Sun Apr 06 1997
Subject: NF> A One Time Opportunity

--------
==========

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

This story:
I'm happy for the story to be circulated uncommercially, intact
and with my name still attached.

Title - One Time Opportunity
Rating - PG (R if you are sensitive about language)
Classification - X (conspiracy) A (some)

Summary:
Mulder gets ordered to go out on his own to follow up the plane
crash investigation. Scully goes into hospital, but can't stop
thinking about the investigation. Skinner, well you'll have to read
it to find out about him.

Thanks to Sarah and Ann for UKism translation, their comments etc.

US4 Spoilers:
Up to and including Tempus Fugit / Max.

Joann jhumby@iee.org

4th April 97

---------------------
ONE TIME OPPORTUNITY
Part 1/3

Mulder scanned the contents of the in tray knowing that the process
was redundant. He knew exactly what was in the in tray. A selection
of displacement activities of a kind he had received before,
carefully filtered, coming from the top. He tried to summon up the
enthusiasm to lift his head above the assigned work, but the energy
wasn't there. He looked again at his watch but it suggested that
only five minutes had passed since his last check. Where was
missing time when you needed it?

Friday mornings were the worst. Friday mornings, Dana Scully was
definitely at the hospital, definitely having a check up,
definitely no chance to forget the tumor. It was the helplessness,
the uselessness that wore him out. On a chase he had boundless
supplies of energy. Trapped in his office with only Dana's illness
to think of he felt exhausted. Not physically, in fact his body was
demanding exercise, preferably pointless unnecessarily punishing
exercise. Not mentally exhausted, he was bored beyond belief, his
brain so much on freewheel it was playing word games, largely
unsupervised by its owner. But emotionally, the one track mind had
locked on the one track he could do nothing about.

He sighed at that. The one track he could do nothing about? Yeah,
right. He'd had twenty odd years brooding over another track he
could do nothing about. Two tracks then, clearly marked roads to
nowhere, trivial pursuits. Oh shit. He steeled himself to try and
form the thought again and this time without the self pity and the
resignation. He took deep breaths.

The phone rang. Saved by the bell.

Skinner's voice, "conference room 2, now."

"But Agent Scully's not here."

"So? You need an escort?"

Mulder kept the answer polite even though his thoughts were
anything but. Exactly the thing he needed. Skinner had been acting
weird for weeks. Mulder wondered why the words pot and kettle had
arrived in his head. A meeting with Skinner that didn't need
Scully? That meant something, he just couldn't think it could mean
anything good. Not in Skinner's office? That didn't improve the
prospects. Normally he'd speculate, but right now? He'd just put on
his jacket and head to the elevator.

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

The conference room was empty. Mulder checked his watch and
replayed the phone conversation. It was the right place, it was the
right time, but he'd been stood up. He considered leaving but
decided to delay.

An admin assistant he only vaguely recognised wandered into the
room and handed Mulder a sheet of paper. She left with a bright
smile and a flutter of eyelash but without further comment.

Mulder read the note. Oh great. 'VCS interview room three'. What
now? Was he supposed to eat the note or would it self destruct in
five seconds? He could almost hear the theme tune from Mission
Impossible playing through the air-conditioning vents. Nice.

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

Mulder hesitated at the door to the interview room. He refused to
speculate, he was tired. But, hey, this was tantalizing. A birthday
cake with a naked lady living inside? A gorillagram? An EBE?

He tried to stop himself from smirking as he opened the door.

The sight he saw knocked the smile off his face. The Director of
the FBI sat in splendid isolation. Mulder stopped dead in his
tracks, looked for Skinner, looked for an explanation. The Director
smiled politely, waved him to sit down.

It wasn't their first meeting. It was, however, their first one on
one.

Mulder took a deep breath and wondered to what he owed the honor.

The Director opened the discussion by handing him another note
before filling in the silence. "You seem surprised to see me."

Mulder read the words on the slip of paper and acknowledged them
with a nod. 'No names, no key words.' Great. A game of musical
chairs followed by a reminder that they might still be under
surveillance. Great. They could, of course, have left the building.
Yeah. But then outside of the building, if the FBI Director is
spotted chatting to one of his worker bees? Just another Agent,
hey? Plausible denial.

"Good to see you again, Sir."

"You too. I've seen your report." The Director tapped the folder
containing Mulder and Scully's report into the downed airplane.

"A complex case, Sir."

"Indeed. A follow up is justified."

Mulder stared and tried to understand. Of course a follow up was
justified, but a brick wall was in the way. "We've run out of leads
for the moment."

"I understand. I believe your partner has to stay in DC."

"Sir?"

"Essential. In fact."

"Sir?"

"But I believe you are free to continue the investigation. I
suggest you leave immediately." Another piece of paper slipped
across the table.

Mulder nodded to acknowledge the words on the note. "I need to
discuss it with my partner."

"Not possible. Your partner has to stay in DC. Health reasons."

"Even so. I have to explain where I'm going."

"You can't, your partner could try and follow you. That would be
regrettable. Right now we can offer your partner the best chance
money and technology has available. Now. Here. Not next week. Not
tomorrow. Today. For your partner's sake you have to go alone. And
leave no reason, no trail for anyone to follow."

Mulder frowned and tried to take it in. The Director of the FBI, no
less, had offered him the next piece in the puzzle and all he had
to do was take it and run with it. He'd run with shadier clues
before. All he had to do was leave Dana Scully.

Mulder swallowed, "and if I can't do that?"

"Game over. No reason for you to go. No reason for your partner to
stay."

"You'd withdraw the offer of treatment?"

"Not me. Limited availability. You've heard of once in a lifetime
opportunities." A pause, a softening in the Director's voice.
"Look. This isn't malice talking, what we're looking at is
specialized care. We've negotiated a slot, don't throw it away."

Mulder suddenly noticed the room was short of air, he knew it was
getting harder to breathe, he choked a reply. "It should be my
partner's choice. Not mine."

"Your choice. You know your partner might choose wrong."

Mulder knew he'd lost, he nodded his head, acknowledged his defeat.

The Director smiled. "Good luck with the case. See you again."

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

Mulder wandered back to the elevator. No need to worry about eating
the scraps of paper that he'd been handed. The Director had
thoughtfully pointed out the portable shredder in the corner of the
interview room before he left.

He wasn't surprised they'd picked a Friday.

All he had to do was leave at lunchtime. No one except Scully would
notice and she'd be tired and distracted when she arrived. She
would be surprised by the note but too far away to read between the
lines. He would make an early start to a weekend of relaxing with
the family. Yeah, right.

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

Dana Scully walked back from her hospital appointment. A two mile
walk. Walking as a deliberate and pointless, stupid waste of time.
She told herself the exercise was good for her. Certainly it would
do her no harm. She tried to visualize something that would do her
harm. Something that could leave her worse off. What would it take.
A bullet? A speeding truck?

She unlocked the office. She ignored the strange misgivings she
felt at finding the office shut. She'd kept it, this thing of hers,
under wraps, hadn't let it dominate her, at least not during
working hours. She knew it made her twitchy though, hypersensitive,
so many raw nerves jangling.

She read the note from Mulder. She could scream, cry or go and
throw up. She considered her options and decided on the washroom,
ideal venue for two of the three. She'd save the screaming for when
he was there to hear it. She tried hard to believe the note. Really
tried.

She phoned Skinner's admin assistant and asked her if she'd seen
Mulder today, if Skinner had asked for him, if she'd taken a phone
call, anything. Scully got no leads, just an assurance that Skinner
was out of the office in meetings for the rest of the day. No
possibility of seeing him before Monday.

Scully kicked out at the desk leg. What now? Go and hunt down
Skinner and demand an audience? Mulder would. The trouble was,
there were so many people waiting for her to slip up, to prove the
cancer was getting to her, making her act out of character. She
didn't dare grant them the satisfaction. There were problems to
being Mulder's 'strictly by the book' sidekick. It seemed to Scully
that suddenly being seen to take independent action was proving to
be one of them.

Unofficial channels then. No way was Mulder with his family. But
someone would know. People always knew where Mulder went. She
frowned. Maybe he had an implant? No, he'd been checked. A genetic
marker? Science fiction, worthy of the fantasies of the Lone Gunman
crew. A cell phone? Reality could be so prosaic.

She dialed his number.

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

He almost leapt out of the car seat when he realized the whining
noise was coming from his own pocket. Congratulations, Mr Paranoia.
He groaned at the reminder. The irony wasn't lost on him. He was
carrying his own phone, the number everyone knew and it was
switched on. Great getaway Agent Mulder, but you can call me Bond,
James Bond. Alternatively, you can call me asshole, complete and
utter....

He considered responding as the I Ching Flower Garden Chinese
Takeaway but given the ease of triangulating on the phone. Ah well.
Too late now. He knew who was calling. He recognized her ring.
Someone should do a caller ID system that made your phone ring
differently depending on the caller. Not strictly necessary though.
He recognized her ring. His voice betrayed his resignation. "Hi,
Scully."

A short delay before her voice arrived, "do you ever get it wrong?"

"Sorry, who's that?."

"Where are you?"

Lie? He considered it. He didn't want to lie. "Driving."

"That's what you are doing, not where."

"Ah. Just outside Atlantic City."

"Your mom's become a gambler?"

"Become?"

She decided to cut to the chase. "Where are you heading and why did
you lie in your note?"

Mulder took a deep breath and hoped that the surge of oxygen to his
brain would help him come up with a story. He replied with care.
"How was the checkup?"

Scully scowled, what was this? A game of show me yours? "Fine.
You're evading the question."

"And you aren't?" Mulder winced as he said it. This was not going
to work. She wasn't even going to believe his voice fading out and
the signal strength going down and losing the call act.

"I'm going into the hospital tomorrow. Two days fasting and tests
prior to a course of treatment starting on Monday."

Mulder pulled over to the side of the road and stopped the car.
"Oh." He breathed out noisily and listened to the silence for a few
seconds. He mumbled his next words. "I wish I was with you."

"Why?"

"Because I want to be."

"So come home."

Mulder realized he was biting the skin on the back of his hand, so
he let it go before he drew blood. "I can't."

"Because you're visiting your family?"

He hesitated. Lie? "I've been sent on a case."

"How novel. You, an FBI Agent and you've got a case. So why the
stupid note?"

Mulder noted the sudden involuntary shiver that ran up his spine.
Why the stupid note? He could have gone closer to the truth. A job
for the Director? Or more credible still would have been some vague
consult for ISU, another serial killer, whatever. Surely he could
have come up with a plausible excuse. Come on Mulder, use that
Psychology training. You leave a stupid note. You don't switch off
your cell phone. You wanted to get caught. "I was ordered not to
tell you."

"Really. And obeying orders has always been one of your strong
points. Whose orders? You haven't even seen Skinner today."

On the run and on an open line. Mulder tried to remember what he
was doing. If you had brains you'd be dangerous. No forget that,
you're already dangerous enough. "Can't talk about it over an open
line. I'd better go. I'll get in touch. Take care." The words came
out in a rush. He hung up the call and switched off. She would not
be impressed.

Now what? Stopped in his tracks. He'd been in full flight and a two
minute chat with Scully had brought him down to earth with a bang.
How appropriate. This was ridiculous. He'd known what would happen,
he'd been stuck in the office, brain rocking between two settings,
dead stop and stalled. He should have talked to her before he left,
of course, but he hadn't. Because the Director had told him not to?
Sure. Obeying orders was, as Scully so rightly pointed out, one of
his strong points.

Because she would have insisted on joining him. Insisted on
skipping her best chance for treatment? Why would she do that,
Mulder? Because she's stupid? Impetuous? Suicidal? Yes, that was a
plausible description of his intelligent, painstaking, full of life
partner. Mulder let his face take a rest on the steering wheel. The
monster IQ in the perceptive behavioral genius brain. Right.
Specializing in abnormal and aberrant behavior. How wonderfully
appropriate.

In reality there was nothing much to the lead he'd been offered on
that long since shredded scrap of paper. The name, rank and serial
number of another military air traffic controller and a last known
location. If he'd been handed it by some mysterious informer he'd
have recycled it with last week's Enquirer. He wouldn't even have
run with this for X, not even for Deep Throat, not without more
assurances, not without more data. There had already been enough
dead bodies on this job.

He sat up in the seat, turned the ignition and drove the two miles
to the next food stop. Eat food. Drink coffee. Engage brain. He
recited the words like a mantra.

Mulder let the roll call of the dead play back through his head,
one more time, starting with the plane passengers caught in the
crossfire as Max ran with his 'component'. The joys of X.

Why was he working this case? Because the Director of the FBI had
told him it was a good thing. Interesting that. Mulder had never
gone much on rank, never insisted the basic grades called him Sir,
in fact he usually looked around for Skinner when he heard the
word. The number of pep talks he'd received on respect for superior
officers, the little chats about insubordination suggested he had
no problems saying no. But because it was the Director he was going
to run cheerfully into hell, with no idea of what he'd do when he
got there, with no backup.

No paperwork either. It would be just about par for the course if
Skinner bounced his expenses claim for this weekend's little
journey into the unknown. He sighed, if Skinner bounced his expense
claim Mulder would count himself fortunate. You had to have a job
to file an expense claim. You had to be alive.

If this was for real, where was the backup? Everyone knew about the
FBI, the real FBI, not the FBI's most unwanted basement dwellers.
The Director's FBI liked to move around in posses. Mulder felt just
a little too hot, a little too nauseous, a little too much like a
jackhammer was about to escape through the walls of his skull. The
rest stop had worked a little too well. The brain had clicked in
and was busying itself by switching on every alarm and self
preservation system he owned.

He really didn't need this. He could go back to Dana Scully. Sit
and hold her hand. Be her friend. Be whatever she wants, whatever
she will accept, whatever she'll let you be. And don't cry. Well,
not when she can see you. Sounds like a plan.

A plan someone else would make.

He walked over to the payphone and called his partner. He'd never
been good at goodbyes, so why did his over sensitive brain keep
offering goodbye words instead of see you laters? What were the
odds of both of them making it out of this alive? He wasn't a
betting man. But hey, he was heading to Atlantic City, someone
would take on the business. Course, he'd need to be alive to
collect. Mulder closed down the call before the fractures in his
voice closed it for him.

End of 1 of 3
Joann (jhumby@iee.org)

From xangst@frii.com Mon Apr 07 13:18:20 1997
Subject: NF> A One Time Opportunity - 2/3
From: Myth Patrol <xangst@frii.com>
--------
Legally:
Not my characters. If they were do you think I'd be working for
free?

Title - One Time Opportunity
Rating - PG (R if you are sensitive about language)
By Joann Humby

Part 2/3
----------

Dana Scully was bouncing off the walls. She'd had time to think
since the call to his cellular. She'd done what she could to soothe
him when he had called her again from that Diner, not that he had
actually sounded very soothed at the end of the conversation, but
she'd tried.

She wanted to go with him, chase the rabbits to their holes. Chase
the million to one shot that they might get something. Something
solid enough to get justice. Well, some justice anyway, for some of
the victims. She was a realist. She didn't believe in outright
victory. Not when they so seldom came out even.

She couldn't go with him. She'd heard rumors before about this new
treatment. She'd been shocked when they had offered it to her out
of the blue when she went in for the routine checkup. Here it was,
available now, start tomorrow. A magic bullet of green dye, carried
by a chemical with a particularly efficient route to the cancerous
cells. The ones that grew fastest got the biggest dose. Then blast
it with green laser light. This one had the extra fairy dust of
interferon. Oh well. Wishful thinking or not. She had promised
herself she'd make a wish.

She was lucky to get a place on the program. Lucky. That was an
interesting word. Do you feel lucky. Someone had been pulling
strings for her. Or then again maybe it was her strings they were
pulling, or Mulder's strings. Whatever.

She wanted Mulder back here with her. She acknowledged that it was
merely a selfish, foolish, sentimental wish. She wished that he was
here to hold her hand, to play with the TV remote control when she
couldn't be bothered to, to look brave when she was ready to give
in, to look like he wanted to cry when she had her emotions under
control.

It was good that he was out on another chase. She could pretend
that normal life was important, that her world hadn't narrowed to a
blob of indisciplined cells, alien invaders in her own body.

She didn't need to hear his footsteps on the tiled hospital floor,
she didn't need his fingers resting on hers, she didn't need him to
sit close enough so she could smell his aftershave above the
antiseptic hospital, so she could hear his breathing over the
incessant rush of blood she heard pounding in her ears. Needing and
wanting were different things.

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

Fox Mulder was back on the road. Why hadn't she asked him to come
back to DC? If she'd asked, he'd have turned the car around. He
wondered where he was driving to. Driving directly into a trap. He
ran the address that he'd been shown by the Director back through
his head again. Tomorrow. After he'd had a good night's sleep.
After he'd had time to think, to come up with a plan. It could wait
until tomorrow, it would have to.

He considered heading away from Atlantic City to find a hotel, to
confuse the trail, but decided there was no point. Either someone
was trailing him or they weren't and if he was asked where to bet
next week's pay check he was fairly confident he had the answer. He
wasn't that hard to find. He pulled into the first motel
advertising cable.

A couple of phone calls and a little time spent by his unofficial
allies on line and Mulder had found the man named on the scrap of
paper. Nigel Hawkes, Military ATC, a couple of ranks above Frish.
Mulder sighed at the waste of time, really the search had been just
one more displacement activity. It was hardly likely that whoever
was setting this up was going to get the name wrong. What Mulder
knew he had to do was think. All he'd done so far was draw a little
more attention to himself, as if he needed to.

Thinking seemed to be giving him a lot of trouble at the moment. To
think, you needed an attention span that at least hit the ten
second mark. Mulder made himself sit quiet, slowed himself down and
started to make notes. The words he wrote were basically irrelevant
but written down they demanded his attention so he read them,
added to them, highlighted them, linked them. Pulled out every
trick he'd ever learned to make himself look under the surface of a
problem.

Just suppose was the name of the game. Occam's razor 'the simplest
explanation is the most likely explanation' was the only rule.

He simplified his thoughts until the story crystallized. The ATC
officer was genuine and he was on the run. Mulder had been sent to
bring him in because he was good at that kind of thing and because
Hawkes was smart enough to spot MIB's and military police as a
threat but might by now have heard from MUFON or one of those other
groups that Mulder was 'safe'. Gopher duty. Some irony in sending a
fox out hunting.

So who would be trailing Mulder? Who would move in once the prey
had been run to ground. Who was Mulder going to catch him for? Who
wanted Hawkes bad enough that they'd order the FBI Director to try
the offbeat tack to bring him in?

It was a safe bet he wasn't the only person hunting Captain Hawkes.
Every three letter acronym designated group in the government phone
book and quite a few that weren't would be on the chase. The FBI
would have at least one team out there. And a lone wolf, Fox
Mulder, the FBI's secret weapon. He'd laugh at the arrogance of his
own logic except it didn't seem very funny. He'd also have to stop
his brain playing such atrocious word games.

Now all he had to understand was why had the Scully treatment deal
been set up for this particular moment? Everyone knew he worked
better when she was around, that they were a formidable team.
Coincidence? No such thing.

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

Dana Scully tidied her apartment for the third time. She checked
her paperwork was in order. Routine mail dealt with. Personal items
clearly boxed and labeled. Key documents filed correctly. Just in
case.

She checked the contents of her suitcase. Three crisp clean
nightgowns, underwear, a warm shawl, dressing gowns. Things to
read. Things to write with. Not much really. You come into the
world with nothing, you leave with?

She paused. Happy thoughts, Dana. The happy thoughts refused to
come.

Where's Mulder? She sighed. Ah, Mulder. He was always good for a
few hours distraction, present or not. A sly smile filtered across
her face. She was surprised at the sensation. She doubted Mulder
had much to smile about either. So, now that he'd decided she was
out of bounds, who would he have turned to?

The Lone Gunmen were surprisingly cooperative. Mulder obviously
hadn't threatened them this time. They told her who Mulder was
chasing.

Interesting. Someone at the FBI had obviously given her partner
some information on the man. What? Perhaps, a last known contact
address for the guy? Where? Atlantic City, at least that's where
he'd told her he was headed. Why there? Because it's got plenty of
strangers moving in and out of hotels and easy for trippers from
New York and DC. So Captain Nigel Hawkes was on the run but had
agreed to meet someone, someone official? Someone political?
Someone. And Atlantic City had been his hideout.

Why would someone pass that on to Mulder? If it was all above board
and official they could flood the area with Agents. It could be
undercover, if someone thought Mulder stood a better chance solo.
Well possibly, but not with him traveling looking like an FBI Agent
in a Bureau car, not without backup, not without a wire, not
without her. A trap?

------------
SATURDAY MORNING

'Everything dies baby that's a fact.'

Mulder shook his head at the car radio. Mood music. If movies
contained as many coincidences as real life you'd never believe it.
Shame he didn't believe in coincidences. At least he'd got some
sleep last night. At least he'd had breakfast. Could have been
worse, the condemned man at least ate a hearty breakfast.

Atlantic City.

How many people were ahead of him? How many government issue cars
of government issue men in dark suits had done this already. So
what were his chances? Zilch. Good. Maybe that was for the best.

Mulder looked at the street signs. Reality check. Miles from home,
pretending to do a job. Either go home or go to work. He presented
himself with an ultimatum. This work was hard enough without
sleepwalking, it had to be done eyes open and fully armed or not at
all.

They wouldn't withdraw the treatment offer if he went back. Would
they? Could he even take that risk? Not when he didn't even know
who had made the offer.

He stopped the car and checked into another hotel. Skinner would
love the change of address on the expense claim.

When he went back out into the street half an hour later the
unnecessarily smart charcoal gray suit he had been wearing was
gone. He was now in his favorite alternative uniform, jeans and
leather jacket. If the regulation haircuts and business suits of
the people ahead of him had worked their magic then the trail had
already been plundered. If they hadn't, then he wouldn't put the
witnesses on the defensive by looking like a stray from the fleet
car contingent.

The photo that he had pulled down the line from the Lone Gunmen was
scarcely high resolution, scarcely up to date. No chance. Well,
more chance than a name and address which was all he'd been given
to go on by his bosses. What had gotten into him. He'd been told to
jump and his only question had been how high. He was a fucking FBI
Agent. Time to act like one. He changed his mind about where he was
heading.

Security at the Atlantic City Bureau office had become a lot
tighter since his last trip, a combination of terrorist threats and
an alleged Agent showing up in jeans put them on the defensive.
Mulder could see their point, he added his mistimed change of
clothes into his list of today's bad judgments. They let him in but
not before the most senior Agent in the office that Saturday
morning had come up with a little pep talk for him about the
Bureau's dress code. For an instant Mulder contemplated pulling
rank but decided not to cut off all possible sources of backup.
Instead he mumbled apologetically about unplanned weekend work and
a break on a case, phoned through to him while he was relaxing in
good old relaxing Atlantic City.

A couple of hours later and he had good pictures in his pocket, a
good description of the man on the run. Ah yes and the address of
Carole Ashe, Hawkes' little sister. Not the New York address on her
driver's license. The address on her latest credit card statement,
the three week old Atlantic City address.

Mulder considered his next move. Where would the other chasers be?
Would they be at Carole Ashe's apartment? Had they already been?
Were they on their way? And the big question, if Mulder found Nigel
Hawkes what the hell was he going to do with him? Too big a
question, he'd come back to it.

Right now the question was, what to wear?

He stayed with jeans, less conspicuous if others were watching the
address, less likelihood of scaring Hawkes into running if he was
there.

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

Dana Scully looked at the squeaky clean walls of her squeaky clean
hospital room. The tests had started, the preparations were
underway. The tests would tell them whether she was a suitable
subject for the highly experimental new treatment. She loved the
glowing impersonal terms used by the medical team. It was like
listening to the daytime TV channel analyzing the carpet stain to
select the appropriate wonder product. Brand X with added vigor.

She needed Mulder, needed his irreverent take on the proceedings.
He wouldn't want to perform but he'd spot the tremor in her eyes
and he'd act the clown for her. And she'd act stern and explain the
medical science to him. And he'd pretend not to understand and she
could spell it out, say it out loud, drag the images out of their
shadowy hiding places, hold them under the lights until they lost
their power to terrify her.

Her mom was not a suitable substitute.

A mother shouldn't have to listen to the explanation of the flimsy
spider's web that was supposed to offer the only chance of saving
their child's life.

She frowned. Nothing to do for the next three hours. No food, no
drink, no tests, no Doctors. Nothing. Except look at the walls. She
refused to look at the walls.

She picked up her portable computer, a little of her life she would
hang on to a while longer, she argued her case with the hospital
staff, plugged it into the phone line and logged on. She emailed
Mulder and was shocked by the almost instant reply. He was
undercover and he was logged on under his FBI ID? Where the hell
was he? The Bureau office in Atlantic City. No way. Way? All these
years and he could still surprise her.

They swapped notes. No names. No locations. Just theories,
strategies, tactics. When he said he had to go, she wanted to cry.
The lights of the modem disappeared and she felt another light go
out in her life.

Where was her mother?

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

Mulder considered his discussion with Dana. That email arriving,
her shock when he'd replied, it was nice that he could surprise
her, he liked that. He wished he could surprise her with something
nice. He told his brain to quit supplying inappropriate
suggestions.

He grabbed a taxi.

He ordered himself to think about the task in hand. Talking to
Scully had cleared his mind, calmed him down. A few vague ideas
were forming. No magic formula but a route forward.

He asked the taxi driver to stop a couple of blocks from Carole
Ashe's suburban home and walked the rest of the way.

Caroline Ashe had no idea what the man on her doorstep wanted. He
didn't look like he belonged with the men who'd showed up last
night, the two hulks who had waved badges at her. She'd told them
the truth, she hadn't seen her brother in six months, hadn't heard
from him since Christmas. Last night it had been true, not now
though.

She straightened her hair in the mirror and opened the door.

"Mrs Ashe?"

She nodded, relaxing slightly. Maybe he wasn't part of the group,
maybe he was just a neighbor, or something to do with the landlord
or...

He quickly changed her mind. "My name's Fox Mulder, I'm an FBI
Agent, I would be happy to show you my ID but I'm concerned that we
may be under surveillance. I need to talk to your brother, he's in
danger."

Did she trust him? He could be anyone. He might not even be FBI.
Even if he was FBI, that might not be a good thing. Even so. "Would
you like to come in?"

"No. Best if this looks like a casual call. Please give him this
card if you see him."

She looked at the business card he had handed her. "He phoned. I
told him about the two men who came looking for him last night."

"If you have any way to reach him please give him the information
on the card."

"If he contacts me."

They said goodbye. Mulder turned away. It was the best he could do.
How it would appear to anyone monitoring the door he couldn't tell,
but unless someone actually recognized him then he'd probably done
ok.

It was about the only edge working alone gave him. With Scully at
his side they made quite a distinctive combination. Anyone with
half an eye and half a memory could identify them as a couple from
even the feeblest of descriptions. Mulder went back to the hotel.

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

The hotel room was dark and impersonal. Only the flicker of the TV
betrayed the fact that there was any life present in the room.

Nothing to do now until a call came in. No point roaming around
town attracting more attention to himself.

He wanted to go home. He kept hitting that same obstacle. He wanted
to go home. Too many people were already dead on this case. His
only surprise was that he wasn't one of them. Pity his charmed life
didn't extend to the people around him.

What did the Director expect him to do with Hawkes? Even if he got
there first his track record in protecting people hardly offered
grounds for optimism. Max, Sharon, Pendrell, Frish, all in a day's
work. Well, anyway. He'd try. He always tried. It was just that
usually he wasn't good enough.

So what was the name of the game this time? How to die or how to
watch someone else die.

Mulder wanted to go home.

He let the noise of the TV wash over him, drowning out the clamor
of thoughts. He'd go back to the Bureau office in the morning, talk
about backup and wait for a phone call from Hawkes. And he'd dress
up like a Fibbie for the trip, stealth clothing.

------------------------
SUNDAY MORNING

The Bureau Office appeared to be more willing to welcome him in
this time. The ASAC who'd lectured Mulder during yesterday's visit
to the office ducked quickly out of the way. Another very young
looking Agent called him Sir, requested that he go directly to the
interview room and asked him if he wanted a coffee. Mulder didn't
see any point in debating it, just asked for directions and said
thanks for the drink. To what did he owe the honor this time?

Assistant Director Walter Skinner was waiting, standing, looking
out of the window onto the gloomy streets below.

Mulder cleared his throat before speaking. "Good morning, Sir."

Skinner turned to face him, nodded a greeting and seemed to spend
just a little too long checking him over. Mulder felt uncomfortably
like the bug in the collecting jar. Skinner replied eventually. "I
hope your attire means that you now consider the case to be low
risk."

Mulder hesitated, confused for a moment before understanding
dawned, he smiled. His mind going back to the last row over expense
claims and Skinner's post it note suggesting he buy less expensive
suits for use on hazardous and messy cases. The Atlantic City ASAC
had clearly started to tell tales to Skinner. Mulder could see why
Skinner would be amused to have heard his strangely vain Agent have
his dress sense challenged by the local guy in the ill fitting
cheap suit.

"Nice to see you out here, Sir. Black jack or roulette?"

"Poker. Tell me what cards we've drawn."

Mulder told Skinner the story so far, only realizing as he spoke
that Skinner had absolutely no idea what the Director had spoken to
him about or who he'd been ordered to chase. Mulder finished the
explanation by asking Skinner why he was here.

Skinner appeared to consider the question but didn't answer it. "I
was surprised to see you'd logged on from the office here. I knew
something was going down, something quiet, low profile. But getting
that email from you explaining the trip. 24 hours late of course
and incomplete, so not quite by the book. But, still a surprise.
Sure you've not been substituted?"

"Would a clone show up at the office in jeans, Sir? You've not
answered my question, why are you here?"

"No golf tournaments this weekend."

Mulder nodded, Skinner was here as backup, not the man crouching
behind the door covering your back kind. Though Mulder reckoned
Skinner was still capable of that. No, this was management backup,
SWAT team on demand kind of backup.

If Mulder organized the hunt then Skinner would organize the
capture, a relief. Mulder hadn't had a clue what he'd do if he
found Hawkes without some supporting crew to move him to safety.
Good, Skinner could deal with it.

Skinner quizzed Mulder gently on why he'd not used his surprisingly
impressive FBI grading or done a little name dropping to intimidate
the local Bureau. Mulder had just shrugged and pointed out his
shortage of locally based allies. Skinner considered it. "You know,
Mulder, you're more of a politician than people give you credit
for."

END of 2/3
Joann (jhumby@iee.org)

From xangst@frii.com Tue Apr 08 18:44:08 1997
Subject: NF> A One Time Opportunity - 3/3
From: Myth Patrol <xangst@frii.com>
--------
Legally:
Not mine. Oh, well. I'll put them back where I found them.

Title - One Time Opportunity
Rating - PG (R if you are sensitive about language)
By Joann Humby

------------------------
Part 3/3

Mulder was tired of thinking, tired of running solo. He knew he
could, maybe should discuss the case with Skinner but it was
difficult. He was used to delivering Skinner with fait accomplis
not options, worked out hypotheses not random thoughts. It wasn't
as if Skinner hadn't heard his wild theories before, but he'd not
often seen the wheels in motion. And Mulder was happy to admit the
wheels were in distinctly random and intermittent motion at the
moment. He needed Scully.

That and the fact his mind was miles away. Timesharing between
Atlantic City and a hospital in DC. He picked up the phone and
dialed her number. They spoke cautiously, nervously, nibbling
around the edges, no real names, like a discussion conducted
entirely in code.

And after they'd gone as far as they could with discussion of
Scully's treatment, they talked about the case and Atlantic City.

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

When her mother told her that Mulder was on the line, Dana Scully
couldn't hide her reaction. If her mother had told her she'd won
the lottery jackpot she couldn't have been happier, more excited.
The reaction was there and gone in an instant but it was there.

It was nice to hear from Mulder, of course. It meant he was alive
and safe, of course. But the thing was, the magical special thing
was, the thing that made her mind let loose its silent cheer, was
that it meant she was alive. It meant she wasn't just a name on a
treatment card in a DC hospital. It meant she was still Dana
Scully, FBI Special Agent, it meant she was still his partner. It
meant she was still needed. Like winning the lottery. At least
someone didn't treat her as a disease.

She marveled at what he was telling her. Mulder had taken his
invisible, under the counter assignment and told the Lone Gunmen
crew about it, her about it, the Bureau about it. He'd opened
himself to the idea that the badguys already knew about the job,
that they would be monitoring his every move. The only people who
wouldn't know, unless Mulder told them, were the people who should
know. So Mulder had told them.

He was supposed to be isolated on the case, instead he was in the
Bureau district office working with the Assistant Director. Scully
was proud of him.

She bit down the vague uneasiness she was feeling. There was no
point worrying him unless she could suggest an alternative
approach. It wasn't as if her mind was operating at full power at
the moment. She was probably just taking her own nerves over the
treatment and projecting them onto Mulder's situation. Still, she
couldn't help but worry. She preferred worrying about him.

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

Wait and see. Mulder had played the game before, he didn't consider
himself good at it, but he understood the rules. He read files, he
hunted for background data, he freewheeled. He looked at Skinner,
noted his discomfort, a fish out of water. Mulder idly considered
buying his boss a burger and a bag of doughnuts, a crash course
reminder on life in the field.

A single buzz from his cell phone and then silence. Mulder flinched
and took a deep breath. He called Byers from another line and
jotted down the numbers. Added them to his own DC phone number.
Game on.

Skinner asked him where he was headed, Mulder shrugged and made a
gesture to indicate someone might be listening. He would contact
them when he had a location for the armed unit to meet him.

Skinner looked ready to nail him to the floorboards but just nodded
his head and told Mulder that he would put the team on alert.

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

Shaking off the tail Skinner had put on him was easy. Mulder could
understand Skinner's good intentions. Backup? Or someone else to
look out for if things got heavy? No way of knowing until it was
too late. And by definition then it would be too late.

A location, disguised as a phone number. Mulder cursed the crummy
street map for not showing the latest version of the one way
system. FBI issue useless crap publication.

He ditched the non government issue rental car he'd picked up that
morning and started walking. Black jeans, white shirt, soft jacket.
A confident, 'I know this place', fast stride. No way to know if it
was working, no way to know who was watching, who might be taken in
by his non disguise of a disguise. No way to know who would see
right through it.

He was within a few hundred yards of the address. Brain desperately
trying to slam on the brakes. Why was he doing this?

Why did he do any of it?

Who'd he think he was? Arnie? Robocop? What was it all about. Maybe
the assholes in the psychiatric services team were right, maybe he
did have a death wish. A Fibbie Special Agent, but never quite
tough enough for that. Too likely to get emotionally involved. Too
disrespectful of authority. Too likely to get his ass kicked in a
fight. Survived it, good at it.

So he'd turned the thumbscrews tighter, let Patterson and the rest
of the managers turn them when he couldn't turn them for himself
anymore. Till the cases merged together, till he could close his
eyes and see madmen kill. Not tough enough, cold enough. Took it
all too personally. Got in too deep. Took on too many cases.
Couldn't say no, even as it threatened to tear him apart. Survived
it, good at it.

Then the X-Files found him. Want to try and solve impossible cases?
Of course. Why not. He should be dead by now. A death wish? Surely
not, he had a ferocious, outrageous, tenacious grip on life. It was
everyone else who died. Anyone who got too close.

He didn't want to be here. He already knew what had happened to the
plane. He knew why those people died and it didn't help without
evidence. And even after he spoke to Hawkes, chances were there
would be no evidence to use against the guilty parties in court. No
chance of justice. Not even of revenge. Captain Hawkes would die or
disappear or go mad or be laughed at, pick the most appropriate
method. They would choose a solution. Mulder knew that at best he
would only be handing them the problem.

His heart beat was getting too loud now. Dangerously loud.
Dangerously fast. Scared. He'd been scared before. This was a
different kind of fear. The fear of doing the wrong thing. He'd
done that before too. Like with a physicist who'd become a secret
weapon so he'd just handed him on a plate to X. Too many mistakes.
Killed too many people just by putting them in the wrong place at
the wrong time.

Mulder tried to focus, he wanted to do the right thing, not just
get blinded by the chase as an end in itself. Just because he could
get Hawkes, why should he get Hawkes? Why shouldn't he just get in
his car and drive home to Washington, hold Scully's hand. They
could find Hawkes for themselves.

He tensed at the realization. They could find Hawkes themselves.
They would find Hawkes themselves. Unless Mulder found him first.

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

Dana Scully tried her partner's cell phone number again. The
Atlantic City office had told her that she'd just missed him, that
he'd already left. She'd been trying his phone every fifteen
minutes since. Always the same digitized voice telling her no
chance, try again later. He'd switched his phone off, that meant he
was getting close, moving in for the kill. She corrected her poor
choice of words. Moving in for the capture.

Her misgivings had moved up a notch or two from nervous to scared.
What was wrong with the scene? Mulder sent out there to swing alone
in the wind had called in reinforcements. Now, as the danger rose,
he was alone again. And he'd even shaken off Skinner.

She cursed the white walls of the room. The careful program of
tests she was going through. The IUD dripping carefully regulated
preparatory medication into her bloodstream. The four hour drive to
Atlantic City. If she thought she could get there in time then she
would go, run for it, make a break for it, run to him.

She smiled a soft smile. What did that make her then? The cavalry.
He'd ditched Skinner, ditched the Bureau, only Dana Scully could be
expected to ride out of the sunset and rescue him. Dana Scully
would shake off her cancer, the fact she'd not eaten any solid food
for 36 hours. Ready and eager to leap in her car and drive. All he
had to do was switch on his phone and tell her where to drive to.

There was something very wrong. Skinner wouldn't be out there
unless something was wrong. She read over what she'd learned about
Captain Hawkes, the fast track Air Force officer who'd recently
moved into the ATC team.

Career military officer from a career military family. An act of
rebellion? She read it again. This man was loyal, in the most
abstract patriotic sense of the term. It was like reading her big
brother's career history. Her big brother who she loved dearly, who
loved her dearly. Her big brother who thought her partner was a
psycho and who thought she was blind for hanging around with him,
for listening to him. Her big brother who couldn't explain Scully's
own observations, Scully's own experiences. Which was fine, because
she couldn't explain them either.

Sure, he might see something so awful he'd protest, but not like
this. He'd go through the proper channels, report it up through the
chain of command. He hadn't seen enough to run away from them, to
rebel, he hadn't watched proper channels lie and cheat and hide and
destroy evidence. He'd not had her education.

She needed to talk to Mulder. She had this feeling that her partner
might not have considered the idea that Hawkes might not be just
another victim. She had no evidence to back up her theory, but he
wouldn't complain at that, he'd listen and consider and that would
be enough to alert him to the danger.

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

Mulder let his eyes scan the street, sweep the faces of passers by,
let his mind analyze how easily any chasing pack could hide from
him in these streets. Close now, less than four blocks to walk. He
forced his brain to concentrate, to cooperate in the plan his body
had committed to.

It would soon be time to switch the cell phone on, notify Skinner
of his location. Hawkes was either here or not.

He saw the pay phone, felt something pull on him, felt his
breathing become labored. He shouldn't stop, no lingering, the
longer he hovered in one place the greater the chance that he would
be spotted. Just a minute, only takes a minute to say goodbye.

He tried to shake the thought from his head but it had already
taken hold. He knew better than to walk into danger with his mind
unfocussed. One thing at a time.

Mulder gave in to the gravitational pull of the phone. He called
Dana's hospital room, got through at the second attempt. Couldn't
think of anything to say when she replied.

Heard her voice again. "Mulder, is that you?"

"Hi Scully, how are you doing." He had nothing to say, just a vague
desire to hear her voice.

She poured out her words, provided a profile of the Air Force
Captain she'd derived from hours of studying Hawkes own career and
the career of his father.

Mulder listened, relaxed into her voice, shivered at the warning
words she was using. Another twist. Time to walk out of this, while
he was still walking. Time to do some thinking, while he could
still think.

They closed the call, he closed his eyes. When he opened his eyes
he was face to face with Captain Nigel Hawkes. Mulder flinched,
then smiled and said a cheery hello as if greeting an old friend.

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

Hawkes shuffled nervously. "Mr Mulder. I thought you weren't
coming, you took so long. I was leaving, then I saw you."

So, Hawkes had spotted him using the phone as he just happened to
be walking away from the chosen address. Yeah, right. With eyesight
like that no wonder the guy had moved to Air Traffic Control, did
he even need radar? Mulder nodded. "I chose to walk, easier to spot
anyone following me."

Hawkes shrugged. "I've left the stuff back at the apartment."

"The stuff?"

"A tape, of the control tower discussions and an object I found, if
you know what I mean. What will you do with them?"

"What will I do with them? They could be critical evidence in any
case the Bureau can prepare, but we'll have to look first at what
we can substantiate. I've arranged protective custody for you."

"Custody? You're arresting me?"

"I don't recall reading you your rights. Theft of Government
property could be an issue, but I doubt it will be if you
cooperate. I do believe you would be well advised though to accept
our offer of help under the Witness Protection Scheme." Calm,
professional tones far removed from the alarm bells that were
ringing inside Mulder's head.

Hawkes walked uncomfortably alongside him. Mulder studied the
nervousness in the man's steps. Was Hawkes a victim or was he just
obeying orders? Either way, Mulder had no magic tricks up his
sleeve to give the man a new identity and ship him out to Paraguay.
This would have to be done by the book, or at least as close to the
book as seemed reasonable.

The ugly gray concrete of the apartment block suddenly made Mulder
feel very cold. All those signs advertising the empty properties
inside. Mulder had a very bad feeling.

He looked over at Hawkes and noticed that the Captain's hands had
drifted towards his pockets. Mulder's voice sounded a lot more
positive than he felt. "Keep your hands where I can see them."
Quietly said, but cold, Hawkes was military, he would recognize an
order when he heard one.

Hawkes turned to face him, "what's the problem?"

"I'm paranoid, haven't you heard? I can assure you I'm armed and I
won't feel obliged to warn you again if I see a weapon anywhere
near your hand."

Hawkes stopped walking, his voice a sudden gasp. "What?" Hawkes was
sweating now.

Mulder hesitated for an instant. Great going. He was either
providing a fair warning to someone who was only doing his job as
ordered by his Commanding Officer. Or he was intimidating a
potential witness who desperately needed his help and reassurance.
No matter. Either way, he could say sorry later. Right now, he was
in no mood to guess.

They walked into the unfurnished apartment. Mulder stood at the
doorway. "Where did you get the keys?"

"My sister, she's in property rental."

Mulder nodded and closed the door behind him. The bad feeling rose
with a vengeance. If this was a trap, then he'd walked willingly
into it. Not that it made any difference. If it was that kind of a
trap the outcome would be the same wherever he was. He'd be dead.
The only difference between in here and on the street outside was
that in here there was less chance of innocent passers by getting
caught in the crossfire.

He unholstered his gun, found the weight of it curiously reassuring
in his hand. Again, it wouldn't affect the outcome, but what
alternative did he have. He could either make some kind of show or
he could just roll over and play dead.

He noted the smell of cigarette smoke in the room.

Hawkes watched him nervously. "Can I get the tape?"

Mulder nodded as Hawkes walked away into the kitchen.

When the kitchen door opened again it was not Hawkes who returned.
Mulder raised his gun to hold steady on the man who entered the
room. The man walked slowly, a cigarette in his hand, an almost
smile on his heavily lined, pale face.

"You know Mr Mulder. I really should feel offended by the number of
times you've pulled a gun on me. It really doesn't do the image of
the FBI any good at all for you to go around threatening people."

Mulder looked carefully back. He felt no surprise, no alarm. He
wondered why. Had he known that the cigarette smoker would be there
to welcome him, expected it? Or had he just run out of the ability
to react.

Mulder lowered the gun to his side and nodded politely.

He rocked gently on his feet and let the jigsaw puzzle in his brain
match up its pieces. Hawkes had been the bait. Cancer man had
wanted a meeting. Not in DC because he didn't want Skinner to hear
about it. A meeting without Scully. An extraordinarily elaborate
set up though, way too elaborate for a murder. A trap, but trapped
for what purpose? For a little chat perhaps. A fax would have been
so much more efficient.

Mulder spoke with as much bravado as he could manage. "Care to
explain today's little charade?"

The older man's smile widened. "What do you think it's about, Agent
Mulder. A job interview, perhaps?"

"Try an Employment Agency."

"At least try and respond as an adult. I really think it's time you
grew up, no one can stay a Boy Scout forever."

Mulder breathed a little gasp of amusement. "Sure. So finding the
Captain was just an aptitude test then."

"Not finding him. Finding out what you'd do with him. We weren't
sure which way you'd jump. We know you'll kill if you think you're
in the right, you've had an interesting career. Quite a few of your
suspects never come to trial. And we know you'll place other people
in danger for the 'truth', or at any rate for your ill informed
version of the truth."

Mulder shuffled uncomfortably at the remark.

"You don't think so Mulder? You got on a passenger aircraft
carrying something that had already cost over a hundred lives.
Don't act self righteous with me. You knew how many people were
looking for it. You knew how hard they would look."

Mulder felt his breath shudder through him.

"So we know you've no particular hang ups about killing strangers.
What about friends, family? Oh. They don't do too well either. Dead
or dying. You would have thought Agent Scully would have noticed
how your partners have a habit of ending up dead. Not always your
fault, of course, not directly. Ever noticed how anyone who touches
you dies? I'm sure you have, you aren't stupid. Who's next do you
think? Where will the albatross touch down next time? Your strange
friends at the conspiracy rag? The Assistant Director?"

Mulder looked back unblinking. "I thought this was a job interview,
not a lecture."

The older man smiled, nodded his head. "Quite so. We've established
you'll kill for what you think's right, let people die for what you
believe. What we had not completely established until today was who
you were willing to betray. And today, you've cleared the decks.
Friends or strangers, makes no difference, you'll hunt them down
and put them in the line of fire. You knew we were following you,
yet still you call your friend, Mr Byers isn't it? Then you hunt
down a stranger who might really be better left missing. Don't you
have any conscience at all?"

Mulder snorted out a short laugh. "Conscience. Not only a lecture
but a lecture from you on conscience."

"Trying to take the moral high ground again, Mulder? You've no
basis for that. I do what I believe is right because I know the
truth. You do what you believe is right because you don't. Doesn't
that bother you? All these people who you let die and you don't
even know why?"

"So tell me the truth."

"How high a price are you willing to pay?"

Mulder shook his head and looked at the floor. As the man had so
sagely pointed out he didn't have a lot left to pay with. "There's
only my life left, that's all I own."

"We can have that whenever we want."

"I don't know what you expect me to say."

"Thank you would be a start. For the opportunity."

Mulder took another deep breath. Bastard. Mulder had known this was
coming, known it for a long time. Known it since that first time
he'd held a gun on the smoking son of a bitch. 'You're becoming a
player'. Known it since he'd stood and watched X execute a man in a
hospital parking lot. 'You want to know what it takes to know the
things I know.'

Mulder was having difficulty swallowing as he tried to keep his
voice steady. "I don't write blank checks."

A pause. A puff of cigarette smoke. Then the cigarette was stubbed
out, only about one third consumed, the rest discarded. Mulder's
eyes locked on the little wisps of smoke that drifted from the
almost extinguished glow.

The man looked back, at first faintly irritated, then faintly
amused. "Still a boyscout then. Or maybe you're Peter Pan and will
never grow up. Some bit of you that's still twelve and helpless and
still trying to cling to the conviction that you aren't really
responsible for the death and destruction you seem to be able to
walk through unscathed. Really. We have so much in common. When you
can't accept any longer that all those deaths are meaningless maybe
you'd like to talk. Don't leave it too late."

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

Immediately Mulder had put the phone down on her, Dana Scully had
done as he had asked. She'd called Skinner at the Atlantic City
Bureau office with the address of Mulder's scheduled meeting with
Hawkes. Skinner had seemed surprised but pleased to hear her voice.
She was grateful for his good wishes.

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

Skinner was not at all happy with how long it took to get to the
address Scully had provided.

Mulder spun on his heels when he heard the voice at the door.
Skinner. At last. Mulder needed some fresh air. Captain Hawkes had
done his job as a decoy, luring Mulder in. Skinner could arrange to
return him to the appropriate authorities. Hawkes would probably
get a promotion for his performance or at the very least a decent
role in the next Christmas pantomime on his airbase.

Mulder shouted that everything was under control and that the room
was secure. He opened the door and found himself face to face with
ten men in SWAT team fatigues, good news, except Mulder quickly
recognized that they weren't a Bureau team, they were military.

He knew they weren't FBI from their clothes, little details like
the wrong fastenings on the cuffs, funny that anyone would bother
to manufacture different designs like that. But, he also knew it
from the distinctly none regulation way they thumped his head into
the wall as they removed the gun from his hand.

Skinner's voice was the only thing audible over the ringing in his
ears. "Let him go, he's no threat."

Mulder didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the phrase. Just knew
Skinner was absolutely right with his description.

The cigarette smoker laughed, a deep belly laugh. "Skinner. This is
just too delightful. I put out a bait for Peter Pan here." He waved
a hand towards Mulder who was sitting crumpled on the floor by the
wall, a kevlar suited man towering over him carefully holding a
rifle, resting the muzzle lightly against the Agent's head. "And
what do I catch. You. An Assistant Director of the FBI doing a
little moonlighting. How very appropriate."

Skinner glared, "if you hadn't been so damned secretive about this
little stunt."

"Then Mulder would have stayed home in DC."

The two men looked from one to another. Two of Skinner's team had
hauled Captain Hawkes out of the kitchen. The other armed men
watched the room, weapons ready and available for a threat that was
not going to materialize. Mulder just stared, let the images burn
into his memory. A game. Mulder couldn't even tell whether Skinner
was playing for the same team as the smoker. Mulder just wanted
out, he didn't need to see anything more.

The room fell silent for a few seconds and Mulder took the
opportunity. "Can I go home now?"

Skinner frowned, tensing then relaxing, he turned an apologetic,
almost affectionate gaze on his unhappy Agent. "Sure. We'll tidy
up."

Mulder lifted himself unsteadily to his feet. Yes, he was sure they
would tidy up.

END
(That's all folks - sorry about Skinner - Joann - jhumby@iee.org)