little surprise."

"But why, Mulder. Why do that? This is not somehting they can
control once it's in the environment. Surely they realize that
once in nature, they won't be able to bring the disease back into
a farm setting. It's nature, Mulder!"
"But what if they don't care? Or, maybe...maybe they don't wan't
to control it. Think about it, Scully. What a great way to
create panic, a smallpox scare. People will do anything to
protect their security if it's been threatened, esepcially by a
horrific disease carried by stinging insects. Create fear and
you can get people to agree to anything. Or, here's another
theory. Create a new smallpox...find the vaccine...hell, maybe
they already have it. Reinstitute the smallpox
vaccine...voila...instant identity card...they go back to
catologuing people, testing people, injecting them with purity
control...whatever they do...the new small pox is
controlled...everyone's happy."

Scully was silent. There was a clarity with which Mulder
spoke...it made sense. All of it...it all fit togther, sort
of...at least the focus was begining to come into view."

"Last piece of the puzzle, Scully. The alien connection."

"Mulder, I thought we weren't going to deal with that. It's too
speculative...to *out there*" Mulder grinned.

"And killer bees and an international conspiracy to creat a new
world order; mad Mengle-llike scientists...that's not *out
there*? Besides, I think I can make the connection even the
enigmatic, yet skeptical Dr. Scully might appreciate."

Her left eyebrow lifted, urging him to continue.

"Disinformation."

"Disinformation?"

"Yeah. Disinformation..." Mulder gasped as pain put his head in
a vise. "Scully!" No seizure, only pain. She ran to him, as he
lay sprawled on the floor, gasping, holding his head,his eyes
clenched. She grabbed the iburpofin tabs and a glass of water on
the way, now holding them next to Mulder.

"Mulder, can you hear me?" He nodded his head very slightly.

"Oh, God, Scully, it hurts, but.....but I'm OK," he managed to
stammer through his clenched teeth. He held up a hand to her
arm, beseeching her not to talk for a moment. He took the tabs,
swallowing them dry. His eyes were haunted. He gasped a few
more times as he sat up, his back against the sofa. The pain was
subsiding fast. Finally, he spoke. "So, I guess, I should be
grateful these attacks are getting better, huh?"

'Mulder, I'm concerned....very concerned about your attacks.
Just rest awhile...we can go back to this later."

"No." His eyes closed involvuntarily at the throbbing still
going on inside his forehead. "No. We have to finish. I think
we're almost finished with this 'profile' we're creating."

"You were starting to say somehting about disinformation. What?"

"I think Kritchgau was right about something, Scully. I still
believe that I've seen EBE's. Those morphers...no domestic
technology could create those. I've seen too much not to
believe.'

"Mulder..."
"I know. You disagree. We don't need to put that in the report,
anyway. It's unnecessary. What I *also* believe, Scully is that
all those grey aliens, the cute little EBE's; the diminutive
ones. They *are* a hoax. A hoax to cover up abuductions by the
project--easier to believe the lie, right. Deflect suspicion
from the military...whoever those guys work for, maybe it's the
UN. PUt it onto little grey aliens from Reticula. Why not.
We've certainly seen enough evidence to support that. Also the
experimental aircraft. I still think they use EBE technology.
But whatever technology, its use creates a cover of extreme
possibility to cast eyes away from the more horrible truth...the
bigger truth, Scully...the truth that the American military in
connection with business men and and international group of
govenments and busineses are and have for the last fifty years
have continued the work of Hitler, Mengele and others. To
experiment on human test subects for the purpose of genetic
alterations...to create some sort of super human race...with or
without alien involvment." Mulder stopped. Appalled at his next
thought. Knowlege seeped though his brain. Connections formed.

"My father, Scully, was part of that project. We know that,or
were told that, by Victor Klemper. Samantha was a subject,
Scully, not an alien abuductee. A subject. Kritchgau was right
after all. My life has been fueled by a hoax." He closed his
eyes.

"But Mulder, Fox, your life hasn't been a lie. You've only
sought the truth...to find out what happened to Samantha. Yes,
your operational hypothesis was that she was abdcucted by aliens.
But whoever took her, she was taken. She was tested,
experimented upon. That's what you sought, the truth about what
happened to her and to expose those that did it. To her....to
your family. I know you still believe there is alien
involvement. I don't know entirely what to believe myself these
days. But you *are* close to the truth. We are close to knowing
why Samantha was taken, what your parents' involvement was in the
whole mess; why my sister had to die...We are so close. But it's
time to bring in the cavalry. There's still something I need to
know." She looked away. the ova, of course.

"We can bring them down, Mulder. We have the scenario worked
out. We have the documents, implants, but this is beyond our
depth to finish. We have to trust Skinner, bring him in. It's
time."

A noise. Outside on the terrace. Silently they nodded to each
other and drew their weapons. Scully put up three fingers to
count down. But it was too late. the attack was swift and
efficient.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
LATER:

Mulder woke slowly, his eyes focussing around the dimly lit room.
He was alone. His head was once again pounding. He concentrated
trying desprerately to recall what had happened. What went
wrong. Scully. Where was Scully?

The room was empty except for a single desk, two chairs and a
television, incongruoulsy suspended from the ceiling. He was
strapped to one of the chairs, hands restrained behind his back.
He tried the restaints reflexively, knowing the effort would be
useless. Scully. Where are you Scully?

He damned himself for allowing himself to be used, duped and
victimized yet again. He thought about the implant he know knew
for certain had been imbedded in his head by Dr. Goldstein. How
else would they have known? But what did they know? Only where
they were? What he thought? What he said? Damn it. They were
so close...so...

Suddenly the television turned on; as simultaneously the door
opened and someone entered the room.

"Agent Mulder, so we meet again. How unfortunate to meet under
these, shall we say, less than desirable conditions. I suppose
it would be trite of me to inquire as to your health, although I
dare say, you look quite well for a man presumed dead of ...what
was it....a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head?"

Mulder knew the voice. It stepped from the shadow and into the
dim light. An elderly man, well-groomed. The kind that
habituated the men's clubs of London. Their paths had crossed a
few times over the past two years. He'd been a colleague, a
friend, of Bill Mulder's. Mulder examined him, saying nothing.
He kept his expression impassive trying desperately to appear
calm. Waiting.

"Of course we eventully learned that reports of your death were a
bit premature. I came as quite a surprise to us, actually."
Finally Mulder chose to speak.

"An implant, right? In my head, just below my hairline. Put
there by Dr. Goldstein. It sends out a signal, but that's not
why it was put there. It was put there to screw up my memories,
to drive me over the edge. Right? Why now?"

"In due time, Mr. Mulder. You will finally get your answers, if
that's what you truly want. The Holy Grail, as I believed you
called it once. But, down to business then, first." His
demeanor changed from a casual politeness to a serious menace.
The change startled Mulder.

"Mr. Mulder, I believe you have something I need. Something you
stole from myself and my colleagues. We want it back."

"I have no idea to what you're referring."

"No? A pity." The well-groomed man paused, contemplating,
patiently biding his time. "Perhaps this will refresh your
memory. I'm actually quite dissapointed that you don't remember,
in fact I don't believe that you don't remember since I
understand that you've a photographic memory, and eidetic memory
actually. No matter." He held a small remote control device. He
pushed a button and the picture on the television screen changed.
Scully. The well-groomed man waited, carefully studying Mulder as
he stared at the TV screen. Scully appeared to be in another
room, also bare. She was not bound. She sat upon a small cot,
apparently the only furniture in the room.

Mulder turned to the man. If he'd had an ounce of morality, his
heart would have broken for the look on Mulder's face. He'd seen
that look before, on another young man so many years ago, faced
with a choice, one no less difficult than the choice this young
man, 25 years later, would have to make. It affected him no more
now than it had then. He thanked whoever there was to thank for
granting him the superiority and rationality to be beyond such
trite emotions."We've not hurt her, if that's what you are wondering, Mr.
Mulder. That is not the plan. The plan is to make an exchange,
a bargin, if you will. You return our stolen merchandise and
you and your partner may go free. Back to the FBI or wherever
you wish. Of course you will need to explain your sudden
resurrection; I doubt you'll have much credibility left, despite
the impressive array of notes and documents you seem to have
compiled. I must say, by the way, I'm quite impressed. You seem
to have worked out a good deal of what we're about. However, I
am sorry to dissapoint you. No aliens." He sighed. "Just good
and very secret technologies. Although I do think the aliens
made a jolly good cover for us. A cover, Mr. Mulder, that you've
helped us perpetuate. Many thanks for your able assistance.
Actually I rather like you and Ms. Scully, so I do hope you'll
cooperate."

"So we just walk out of here and into the sunset. Just like
that. I don't believe you. I certainly don't trust you."

"Why? you're really no longer a threat to us. Either you stay
underground or you surface. If you stay underground, you're
still dead. Everyone believes you've committed suicide. You've
been heading down that path some time...of course we've assisted
that path a bit. Or, you surface. You have nothing. No
evidence. We've taken care of that. Your laptop, the notes,
even your tape copy. They've all been destroyed. I assure you.
You have nothing. You will continue to be the laughing stock of
the FBI. What is it they call you? 'Spooky' Mulder. Chasing
his little grey men, superhuman morphing master race members.
How ridiculous. Who would believe you without proof, surely even
you realize that, why you never came forward before, or even
after our last little hoax. Oh, yes, I almost forgot. You're
surely thinking that your originals, the X-files, all the reports
you've so studiously kept, are still secure in the bowels of the
Hoover building. Sorry to disillusion you, Mr. Mulder, but the
last act of my dear departed friend at the FBI, rest his
soul...oh well," he continued on a brief tangent. "He would have
died sooner or later from lung cancer in any event. Regardless,
his last act before his terrible accident was to...well let's
just say there was a terrible basement fire in the J Edgar Hoover
Building three days ago. Perhaps you saw it on the news." He
grinned slightly.

Mulder just stared, devastated by the facts, by the cruel
calmness of his tormentor. "You've lost. It was a noble battle,
but you've lost. You've been quite the capable adversary. In
fact, we were quite concerned that you'd come to the full truth.
So much so, dear boy, that we had to take some action. And I do
abhor violence, so I hope we can end this amicably. For the sake
of my friendship with your father and with your sister."

At this Mulder began again to fight the restraints. His face
reddened in fury. "What do you know about my sister?" The words
were rasped through gritted teeth, eyes narrowed to slits.

"Your sister. Ah yes. She's just fine. I spoke with her only
just this morning. Lovely young woman. She's given so much to
the project, you know. And of course she, too shall reap the
benefits on the dawning of the new era. Of course, she knows
nothing about you. Remembers nothing. Why her name isn't even
Samantha as far as she knows. It's Jennifer. Jennifer
Cassandra. Raised to beautiful adulthood by people I believe you
know, or knew, that is...David and Amy Cassandra. Dear Amy, she
was a good soul, a bit too good, perhaps. Began to feel guilty
and wanted to spill the beans as it were. Well, Jennifer is my
protege. Quiet brilliant. Not so naive as her brother, and a
bit more rutheless. My kind of woman."

"You're a liar. These are lies. Just like everything else
you've told me."

"I *never* lie, Mr. Mulder. It's undignified. Anyway, the hour
is late and we must conclude our bargin. So, it's settled then.
You tell me where it is and you and your partner may go free.
You can even see your sister. Though I doubt you'll convince her
of the truth. I can prove she *is* your Samantha, Mr. Mulder.
You can talk to her. Know she is well provided for, though not
quite the type of person you might have hoped for. So, you see,
your puzzle is solved. You've no need to find her. She is as
close as your telling me where my vial is, Mr. Mulder."

"And if I refuse to cooperate?"

"Agent Scully will be dead within five minutes."

"And me?"

"You, Mr. Mulder, well that's a more complicated story. Your
short-term memory will be selectively eradicated, I've no doubt
that you believe we can do this. You will be found with Agent
Scully's body, shot with your weapon. Through the head. I
promise it will be quick and painless. With your sudden
reappearance and your recent break from Agent Scully prior to
your staged death, it will not take a genius to determine that
you are the killer. With your memory partially eradicated, you,
yourself, will not be certain of your innocence. I will give
you some time to think. I will even give you some time with your
partner. But don't think too long, Mr. Mulder."

"Not a Hell of a good bargain in any case, is it?"

"It's all you've got. And you've only got it because my feelings
for you father and for your sister."
"What was my father's role in this? And my mother's? Can you
answer that for me at least?" His voice was resigned. He wanted
to see Scully. To hold her; to feel at least that bit of reality
as his world crumbled out from beneath him.

"Your father was a good man. A brilliant man. But like you, he
had a fatal flaw."

"And that was...?"

"He loved your mother. You see, he understood the importance of
our little project for the future of the world. However, he
always let his sense of morality get in the way of buying to our
methods. Your grandparents, your mother's parents perished at
Dachau during World War II. Your mother's father was a professor
of History and Literature at Berlin University.

"Your mother, a young beautiful woman who did not at all look
Jewish, managed to escape and blend into Berlin society. She was
taken in by friends and had papers secured by your grandfather in
1937 paid for with the last amounts of his fortune. She was able
to live this charade for awhile. But not for long. In 1938, she
was discovered, and presenting herself at the American Embassy,
requested assylum. She and thousands of others. Her earnestness
and beauty attracted William Mulder, who was stationed there with
the State Department. He took a liking to her, apparently, and
managed to somehow illegally get her into the United States under
false papers.

"What he had done on her behalf, at the least, could have gotten
him dismissed from his sensitive position. But he was not found
out...or so he thought. At the end of the war, with his career
on an upward spiral, we formed a consortium of nations and
corporate entities to combat the growing threat of communisim, a
politically and economically lucrative venture for us all, I
assure you. Your father was an integral part of our agenda. But
he had demurred. He had some ethical issues with our methods.
Let's just say, we were able to secure his acquiesence and his
formidable skills by vowing not to expose his little
indiscrection."

6/6
disclaimed in part 1

It was too much to process. Mulder just stared at the man,
dumbfounded.

"So you see, Mr. Mulder, you are your father's son, after all,
fatal flaw included. Now if you will excuse me I will fetch your
rather fetching partner."

"Wait. My mother. What was her role in this?"

"Just that of a frightened woman. Grateful to the man who
rescued her from certain death. Frightened that she might
somehow give away a terrible secret that could harm your father.
I remember how hard she worked on ridding herself of that
frightful German accent. She never into the public until all
traces of her past were eradicated from her speech. She was
quite obsessive about it. Now if you will excuse me..."

"One more thing. I need to add something else to this bargain.
As you are aware, my partner has cancer. I believe you have a
cure, some sort of designer gene therapy technique."

The well-groomed man smiled, warmly. "Of course, I almost
forgot. You would want that wouldn't you. And I would be most
happy to oblige you. You do know, however, that gene therapy has
its own side effects. We've gotten the technology to a point
where subjects do not emit toxic gases from wounds or
disintegrate into horrific corpses upon death...but there are
still some unpleasant side effects. Most of them are temporary;
however the procedure does render the patient sterile." A vile
grin crossed his face.

Mulder instintively tried to escape the restraints and attack the
man. His bindings cut into his wrists with the unsuccessful
struggle. "You bastard."

"Oh yes," he continued patronizingly. That benignly hideous
smile. Mulder wished with all his being that he could wipe it
permanently from his face. "Of course, how cruel of me. Agent
Scully is already unable to bear children. Well then... Is that
all?"

Mulder understood defeat. He had dealt with it many, many times.
These truths...what the man had told him...they weighed upon his
heart like lead. He tried to clear his thoughts regarding the
decision he was asked to make. Decision my ass. There is none
to make. *They* knew that. Scully. She appeared at the door
with a woman. Oh God. Marita. Marita looked contemptuously
down at Mulder, shoving Scully into the room. A man stood behind
them, a Sig Sauer trained on Mulder's head.

Marita spoke. "Agent Mulder." That voice, he thought, sandpaper
on a chalkboard. "I'm going to undo these restraints. Don't try
anything foolish. You'll be dead within 20 seconds. So you will
be a good boy, won't you?."

Suddenly they were alone in the room, knowing however, that they
were being watched. Scully gazed into Mulder's face as he
approached her. Marita had only undone his bindings. Mulder's
eyes were wet, his expression pure sorrow. He did not speak as
he undid the ropes that bound her hands.

"Scully," his voice nearly a whisper, gravel. "Did they..." his
words broke off, he voice suddenly i
inoperable.

Scully wondered what went on in this room. She had been ushered
into a room with a cot and left alone. For hours, it seemed.
"I'm good, Mulder, considering the bump on my head. I suppose
our work has been confiscated, but we can..." She was trying to
put it in a good light. She was puzzled by Mulder's demeanor.
"Mulder? Mulder, look at me."

She touched his face, bringing it up to face her own. He closed
his eyes against the pain he knew she would see there. "My God,
Mulder, what did they do to you?"

"A choice, Scully. They offered me a choice."

"What choice?"

He explained the choice but chose not to tell her any of the rest
of it. Not here, not now.

"We can't give them the vial, Mulder. It's all the proof we have
left. The fact that they are offering you this ultimatum tells
me that the evidence, the hard evidence we need to expose their
lies, is in that vial. We can't give it to them."

"I can't let you die, Scully."

"I'm already dying, Mulder."

"But they can cure you. The gene therapy. Purity control."

"Oh great. So I can disintegrate into green goo. Thanks, but no
thanks. And how do you even know they'll live up to their end of
the deal, Mulder. They've lied to you before. They know every
button to push. What makes you think that as soon as they have
the vial, they won't just kill us both."

"Why would they? We've already lost, Scully."

"But what about the truth? They know that you'd keep on looking
Mulder. For your sister; for my captors; for your father's
assassin...for Melissa's killers. They know you'd go on until
you'd exposed it, exposed them. How can they let you go?"
Arguing with Scully ripped from him the last remnants of control.
His gaze bore into her soul, pleading for understanding,
compassion. He grasped her upper arm.

"Please, Scully, I can't....I...just...it's...Please, no
more....I..." She drew him to
her chest as they sat on the floor. Slowly, painfully, he told
her most of what the man had said. When he was finished, he
collapsed to the floor, his head in Scully's lap. She mindlessly
stroked his hair, telling him in hushed tones that it would be
all right. Even she didn't believe it. Mulder wept for his
innocence lost; for the years; for his sister; his father. He
wept for grandparents he would never know, died long ago at the
hands of them men with which he had to now strike a bargain. A
bargain that would allow their work to go on unfettered.

"Scully, I have to do this. We have no other choice. We can
sti..." He suddenly remembered that they were being watched. He
stopped. A new tactic. For their hosts. "Scully. I need to do
this for myself. For once in my life. I've been dealt all the
worst hands. I've lost it all. Except for you. I can't lose
you
before I've even had you..." He smiled at the double entendre.
"I know you're sick...and you may die. But whatever time you
have left..."

She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. "I know," She
sighed.

"Scully, I won't make the deal unless you agree to it. It's your
ova in that vial. I think we both know that now...or else our
polite host wouldn't be so anxious to obtain it from us."

"Make the deal." Mulder bolted upright, looking directly into
her eyes. She nodded tightly. He responded in kind.

The door flew open, startling the two agents, huddled together on
the floor. "Not interrupting anything, I trust, Hmm? Your
answer Mr. Mulder."

"I agree to the proposition. But I have to insist on something."
Scully looked quizzically at him. "I have to insist that the
contents of the vial are destroyed. In our presence." His voice
carried a confidence that not-quite-effectively covered the
torment in his eyes. A sick feeling, deep in the pit of his
stomach, appeared from nowhere at the unthinkable thought of
destroying Scully's ova. What if....he forced the thought from
his mind.

"Agreed. As you probably realize all the other vials were
destroyed at that facility during an unfortunate explosion."

Mulder had read about the firebombing of the Lombard Research
Facility. It had been attributed to anti-abortion terrorists.

"Wait," Scully interrupted. "I"m going to take a pass on
your kind offer of a gene therapy treatment of my cancer. I'd
rather take my chances with mother nature and bioethical
medicine." Mulder glared at her, stunned. He disagreed with her
to the core of his heart. But he had to support her. It was
*her* life, *her* body. He looked away, defeated. The
well-groomed man looked back to Mulder, waiting for him to react
to what was obivously a not-intended turn of events. Mulder only
looked at Scully, grasping her hand in his, intwining his fingers
with hers. He nodded at her, understanding, trusting her with
her own life and with his. For like their fingers, their lives,
too, were intertwined.

The well-groomed man produced an envelope filled with keys,
taken from Mulder, his apartment, the hotel suite, from Scully
and her home. Mulder shook his head. "I assume you have my
wallet?" The man snapped his fingers and his companion left the
room momentarily to return with Mulder's wallet. Mulder removed
a hotel key card. He handed it to the man, feeling the last
shreds of his dignity drain through his hands. He closed his
eyes, a shield against his growing sense of loss. "It opens a
freezer storage locker in New York City. Do you have a pen?" A
pen and a slip of paper were produced. Mulder wrote an address.

"You're in luck, Agent Mulder, we happen to be in New York City
now. You probably didn't know that, come to think of it. As
soon as we recover our merchandise, you will be free to go. You
can even have back your cash and credit cards. Sorry, but I
think you'll understand if we feel the need to hang onto these
keys."

Mulder glared at the man, sighing with resignation. The man
smiled cheerily. "It's a pleasure doing business with you Mr.
Mulder. Regards to your lovely mother when you see her. Miss
Scully...." he bowed slightly, almost deferrentially to her and
exited the room.

Once again, Mulder and Scully were alone in the monitored room.
Mulder sagged against the wall, the full weight of reality
settling upon him like a lead weight. Scully went to him. The
spoke soul to soul, daring not to utter a word, finding
sanctuary, the only sanctuary they knew, within each other.

A bargain made and executed. Mulder and Scully found themselves
in the middle of Manhattan. "Oh yes, and one last thing." The
man handed them one-way airline tickets to National Airport.
"You were a good adversary, Mr. Mulder. Rather like your father.
You've a lot of him in you, you know. You make a formidable
team. But you know you can never win against us. I hope that's
at least one lesson you've learned from this terrible waste of
years." The window went up on the black limousine. And they
were alone. At last.

Scully began to speak. "Not here. Not now." Mulder stopped her
with a finger to her lips. She kissed the finger tenderly. He
took her into his arms holding her, kissing her. A certain
relief creeping though the despair and grief, the sorrow and the
loss. Something had ended for now. Something new would take its
place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Epilogue

His first act was to seek out a discrete physician to remove
the implant from his forehead. That gone, Mulder felt free for
the first time in a week. He had not resurfaced, he hadn't quite
figured out how he wanted to play it yet. He needed to plan.
*They* needed to plan. Now he was meeting Scully in the parking
lot of the Watergate Hotel.

She appeared from the shadows. He smiled at her. She swore that
the dark garage had suddenly become fully illuminated with his
radiant smile. "Mulder."

"So how are things back at the ranch, Agent Scully?" She looked
up at him, sadness in her eyes.

"It's gone Mulder, just like he said. All of it. The office is
a burned out shell. Even your photos of Samantha." He cringed.

"Samantha." He fought with himself, debating whether he should
tell Scully what the man had said about *that* issue.

"Scully," he started finally, "she no longer exists. She
doesn't exist. She
works for them. She has no knowledge of me, of our family, what
her disappeance cost, nothing. I can't grieve for her. She's
not dead. I can't hate her. She's done nothing wrong. I
finally know I could have done nothing to stop it. Nothing."

"How can you know that, Mulder, for sure? Is that what the man
told you? How can you believe him. What it's another lie?"

Mulder looked at her. "He proved it. Part of the deal. A
sample of her DNA, Scully. I had it analyzed." He swallowed
hard. It was still so difficult to accept. "Hard evidence.
Evidence that even *you*..." the words came out harsher than
he'd intended. "...even you would believe," he concluded softly,
a whisper. "Please, Scully, I can't do this now. What about
you? How are you coping with the untimely and humiliating death
of your wacko partner, Agent Scully?"

She smiled at the deflection. "I've been reassigned to Quantico
to teach for now. People are
sympathetic. Lots of clucking of tounges about "Spooky" Mulder,
dead and gone. When are you going to resurface? You are aren't
you?"

"I don't know, Scully. Haven't figured it out yet. Life as a
ghost has its advantages, you know." He produced something from
his
pocket. A key. Two keys.

"What is it?"

"There's something I didn't tell that polite old man. Nor you.
I couldn't. I knew I was being tracked with that damn implant.
I didn't know whether they could hear me, even read my thoughts."

"Mulder, that's science fiction."

"And tell me that what we've just gone through wasn't. I have no
idea what they're capable of. Besides, let's not argue
philosophy."

"What is that key." She noticed. There were two keys. "What
are they?"

"This one is for you, Scully. Key to my new apartment.
Apartment 420. George Ellery Hale. And this....this is a key to
another freezer locker. Right here in DC. There's not much in
that vial...it's only a small sampling. It may not contain any
of the material at all. It could be all media. But I had to
have a backup. I learned that the first time my hard drive died
in the middle of a case. Always make a backup."

"I love you."

"I know."