From jhumby@ctv.es

Wed Oct 30 1996
NEW: The Insurance Policy(2/2) by Joann Humby
jhumby@iee.org

Legally:
The interesting characters in this story belong to Chris Carter,
1013 and Fox as brought to life by DD, GA and the XFiles writers.
I've borrowed them for fun not profit.

Part 7

SUNDAY

Mulder sat and half watched the home videos of the karate
tournament. Filmed just a couple of days before the Senator's
daughter and her nanny disappeared and only a week before the nanny
died. He had a few photos of the nanny but wasn't even confident
that he would recognise her on the screen. Unlikely to deliver
anything, after all other Agents had already tried reviewing them,
but maybe. He was thinking about the next set of actions, tasks,
questions, making fresh plans for the suddenly transformed enquiry.

He stopped for an instant. Hadn't he planned to drop out of the
case on Monday? Ok, he would talk to Masters about it and he would
get some advice from Skinner. But it wasn't going to be easy to
hand over the case now. Though he would still make the offer. When
Masters heard about the latest line of investigation, Masters might
even decide to take him up on it. Which would be ironic, given that
he'd really only just started doing anything useful.

A phone call from Scully and a conversation, a real one, he didn't
even try to hang up on her. Dana Scully sat at the other end of the
line trying to ignore the memories his explanations of the way the
case was heading were provoking. Instead she tried to concentrate
on the sound of his voice, relieved to hear the enthusiasm and
bounce that had returned to it.

Only as he put down the receiver did he realise how quiet she'd
been. He cursed himself for letting his mouth get ahead of his
brain. When had he become so callous and insensitive that he didn't
know what he was saying and how much it could hurt her. If she was
here now he'd apologise, go down on his knees and say he was sorry,
put his arms around her. No. She wouldn't allow that. But he would
want to and she would see it in his eyes and she would know that he
was sorry.

He went out and ran until his body insisted it was time to go home.

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

MONDAY

Special Agent Susan Keane watched her boss. He was not happy. She
hadn't expected him to be. It was really not her fault. She'd
tried. Trying wasn't even tricky, even if it wasn't her job she
would still have been tempted to try. No harm in mixing business
with pleasure, after all there was seldom the opportunity. Might
even have got somewhere if the timing of that phone call on
Saturday hadn't been quite so precise.

Once Mulder had arrived at the victim's house, he'd been
transformed. One hundred percent concentration. He hadn't ignored
her exactly, just treated her as part of the investigative process,
Agent Keane with a job to do. In other circumstances she might have
been pleased, she had enough trouble getting treated with respect
by these men, but this was the one time when she didn't just want
professional distance.

The man across the table glared at her. "Nothing to say? How many
more advantages do we have to give you?"

She said nothing.

The man continued. "Do you think he's in a relationship with Agent
Scully?"

"No." She mumbled back nervously. "In fact I'm pretty sure the
reason he isn't interested in me is because he's working with me
and he would view it as inappropriate."

"Despite our help?"

"Yes Sir, I think it's too ingrained. That's why I doubt that he's
involved with Dana Scully. That's probably how it became
ingrained."

He agreed. She could be right. How many more things were going to
go wrong on this job?

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

Acting Assistant Director Michael Masters surveyed the Agent sat on
the other side of the table. He was looking for doubts, hesitation,
a sign, anything.

Mulder looked back impassively. Mulder's body language said
relaxed. The face said controlled. The tone of voice said
professional. Mulder spoke first. "I do appreciate how this sounds
and how significant the change of direction is since our meeting on
Friday. But I have more data now. And in terms of the actions
needed from the team, we're looking at changes in priorities and
emphasis not throwing it all away and starting again."

Masters looked towards the light fitting on the ceiling. He'd
thought it odd when Mulder had asked for their meeting to be moved
to the start of the day, so that they could talk before he briefed
the team on the weekend's work. Masters hadn't seen this coming
though.

Mulder waited.

Masters finally responded. "Are you taking any drugs?"

Mulder sat up, startled for an instant, then started to laugh.
Shook the laugh back. "That's great. Not many people would just
come out and say it Sir."

Masters smiled sadly back. "Not even sleeping pills?"

"No."

"And you did get some sleep at the weekend? Despite working all day
Saturday with the victims' families. And working all day Sunday
revising the briefing."

"Yes, Sir." Mulder said, confident in his honesty.

Masters sighed. "Ok. You got it. You were spot on with the actions
last week. I understand where you are coming from with the
revisions. I don't feel I can overrule you on this, despite what
common sense is telling me. I'll back you up."

Mulder leant back. "Thank you Sir." He paused. "I'm still not
running at a hundred percent. You should know that."

Masters nodded. "I've said right the way through, that if the case
got too hard for you, you were to drop out, take medical leave. But
your eighty percent or whatever it is I'm getting is more than I
could expect from anyone else. Take care of yourself though."

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

Dana Scully was pleased to hear the familiar voice at the other end
of the phone line. AD Skinner had some surprising news to convey. A
recall to Washington, effective immediately. Back to Quantico, at
least for a while.

She was relieved to hear it. She'd worried more about Mulder since
he showed up two weeks ago than she had in all the time he was out
of touch with her while he was working for the CIA. It was almost
as bad as when he went missing. It wasn't the first time she'd
worried about him like this but it was the first time when she'd
felt like he was this close and yet she couldn't help him.

She gathered together the information she'd got on the death of the
security guard and the lab he worked in. Copies of videos, files,
mugshots of tall blond men with crew cuts. She would be back in DC
on Wednesday. Something to look forward to.

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

TUESDAY MORNING

Mulder sat in the dark of the apartment watching his own home video
of the previous night, fast forward on VCR. He remembered Andy
Warhol made a movie like this. No wonder it didn't make the best
sellers list.

Yesterday could have been worse. Masters had been stunned but
supportive. The team had mumbled their way through the briefing but
there had been little disagreement over the actions needed. The
rest of VCS had perked up when they heard rumours that Mulder had
decided to link the case to an international or possibly
interplanetary conspiracy of quasi government organisations. Maybe
there would be some fun after all. But Mulder still hadn't been
interested in playing with them.

He just wished that he didn't feel quite so weak, quite so
dangerously poised as if he was on a tightrope above a ravine.

If he looked down to the left, he saw the alligators. Snappy jaws
waiting to close in. Six weeks missing memories. Three weeks when
he did what? What? What did he do?

If he looked down to the right, he saw the dinosaurs, old and
noisy. A lifetime ago. His mother crying. His sister's bedroom
empty. His father's face a wall of hostility and silence.

Just keep your head up and look forward. Look forward to what? To
finding the four dead bodies of the missing girls so they could put
them with the bodies already in the morgue? Would that be success?
How many people had to be found dead before the case was over.

And if he kept this up for much longer he wouldn't even make it to
the end of the case. He'd just be full time sleeping. He'd set up
video equipment the night before. The Agent and the Psychologist
monitoring the patient through the night. It only confirmed what he
already thought. No night terrors. No sleep walking. No nightmares.
No dreams so far as he could tell. Just deep sleep. And waking up
tired in the morning.

He thought about it. No dreams? Really? None at all? Well he hadn't
watched the video that closely so perhaps there had been a few
seconds, but nothing like enough.

If that was true then this was less like sleep and more like a
coma. Dreams were important, the brain needed them. They were
important psychologically, working through things that hadn't been
resolved during the day. They were important physically, they
affected brain chemistry. Could that really be what this was about?

Work on that later. Time do some real work now. The autopilot
kitted him out in suit and tie and sent him to the car.

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

The reports were coming in thick and fast. No time to digest one
before the next arrived. It wasn't just the legwork done by the
twelve Agents that was arriving on his desk. It was all those
clippings and missing person reports he'd asked for on the mothers
of the victims. A lot to process. A lot of instructions to issue. A
lot of meetings to go to. And he couldn't even do what he would
normally do, skip out and claim the need to think, Agents In
Charge didn't have that luxury. And he couldn't do what he would
normally do when faced with that problem, make more hours by
stopping sleeping.

He wished that there was someone here he could work on it with.
Scully would be perfect but she had her own life now. Someone like
Carr would have helped but he'd gone. If he pulled in one of the
twelve on the team it would be breaking up a partnership,
realistically taking two Agents out of the enquiry. And which two?
The best ones, but then the field work would suffer and he already
felt bad about not doing any of that himself. The weakest, but
they'd be useless, he'd just want to redo their work so it wouldn't
help.

He'd have to do something, tomorrow maybe. Would have done
something today if he hadn't had to waste the time and the
emotional energy on that pointless conversation with the
Psychiatric support counsellor. Still the event hadn't been without
humour.

He could run rings round the usual crop of therapists and
counsellors, he knew all the safe answers to their questions. He
had little respect for the psychologists attached to the Bureau. As
far as he was concerned, if they were any good, they would either
have gone into profiling or they'd have got a nice well paid job in
private practice. Well, that wasn't strictly true and normally he
wouldn't have said it. He knew that the allegation was unfair and
that people had more complex and subtle motives and abilities than
that. But he didn't see much reason to be fair. Since when had
people been fair to him?

In any case, the repercussions of admitting any problems to them
would get him put out of field work. And if they referred him out
to an analyst who could make him talk? What then? Even he sometimes
looked at his theories and reports and thought they were the work
of a madman. Anyway he'd feel obliged to wind them up. And if
anyone mentioned how it was typical of post traumatic stress or the
need for time to forgive himself he'd probably throw up in their
office. As if he didn't know.

He couldn't help but feel a small amount of sympathy for the man
who had been so keen to insist on the appointments running twice
weekly. Mulder wondered how long it would take before he decided to
recognise his patient's miraculous recovery.

Now the sleep thing though. That was interesting. Specialised.
Maybe biochemical. Maybe physiological. Some physical after effect
of whatever they'd drugged him with perhaps. And best of all, maybe
that even meant it was something that could be treated with the
right drugs. If he could find the right doctor. Someone who
wouldn't ask the wrong questions.

Tonight, he would try again with those videos of the karate event.
And tomorrow he'd get himself sorted out.

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

Susan Keane prepared herself carefully. One more attempt. Civilian
clothes, don't show up looking like an Agent, it'll help him
forget. Luckily, he'd left early. Well, early for him. Not all the
Agents had filed their reports. And she had some more of those
karate home movies sent in by other proud parents who'd been
filming their loved ones. Not bad excuses.

She knocked at the door. He was in jeans as well. Not bad. He
looked nervous.

She felt like hitting him. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
Did he really have no idea? She was supposed to be his type based
on what they knew about the various, mostly very short term,
relationships that littered his past. They'd presented her to him
just four weeks ago. He was supposed to have been hypnotised into
knowing that she was irresistible and trustworthy. Well it looked
as if at least one part of his programming had failed. She wondered
if that was it. The process that had wiped his memories of the
period had undone the programming. Wasn't supposed to happen, but
maybe it had. 'How many more advantages do you need?' Damn that
ugly old boss of hers.

Working for him had made her feel almost sympathetic towards Mulder
at the start. Almost as if she was going to take advantage of him.
But now it was a matter of pride. Professional and feminine pride.

She almost had to push her way into the apartment. She thought she
was going have to go and make herself a cup of coffee. He looked
too confused to speak.

Why was it so difficult for him? All he had to do was relax. She'd
make sure that he saw the right things on the video. She'd stroke
away those worry lines. She'd even help him get a good night's
rest, though officially that wasn't in her job description. She'd
help him to hide the evidence and start digging his own grave.
Actually, she reminded herself, she was doing him a favour. This
was a way for him to avoid ending up dead. He should be grateful.
It was for his own good.

Fox Mulder leant against the kitchen work surface and tried to
think rational thoughts. This wasn't just an accident, not just
friendly. She was serious. She was invading personal space,
standing too close, accidentally bumping into him, calling around
uninvited. What was he waiting for, an ad in the Washington Post?
It would be so nice. Company, pure and simple. Touch, tactile and
sensual. What could be wrong with that?

He returned to the living room and handed her a coffee. "Sorry
you've come around on a wild goose chase. I have to go out tonight.
But thank you for bringing the papers over. If I get up early I may
work on them before I come into the office." He rattled out the
words with metronome accuracy.

He groaned with some mixture of relief and disappointment as he
pushed her out of the front door. He had no idea why he was sending
her away. Just that he had to. Just that it was right. Alone again.
Just the alligators and the dinosaurs and the dead victims and the
abducted children for company. And that was right. And he'd try and
do something about it tomorrow.

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

WEDNESDAY - DC

Dana Scully left the Airport, happy to be back. She would stay at
her mothers. A commuting hike to the city and to Quantico but a lot
better than a hotel while she got her apartment back up to scratch.
Six months away so she'd sublet, but she was back early. Oh well.
Good to be back. She headed into the city and the FBI Head
Quarters. A quick appointment with Skinner. Catch up on some
gossip. Visit Mulder. Start fresh at Quantico tomorrow.

----------

Mulder watched the notes appearing on the whiteboards as the Agents
tried to piece together the story. They were still working on known
territory.

They were looking for people who the first target's brother might
have known well enough to leave home to meet. Despite him having
been told by his parents to stay in and look after his sister. Of
course he was looking after his sister, he took her with him. Where
did they go? Who did he want to meet? And why?

There were a lot of things to follow up on and a lot of them were
the same problem whether it was a lone madman on the loose or a
disciplined team stealing children for experimentation. The team
preferred to think of a lone madman. That was ok. That was what
Mulder preferred to think as well, he just didn't believe it.

The nearest they got to a confrontation was when Mulder got faced
with a sarcastic suggestion that they get a profile written by some
wizard from ISU, perhaps Behavioural had some genius on their
books. Mulder just leant back against the desk and said it was
worth a try and handed around the three alternative profiles that
had been prepared. Two from ISU, one from him. He waited for them
to settle. "Read them all. None of them change the investigative
approach, they should already be included in the plans. They might
help if we ever actually get a suspect."

The group looked sheepish. The first profile had been given to them
before Mulder joined the team. The second from ISU, prepared that
Monday, after the fourth incident, had been distributed to them the
previous day by email as soon as it arrived. And Mulder's profile
was public knowledge. Mulder surveyed them critically. "I don't
withhold evidence. We've talked about the contents of all three.
You've had copies of all three. You are all just very busy. The
analyst from ISU can't get here until tomorrow, else he would have
briefed you in person."

The mood was cold, professional. Agent Susan Keane worried about
what she would be able to tell her boss. If Mulder was meant to
buckle under the pressure, they needed more pressure.

Mulder slouched back in the seat. Had to find someone to talk to,
anyone. Had to deal with this sleeping thing, find a someone who
would mind their own business and deal with the symptoms. Heading
towards clinical depression, knew it, recognised the signs. The
autopilot was keeping him afloat. Sudden bursts of adrenaline and
enthusiasm to counteract the slowing down he was feeling. But
slowing down, inescapable, inexorable.

Was that why he hadn't responded to Agent Susan Keane's
invitations. He almost laughed, not respect, not professionalism,
not even morals, just too depressed to bother. Why was he running
the case? Lucky he was in the office, he'd be dangerous if he was
in this mood and out in the field. Would he bother to draw his gun
in a stand off? Maybe not. He'd certainly be too slow to respond.

Had to do something about it. Needed a way out. Something. Someone.

Heard a voice. It had to be a hallucination. She wasn't here. Turn
around very slowly as if you know it's someone else or no one else.

Dana Scully spoke again. "Hi, Mulder. I don't even get a Good
Morning then?"

Jumped, startled to his feet and looked at her. It was her, wasn't
it?

He stepped two paces forward and threw his arms around her drawing
her in close. Letting his senses fill with the smell and feel of
her.

A ripple of applause followed by some jeers and wolf whistles and a
muffled shout of, "hey, it's Mrs Spooky."

Dana Scully stiffened, her body went from flesh and blood, to wood
and then to stone. She pulled away. He stepped back and moved a
couple of paces towards the chair. Leant back against the desk and
looked dejectedly at the floor.

Mulder tried to make a joke of it. Might even have got away with
making a joke of it, but then Dana Scully stormed out of the
office.

More laughter. "Yo. Looks like a divorce."

Mulder slumped back into the chair and tuned the world out.

Special Agent Susan Keane smiled, the first time she'd felt like
smiling all day. An interesting development. She'd take it to her
boss. There had to be some way to use it.

END of Part 7
---------

From jhumby@ctv.es Thu Oct 31 02:37:05 1996
NEW: The Insurance Policy - 8/11 - by Joann Humby
jhumby@iee.org

Legally:
The interesting characters in this story belong to Chris Carter,
1013 and Fox as brought to life by DD, GA and the XFiles writers.
I've borrowed them for fun not profit.

Part 8

Dana Scully locked herself in one of the cubicles in the women's
room and sat down. This was the nearest she was going to get to
finding any privacy so it would have to do.

What on earth happened back there?

How on earth was she going to be able to hold up her head again
when she had to walk through the VCS office. The rumours and the
nicknames had been bad enough but they'd never had anything real to
throw at them. How could he be so stupid, so insensitive. He didn't
act like that when they were in private, how dare he behave like
that in front of all those Agents.

Neither of them was physical, not like that. Neither even went in
for those semi formal hugs with family and friends or even those
over friendly handshakes at first meetings. Of the two of them, it
had always been Mulder who was the more tactile. But he was
careful, never intrusive, never pushy.

The only times he had ever put his arms around her, it had been at
her invitation, at times when she'd needed his touch. Not because
of some impulse of his. And then in front of half of VCS, she
couldn't believe it.

Then it struck her. She was huddled up in a cubicle in a washroom
and why? Because of some jeers from a bunch of idiots in VCS?
Because touching Fox Mulder was the kiss of death on any remaining
Bureau ambitions she might have? Because someone might have thought
that she liked it?

All that had happened was her best friend had greeted her like
friends do, with a welcome home hug. Probably the one that she
hadn't got when she met him in Skinner's office the first day he
came back. And instead of returning it and smiling she'd run away
from him. Left him standing there looking like an idiot. Turned it
into a big deal.

It was just such a shock, that was all. He didn't do that. Never.

But then he'd never had six weeks of memories just disappear. She
knew what that felt like. Or maybe then again she didn't. She had
never worried that she might have done something awful in those
missing weeks, she'd only worried about what might have been done
to her. With Mulder it was the other way around. And she, his best
friend, the only one he trusted, thought that he'd murdered someone
until he'd proved her wrong.

And now he was back and running a high pressure team with no leads,
investigating the abduction of young girls and the death of an
elder brother and a nanny who were in the way.

It had always been up to her, pulling him closer because for an
instant she needed his touch, some physical contact. And now he'd
needed her and she'd run away.

She straightened her suit and dried her eyes. Walked calmly to the
sink, tidied her makeup, combed her hair. She returned to the VCS
office, head held high, face set against any comments.

A voice. "You looking for Mulder?"

She tensed but was grateful for the wording. Not 'Spooky'. Not
'your boyfriend'. She nodded.

"He left a few minutes ago. Guess he wanted some privacy. Must have
thought he'd have to make do with his own company."

A smattering of laughs from around the office. Scully turned on her
heels and left.

Where would he go? The basement? No, not there, people would go
looking for him there and he'd be really embarrassed if they found
him sulking. Home? She checked the parking lot and found his car.
Outside? She went for a walk through his usual haunts and tracked
him down.

She sat on the bench and stayed quiet. Not sure what to say but
hoping that he'd make the first move. He stayed quiet.

After a few minutes and without looking at her, he started to talk.
"I'm sorry, I know that must have been very embarrassing for you.
If there's some way for me to make it right, I'll try, but I don't
know what's best."

She sighed. "I came to apologise to you. I overreacted. I was just
surprised."

A short mirthless laugh came back. "I was surprised as well. I
thought I was in worse condition than that."

She motioned for him to go on, but he wasn't looking so she had to
ask him to explain.

"I was relieved I reacted normally when I saw you. I'm not reacting
much to anything at the moment." He paused. "Oh, I know what you're
thinking, I didn't react normally. But I did. I always react like
that when I see you again after you've been away. But the self
control takes over before I do anything about it. So today it was
only half normal, but that's fifty percent better than I thought I
might be." That same mirthless shrug.

"You're depressed?"

"Not yet, not in the clinical sense."

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"No one who can help." He looked at her. She'd rescued him so often
before. Could he ask her to rescue him again? "I'm not sleeping
properly, not dreaming."

"Insomnia? Nightmares?"

He half smiled, "no the opposite, sleeping too much, no dreams, not
even nightmares."

Dr Scully took over, he was the psychologist but she stayed in
touch with that kind of thing. "It can be associated with
depression."

He shook his head. "It can but I don't think it's so direct. It's
more chicken and egg. I'm not dreaming, the brain needs dreams. I'm
not running, I don't have the time or the energy, yet my body is
craving the endorphins from running. It's a spiral."

"How do you know you aren't dreaming?"

"I set up a video camera."

She looked him over, the investigator and psychologist working on
his own case. She needed to get him some treatment, she'd see
Skinner about it. Get him off that horrible kidnap and murder case.

He looked back and read her expression. She was going to try and
get him sent to a Doctor, probably put on medical leave. Why had he
told her? Why did she always have to be so damned practical and
professional. Couldn't she just have stuck to being a friend for a
while longer?

The cellular phone rang. Mulder listened as Masters told him to get
to his office immediately and explain the incident that had taken
place in VCS. Mulder shut down the call and stood up to leave.

"You need help Mulder."

Mulder looked back at her, regretting having said anything. He knew
that they were still in the same place they were on that plane
flying out to Florida. He recalled the couple of days they'd spent
trying to unravel his lost weeks. Scully had watched him all the
time they were working, clucking over him like a mother hen. He had
to get away from her. He didn't deserve her concern, he didn't want
her pity. He was weak. Usually other people paid for his weakness.
Not this time though, this time he would pay for it himself and he
would pay for it alone.

"I'm fine." He said sharply. "I'll get advice on the dreams." He
headed back to the building.

Dana Scully pondered the situation. She couldn't just sit back and
let him dig a pit for himself. She couldn't let him screw up the
case either. And with a sickening feeling she realised that also
might be chicken and egg. If the case went wrong, he would blame
himself. If he wasn't hundred percent he could foul up the case.
She knew what she ought to do, it was engraved on her professional
FBI Agent and trained Doctor's heart. But first she'd do some
research into dreams and sleep disorders. And she wouldn't go
behind Mulder's back, she'd talk to him before she brought in an
outsider.

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

After his interview with AD Masters, Mulder wasn't sure whether to
laugh or cry. It was serious, of course it was serious, but there
was a kind of cold comedy to the situation as well.

The "incident" with Dana Scully had been reported, embellished,
rediscovered, embellished some more and had rapidly reached the top
of the VCS tree. Misconduct proceedings were anticipated unless
there was a satisfactory explanation. Mulder spoke calmly and rode
it out, insisted that any security video footage of the office area
be brought in and analysed there and then. A storm in a teacup. Of
course if there was a complaint from Agent Scully then it would be
different, but nothing in the incident itself to justify the
overblown rumours that followed it.

Masters was relieved as he looked at the video to get the
corroboration for Mulder's story. To Masters, it even looked like
Scully had got out of the room to avoid the harassment of the VCS
audience, nothing to do with Mulder.

They moved on to the next allegation. Mulder was too stunned even
to argue. Agent Keane had mentioned to a friend problems she'd been
having during the case. No direct accusations, no direct complaint,
not yet. But everyone knew there was no smoke without fire and
Keane's friends in the Bureau had seen some worrying smoke signals.

Masters looked at Mulder. "If she makes it official, there will be
an investigation."

"Of course."

"You don't want to defend yourself?"

"I did not act improperly towards Agent Keane."

"Can you prove it?"

"I don't see how."

"She has visited your apartment a couple of times. She had
breakfast with you?"

"She was dropping off reports. She wanted to explain some of the
stuff she brought over."

"And is this normal?"

"Agents often call on other Agents at home."

"Partners perhaps. Maybe even if she was one of the more
experienced Agents on your team I'd understand you inviting her in
to discuss the case. But she's relatively inexperienced."

"It wouldn't be thought strange if it was a male Agent. You are
worried because it's a woman."

"It's my job to worry."

"There's no point worrying about this, nothing happened."

"Think of a way to prove it."

When Mulder finally left the office he felt like he'd done ten
rounds with Mike Tyson. He decided to go and see Walter Skinner.

-------

Mulder stood in the area outside Skinner's new office and tried to
stop feeling like a delinquent teenager sent to see the School
Principal. He was, after all, the instigator of this meeting. Just
a five minute interval sneaked in between Skinner's meeting with
the Director and his brainstorm session with some of the regional
chiefs.

Time for a change of image. He flicked his hair back though it
didn't need it, checked his tie and stood up straight and started
to chat with Skinner's administrative assistant. Who knows when he
might need her help again.

AD Skinner turned the corner and stopped for an instant. "Good
morning, Agent Mulder. You trying out for a job in the next
recruitment brochure?"

Mulder turned to face him and responded in kind. "No Sir, just
trying to lull you into a false sense of security."

"Never." Skinner led the way into the office.

Skinner decided to set the record straight. "Agent Mulder. You are
sure that this matter would not be best addressed with AD Masters?"

Mulder kept to the script. "Yes Sir. It's not related to current
casework."

Skinner motioned for Mulder to start talking.

Mulder spoke quietly and dispassionately, "I recall you having some
contact with a sleep disorders clinic a while back?"

Skinner sat back, alarmed at the memory but grateful for Mulder's
cautious phrasing. He nodded.

"Is there anyone there who you could recommend, I know an Agent who
needs some assistance."

"They should go to psychiatric services and get a referral from
there." Skinner started to write a name and phone number on the pad
in front of him.

Mulder nodded. "Yes Sir. You are probably right." He took the paper
that Skinner had scribbled on and said thankyou. They spoke a
little about the progress of the case.

-----------

Dana Scully looked down at the file on the desk, it described the
key priorities for her new job. It was interesting, but not as
interesting as the research papers she'd spent the last couple of
hours gathering from the net. Officially, she reminded herself, she
didn't start work until tomorrow so it wasn't as if she was
neglecting her duties.

She gathered up the notes and headed out of the X-Files office. She
hadn't seen Mulder since the morning. She'd purposely kept away
from the other Agents. She was pretty confident now that by
tomorrow morning she'd be able to face down any one of them.

An hour later she was knocking on the door of Mulder's apartment.
She hadn't really expected him to be home yet, so she wasn't
surprised to have to let herself in. She headed straight to the
kitchen to make some coffee. Only as she poured the first cupful
did the situation strike her as odd.

She hadn't been in here in six months, yet she treated it as if it
was the most natural thing in the world to just walk in and fix
some coffee. And that was even after all the cold that had come
between them and even after that ridiculous scene this morning.

The phone rang, she automatically picked it up. Susan, Agent Keane
wanting to talk to Fox. Scully tried to keep the surprise out of
her voice as she took the message.

Mulder had two bags of shopping with him when he arrived home. One
with the prescriptions that the clinic had come up with. The other
with food. He sensed that there was someone in the apartment though
he couldn't really say if he'd heard a noise. He put the bags on
the floor.

After his trip to the clinic, he was more than ever aware of the
lethargy that seemed to running around his body instead of blood.
He knew that his reactions were dulled. He forced himself to
respond to the threat even though he didn't think he had to.
Defensive, jumpy, he pulled his gun from its holster and entered
the apartment.

Scully turned towards the noise in the doorway. "You wouldn't shoot
an unarmed man, would ya copper." She said cheerily.

He put the gun down and stood absolutely still.

She waited and realised that he looked frozen to the spot. She
walked over to him. "Mulder, are you ok? I know you weren't
expecting me. It must have been a shock. I'm sorry."

He turned away from her, shuddering, slammed into the wall. Slumped
to his knees, gasping for breath.

For an instant Scully was terrified that it was a heart attack, she
tried to get close to him but he thrashed his arms to keep her
away. She stayed a pace or two in front of him and then sat back on
her heels.

They stayed crouched for a long time until Mulder stood up without
a word and walked shakily over to the couch.

Scully followed him. "What happened?"

He looked at her. He didn't want to tell her.

She tried again. "How are you feeling?"

Still no reply.

She moved closer to him on the couch. "I promise I won't force you
to go to a Doctor or make Skinner, Masters, or whoever send you."

He still trusted her and he did still believe her promises. She
could see him start to relax.

She nudged him playfully. "Now talk before I get my gun out and I
start demonstrating what I know about police brutality."

"I'm ok now." He paused. She took a deep breath as if preparing to
tell him that wasn't enough of an answer, but he moved his hand to
tell her to wait. She gave him a few minutes space. Then he carried
on without further prompting. "I feel like I'm a ball bouncing down
a flight of stairs. Each high a little more feeble. Each low a
little lower. And just then was the lowest yet. A really strange
sensation, like deja vu, a really strong image, but I thought I
shot you."

"I startled you."

"Startled doesn't come into it."

She went to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water which he
gulped quickly.

He spoke without looking at her, "why are you here?"

"I've been doing some research. She pointed at the notes."

He scanned the titles and headings then walked back to the door
returning with the two carrier bags. He emptied one, "yeah, me
too."

"You mean, you went to see someone. Just like that. On your own?"

He couldn't help but smile at the way she said it. "Yes, I'm a big
boy now. I even get to choose my own ties in the morning."

She smiled back. "No surprise there."

They sat and talked and swopped research notes. The drugs would
dull the side effects of panic and depression that the failure to
enter rem sleep was creating. With any luck they might even settle
him enough that he would start to dream again. They had suggested
that he stay for overnight observation at the clinic, but he had
refused. They'd gone along with his idea that he continue to video
at night and then bring them any changes he'd seen.

She was careful not to push too hard. "Depression and not dreaming.
Like the chicken and the egg?"

"Physiological. The brain chemistry is way off and until that's
straight I can't break the spiral. I'm going back for some tests to
see if it's neurological damage or drug induced."

She picked up the file containing the results of the hospital tests
from Miami a couple of weeks earlier. "There was nothing on the tox
report when you came back. Though now I know what to look for, the
seratonin and melatonin levels were strange. But I'd just marked
that as being due to the general run down condition you were in. We
can run another blood test alongside the one for the clinic."

He winced but agreed. "I doubt that it's drugs, not still having an
effect after all this time."

"You suggested neurological damage?"

"You remember those guys programmed to stay awake. Part of our war
effort." He mumbled sarcastically. "What if someone knows how to
disrupt sleep in more subtle ways?"

"For what purpose? Who needs an army of sleepy, panicky soldiers?"

He smiled. "Sleepy and panicky, thanks for the write up." He paused
"It could be something they stumbled on while trying out something
else. It could be designed to drive its victims mad."

"Is that how it feels?"

He looked nervously away. "Where are you staying tonight?"

"My mom's. Unless you'd rather I stayed here?"

"No. I just wanted to know where you would be."

"Susan rang." She looked at his puzzled expression and put some
teasing into her voice. "Agent Susan Keane wanted Fox to call her
back."

He groaned. "Maybe it would be best if you did stay here." He
recounted his discussion with AD Masters.

She was horrified but tried to keep her voice lighthearted. "Maybe
she watched Snow White as a kid and always had a thing about
'Sleepie'."

END of Part 8
========

From jhumby@ctv.es Thu Oct 31 02:37:37 1996
NEW: The Insurance Policy - 9/11 - by Joann Humby
jhumby@iee.org

Legally:
The interesting characters in this story belong to Chris Carter,
1013 and Fox as brought to life by DD, GA and the XFiles writers.
I've borrowed them for fun not profit.

Part 9

The automatic pilot had got him into work again. He let it look
after him. He knew it could handle that kind of thing. He grimaced
as he thought about Skinner's comments the day before and the
Senator's remarks. Seemed like the less he felt like an FBI Agent
the more he looked like one. Strange that, the brain shutting down,
but trivia being dealt with by the learned responses.

Now if only the learned responses and the FBI trained auto pilot
would take over the investigation he had a chance of making it
through this. He could help the investigation, he did have a better
insight on this kind of thing than the others. But lead it? No way
should he be leading it. It would take days for the drugs to kick
in and even then, they were only synthetics taking the sharpest
edges off the symptoms. The underlying problem, physical or
psychological, would still be there. And they deserved better than
that.

AD Masters was scarcely surprised to get his early morning visit
from Fox Mulder, he'd almost come to anticipate them. He listened
to the latest litany of reasons why he should appoint a new Special
Agent In Charge.

Mulder started from the lack of suspects, went through the list of
medication he was now on, moved onto the strained situation
following yesterday's little scene in the VCS office and closed
with the reminder of a threatened sexual harassment charge.

Masters marvelled at the level of detachment in the voice. Though
of course he knew it was only because of that detachment, that
Mulder was still working. He couldn't pull Mulder. The orders were
explicit, no changes to the team and no change of responsibilities.
And Masters now knew that if Mulder took the only way out on offer,
there were quite a few people in Psych services and OPC who would
try and make sure that any voluntary medical leave turned into
mandatory retirement.

Masters reminded himself of his other reasons for keeping Mulder
working. He'd talked to Skinner the night before and Skinner had
asked the question, 'if it was your kid missing, who would you want
on the case?' Masters agreed. Mulder was getting help now and none
of the drugs were mandatory prescriptions and none of them were
automatic grounds for medical leave. Dana Scully was back, Skinner
said that was a good thing, though after yesterday, Masters wasn't
so sure.

Masters said what he had to. "You are still the best man for the
job. Give yourself a few more days. Spend as much time at the
clinic as you like."

Mulder sat back and knew for sure that Masters was just the
errandboy and reminded himself that there was no point shooting the
messenger. He used the stairs to get to the VCS office, buying
extra time to compose himself.

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

The team briefing was undramatic. The Analyst from ISU happy to
punch holes in his own profile. Yes, it didn't really seem like the
work of a lone maniac. But without a ransom demand it was hard to
imagine a group being involved. No motive. He could see where
Mulder was coming from. They needed to keep their options open.

After the Agents dispersed to carry on with their enquiries Mulder
asked Agent Keane to stay behind with her partner. They sat in the
quiet interview room.

Mulder spoke carefully. "I'm sorry if any of my words or actions
have offended you. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. If it's
too difficult for you to work with me I will leave the case team."
Mulder wasn't sure that it was a promise he would be allowed to
keep, but it was right in principle.

Susan Keane sat back, stunned and silent.

Mulder noted the discomfort, apologised again and left. He'd tried
rerunning the meetings with her but couldn't remember what he'd
done wrong. But then he didn't think he'd done anything wrong with
Scully and she'd run away from him. So obviously his judgement was
way off at the moment.

When Mulder returned to his desk he was in no mood to read other
people's reports. He wanted to get back into the details of the
work himself again.

He dug out the videos of the karate competition. After two hours of
watching home movies on fast forward he was feeling distinctly
queasy. He'd spotted the Senator's nanny a couple of times. But no
obvious homicidal maniacs lurking ominously in the shadows. It was
a long shot, a very long shot. Other Agents had already tried.

He rewound slightly to watch a piece of the tape again. A familiar
mannerism, the flexing and unflexing of fingers. He let it run at
normal speed. And saw himself.

=========

The DC police officer tapping on the car window brought him back to
reality. Mulder looked around, just what he needed. He had pulled
off the freeway when the panic had started to affect his breathing
and now he was about to get booked. He steadied himself and
prepared to lie.

The officer was suspicious, but he didn't really need to hand out
another ticket so bad that he wanted to get into an argument over
it. If the FBI Agent was going to claim that he'd had to stop to
get urgent information for a colleague who'd just rung through on
his cellular, well who was he to criticise? It would have been
worse if he'd been driving along with a phone in one hand, digging
through papers with the other.

Mulder felt a lot calmer as he sat in Dana Scully's comfortable
Quantico office. Even as they watched the video together the panic
didn't come back.

Scully looked him over. "You know I don't think I've ever seen you
so rested, it's weird, it's like the mood swings aren't affecting
you physically. You look fine now."

He groaned. "Oh no. Not you as well." He explained about Skinner's
comments and the Senator's remarks, then offered a theory. "I'm
sleeping more than normal, my body seems to approve even if it's
not helping my brain. And it looks like the auto pilot that sends
me to work in the morning makes a better job of it than my
conscious mind."

"Because normally you're too busy."

A self conscious laugh provided the reply.

In a way it didn't surprise her. It had always intrigued her the
way he could find the energy to instantly flip between on duty and
off duty in appearance when they were in the field, even when she
knew mentally he was focused one hundred percent on a case.

"How are you feeling?" She said nervously.

"Still bouncing downstairs." He turned away, it was the end of that
discussion.

They returned their attention to the videos. A little while later
Dana Scully hit the pause capturing an image of a tall dark haired
man. She put the recording to frame advance and dug around in one
of the files she'd brought back with her from Florida. "Mark
Trent."

"Who?"

"He was part of the CIA team you worked with during the debriefing
when you got back from Europe."

"I don't know him."

"He was one of the people I interviewed when we went to the CIA. I
think you did know him." She emphasised the did and Mulder shivered
slightly as he understood what she meant.

Mulder pressed back a little further into the upholstery of the
chair. He looked at the file photos and at the TV screen. It did
look awfully like the same man.

There was a raw dread now in the way Mulder felt. Not just in no
fit state to run the investigation, in the absence of any
indication to the contrary he would now have to put himself way up
there on the suspects list. And given the lack of suspects that
wasn't a very comfortable place to be. The only consolation was
that at least he had a CIA colleague to join him on it.

-----------

Special Agent Susan Keane was not happy about this turn of events.
Where was the annoyance? Where was the despair? He'd just sat and
calmly taken the responsibility. He'd apologised.

She felt appalled at herself, how low had she stooped? She had
reasons, good reasons for what she did. She'd even convinced
herself she was helping him. Now she just felt dirty. They were
using her to try and destroy someone who didn't deserve that kind
of treatment.

Her partner looked at her, unsure what to say. Finally he broke the
silence. "So what are you going to do? Was that a good enough
apology or do you want to make it official."

Keane bit back her reaction but still some it seeped out. "He's got
nothing to apologise for. I was coming on to him and he brushed me
off."

Her partner looked down at the floor. He'd wondered about it,
thought it seemed unlikely. But he hadn't wanted to act as if he
didn't believe her. After all she'd never made a play for him, not
the way she had for Mulder.

----------

Mulder booked himself and two of the Agents from the team on the
next morning's flight down to Florida.

The meeting was going to be difficult. Despite the warmth of his
welcome on the last visit, Mulder knew he had to prepare for the
worst. To all practical purposes he was about to go in and meet his
old CIA boss and accuse him of having some complicity in his memory
loss and worse still, in the abduction of four children and the
murder of two people.

The Agents accompanying him watched him closely. Spooky had been
living up to his name on the case. Weird leaps of logic, impressive
analysis of evidence, sharp. He looked like butter wouldn't melt in
his mouth. Ice cold. Then suddenly it would all just crumble and
you'd think he was going to be leaving the building in a strait
jacket.

Mulder felt the inspection and shivered uncomfortably. Just had to
get through the day, one hour at a time, one minute at a time. The
drugs would be cutting in soon. But would it be enough, soon
enough.

CIA Regional Office Chief Mike Cameron checked Mulder over and
started to greet him, congratulating him on his rapid recovery.

Mulder smiled, embarrassed. "Fraid not Mike. It's just a shiny
paint job. I feel like crap."

Cameron looked back. Mulder watched him carefully. Either Cameron
was a very good liar, which of course he probably was, or else
Cameron was genuinely worried about what had happened. The two
Agents accompanying Mulder sat back to wait for the fireworks.

They watched the tape. "Mark Trent?" Asked Mulder. "One of your
people?"

Cameron looked back horrified as the jigsaw puzzle pieces slotted
in place in his head. "Mulder. We need some privacy."

The other two Agents took Mulder's nod of the head as the
instruction to leave.

Cameron leant forward. "Agent Scully came around asking about that
blond bodyguard type, crew cut. Well it could have been lots of
people. But I'd forgotten about Simon Jackson. He was Mark Trent's
partner about five years ago. He left, got recruited from here. I
think he still gets the paychecks from the same people as us
though. But he's not CIA. Now it looks like Trent's not ours
either."

Mulder replayed it a few times in his head, trying to force his
mind to concentrate. "So the man on the video is Mark Trent and
he's CIA and there's a good chance that Simon Jackson, ex CIA, is
the other man I was seen with."

"Yeah, Simon Jackson, well that's what he was called back then.
Trent met you for a couple of the debriefs and he was there at that
dinner at your hotel the night before you went missing. I feel so
bad about this. It's like I set you up. I'll get Trent. Don't
worry, I promise he'll be happy to talk to you."

Mulder puzzled over that for an instant. It was taking his brain a
while to process things but he realised that Cameron was telling
him that Trent would be made happy to talk.

Cameron looked back uncomfortably. "This isn't right. You did a
good job for us. I'll do what I can. What's wrong with you anyway?
You aren't your usual self."

"They left me with a bit of a problem to go with the memory loss."

"What, you getting help from a shrink or something?"

Mulder smiled, he could feel the panic and the nausea fading. He
wasn't going to bounce down the next step just yet, Cameron wasn't
going to let him. "Or something. Do you have anyone on the crew
here who does research work on sleep patterns?" Mulder held his
breath as he waited for the reply, he couldn't get that lucky,
could he?

Cameron just shook his head. "No. Too specialised for us, there are
a couple of Labs, I could get you some names. This to do with the
case or you having trouble sleeping?"

"The names would help."

Cameron nodded.

Mulder went to talk to the other Agents. Cameron sent for Trent.
Cameron tapped Mulder on the shoulder, "do you want to be there for
this?"

Mulder shook his head uncomfortably. "No. Call me when he's ready
to talk."

Cameron nodded, acknowledging the Fed's squeamishness with a brief
grin.

---------

Agents Clarke and Andrews sat as passive witnesses at Mulder's
interrogation of Mark Trent. Though 'interrogation' hardly seemed
like the right term. Mulder was quiet, confident, confiding, gently
leading and focusing the discussion. Trent was 'happy to talk'.

Trent was finally led away to sleep off the side effects of his
'happy to talk' injection.

Mulder stayed in place, his hands gripping the edge of the table
top, he looked blankly at the wall in front of him. Clarke and
Andrews moved forward to the table to start discussing the case.
Mulder carried on looking carefully forward, trying to breathe.

The chair fell backwards as Mulder turned and ran for the door. It
was a long time before he returned.

If only the other Agents hadn't been there he would have been ok.
He was already on the upward curve of the bounce. He prepared
himself for the worst and reminded himself that they were robots.
Just robots.

The two Agents were still at the table where he'd left them. They
gave him the chance to sit down. Clarke handed him a coffee and
pushed the plate of cookies towards him. "You ok, now?"

Mulder looked at him. What was this, some sort of a joke?

Clarke decided to carry on despite the lack of an answer. "What
they did to him, Trent, to make him talk. If I hadn't been here I
would not have believed it. And that's what they do to one of their
own." Clarke paused, his voice was tinged with a kind of horrified
fascination. "And what they did to you. If I hadn't been here to
hear it..."

"You would have had me locked in a psychiatric ward as soon as you
saw the report." Mulder said the words without looking up from the
coffee.

"Something like that." Clarke hesitated for an instant. "Do you
think we can get the blond guy, Simon Jackson or Charles Taylor or
whoever he is?"

"They are usually good at disappearing, but that's no reason for
not trying."

"If this stuff's what they can do to people, how can you keep going
on?"

Mulder lifted his head. "If this stuff's what they can do to
people, how can I stop?" He paused and smiled suddenly. "Hey,
didn't we have some work to do?"

Mulder thought about the bounce, he didn't feel like he was falling
quite so fast.

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

The man surveyed Agent Susan Keane and pondered her
insubordination. 'Wasn't going to be used like that'. Who does she
think she is?

But Keane's sudden attack of morals was only one of his problems.
This job had been ill fated from the start.

Skinner was still helping Mulder. Even Masters had helped Mulder,
not just ordering him to do the job, he was telling him that he was
good at it.

Mulder, instead of hiding the video evidence of his contact with
the victim, had shipped out multiple copies of it around the team.
And in a truly unlucky break one of the genuine 'home movies' had
footage of a CIA Agent and they'd spotted it. What chance was there
of that?

Mulder had even been to see a Doctor about the sleeping thing. He'd
even told his boss what drugs he was on. Since when did Mulder let
people help him?

Probably something to do with Dana Scully. He'd been shocked to
hear of her return to DC. Then they had such a lucky break with
that first meeting and her running out on Mulder. But they seemed
to have made it all up again by the next day.

Mike Cameron, who didn't know when to shut up, had given Mark
Trent to Mulder for interrogation. And Trent would have been able
to tell them just about everything that happened to Mulder in those
missing weeks.

Damn it. Was there anything else that could go wrong? When his
supervisors got to know about this there would be a lot of trouble.
He'd never expected the frame ups to stick but they should have
caused Mulder more discomfort than this.

He had few cards left. But he still had the kids. While he had them
he could still try something with Mulder but it would be risky.
Still there were one or two things going for him. Everyone knew how
depressed and moodie Mulder was and his bosses knew that he was on
some mishmash of drugs to control it. Maybe even now things could
become too much for him.

The medical retirement idea had been more elegant. Less chance of
repercussions. What self respecting newspaper would take at face
value, stories from an ex Agent who had voluntarily taken
psychiatric leave then who had failed to prove himself fit to
return? It was unlikely that Mulder would be so obliging now.

But suicide. Untidy. Unfortunate. But, understandable. They would
have to move fast.

END of Part 9
--------------

From jhumby@ctv.es Thu Oct 31 02:37:41 1996
NEW: The Insurance Policy - 10/11 - by Joann Humby
jhumby@iee.org

Legally:
The interesting characters in this story belong to Chris Carter,
1013 and Fox as brought to life by DD, GA and the XFiles writers.
I've borrowed them for fun not profit.

Part 10

Agent Clarke did most of the talking. Agent Andrews did most of the
writing down. Mulder interrupted occasionally, correcting, adding.

Mulder didn't like the story. Didn't like his predictability.
Didn't like the fact that he found it very easy to imagine being
drugged during dinner at the hotel and told some story about
abductees. Didn't like the idea that he would respond to the words
by following these strangers. Like one of Pavlov's dogs.

Most frustrating was the fact that he had spent part of those
missing weeks investigating the disappearance of a little girl and
her elder brother. And then another little girl. He might already
have solved this case once, if only he could remember any of it.

He'd persisted in little acts of rebellion throughout the time he
was with them but nothing that they hadn't expected. His phone
always seemed to catch Skinner's or Scully's answering machine. His
emails didn't seem to get much of a response, bad timing because of
the holiday, people linking it to long weekends. Foolish mistakes
on his part, they had of course just intercepted his phone calls
and emails. And he was the man who didn't believe in coincidences,
yet he had believed that there was nothing wrong?

It was only after he had met Sarah Deacon, the Senator's nanny,
that he'd really turned difficult. They'd upped the medication but
his paranoia was kicking in hard. He refused to assist them in
taking Sarah Deacon into protective custody. He was trying to make
phone calls from other people's phones. Bizarrely, he was even
insisting on a visit to a hairdresser.

So they gave in on a few things. They'd let him get his hair cut.
But, they didn't let him go to Washington to see Deacon. And they
didn't let him go anywhere without a guard. Protection they'd said.
The same reason he was told not to let other people know what he
was up to. So no contact with Mike Cameron or the Lone Gunman guys.
Had to stay undercover else it might all collapse around him and
then he would have no chance of finding the truth.

They had known the right buttons to push.

He cursed his predictability.

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

Impulsive, instinct driven on many things, his attention to detail
on investigations could shock even people who knew him well. Even
Mulder was surprised by it this time.

He looked again at the notes he'd taken and wondered who he had
been writing about. He'd taken to logging the mood swings. Self
defence. He couldn't tell how low he was going to sweep. He knew
that when he hit the bottom of the bounce he was at first too panic
stricken and then too apathetic to do anything dangerous, either to
himself or anyone else. It was when he started to recover he was at
risk. Imagining some sudden burst of energy provoking some equally
sudden burst of violence was only too easy.

It would be easy to do what the Doctors suggested, add another
ingredient to the cocktail of drugs that he was already taking and
numb himself to it. Reduce the risk. The trouble was it would
reduce the sharpness as well. He wouldn't be able to progress the
case and that could mean those kids who might, even now, be still
alive would have one less chance.

So instead, as he bounced back from the pit he'd fallen in, he read
his own case notes. Apparently, whether he deserved it or not, a
lot of people were trying to help him. Skinner and Scully, though
maybe he should have expected that. But Richard Carr before he got
pulled out to another job, AD Masters and Mike Cameron, they were
all surprises. Clarke and Andrews had been sympathetic,
understanding and had given him time when he needed it. Unworthy of
their regard. Yet it said here that he was still one of the best
hopes those kids had. Had he really written that? And meant it?

Well if he had written it, it had to be during some sort of manic
cycle of his day. And if he was their best hope, they were in big
trouble. A sudden flash of memory, that was what Lucy Householder
had told him about herself. She'd saved that little girl. By dying.

He read the list of symptoms associated with not sleeping properly,
carefully ticked them off his own checklist. He read the list of
medicines he'd been prescribed and the reasons for and actions of
each one.

He read about the sudden short bursts of sleep the brain could
choose to snatch at odd times if it was deprived of real sleep. The
way a few seconds of brilliant, intense, overwhelmingly realistic
dreams could suddenly cut in. Usually in the wind down from moments
of high stress, after some adrenaline peak. A kind of narcolepsy.
Not psychotic hallucinations.

The cold, detached, analytical part of his brain recognised what it
was being told. He read the words until the rest of his brain shut
up.

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

Assistant Director Skinner waited for Masters to talk. They'd both
read the reports.

Mulder was claiming to have been drugged, led from his hotel,
hypnotised and surgically operated on and drugged again. A
succession of different controls played out over three weeks. Three
weeks kept under wraps, apparently free but actually under armed
guard and in various degrees of drug induced haze. Long enough to
set some frame ups in place. Long enough to be able to dump Mulder
with a problem so serious he should have been incapable of
defending himself.

But he had defended himself, from the first attempted frame up for
the murder of the guard and now from the second one, an attempt to
implicate him in the disappearance of those children.

Masters looked gloomily across at Skinner. "I won't bother to ask
if you think it's for real, I know you do. I thought the
instructions to keep him on the case were about pushing him until
he fell out of the Bureau, but it's a lot worse than that, isn't
it?"

Skinner nodded.

Masters groaned. "You might have warned me."

"Yeah, and you would have believed it."

Masters acknowledged the comment with a shrug. "So they reckoned
they'd either get him with the frame up or he'd crack and give up
or he'd screw up so bad we could fire him. But his defences have
been too good for them." He winced. "Makes you wonder what the
attacks have been like in the past for him to have trained his
defences that well."

Skinner didn't bother to reply.

---------

Dana Scully sat in the VCS office. It was Saturday morning, so only
a few of the Agents were in but she'd joined Mulder, Clarke and
Andrews to plan the next tasks.

Mulder had considered staying in Florida for the weekend but he
needed to visit the clinic, needed some recovery time. Masters had
ordered him to come back to DC telling him that as most of their
contacts worked for the government they weren't going to get
anywhere until Monday. It was an order.

They talked about the research lab where the guard had been killed.
It was too much of a coincidence for a guard to be killed at the
Lab. Too much of a coincidence for there to be video footage of
Mulder at the lab unless that was where they'd held him after he
became too difficult. Must have been taken there after that visit
to the hair stylist. Shame he didn't remember the visit to the
salon, he'd obviously made an impression, probably could have got
some pointers.

Scully told them what she knew about the Lab. Research specialists
in the treatment of chemical weapons injuries. Mulder snorted
dismissively, "that could mean anything, just an excuse for high
fences."

Scully told him what else she'd discovered. A long list of staff
had been identified. She'd had people track down their biographies,
Doctorate theses, published papers. A lot of hints about chemicals
that influenced the brain, even some that made it more malleable,
more open to suggestion. But nothing that linked anyone to invasive
surgery and sleep research.

Clarke and Andrews sat in stunned silence through most of the
debate as Mulder and Scully jumped from subject to subject. Clarke
was conscious that he was only hearing fifty percent of the
discussion. The rest of it had to be going on telepathically and of
the bits he did hear he reckoned he only understood half the words.

At last they slowed down and came back to earth. More practical
things awaited. They would visit the Lab on Monday, take some more
Agents with them so they could complete the interviews quicker.
Mulder reckoned they had as much as Mark Trent could tell them and
he wasn't going to bet on finding the guy with the blond crewcut.
So they'd have to switch to colleagues, friends, known associates
of the two men.

The first two kidnappings had taken place when someone lured the
children out. The someone, they now knew was Sarah Deacon, the
Senator's nanny. She thought she was acting in their best
interests. There had been warnings given to her that their lives
were in danger and that they needed to go into protective custody
and that she was to lead them. And then, she'd forgotten all about
it, they'd told her she had no need to remember.

The nanny and the Senator's daughter hadn't needed the same
prompting to encourage them to go their 'protectors.' Sarah Deacon
remembered the time and place given to her at the karate
competition by a man who worked for the CIA.

Mulder felt momentarily grateful for his paranoia. Too little of
the medication and apparently he wouldn't go along with parts of
the plan. He certainly wouldn't help seize the child and her nanny
on the pretext of protective custody. Too much medication and he
just went to sleep. He could so easily have become their
accomplice. If they'd had more time to play around with him, he
probably would have.

Losing him like that. Those kids mugging him and dumping him across
town. They'd been so unlucky. Who knows, maybe the next phase of
their plan might have been more successful than the first one. Let
him wake up in strange surroundings, suffering from shortterm
memory loss. How could he fail to trust his rescuers? How could he
fail to believe their account of the missing weeks?

So if the nanny had acted as the safe voice for the first two
kidnappings and she had been preprogrammed with instructions for
herself, who had tempted the fourth victim to leave home?

The rest of the Agents would focus on Washington. They would try
and find out where the nanny met the victims, presumably close to
the call box the messages had come from. And they would find out
who lured the fourth little girl from her home. Who might have
done? Who might she have trusted that much? Who, just maybe, had
such access to her that they could drug her food and make her more
open to suggestion?

The single most important task in all of it was the one unspoken
one. Where were the little girls now? They'd keep up the routine
pressure on empty buildings and odd sightings but until they got
more of a scent they had no trail to follow.

----------

SATURDAY NIGHT

Mulder slept his dreamless sleep until he was woken by a mass of
cold metal being held up against his face. He knew it was a gun. He
felt the fabric bag being pulled over his head as someone cuffed
his hands behind him and tied his feet.

"Now. Mulder, no fuss, we wouldn't want to hurt you."

Mulder groaned as they emphasised the point by pulling his arms
further back. They pushed him to sit upright.

"That's better. Man to man. Now Agent Mulder you've done remarkably
well to survive for this long, but I'm afraid our patience is
wearing a little thin. We've decided that now would be a good time
for your suicide."

Mulder tensed, anticipating a close range gunshot or a scalpel
blade. But neither came.

"No Mulder. You've nothing to fear from us. It would be dreadful if
we made a mistake and that pretty partner. Oh sorry, pretty ex
partner. Oh sorry, maybe you prefer not to think of her as pretty,
not after that little scene you made. Well, anyway, we wouldn't
want her to find anything untoward."

"Like marks on my wrists from the cuffs you mean?"

"Very good, though of course the cuffs are padded. But that would
have been such an easy mistake. No, you'll do it yourself."

"No."

"Oh you will. We have four little girls. We'll wait forty eight
hours. If you are dead, they can go home to their parents with no
bad memories of their little disappearing act. If you are still
alive, we'll kill the first one. Perhaps send you some gift to
confirm it, what do you think would be the right momento to send?"

"I don't believe you."

"Yes you do. And if you don't believe us now, you'll believe us in
forty eight hours time. We'll leave it another forty eight hours
and then.... Well you get the picture. You're an intelligent man,
too intelligent to wait until they are all dead before you believe
us. You can save them, make your life worth something. Or at least,
make your death worth something."

"I believe you'll kill them. Why should I believe that you'll let
them go if I die?"

"You know the standard abduction profile. The kids get sent back.
We get them back when we need them. Killing them is bad for the
project plan."

"I'm not suicidal."

"You know Mulder, I actually believe you. But sometime in the next
few days you will be and your death could be so much more
worthwhile if you do it soon."

Mulder slumped back in silence. Someone pushed him forwards and he
felt the crunch as his head hit the floor. He heard the lock on the
cuffs release. By the time he'd pulled his hands forward and
released the black drawstring bag from over his head, the room was
empty.

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

MONDAY

Fox Mulder looked at the faces around the office. Would any of them
be surprised? Probably not. Upset? Maybe, one or two. Guilty?
Perhaps, some of them.

He'd shipped the four Agents out to Florida. They would do a good
job. He would have liked to have gone with them. But that just
wasn't possible.

He regretted again that he hadn't got this over with yesterday.
Today was cutting it too fine. It was going to need careful timing
now. He needed to be confident that he wouldn't be found until
after the drugs had taken effect. But he had to be sure that he
would be found early enough that the news would get out that he was
dead before that 48 hour limit.

If a kid died, because of just some delay getting the news out.
Well that wasn't worth thinking about. It was probably a
meaningless gesture anyway. They would do exactly what they wanted
and his actions would make no difference.

But he'd delayed until today. Why was that? Because it would be
more dramatic here in the Hoover Building? Because he'd wanted to
see if the investigation might strike lucky at the last moment and
save him the trouble? It would be so ironic if he did it and then
when they came to give him the news that the kids were safe, they
found his body. Not that it mattered, he'd never worried about
being embarrassed.

He'd thought a lot about who should find the body. It almost didn't
make any difference, just so long as it wasn't Dana Scully.

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

Agent Susan Keane wanted to make amends, needed to make amends. She
was already in trouble with her boss and it hadn't even got rid of
her guilty feelings. She'd sent through a note to AD Masters saying
Mulder had done nothing wrong. Now she had to go and see Mulder and
apologise in person.

She looked around the office, he was still missing. She checked
Mulder's schedule. Nothing until 4.30 and his appointment with
Masters. Then at 5 he was due to start meeting up with the Agents
again. She looked at her watch, 4 O'Clock now. She'd grab some
files and go to see him. It was important that she saw him before
he went to see Masters. She didn't want him to worry anymore.

She headed to the X-Files office, that was his refuge of course.

He was there but he said nothing when she went in. She realised he
was asleep. She went over to him, preparing to wake him as gently
as she could, her chance to make amends.

Her gentle touch just made him slump. She jumped back in alarm and
shook him but he didn't respond, she felt for a pulse and found
none. She phoned for a medical team.

The empty bottle was on the desk. Sleeping pills. Yes, he was
having trouble sleeping. They'd done something to him, she
remembered them saying they'd done something to him, though she
didn't know what. And now he'd just taken the full bottle. She'd
done this to him. She'd been the final straw. She'd broken him.
Driven him to this.

It seemed wrong to her that he should have succumbed to something
like that, but if it was just the last straw. Then she thought of
all the other straws he'd been laden with and realised that most of
them had put there by her bosses. They were to blame. And, what had
they told him after she'd stopped doing their dirty work? Had they
offered some sort of deal? Bartered those kids for him. He'd fall
for that sort of thing, she was sure he would.

By the time the emergency team arrived Susan Keane was fighting
back hysteria.

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

Dana Scully's Quantico team were shocked that she'd insisted on
doing the autopsy herself. How could she? Surely she knew him too
well. It was only when the ME, who had been just about the first
person on the death scene, had waved them back that they had
stopped arguing. He carefully pointed out that Scully needed to be
absolutely sure for herself it was suicide.

They were even more shocked when she'd sent them all away insisting
that she would work only with the ME.

She sat quietly in the autopsy room and read for a while.

She heard a murmur from behind her and moved quickly to the table.
"I'm freezing."

She smiled and then quickly felt guilty. She'd put a foam mat onto
the stainless steel table. At least she'd remembered that, it would
have been dangerous for him if she hadn't. But he only had a sheet
for cover over his shirt, he hadn't worn his jacket in the interest
of realism. She apologised and went to search for some more
clothes. When she returned he attempted to sit up.

"How do you feel?"

"Like death warmed up, except not so warm."

"You're ok?"

"I've got a hangover the size of the Empire State Building but I
don't think anything's damaged. Some bruises. How the hell did that
happen. Why would someone beat me up after I'm dead?"

"Ah well. Agent Keane found you, she tried to wake you up but just
succeeding in knocking you over, you banged your head on the desk."

"I wasn't left alone with her for long was I? Remind me to die
lying down next time."

He pulled on the sweatshirt then perched himself unsteadily on the
edge of the table and tried to get to his feet. She reached out to
steady him and was shocked by how quickly he pulled away from her.

He looked apologetically back. "Once bitten, twice shy." He said
sadly.

"Let me help you."

"You already are." He touched the back of her hand for an instant
and moved away.

She stood and watched him struggle for balance and walk to the
chair. He turned to her. "So, what now?"

"Couple of hours. We wait until everyone's gone home. I put you in
a body bag and we call up an ambulance."

"I hope the safe house isn't another of those dumps."

"Well it's not a safe house exactly."

"It's what then?"

She paused and smiled sheepishly. "It's a chapel of rest, a private
room. It's consistent with the use of the body bag. And no one will
be surprised if I hang around there. It's approved to hold bodies
between post mortem and final release for burial. It'll attract
less attention than me going to a strange house."

"Couldn't you have pretended that I'd insisted on a Viking burial,
so you'd taken me back to my apartment to lie in state on the couch
or something."

END of Part 10
-------------

From jhumby@ctv.es Thu Oct 31 02:37:44 1996
NEW: The Insurance Policy - 11/11 - by Joann Humby
jhumby@iee.org

Legally:
The interesting characters in this story belong to Chris Carter,
1013 and Fox as brought to life by DD, GA and the XFiles writers.
I've borrowed them for fun not profit.

PART 11 OF 11 (THE INSURANCE POLICY)

Aside from the ME who was an old, personal friend of Dana Scully
and AD Skinner, no one else knew about the miraculous survival of
the Bureau's most unwanted.

They might need other people in on it later but for now that would
be enough. Knock out drops and tricks of the trade to mask the
pulse so only a real expert could find it quickly. And the ME had
got there very fast, neck and neck with the EMT's in fact

Not much Mulder could do now except wait and see what the other
Agents turned up. And just send back the odd instruction from
beyond the grave.

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

Susan Keane was not happy and she needed everyone to know it. The
mood in VCS was subdued. Mulder was not supposed to crack like
that. They'd all seen it coming, of course they had. But not that.
A breakdown maybe. A few months out of commission while the Doctors
patched him up.

He didn't seem the type but maybe if there was a type then he did.
He'd lost his memory, six weeks gone, just like that and they'd
made him come back to work immediately. And then they'd given him
that case. The man had lost a sister when he was a kid so they give
him a child kidnapping case to settle him back into the routine.
And that stuff that Clarke and Andrews had come back with from
Florida about what had been done to him. Amazing stuff, scary.

Then there was that spat he had with Dana Scully. No wonder he gave
in.

-------

Mulder read the reports from Florida. He couldn't help but wonder
how Dana Scully had explained to Clarke and Andrews the urgent need
to find out more about the exact location of the packet of slow
release drugs that had been implanted to stop him dreaming. At a
guess she reminded them who the pathologist was and fixed them with
that look of hers.

In fact Mulder couldn't help but wonder how Clarke and Andrews had
got the information at all. He thought he saw Mike Cameron's hands
pulling the strings.

The FBI Doctor who got called out to deal with the minor surgery
had been warned he would then have to stay at a safe house for a
few days afterwards, no contact. He was surprised to see the corpse
looking so well. Scully carefully pocketed the implanted drug
capsule as evidence. "Just like slow release fertiliser, they can
make them take months to come out. I think this looks like it's ten
weeks worth, it's about half gone."

"That's nice." But he didn't think it was nice at all. He hadn't
noticed the scar over the implant, what was another scar amongst
the collection of cuts and bruises he'd woken up with.

The Doctor handed Mulder the newspaper and suggested he go directly
to page two. He flipped the page and saw a picture. "Argh, I look
about thirteen years old."

But the shock of the photograph was nothing compared to the
article. Mulder was seldom lost for words but this one had him
beat.

It was to be expected that the media had been interested. The head
of the FBI team working on a high profile case had killed himself.
And it was a slow news week. Someone, someone from the FBI had
recounted the train of events leading to the suicide.

The overstressed Agent suffering from amnesia thrown straight back
in to lead a highly traumatic case. Was it any wonder he'd buckled?
The report was all just basic information, well known data in VCS,
it didn't even mention why Mulder was suffering from amnesia. Even
so, the FBI stood accused of effectively killing one of its own
Agents. And such a young, innocent looking one too.

A fit of embarrassed laughter was the only possible response. Dana
Scully read the story and started to giggle in sympathy.

-----------

Another disastrous twist in an already disastrous case. Mulder was
now causing trouble from the grave. Suicide. People accepted that
it was suicide but apparently that wasn't good enough. The story in
the press was already pretty hot. It would only take a little more
of the build up to be leaked to the press. The involvement of a CIA
Agent perhaps, or word of an implant of drugs occurring at a
Government Research Lab. It didn't bear thinking about.

Mulder was dead and now the FBI had reason to want public revenge.
The temperature was going to rise. People would want a scapegoat.
The man sat back in his seat. It wasn't going to be him. He'd throw
some more pawns to the wolves.

They wanted a guy with a blond crewcut? They could have him, not
that they'd get the charges to stick. But it would give them their
moment of glory and by the time they would have to let him go, it
would be old news.

They wanted a deranged Doctor who experimented on FBI Agents. They
could have one. No problem.

They wanted those kids back to show Mulder hadn't died in vain.
Wipe away the images of the innocent looking Agent with telegenic
images of young children. Yes, even that. They'd be returned.

He just hoped that the smokescreen would be enough to give him time
to cover his tracks. Certainly it would be enough for the FBI to
lose interest. Now if the same were true for Dana Scully he was
home free.

----------

Agent Susan Keane nervously scanned the corridor. Her boss was
going to make her carry the can for the embarrassing publicity, she
knew it. But she'd done nothing, not yet. All the leaks so far had
come from ordinary Agents, not people like herself with inside
knowledge.

So she was surprised when instead of announcing her imminent demise
he told her she was going to be a hero. She was going to rescue
four little girls being held by an ex-CIA Agent who was now a fully
certified maniac with a blond crewcut.

----------

Mulder had been wondering what to do with the video footage of him
sleeping. More particularly with the video footage of him being
held cuffed and with a bag over his head by three men who told him
it was time for him to do the decent thing and commit suicide.

An interesting video. Better than most home movies. Better than
some of Andy Warhol's. They'd already extracted the best images
they could of the three men and distributed them to the Agents
without explaining where the pictures had come from.

A man with a blond crewcut. Another man that Mulder was pretty sure
he'd seen in the FBI cafeteria. And a third man, older, more
distinguished looking, who'd done the talking.

The press were interested, excited by the intrigue of the story of
his suicide. What would they do with a still from the video? And
they could save the video footage for later if it didn't work. It
had potential to be dynamite.

No need to admit outright who the man being held prisoner was. It
would be enough just to release the still with the FBI's request
for assistance in identifying the faces and their current
locations. Scully took a lot of convincing. Skinner was
surprisingly more amenable.

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

Agent Susan Keane had an address, all she had to do now was slip it
in as if it had been supplied as an anonymous tip off. As it
turned out she didn't need to, all she had to do was dial it into
one of the newspapers that had published the photograph.

She had gagged at the picture. She was pretty sure it was Mulder
who was the victim. If so then she'd been right, they'd obviously
offered him some kind of deal. His life for the kids. She'd make
them pay, after the kids were free.

The newspaper photo provoked a lot of interest and a lot of
addresses. Some were hoaxes. Some were just look alikes. But Susan
Keane knew which address she and her partner should visit to do an
initial check on, she took it from the pile.

---------

Mulder tried to keep himself from pacing the small ante room that
had become his home for the past three days. His brain was back
under some sort of control, probably just the synthetic drugs
having an impact. Too early for the other stuff to have left his
system and let the normal pattern of dreams come back. The tests
on the implanted drugs were labelled by Dana Scully as interesting.
Mulder had to fight to stop himself screaming at the word.

She casually explained the slightly off beat mix of drugs similar
to, but different from, the ones the brain produced for itself. Not
the kind of thing a standard toxicological report would get, they'd
just look like fragments of the real thing. Clever.

"Good. I'd hate to think they weren't even trying." Mulder had
muttered in reply.

-----------

Agent Keane and her partner stood on the steps of the warehouse
building. She smiled at him, "maybe there's a penthouse suite."

"Yeah right."

They couldn't get a reply when they rang the bell. She insisted
they look through the windows. And she saw it. A tiny raincoat. She
looked some more and saw the child size pair of boots. She pointed
out her discovery to her partner. They called for backup. Thirty
minutes later there were twenty members of a FBI team ready for a
possible siege.

Two hours later, the siege had ended with no violence. And the
return of four little girls. And, embarrassingly, no suspect. The
girls couldn't remember who had taken them or who had kept them
here, or if they'd been kept somewhere else The girls couldn't
remember very much at all.

The pictures on the evening news looked very good. Bureau Agents
armed to the teeth escorting the children to the hospital to meet
their relieved parents.

The blond man with the crewcut was found several hours later. They
took him in. But even the optimists found it hard to see where the
evidence to convict him of anything more than looking tough was
going to come from.

--------

Soon Mulder could return from the dead. He would be glad to get out
of the cell he was staying in. The incessant drift of semi
religious muzak from the neighbouring rooms was sending him stir
crazy. Why did the FBI have a safe room in a Chapel of Rest anyway?
Ok, so normally they didn't but someone had owed Skinner a favour.

Mulder smiled a little when he thought about the newspaper reports.
The kind, generous words from his colleagues. Boy were they going
to be pissed when he showed up.

----------

Agent Keane went to see her boss. She anticipated his
congratulations. She'd listen to him and then she'd blow the lid on
his little game.

He wasn't there.

She couldn't be sure if he'd run away or if he'd been disposed of.
But she was quite sure she wasn't going to see him again. There was
a finality in the note that had been left for her. "Don't come
back."

----------

Mulder should have felt exultant but he didn't. The return of the
kids was better than he'd dared hope for. The arrest of two of the
three men who'd visited him in the night was good but they would
need to do a lot more work before they could convict them of
anything serious. But a videoed assault on a Federal Agent was a
start, especially given that the Agent was alive to testify the
video was for real. The diary he'd built up of his missing weeks
was pretty convincing and so far as he could tell he'd done nothing
wrong, apart from be stupidly naive. And Agents were still tracking
down evidence of experimentation at that research lab and on the
death of the guard.

But the older man was still at large, the one who had actually done
the threatening. Though maybe he was paying some other way, the
penalties for failure could be high in his business. And there were
so many other people involved who wouldn't be brought to trial. An
unimpressive tip of a depressingly massive iceberg.

But, for Mulder, the most frightening things were the two dead
bodies, three dead bodies including the security guard. Surely they
hadn't killed three people just to frame him. He wasn't responsible
for their deaths was he?

Susan Keane had reassured him on it. The boy had died of an
accidental drug overdose, just carelessness by his abductors. The
boy wasn't, after all, the real target of the tests so they got
sloppy. An unhappy coincidence that had given them some unexpected
ammunition to use against Mulder. Sarah Deacon, the nanny, had
remembered things she wasn't supposed to.

The Security Guard had stumbled on a room where a couple of kids
were being temporarily held and had tried to talk to them. He had
paid for it with his life when one of the other guards with a
different agenda had caught him. Mulder's own escape attempt had
ended with another armful of drugs.

It seemed ok.

So when he told the therapist from psychiatric services asked about
the incidents he could mostly stick to the truth. He'd even
admitted that he was grateful to all the people who'd helped him.
All the people he hadn't expected to get help from, but who had
helped. Mostly unasked for and unanticipated help, gratefully
received.

Dr Framly, the therapist, asked Mulder about suicidal tendencies.
He'd feared for his job when he saw the newspaper coverage of
Mulder's death. Mulder suggested that it wasn't necessary for them
to meet again and the man had willingly agreed.

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

Mulder tried to make himself invisible as he entered the VCS
office. Strangely it didn't work. So much for the power of positive
thinking he mused grimly.

He wasn't sure why he felt quite so embarrassed. Probably something
to do with the newspaper headline announcing 'Spooky Rises from the
Grave'. Whoever gave the press his nickname was dead meat. He'd
find them, he was good at that sort of thing.

Or maybe it was the photo of Dana Scully with her arms around him
that some paparazzi had taken.

Or maybe it was the way they'd enthusiastically congratulated him
on his acting skills. They liked the way he'd play it dead cool for
hours then suddenly flip out. Guaranteeing that they'd all fall for
the suicide story. And that scene with Dana Scully, brilliant touch
that.

He gathered together the case files and passed them on to the right
Agents. Tracked down his own stuff for a return to the Basement.
Tried not to laugh at the way things had gone missing, ghoulish
souvenir hunters he thought. Almost flattering, except that people
had always paid to see freak shows.

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

It was still a slow news week. It wasn't every day the FBI had a
hero come back from the dead. It was an unmissable opportunity.

Mulder looked at the cameras and the waiting press. His attempt to
escape the ordeal had been firmly stamped on. AD Masters would
answer the questions, he could just nod at the appropriate moment.
The orders couldn't have been more explicit.

It sounded like an ok idea. Until Masters was grabbed by the
jugular by a succession of interviewers demanding an explanation of
why Mulder wasn't allowed to speak for himself. Masters looked at
him beseechingly and when an almost, barely present, glimmer of
acquiescence crossed Mulder's face, Masters quickly turned the
microphone towards him.

"Yes. I am alive. Thanks for noticing."

Masters grimaced at Mulder's reply to the much shouted, "So you're
still alive Agent Mulder" catcall that Mulder had decided to treat
as the first question. Masters relaxed when he realised it seemed
to have put the audience into a better mood.

"The Bureau deliberately faked the suicide.... Very few people knew
about it, the absolute minimum.... Yes, it was a demand of the
kidnappers, we thought it might smoke them out if they thought
they'd got what they wanted.... Yes, the obituaries were
embarrassing.... I only intend to answer questions on this specific
case...."

The replies were careful, diplomatic.

"You must be pleased with the outcome?"

Mulder paused from the glib one liners. "We have a young boy and a
young woman dead. Four children traumatised. And four families who
went through hell. We've caught some of the people involved. We did
our best and we rescued four people, I'm pleased about that, proud
of that. But I can't be pleased with the outcome."

The room went quiet for a moment before the volume went up to
maximum. They had their sound bite for the news.

"Your own role in this was pretty extraordinary. You carried on
running the case through intermediaries even after your, er,
death."

Mulder hesitated. If he wasn't on those drugs to damp down his
responses he'd have run away by now. Even with them he reckoned he
wasn't going to stick around much longer. "We had a big team on the
case. Twelve Agents in the core team plus a lot of support from
elsewhere, including Agent Scully, who is my partner, not an
'intermediary'." He knew that the statement was not strictly true,
but if he was going to get mangled in the press tomorrow she could
get embarrassed with him.

Mulder pushed the microphone back to Masters who announced that any
further questions should go to Media Relations.

Mulder headed from the table avoiding looking at the cameras. Now
for a vacation, not in Florida. Now to go sleep. And do some
dreaming.

Skinner watched Mulder as he left the hall, intercepting him when
he reached the door. "Definitely recruitment brochure material."

Mulder shrugged, "just topping up my Insurance Policy Sir." It
would be a long time before they got him in front of another
camera.

END
(Ok, guys. There it is. My longest ever story. My first conspiracy
story. My happiest ending. Thanks for staying with it. Hope you
enjoyed it. Joann - jhumby@iee.org)