Dependance on the Unfamiliar

by White Star 2

In a world where Mulder and Scully never met, circumstance, or perhaps more than that, brings Scully face to face with conspiracies she isn't quite ready to deal with.

Title: Dependance on the Unfamiliar
Author: White Star 2 (hila-p@barak-online.net)
Rating: PG-13
Classification: X
Distribution: Just ask.
Spoilers: The conspiracy up to Two Fathers/One Son
Keywords: Alternate Universe, Character Death.

Summary: In a world where Mulder and Scully never met,
circumstance, or perhaps more than that, brings Scully face to
face with conspiracies she isn't quite ready to deal with.

Disclaimer: Chris Carter and Fox own everything. The characters,
the aliens, the conspiracy. Everything.

Author's Notes: This is a sort-of-sequel for my story Requiem of
Snowfall - it takes place in the AU described there. Many thanks
to Deslea and Dryad for meticulous betas, to Shad for being so
enthusiastic he made me want to write a third part, and to Orit,
for nagging me to actually work on it.

This story's been sitting on my hard disk for months, almost a
year, I think, and endured countless betas as I hopped fandoms.
I finally decided to post it in an effort to overcome writer's
block, and an effort to get back to XF fanfics. Also, it's
written while ignoring as much as possible the evils done to the
conspiracy in seasons 8 and 9. (I just had it figured out and he
goes and changes everything!)

---

"You have to do something," Margaret Scully said to one of the
two redheads seated at her dining room table. Three days after
Christmas, three of her children were still staying there, with
a less than joyous cause to keep them there together.

"I need time to think," Dana said.

"What is there to think about?" Melissa let out the anger Dana
knew everyone thought should be coming from her. "Dana, he hit
you!"

Dana didn't answer. She lifted her head from its resting place
on her fist, then replaced it there, and tried very hard to
avoid fingering the bruise on her cheek.

"I think you should leave him," Melissa said simply.

"It's not that simple..."

"Not that simple? Have you even been home since Christmas Eve?"
Dana shook her head. "Where do you plan on staying?"

"Here."

"For how long? Indefinitely?"

"Shut up, Missy," Dana almost growled. "What the hell do you
know?" She pushed the chair back, nearly knocking it over, and
disappeared up the stairs.

For four days, she'd felt broken inside. She wasn't ready to
decide anything yet, but she didn't want anyone else to tell her
what to do. She hated herself for getting so defensive, but
then, that wasn't new. She'd spent four whole days hating
herself.

She sat on the bed in her mother's guest room, and tried not to
think. It was one of those things where the harder she tried,
the more she failed, and the more she failed, the worse she
felt.

It really *wasn't* that simple. It made her see, suddenly, all
these things she'd missed, both about herself and about him.
She'd never thought of Tom as the kind of guy who would hit her.
And she never saw herself as the kind of woman who would have
second thoughts about staying in a relationship like that.

Well, it wasn't a "relationship like that" yet. It happened
once. But it made her question her reason to stay. Love? No, she
started doubting if there had ever been any of that.
Convenience? It wasn't all that convenient anymore. Being Mrs.
Colton was suddenly not the novelty that it used to be. What,
then?

She jumped at the knock on her door a few minutes later. "Dana?"
Bill's voice came through. When she didn't answer, he opened the
door slowly.

"Come to check up on me again?" she asked with a dry smile. He'd
been typically protective since she walked into the traditional
Christmas morning lineup with a shiner.

"I'm your big brother," he replied with a smile. "It's my job."
He paused. "Charlie's coming down today."

"It's about time," Dana said. "Did you tell him?"

Bill nodded. She let out something closely resembling a sigh of
frustration. "He asked for permission to stop in town and commit
an act of violence."

"Not as long as I'm a federal agent." A smile - a real, warm one
- slowly creeped onto her face. "Which means--" she started and
stopped.

"Which means what?"

"I've been thinking of resigning." Bill didn't say anything.
"That way I wouldn't run into Tom at work. And Dad was always
disappointed that I didn't become a real doctor..."

His expression softened, first into that of understanding, then
to that of distanced sympathy. "You still beat yourself up over
that?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "Maybe I just want to be a real
doctor."

Bill put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it lightly. "I
think you should give it more thought after you've had some time
to calm down." Always the practical military man. Just like
Ahab. She looked at him shyly and saluted.

* * *

Despite Bill and Charlie's insistence, she went back to work the
day after Christmas vacation. Over the short break, she arranged
to have her office - and all the things in it - moved to
Quantico for her so that she wouldn't have to waste any time. It
was her way to deal with pain - go straight back to work.

Odd as it seemed to some, nothing helped her forget everything
like working on a corpse. The silence in the room around her,
the complete control she had in that sterile environment, all
let her mind focus completely and distanced any sort of problems
she could have been having. So instead of sitting behind her
desk and pushing papers all day, she told her secretary to hold
all her calls and threw on her lab coat.

The first body was one that the Baltimore police had handed
over. A woman murdered with no forensic evidence whatsoever
outside the body. She sent a gloved hand and grabbed the toe
tag. Samantha Mulder.

She let the toe tag drop back and uncovered the rest of the
body. Something always fascinated her about the dead. Each body
with a story to tell, with everything from the facial expression
to the state of the liver. For this one, the face looked angry.
And the liver? Well...

She made the Y incision.

After three hours of cutting, scraping, weighing, and examining,
Dana had removed a .38 slug from the spinal chord and determined
that to be the cause of death. She also came to a few other
conclusions about her first mystery of the day. She'd broken her
collarbone at a young age, suffered from high blood pressure,
and had tar in her lungs at a mild enough level to suggest that
she had either just recently started smoking or had spent a long
time around smokers.

She spent another two hours in her office. A quick search
revealed that the FBI had a file on Samantha Mulder. She called
for it. Just an average Boston businesswoman. Father dead,
mother remarried, brother missing. She sent it back and started
typing up her notes, then went out to eat. After lunch was when
the really weird body came in.

She poked the body on the metal table with the handle of the
scalpel, trying to comprehend what she saw. The skeletal
structure was that of an adult male. And everything down to the
skeleton was charred to a crisp. It was unlike anything she'd
ever seen. There was no apparent cause of combustion. There was
no *possible* cause of combustion.

Completely baffled, she called for agent Spender's field report
on the case, hoping it could shed *any* kind of light on the
case. Actually, she admitted to herself, she was curious, and
taking her time with this case meant that she'd be putting off
her whole afternoon of nothing to do, something she dreaded. If
she had nothing to do, her thoughts would be running wild, and,
no doubt, wander back to Tom. It was the last thing she needed.

The report was vague and rather unhelpful. It mentioned the
sixteen charred bodies, the location the boxcar was found at,
the license plate numbers of the four cars parked nearby. In a
rare show of usefulness, it also named the hospital to which the
two survivors were taken. She decided, despite it being
completely out of her jurisdiction, to look into it a bit
further.

When she got there, the staff told her that Dr. Openshaw had
died in the burn unit that morning. However, they still had the
second survivor to maybe explain what had happened in that
trainyard.

* * *

Through the open door, Dana peered at the sleeping body on the
hospital bed. "We really don't know anything about him," the
attending doctor told her. "They ran his prints when he first
got here. Nothing. He wouldn't tell us anything. At first we
thought he couldn't speak or that there might be some brain
damage, but then he objected to having blood drawn."

"Do you have any idea as to what they did to him in that
boxcar?"

The doctor shook her head. "There doesn't appear to be anything
wrong with him, but we'd still like to run some tests. If he
lets us." Dana nodded. "Maybe you can get him to talk. Even a
name will be progress." She smiled and left Dana alone with the
sleeping man.

Dana pushed the door open a little further and eyed the John
Doe. His dark brown hair was a mess - not for dirtiness or a
lack of combing, she noted, but for bad cutting. His skin was
very pale, as if he'd worked in a cubicle all his life. His face
was framed by an awkwardly trimmed beard and his only other
distinguishing features were a rather predominant nose and a
mole on his right cheek.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Hello," she said. He
looked away. "I'm Dr. Dana Scully, and I was wondering if I
could talk to you."

"What about?"

"For one, we'd like to know your name." He turned his whole body
away from her. "Or if there's anyone we can contact for you.
Family? Friends, maybe?"

"Elvis."

She smiled. "Anyone easier to reach?"

He turned around and opened wide a pair of hazel eyes. She could
have sworn they were green the first time she saw them. Must've
been a trick of the light. "My sister," he said. "I need to see
my sister."

"It would help if we knew her name. Or yours," Dana said. Either
way they could find his identity.

He paused for a second. It was almost as if he was having
trouble remembering it. Then there was a look of realization on
his face. "Samantha," he said. "Samantha Mulder."

Dana was left speechless for a moment. Coincidences like that
had always given her goosebumps. She realized her mouth had been
hanging open and closed it, then opened it again. "I--" she
started. "That's not going to be possible."

The patient, who, according to what she recalled of his sister's
file was named "Fox", of all things, raised a questioning
eyebrow. "She died two days ago. She was murdered in Baltimore."
She'd expected some reaction from him. Shock, grief. But the
expression on his face was, at most, disappointment.

Then his expression changed, an almost panicked paranoia. He
looked at her suspiciously, and fidgeted up to a sitting
position. "I'm with the FBI," she explained. He didn't relax
until she pulled out her badge and handed it to him. "I worked
on her case." He looked the badge over for a long moment, and
after handing it back, sank back slowly until he was lying down
again.

She took a few steps back. She'd been standing right by his
bedside, but she found that looking down at people felt strange
to her. A few steps back leveled her glance, and reduced the
awkwardness that she was feeling.

"How soon am I going to be released?" he asked.

"Your doctor said they want to run some tests. But otherwise,
you could probably leave whenever you want to."

He nodded slowly, then looked up in a sharp snap of the head. "I
need to get out of here," he said and pushed himself up to a
sitting position. "They'll find me here."

"Who will?"

"You wouldn't understand. I have to get out of here."

Dana shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She wasn't
all too comfortable with the idea of a witness like this one
walking off. If he did, questions would be raised as to why she
came to see him in the first place, and there would likely be
hell to pay. "You know what?" she said, "I'll make you a deal,
Mr. Mulder. I'll check you out of here, and you come with me
someplace safe where we can talk." He nodded.

She left him, sitting in bed, and went to find the attending
doctor. Releasing him took almost twenty minutes of signing
forms. It made her rather content with her choice of
specialization. With that done, she went back to the room. He
was gone.

She shook her head and muttered, "Sometimes I hate the living."

* * *

Dana let her head drop to the back of the leather couch in her
office. All she wanted was a little sleep. It was past ten and
even her secretary had probably given up and was going home.

Dana sighed. She didn't have a home to go to tonight. She'd
spent almost two weeks with her mother, needed just a few days
away from her watchful, caring eyes. She needed to feel like an
adult again, and not a ten-year-old with the flu. She'd already
dumped her few mobile belongings at her sister's place, but
going there, she found, crowded Melissa's love life.

A small cynical voice chimed up in the back of her mind:
something good had at least come out of her marriage. She had a
large office of her own with a couch comfortable enough to sleep
on. She should be thankful for that. And for two years of good
sex.

As she stared at the ceiling and wondered what she could do
about that small problem of not being able to go home, her eyes
slowly closed and she lapsed into a fitful sleep.

She jumped at the sound of a buzzer. She scrambled to her feet
and hit the button on her desk. "Good morning, Dr. Scully," her
secretary said in a pleasant voice. She gave the clock a quick
glance. It was morning already. Almost 7:30.

"Good morning, Gillian," Dana forced herself to smile even
though no one was in the room. "How's my schedule for today?"

"Someone from the Cellar has a 1:15 scheduled." Dana sighed. She
didn't much care to start explaining the finer points of
forensic pathology and understanding autopsy reports to yet
another new guy from the National Center for the Analysis of
Violent Crime. "Other than that, you have the whole day free."

"Thank you."

"Oh, and Dr. Scully?"

"Yes?"

"May I make a personal suggestion?"

"Of course not."

"Go home."

Dana thought it over for a moment. "You know," she said finally,
" I think I just might do that." Both the phone inside the
office and the one on Gillian's desk outside rang and Dana let
her pick up. She slipped her shoes on and grabbed her purse and
her jacket.

When she opened the door to the waiting room, Gillian, holding
the phone between her ear and her shoulder and covering the
mouthpiece with one hand, mouthed to her, "Your husband." Dana
mouthed back, "Not here." As she opened the door out to the
hall, she heard Gillian start in her pleasant voice, "I'm sorry,
Mr. Colton. You just missed her..."

After getting through a dozen cadets and half a dozen military
blocks, she started to remember the downside of working in
Quantico, which was located inside a Navy base. Sure, she was
an navy brat, and she'd lived much of her childhood behind such
barricades, waiting to get out, but back then, it didn't seem
like such a long time to wait.

Within ten minutes that seemed like forever, she was out and on
her way to her sister's apartment. Melissa wasn't home, and she
decided she wanted to do something. Anything. And the most
sensible thing to do in Falls Church at eight in the morning was
to go running in the charming little park she'd found on West
St.

After an hour and three laps around the entire park, her lungs
ached. She slowed down to a walk, then finally came to a halt by
small water fountain. She stretched her arms, then her legs.
When she looked up, someone was staring at her.

It was a man of average height, wearing a suit. She took a few
steps forward. He didn't take his eyes off her. He just stood
there, in the middle of the jogging path. Then she gave him a
second look, and a third just to make sure she wasn't mistaken.
It was that Fox Mulder. He was clean shaven and his hair
properly cut. Unlike the last time she saw him, he was much
closer to passing for "tall, dark, and handsome".

She walked up to him. "Dr. Scully, good to see you again," he
said in a manner which made her suspect it wasn't entirely a
coincidence.

"How did you find me?" she demanded.

"I need your help," he said instead of answering. "If you don't
help me, they'll find me. Once they find me, it all begins."

"What begins?"

He took a step forward, crossing the line of her personal space.
Less than a foot away, he towered over her, almost a head
taller. "The end," he replied.

"The end of what?" she asked, confused and uncertain.

"Of everything," he said solemnly. Then his gaze fell upon the
gold chain around her neck. "Well, everything on this world," he
said. Suddenly self conscious of it, she reached her hand up to
it, fingering the gold cross that clung to her sweaty skin,
moving it back and forth across its chain.

"How?" she asked. She kept telling herself that this was just a
madman who was missing for too long and had developed a
psychosis. Or an active imagination. Still, she inquired. It a
morbid curiosity, like stopping by a horrible car accident to
take a peek.

"A conspiracy," he said. "A conspiracy of men who are willing to
sacrifice the lives of everyone on this planet so that they
alone may live."

It was laughable. What made it even more of a spectacle was that
every few seconds, he'd turn his head, just a bit, and look out
toward the street. Then, once or twice, while she silently
suppressed a smile and tried to think of what to say, he looked
over her shoulder, that glimmer of paranoia she'd seen at the
hospital back in his eyes.

She turned her head around, sure she'd see nothing there, that
it was all part of that grand delusion. But there, behind them,
was a black sedan. There was someone in the driver's seat, but
he clumsily ducked down as soon as she turned around.

That wasn't comforting at *all*.

She softly motioned forward with her head and started walking.
Behind her, a car started up. She walked a few steps. He walked
beside her. She looked back once, and the black sedan was still
behind her. And next to it, still parallel parked, there was
another black sedan with a man in sunglasses in the driver's
seat.

She tugged on the sleeve of his suit. He'd been looking ahead,
his expression nearing terrified, and hadn't been noticing her
small, subtle hints.

They changed direction into the park, where the cars couldn't
follow, and walked in hasty steps. He looked ready to sprint
away, and she struggled to keep up with his big stride.

She wondered what she should do next. She couldn't leave him
there. Even if there was no basis to his claims, (Though it was
starting to seem like there was) he was still a witness in an
investigated crime, and seeing as she was the one who let him
out of the hospital, she should at least have the courtesy
toward Agent Spender to keep track of him. So she dragged him
along as she headed back to Missy's apartment. And on the way,
she demanded some answers.

"You wouldn't understand." He walked, his back straight and eyes
focused on a distant point ahead. Suddenly, after a few seconds,
he stopped. She did, too. "Do you believe in the existence of
extraterrestrials?" he asked, his voice taking a playful turn.

"Logically, I would have to say no," she replied.

"Of course, I wouldn't expect anything different from someone
like you." They started walking again.

"You believe?" she asked.

"I don't have much choice."

"You've seen a UFO?" He laughed. Then realization dawned on her.
"This has something to do with your disappearance when you were
a child?" He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, still
facing forward. Then she realized he didn't know how much she
knew about him. "I read your sister's file," she explained
quickly. "Does it?"

"You're getting warmer, Scully."

She paused. "You're an abductee?" she asked, trying to make the
question sound as neutral as she could, even though the tone of
blatant disbelief was creeping in.

He let out a chuckle. "And why is it that you find that so hard
to believe? As far as the records show, I disappeared off the
face of the earth. What's to say I didn't really do just that?"

"Are you saying you spent your life riding around in flying
saucers? Because I do find that hard to believe."

"Just my teenage years, actually. After that, they needed me
closer to home."

"Do you really believe that?" she asked. It seemed like
something straight out of a science fiction novel. One big, sick
joke on his part. "If you were kidnapped, it's possible the
investigation was sloppy. It's even possible that they managed
to hold you for so many years."

He nodded. "You think I'm crazy." She looked away from him. He
wasn't looking at her, but it came as an almost instinctive
reaction. "And yet you intend to rely on my testimony in
investigating the murder of those doctors in the trainyard."

"I intend to acquire your testimony first," she replied
defensively, "Then decide whether or not it's reliable."

"You won't believe it."

She almost expected to hear that. "Were the doctors alien?" she
asked, mocking.

"No. The doctors were working with the aliens. These aliens are
infecting all life forms with a black substance called Purity.
The doctors were trying to develop an alien-human hybrid that
can survive the infection."

"But the doctors weren't infected with anything. They were
burned."

"By another race of aliens." Dana rolled her eyes. This was the
most farfetched theory she's heard since the last time Missy was
watching Star Trek.

"Why?"

"To expose those who did this to me. To make sure their work is
never finished. But they're too late." He glanced at her.
"You're going to have to kill me."

She frowned. The line took her by surprise. Her eyebrows shot
up, and she forced them into a frown. Something in all that was
not quite right. If his psychosis was going to drive him to
death, why would he rely on others? The logical progression
would be for him to kill himself. Maybe he was looking for
someone to talk him out of it. And maybe there was far more
wrong with this man as it appeared from her two shallow
interactions with him. So she said the first thing that had come
to her mind.

"You're joking, right?"

* * *

When she got back to the apartment, the door was unlocked.
"Missy?" she called.

"Dana," Missy emerged from the bedroom, dressed for work and
toweling her hair dry. "Your phone didn't stop ringing since I
got here."

"Did you answer it?"

"Tom. I told him you were out." Dana sighed in relief. "You're
going to have to face him eventually, you know."

"Yes, and eventually doesn't have to be today." Dana and Missy
exchanged a look of almost hostile disagreement. "Anyway, this
is Fox Mulder."

Missy shook his hand. "A pleasure." He nodded. "You know what?
Why don't you make yourself comfortable," she gestured at the
living room. "Dana, we need to talk." Dana's eyes snapped shut
and her jaw tightened. Mulder dragged his feet to the living
room. "Remote's on top of the VCR," Missy called after him, then
dragged her sister to the kitchen by the arm.

"Seems kind of spooky. Who is he?"

"A patient of mine."

"Dana, you don't have patients. You're a pathologist."

Dana smiled. "He's a witness in a case that came through me."

"Well, what's he doing here?"

"He came looking for me. He said he needs my help."

"He's cute."

"Missy!"

Missy smiled, one of those innocent "what?" smiles she knew how
to pull off perfectly.

"He's delusional," she said. She felt like the more this Mulder
was around, the more she had to justify herself to other people.
"He was kidnapped when he was young. He's extremely paranoid,
and keeps talking about aliens and conspiracies."

"He's an abductee?" Missy asked, genuinely interested, and Dana
felt like she'd lost another one to insanity.

"He can't possibly be. If you really look at the facts--"

"Is that your opinion?" Missy cut her off. Dana was actually
glad. She wasn't sure where her point was going, or even that
she *had* one. She was becoming one of those people, she
suddenly noted to herself, that never kept an open mind, no
matter how little evidence they had to support their claims. She
always disliked them, snorting at their disregard for what she
always held as the true core of science. She didn't want to
become one of them.

She looked Missy straight in the eye.

"What does he say?" Missy asked.

"He says he is."

"Typical Dana behavior. You'd shoot him before you'd admit he
could be telling the truth." Dana froze. "What is it?"

"Nothing. Just something he said. Look, could you keep an eye on
him for a while? I need a shower." Dana left the kitchen. She
could almost hear the hot water calling her...

"Just don't take too long," Missy said. "I need to get to work
eventually."

"Sure, sure."

She lost herself under the hot water. Time seemed to stop and
all her worries disappeared. She wrapped a bathrobe around
herself and toweled her hair dry. Then, out in the kitchen,
where she had left her briefcase, her cellphone started ringing.
Let Missy answer it, she told herself. When it kept ringing, she
assumed Missy had already left. She strode out of the bedroom
and answered it.

"Dr. Scully?" a voice she didn't recognize asked.

"Yes?" She asked, relieved. She expected to find herself
confronted with Tom.

"This is Agent Jeffery Spender. You looked at a case of mine
yesterday."

"Yes," she said, "I did. I filed my report on the corpse. I
really can't say I found much. It should've reached your desk
this morning."

"It did. It did... there's one other matter about this case that
I need to ask you about."

"Which is?" she glanced toward Mulder and pulled the knot on her
bathrobe tighter.

"My witness. You discharged him from the hospital. Mind telling
me where he is?" There wasn't anger in his voice. There was
barely a shred of annoyance. He talked as if he really didn't
care about the case.

"He's okay," she said. "I can have him in your office this
afternoon, if you'd like."

"I'd appreciate it," he said. "This investigation's going
nowhere without him, and I hear from Colton that the AD is not
going to like it if we don't crack this one."

She gave an almost inaudible cough of discomfort at the mention
of the name, then said, "I'll bring him by myself."

She hung up.

"About me?" the voice came from behind her. Dana put her phone
down. She turned around and nodded. "It's too bad they'll all
look at me like I'm crazy before they even listen."

She said nothing. She didn't lower her gaze, change her
expression, nothing to hint that she had an opinion in the
matter.

He chuckled softly through an embarrassed smile. "This is the
part where you're supposed to comfort me by telling me that no,
I'm not crazy, and you're sure they'll at least listen." He
looked away and rested his cheek on his hand. "But you think I'm
crazy, too."

"I don't know." Again, the image of a fatal car crash came into
her mind. She had to take just one more peek before she moved
on. "I haven't heard your story yet. But I'm sure there's a more
rational explanation than the one you offer."

He shook his head. "I was twelve," he said, his tone suddenly
different, reminiscing. Pained. "It was November. My sister and
I were playing..." he paused, looking lost and confused. "What's
that game called?" he muttered. She looked at him, suddenly
feeling sympathy, almost pity, for this man. She shifted her
weight uncomfortably, then lowered herself slowly to the other
side of the couch, two throwpillows and a remote control away
from him. He didn't notice. "Stratego," he said with a hint of
victory in his voice. "And there was a light. Then they came. My
sister screamed, but they hadn't come for her."

She looked at him, his shoulders hunched, the memory drawing him
deeper and deeper. "Who were they?" she asked in a whisper,
afraid that anything louder would scare him out of his trance.
"Men?"

"No," he said, his head supported on his arms, his palms pressed
against his temples. "The men only started showing up when the
tests started." Dana suddenly felt such a wave of compassion for
this man; for the twelve-year-old child crying for help through
the memory. She forgot that he was a complete stranger, and that
she was sitting in front of him in nothing but her bathrobe. "I
knew some of them," he continued, his voice never faltering.
"They were friends of my father, men he worked with."

"And they're the ones who want you dead now?" she asked.

"No. They want me alive. And it can't be allowed." She stopped
herself before asking why. "But maybe..." he paused. Then he
raised his head with a movement so sudden she was almost taken
aback by it. For a moment, she was pinned by his gaze, unable to
move, almost unable to breathe.

With a hint of a smile, he said, "Maybe you're going to be the
one that saves me."

He sent his hand over the short distance between them. Alarms
went off in her head. Just before his hand touched her arm, the
ringing of her phone made her jump.

As a quick excuse to get herself out of a tight spot, she jumped
up and crossed the room to where she left the phone. She
answered it without even thinking.

And regretted it.

"Dana, where the *hell* have you been?" Tom's less than calm
voice startled her out of her serene daze.

"I..." she stuttered, caught off guard. "Out running."

"No, I mean where the hell have you been for ten days? People
are starting to talk!"

"I'm sure they would have started much sooner if they'd seen my
face on Christmas morning," she said, struggling to keep her
voice composed.

"Dana," his voice turned soft. She could tell he was trying too
hard to sound vulnerable. "You don't want to throw away our
marriage over that one little incident."

"Funny," she spat out, "I never considered it 'little'. And what
I want or don't want to throw away is my own business," she
found herself shouting.

"Dana, let me come over. Let's just talk this over rat--"

Dana slammed the phone closed, breathing heavily into the sudden
silence of the room. She shouldn't let him get to her. She
really shouldn't.

Still, she couldn't help trembling. Of course, the analytical
part of her mind noted, that could be because she was standing
here in a bathrobe, her hair still wet. But she couldn't bring
herself to move.

"Are you okay?"

The calm, masculine voice startled her into whirling around,
clutching at her robe in some parody of defense. Mulder started
at her abrupt motion, stepping back. "I'm sorry," he said, "I
heard..."

"My husband," she explained shortly.

"Oh." He hesitated, hands stuffed into his pockets with taut
nervousness. Dana suddenly realized that he was attempting not
to stare at her.

"I didn't know you were..."

She shook her head. "I don't think you could even call it a
marriage anymore." She found it odd that she was suddenly so
open with a complete stranger. He'd let her in to his soul, his
past, only moments before, and the air was still thick with
tension. "I don't think I could ever bear going back to it."

"Do you have to?" His voice was careful, under control, but
there was an edge of wistfulness to it. He took a step closer.
And another. And another. He put his hands on her shoulders in
an almost protective manner. "You don't have to."

He touched his lips to hers hesitantly. It caught her completely
by surprise. She took a hurried step back, tearing out of his
grip. By the time she returned her gaze to him, his eyes were
fixed firmly on his shoes. Almost instinctively, she tightened
the knot on her bathrobe, and only then realized consciously
that it was the only thing she was wearing.

She was too old to blush and stutter like an embarrassed
teenager, she told herself, but it didn't really stop her from
doing it. He, too, tried to mumble some sort of apology that
came out unintelligible. And, again, they lapsed into an
embarrassed silence. She hugged herself.

There was a knock on the door. She didn't move. Then the
doorbell. "They came for me," he said, and though his voice was
almost a monotone, it still conveyed every bit of panic that he
was feeling. Her steps toward the door were small and cautious,
once again tightening the knot on her robe. The belt was so
tight it was starting to tear into her still-damp skin. She
looked through the peephole and sighed.

"Is it them?" he asked, standing behind her. She shook her head.
She placed her hand on the handle and hesitated. There was
another knock and she could feel the vibration of it. She gave
Mulder a stern look, then pulled the door open.

Through the narrow crack created, Tom looked at her harshly. His
expression seemed to soften for a moment, long enough to say,
"Dana, honey, we need to talk." He pushed the door open,
succeeding despite her efforts to the contrary.

She could tell by his face exactly when he caught sight of
Mulder. And, a split second later, when he came to a conclusion
of what had just happened, or what was about to happen. "Son of
a bitch!" he charged forward, nailing Mulder to the wall with a
thud.

"Tom! Stop it!" she demanded, even more aggressive than she'd
intended to sound.

Tom released the pressure and Mulder fell an inch to the ground.
He stood there, looking slightly embarrassed and did nothing.
Tom, on the other hand, was looking as if he was about to charge
forward at her.

"How long did you think it was going to take for me to figure
this out?" he roared. "Do I look this stupid? Because if I do,
I'd like to know!"

"It's not like that," she tried to explain calmly, remembering
what had happened the last time she let their argument heat up
too much.

"Then what the hell is it like?"

There was a knock on the door. Then another. It startled her.
Tom turned around, and she looked at Mulder. There was terror in
his eyes.

"You can't let them take me," he said, his voice nearly drowned
out by the violent pounding on the door.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Tom sounded about ready
to explode. The pounding continued, getting louder.

Mulder met Dana's gaze. "You have to kill me." Then he added
with a decisiveness that made her shiver, "Now!"

"Anything you say, you crazy son of a bitch," Tom growled and
pulled out his gun.

"Tom," Dana asked slowly, "What are you doing?"

"Just what he asked us to." The banging on the door sounded like
cannonfire. Tom's hand was steady. The gun pointed right between
Mulder's eyes. Mulder, steady and expressionless, closed his
eyes.

The door broke down.

A dozen men in quarantine suits barged in. Tom changed the aim
of his gun only to have it taken from him. Mulder breathed a few
curses. A voice screamed at them to get down on the ground.

Tom managed to yell, "Who the hell are you?" before being forced
to his knees. Half of the men started stapling plastic to the
walls and sealing off windows.

A pair of blue boots, part of the suit, stopped next to them.
Dana couldn't catch a glimpse of the face. "Who are you?" Colton
yelled again.

"We're from the Center for Disease Control," the voice came from
above them, calm and rational. "Please remain calm and where you
are for your own good. You'll be transported to a quarantine
facility as soon as we can secure the environment."

Dana's mind raced, too close to panic. Everything made less and
less sense every second. "Quarantine for what?"

"A contagion of unknown origin."

* * *

On the drive out to... wherever it was they were being taken,
Dana just wanted to curl up and die. It was bad enough that she
felt like cattle, being transported in a truck on a bumpy road
for hours on end, but Tom was there, glaring at her the whole
time.

She didn't say a word.

When they got there, they were separated. She was stripped of
the little she had on - the bathrobe - and given a towel. Then
they lead her out to a public shower; the most public one she'd
ever seen. She felt more than slight relief to find out she was
alone in the large room and more than slight panic when a door
was opened and another naked body was lead in.

Even when she realized she knew that body, as well as one would
after almost two years of marriage, her panic did not subside.
He looked at her. She turned her back to him and let the hot
water burn her back.

Then she found something much like a hospital gown to wear and
tried the five doors of the room, looking for an open one. All
of them were locked. She gave the handle of the last one another
strong shake for good measure and resisted the urge to kick it.

She felt his breath on her damp skin. He was standing right
behind her, and she didn't dare look. The door in front of her
opened. She pushed it and poked her head through for a look. It
was an empty room with one low wooden bench in its center. She
walked in.

The door closed. She wasn't sure if it was by Tom's hand or not
but she didn't care. Three more blue quarantine suits walked in.
The faces behind the masks were cold and emotionless. She'd
given up on even making eye contact with those inside.

Instead she tried to figure out why. Why were they here. Why
would the CDC burst into her sister's apartment and take into
custody two federal agents. It had something to do with Mulder.
Maybe it had to do with where his captors had held him.

Or maybe the CDC knew something else... what would they know?
The FBI was still investigating the case. But if that thing went
as high up as Mulder had implied... that would mean other things
he'd implied would have to be true as well, things there was no
scientific explanation for.

Instruments were waved around her. Tom was shouting. The men
behind the masks weren't responding. "Are we going to be able to
talk to someone who can tell us what this is all about?" No
reply. The three men filed out as neatly as they had filed in.

"Will they at least tell us where the hell we are?" Tom's voice
echoed in the almost-blank walls of the room.

"I hate to point out the obvious," Dana said dryly, "But I don't
think they want us to know."

"They can't do that!" he bellowed. "We're federal agents!"

"They're aware of that by now. You've been yelling it out and
waving your ID around since the moment they barged into Missy's
apartment."

"Will you knock that off?!"

"Or what? You'll hit me again?"

Tom stopped cold with a hurt expression on his face. Just then
the door opened. Two men and one woman in white lab coats walked
in. One was carrying something that looked like a cross between
an ice chest, a tool bag, and a medicine bag. Right on their
heels followed an old man. His wrinkled face was expressionless
as he closed the door and lit a cigarette.

Dana shuddered as the woman's cold fingers pressed against her
skin. She suppressed another shudder when she realized that the
smoking man's eyes were focused solely on her. Maybe out of him
they could get some answers. She opened her mouth to speak but
Tom beat her to it.

"We'd like to know where we are and why we're here," he sounded
like he was forcing himself not to yell. He probably was.

"You're in a quarantine facility," the man replied in a cloud of
smoke.

"Quarantine for what? And where's Mulder?" she was quick to ask.

"An unknown contagion. Fox Mulder remains the only survivor from
an occurrence that killed six doctors. He's being kept under
watch. You were the last people in contact with him."

Dana felt rage overtake her. "No one is sick or infected here,
or you wouldn't be walking in here dressed to the nines for the
pleasure of our company."

He let out another puff of gray smoke. "I suppose you're right.
But you never know."

"I want to see Mulder," she demanded. Behind her, Tom muttered
something. She turned her head and shot a glare in his
direction.

"I'm afraid that's not going to be possible. He's under medical
care."

"I'm a medical doctor," she started.

"That should stay out of this." He threw the cigarette butt on
the concrete floor and stomped it out.

She threw a quick glance in Tom's direction. She saw the rage in
him just about to overflow, something that would, no doubt,
spoil all chance she'd ever have to get some answers. She had to
be the first to say something, to keep control of the situation.
"No," she said harshly. "I want to know what's going on."

"Very well," he said, taking a pack of Morley's out of the
inside pocket of his jacket. "But you have to understand that
there's a price." He pushed a cigarette between his lips and lit
it. She didn't move.

"Very well," he said and opened the door for her.

* * *

"They say gray's the new black," a sarcastic voice chimed in the
back of her mind. Dana decided that 'they' hadn't a clue what
they were talking about. Still, the gray outfit she found in the
locker that man had lead her to was comfortable. She ran a hand
through her hair, still damp from the shower, then wiped it dry
on the cotton pants. There was no trace of her old clothes
anywhere. They were probably nothing but ashes now.

The shoes she found in the locker were a little too big, but she
didn't think this was the right time to complain. The man puffed
at his cigarette and motioned for her to follow him. She did.

"Where are we?" she asked, her eyes racing between doors along
the narrow corridor.

"Fort Marlene," he replied. She saw only the back of his head as
he walked, and his voice sounded almost disembodied.

"The high containment facility?"

No reply.

"Am I really going to see Mulder?"

"In time." At the end of the long hall, he stopped and unlocked
a door. Dana looked back and couldn't tell which door they'd
come out of, if she could even see it from here. She couldn't
see the end of the hall.

Behind the door was a large courtyard. It had two wide walkways
paved with faded red stone, which crossed in the center. There
was low cut and well groomed grass all around, and four tall
trees towered above the buildings, and their tops, exposed to
the wind, shook once in a while.

In the center, where the two paths crossed, there was small
round fountain of gray concrete, and around it, four wooden
benches.

He headed straight for one of them, completely disregarding the
cold outside and the fact that she had on nothing more than the
thin cotton outfit. She walked out after him, feeling the cold
seep deeper into her with every passing second.

When he sat, she got a look at his wrinkled profile. He didn't
seem to respect the tranquil environment around him and lit a
cigarette. She stayed standing next to him. "You don't trust
me," he said.

"I don't trust too many people right now." she answered
nervously.

"Yes, it's a shame." He played around with his cigarette and
didn't spare her a look. "After two years together. And on
Christmas Eve, of all occasions." He finally raised his gaze to
meet her angry glare. "No, it's not common knowledge. We've been
keeping an eye on you, Dr. Scully."

"'We'?"

"You've come to our attention a while ago. And you could be a
very valuable asset to our organization."

"I assume that's the same organization that's kidnapped us under
the guise of the CDC."

He took another puff. She took that for a yes.

She sighed, realizing he wasn't going to answer any *relevant*
questions. "Why is it that you're interested in me?"

"You're a bright young scientist. You could be of use to the
project."

"...project?"

"But I am getting ahead of myself. You do remember the charred
body that you autopsied yesterday?" She nodded. "I've read your
autopsy report. You haven't established a cause of death yet."
She decided not to reply. The only thing she could think of was
how to keep up with what was obviously a mind game. To keep her
position she had to maintain some semblance of power and maybe a
little dignity.

The man didn't wait for her to say anything. "He was burned to
death by a device unlike anything you've ever seen."

"Something that you've seen before? Who developed it?"

He, too, wasn't replying and she assumed she had found the
correct tool for getting through this conversation - silence. He
looked down at his hand to notice that his cigarette was burning
down to the filter. He flicked it away and it shot clear across
the walkway and into the grass. He lit a new one and inhaled
deeply.

"Do you believe we're not alone in the universe, Dr. Scully?" he
seemed to suddenly change the topic.

"You're the second person who's asked me that today."

"Your answer is no, I suppose. And I suppose you could offer me
the conventional wisdom of the orthodox scientific community.
What if I were to tell you that there are aliens getting ready
to colonize this planet and that even as we speak we're in
danger of starting a viral holocaust that will wipe out the
entire human race?"

She let a tiny, almost amused smile creep onto her face and turn
into a condescending look accompanied by a raised eyebrow. "I
enjoy good science fiction as much as anyone, I suppose. But
that's a bit much, even for me."

"But that's where you're wrong. If it were mere science fiction,
you wouldn't be here today." He put out his cigarette, only half
smoked, and rose to his feet. "Dr. Scully, before I can tell you
anything more, there is a job proposal of sorts that I would
like you to consider."

* * *

Aliens? And global conspiracies? She'd just spent the past half-
hour listening to the wildest story she'd heard in a long time.
What worried her was how much it resembled Fox Mulder's story.
And, in the back of her mind nagged the worry that they were
right.

Why had she agreed to this, anyhow? Most likely because it was
the convenient thing to do at the time. If they weren't serious,
if they were just stringing her along, there was nothing to
worry about. If they were serious, refusal could very likely be
suicide.

So now she was in an elevator in a different part of Fort
Marlene, standing next to another elderly man. It seemed to her
that everyone involved in this so-called conspiracy was at least
in their sixties. She wasn't given a name, but she'd heard the
smoker call him "Ronald" when he first showed up. His hair was
gray, darker than the smoking man's, and curly, cut just long
enough for the curls to give it volume, and like all the older
men she'd seen walking around he was wearing a suit.

"This way, Dr. Scully," his distinctive voice shook her from her
reverie. He pointed to a door. The overhead sign read "CRYOLOGY"
in large white letters.

He passed a card that he took out of his pocket through the key
slot, like he'd done to enter the elevator and to leave the
quarantine section. It beeped and he pushed the door open. It
locked behind them and she jumped. She could get into the
Pentagon easier than this. All this security was making her
nervous, and she wasn't quite sure why. She was working in as
high-security an environment and grew up around more armed
marines than this. Maybe it was that for the first time she was
on the detainee side that was making her so uncomfortable.

The guard in the booth looked up with an annoyed expression. As
soon as he saw her guide, his expression changed to one of
respect and Dana was sure he was about to jump up and salute. He
punched a sequence of keys into a pad on his desk and the door
unlocked.

They stopped by the guard who held up a clipboard and pen and
asked, "Will she be logging in?"

"Not this time," her guide replied.

They walked into a narrow room. The left wall was filled with
glass doors and behind each door stood a metal container of
liquid nitrogen. He stopped by a door labeled "Purity control".
Both arms elbow deep in insulated gloves, he opened the glass
door and slid out the tray on which the container stood.

"Would you like to do the honors?" he asked her. She shook her
head, still unsure of what she was doing here. He pushed the
metal handle on the lid of the container and it moved with a
click. The lid lifted with the hissing sound and rising smoke of
liquid nitrogen meeting air.

His hand reached in and grabbed at something. As he pulled it
out slowly, his eyes stayed focused on her. First she only saw
the metallic handle his hand had grabbed, then a metal cylinder.
And there was something inside the cylinder.

A head?

It was held in place by metal bolts, and only when the nitrogen
vapors cleared, she could see that it was an egg shaped head and
out of proportion for the body that was pulled out from the
nitrogen.

On any other day she would have attributed it to a birth defect
caused by, perhaps, drug use or smoking.

But not today.

Today she was aware of the grayness of the skin. No, it wasn't
discoloration due to the sub-zero temperatures. Even liquid
nitrogen couldn't do that to human flesh. And the eyes were set
much too low for it to be human. On any other day she would've
assumed this to be an elaborate hoax.

But not today.

"It's..." she started to say but couldn't find the words.

"It's not human," he said with a stillness and calm in his words
that surprised her. She reminded herself to breathe. The air
could barely get past her throat and it made a gasping sound.
"It's the alien fetus we were given for the project. Now that's
it's complete, they'll want it back, most likely."

"I... Do you have any data on it that I can see?"

"Plenty. We've been gathering it since 1947. We're still a long
way off from a vaccination."

"Vaccination to what?"

"To Purity." She tried to hide her confusion. He continued.
"There's been a sort of vaccination race between us and the
Soviets. It was the truth behind the Cold War. And it isn't over
yet."

"Who's ahead?"

"It's hard to say. We've compromised the effectiveness of the
project for its secrecy. The Russians aren't concerned with mere
trivialities such as public opinion." She wasn't sure what he'd
meant by that, but by his tone she could tell it wasn't good.

She resisted the urge to touch the fetus. It was probably warm
enough to touch bare-handed now, but... but what? What was worst
that could happen by touching it? She could be reassured that
it's real. The realization could sink in.

He replaced the fetus in the container and locked it. She
followed him back where they came from, down the halls of the
fort. Instead of crossing the heavy door to the quarantine area,
they turned out into a courtyard - the same one they had come
from.

It was already getting dark - it couldn't be any later than
four-thirty, she told herself. But the courtyard was well lit
and she could see two men standing, arguing. One of them white
haired and the other, the taller one was smoking.

Her first inclination would have been to stand back. Still, she
followed her guide as he approached.

"This is unacceptable," said a voice with a British accent. "He
should have been terminated!"

"I was waiting," the smoking man's voice replied.

"Waiting for what?" The other voice was more aggressive. "This
is not the time to let your personal feelings cloud your
judgment. We have to terminate him now."

"Or turn him over," the smoking man suggested.

"The vaccine isn't ready. It would be mass murder," the
Englishman said with a leveled gaze and an outraged tone. The
smoker responded with silence. "What do the others say?"

"They're willing to turn him over. They want to save themselves.
And some want to cooperate with the rebels."

"That's suicide."

"We suspect infiltration of the group."

"Handle it."

Both turned their heads toward the two approaching on the
concrete path.

After a few seconds of intense silence and looks exchanged
between the men, the smoking man said, "Dr. Scully must be
tired. You should find her a suite for the night." The last was
addressed to her guide.

"This matter can't wait," said the one with the accent. "They
may learn of it any moment and we have no inoculation."

"The black oil?" Dana asked timidly and no one replied.

"Talk to the Russians," said the smoking man. He tossed his
cigarette away with great force, and by his expression Dana
suspected it was a last resort suggestion.

"We've tried. There's only one way to solve this."

The smoking man stopped in search of something to say, and Dana
began suspecting that there was a rivalry between these two men
and that this had something to do with it. The Englishman turned
his slightly upward gaze from the smoker and downward to her.
"Young lady," he addressed her, "There is something we would
like you to do for us, now that you are a member of our group."

"Are you testing me?" she asked.

"We are, indeed. This is going to be your chance to prove
yourself to us." He paused dramatically. "And the first time you
make history."

* * *

Dana stared through the small glass windows in the doors of the
room. Fox Mulder lay there on the high operation table, calm and
quiet. Until they pulled out the syringe, that is. Three doctors
had to hold him down as he screamed and kicked. Finally one of
them pushed the needle into the back of his neck and emptied it.

"No! You bastards!" Mulder screamed over and over again. "Don't
you realize what you're doing? No!"

"Don't you realize what you've done?" he cried after them in
despair as they left the room, then buried his head in the
pillow. Was he crying? She fingered the metal cylinder in her
pocket and decided not to wait. She pushed the door open
quietly.

"Hey," she whispered softly.

He turned around. She stood at the end of the table, frozen. He
opened hazel eyes at her shot her a quick pained smile. "Dr.
Scully."

"How are you holding up?" she asked.

"Five minutes ago I would've said good. Now I don't think so
anymore." She averted her gaze. Maybe she could've spared him
this. But the Englishman had told her not to raise any
suspicion, and stopping him from receiving the final shot, the
final stage of the hybridization, would certainly make Them
suspect. He sat up slowly until he was back to his original
advantage of being several inches taller than her. "You know
about it?"

"They told me."

"Do you believe them?"

"I... I don't know." She took a deep breath and pulled herself
together. She took her hand out of her pocket.

"That's more than I got a few hours ago. They must have a great
spokesperson."

"No," she admitted. "They had the one thing I needed to be
convinced. Proof."

"Proof," Mulder echoed. "But you're still not sure you believe?"
She shook her head. "How much more do you need?"

"I don't know," she said and fingered her cross, hanging in
place on its delicate gold chain. "I want to believe." She found
her hand had unconsciously moved toward her pocket.

He slumped back to his elbows with a disappointed look on his
face. She wanted to say something. "You know it's all over now,"
he said, "The future. Once they turn me over, it all starts."

She yawned, despite her attempts not to. "Listen," she said. "We
both had a long day. Don't think about it. Get some sleep."

He touched her arm at the elbow, and she shuddered. Only that
morning he had touched her with that much pain and sincerity
and, somehow, it seemed to all be conveyed through that one
touch. She was starting to get second thoughts. Suddenly, she
remembered that she was still wearing the facility's gray
outfit.

His hand slid down her arm and tried to gently pry her hand open
and hold it, maybe intending to comfort her, maybe hoping she
would comfort him. She clenched her fist tighter.

He gave up and fell to the metal table with a thud. He turned
his back to her and shut his eyes. She snuck the metal cylinder
out of her pocket. She should probably wait until he fell asleep
- that was what they'd told her to do. This conversation was
just a waste of valuable time, as far as they're concerned. But
she couldn't do it before she had a chance to say something to
him, to apologize. No one else would appreciate it, but if she
did, maybe she'd be able to forgive herself someday.

"Don't work for them," he said, barely above the soft hum of
machines around him. "It's not worth it."

"Don't worry," she put a hand on his arm. She pushed the button
at the end of the cylinder. A four-inch stiletto popped out with
the sound of metal scraping. It was deafening in the near-
silence of the room but Mulder didn't budge. His muscles tensed
beneath her hand. He knew. He was afraid.

She froze, her gaze shifting between the sharpened point and the
back of his neck. She breathed in deeply. Mulder's fist
clenched. "Everything's going to be okay," she said in the most
reassuring voice she could muster. Then she drove the stiletto
into his neck full force.

He didn't make a sound. She stared with eyes wide open. "His
blood is quite lethal while he's alive," the British man had
said. "After he dies, that effect seems to be neutralized.
Still, take no chances. Cover your eyes and get out as fast as
you can." But she didn't dare move away. And she didn't dare
close her eyes.

She pulled the blade out as swiftly as she'd driven it in and
bright green liquid flowed out from the hole. She stood and
watched as what was once seemingly human melted away into a
puddle of green on the table.

When there was nothing left but a hospital gown soaked in green,
she turned around. Someone was watching through the window in
the door. She pushed her way out to find the smoking man there.

"Well done, Dr. Scully," he said, but he wasn't looking at her.
His gaze was fixed on the small window in the door.

She wanted to walk off to anywhere; get as far as she could from
that room. After two steps she stopped and turned to the smoking
man. "You were against terminating him?" He just stared forward
morosely and in an almost absentminded movement, put a new
cigarette between his lips. "Why?" He lit it.

"He was family."

She clenched her jaw, fighting back the guilt as he strolled
off. It occurred to her once or twice on the long walk back out
to the courtyard that she'd just killed an innocent man. But, as
much as she thought it over, it seemed to matter more that she
had saved five billion lives. The more she tried to think about
it, the more she felt nothing but numb. She was a lot more
preoccupied with the fact that the thing she held as most sacred
- science - had betrayed her.

No, she told herself. Not science. Just convention. There was a
rational scientific explanation behind all this. They had data
to show her; proof. They need her expertise as a doctor and a
scientist... and a killer. She fought down the cynical voice
angrily.

The two elderly men looked at her expectantly as she approached.
She held out the metal cylinder to them and the British man took
it from her. "He's dead," she said.

"Very well, young lady. Now go and try to rest. Tomorrow should
be an interesting day."

* * *

The flight to New York was short. Flying first class had made it
pleasant enough to balance out her turning stomach. A
ridiculously expensive cab ride brought her to the corner of 8th
and 46th. Up on the 23rd floor, she was greeted at the door of
Waterston Labs by a young man in a lab coat.

"Dr. Scully? I'm Dr. Steve Robinson." She smiled and shook his
hand. "I'm looking forward to working with you. I've heard a lot
about you."

"Thank you. I'm really looking forward to working here."

He lead her past the reception desk, and didn't stop talking
about her last published paper. Just past the desk, on the
right, was the first thing that had really managed to make her
relax even slightly since the day she'd spent at Fort Marlene.
On the door of the room was a golden plaque with her name on it.

She thanked Dr. Robinson and hesitantly opened the door. Just as
promised, everything from her office was moved there, unpacked
and ready for her to start work. She shut the door behind her
and looked around again, unconsciously looking for the flaw that
she'd missed the first time around. Well, it was smaller than
her old office, but it gave it a much more comfortable look.

"Enjoying your new office, Dr. Scully?" the distinguished voice
came from within the room. She reminded herself that, especially
if she worked for them, these men could show up anywhere.

"Not bad at all," she replied. She found him sitting on the
couch. He fixed his strong gaze on her and afforded himself a
little smile.

"And how was your trip?"

"I could get used to the luxury. I don't think I could ever get
used to the cab drivers."

His smile widened just a little. "This is a great
responsibility, Dr. Scully. Some in our group still don't think
you deserve it." Her heart sank. "We'd like you to come before
them and convince them otherwise. Talk about your work a bit."

"But--" she began to protest.

"Not today," he reassured her. "In a few days, after you've had
time to settle in. Just give us a call whenever you're ready."
He handed her a business card with nothing but a phone number
and a 46th St. address. She put it in her pocket. "Your FBI
resignation letter is being drafted."

She eased herself into the leather chair behind her new desk.
"I'd like to see it before they mail it."

"Of course," he nodded. "Our lawyers have also started drawing
up your divorce papers." Her gaze fell to the floor before she
could stop it and she looked up quickly. No matter how much
relief she felt, it was a subject that, she suspected, would
remain just a little sore for a while yet. "They want to make it
as speedy as possible. You don't have to be involved at all."
She nodded.

"Good day, Dr. Scully," he said with the door in his hand, on
his way out. "I think it's going to be a pleasure working with
you." She smiled, at least outwardly agreeing with him. Inwardly
she still wasn't sure what she had gotten herself into. But it
was probably too late to turn back now.

The door shut softly and her smile slowly faded.

---


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