The Damascus Files File 2 -Revelations

by Katvictory

Recovery, Discovery and the beginning of the end

TITLE: The Damascus Files - File 2 Revelations

AUTHOR: Katvictory

DISCLAIMERS: They all belong to Chris Carter and Fox, I want nothing. Don't sue.

RATING: R for the series

SUMMARY: After fighting his way back from near death, Mulder still must learn to deal with lingering disabilities and discover how to control his mysterious and often frightening psychic powers. Along the way old secrets are revealed and hidden truths uncovered that affect not only Mulder's and Scully's relationship but the future of the entire planet.

CATEGORIES: Angst, Partly post -colonization,

SPOILERS: We leave CC's universe completely toward the end of the 6th season.

FEEDBACK: dev1025@uswest.net

Note from the author: Eventually this story will be composed of three separate files, each one detailing a different period in this long story. This is File 2. <><><><><><><><><> CHAPTER EIGHT <><><><><><><><><>

FWM Tapes Winter 2003 Wellington, Colorado

Scully came to me last night in a dream. It was so real. I woke with the fresh, clean scent of her on my clothes. Skinner smelled it, too. He has been reading his Bible all day. I think he believes it's another sign. Of what, he won't commit, but I guess we all take our omens any way we can get them. I believe she came to me to keep my faith alive. I believe she is making her way home now, as I speak. I want to believe. I HAVE to believe.

*****

February began with Scully setting us up a plan of action. During the day she would put to use her vast storehouse of knowledge obtained the preceding year during my recovery from the ICH, and attempt to define, harness and train my powers. The nights were to be put aside to study everything Wagner had in his files on the visitors, C.G.B. Spender, the consortium, and the project.

I knew Scully was a harsh task master from my time spent as her partner, and even more so because of the regimen she had me under during my latest rehabilitation. Wagner joked that Scully missed her true calling. He claimed she would make a wonderful Marine Boot Camp Drill Instructor. Personally, it's my opinion, from the stories I've heard my friends and acquaintances who attended parochial schools tell, Scully would have made an excellent nun.

The second week in February brought one of those rare, late winter days in Northern Colorado that tease you into thinking spring is just around the corner. Sunny, temperature in the upper 60's. Even the air takes on the aroma of rebirth. The soil almost calls out for seedlings to burrow into its melted, snow-moistened richness with its pungent earth scent. My demanding partner had allowed me a break from my lessons of trying to increase my abilities at what I teasingly referred to as the Vulcan mind-meld, to take a ride with Wagner. We were the furthest we'd ever ridden; the beautiful day calling us to range ever deeper into the rolling foothills that bordered Sky Watch to the west when it happened.

The young buck must have just been feeling his oats when he leaped from the brush across the trail. I don't think his feet even hit the ground, because I saw the blur that meant he was gone before my horse reared. Still, I wasn't ready for my animal's frightened reaction, and before I knew it, the ground rose up to meet me. Hard. The good news was my fall was broken somewhat. The bad news was my tumble was forestalled by a fence made of barbed wire.

"Don't move," Wagner cautioned, touching my right shoulder, the only place I think he felt was safe to touch.

I was in so much pain, the obvious, smart-ass rejoinder of "Don't worry" didn't occur to me until later.

"I'm going to have to cut your legs free," Wagner murmured. I heard the unmistakable snip of wire cutters as my tangled legs were freed from the metal that had wrapped around them. I remember rejoicing that this man was with me because who else but S. A.Wagner would have had the presence of mind to be carrying wire cutters? "Oh, shit, Mulder." His words were a fearful epitaph, and I felt his hand move down to touch the inside of my left leg.

"Son of bitch!" I cried. I felt the bones of that ankle grind together when he pressed hard against my calf. I pushed his hands away. "I fucking broke my ankle! Don't touch it."

Wagner exhaled a deep sigh. "Mulder, that's not all you did. That fence nearly tore your muscle off. You're bleeding like a stuck pig."

"That's not good, I take it," I muttered, not quite able to force a laugh. I tried to push up to see what I could tell about my injuries. I couldn't help the scream that came out when fire shot through my shoulder and upper arm. My body seemed to tingle as dizziness swept over me. I think I blacked out for a bit because the next thing I realized was Wagner covering me with his coat. "Is it time for a nap?" I asked weakly.

"Mulder, I'm gonna have to go get help," Wagner said, pushing himself up to stand.

The thought of being left alone was not that appealing to me and I panicked. I tried to sit up. The pain almost took me out again. "Don't," was all I could manage to get out.

"Mulder, I need you to listen to me, okay?" His voice came from my side. I was so frightened I couldn't seem to get my eye to focus. I was blind, hurt, and he was going to leave me. I grabbed at Wagner with my weak am, clutching his shirt in desperation. "Okay, but don't leave me," I breathed.

"Mulder, calm down. Please. Take a few deep breaths, okay?"

I tried his suggestion and discovered it did help. I was finally able to perceive his blurred form above me. Unfortunately, I was also now suddenly aware that there weren't to many places on my body that didn't hurt. "My leg is broken, right?" I sighed, starting an inventory of aches. "And I fucked up my shoulder."

My sight had returned enough that I could see his nod that I was correct in my assessment of the damage so far. "It's either your upper arm, or your shoulder or both. I didn't wanna hurt you more so I didn't try to find out for sure. I'm not a doctor. Mulder, at least, your arm and your foot are broken, but what worries me most is the way your calf is bleeding on one side. Also, this other big gash here on your weak arm that looks like it's just pumping blood." He gently moved my hand to feel the wound. He was right. I could feel the blood flowing over my fingers.

"I'm going to try to put a pressure bandage on your leg and make a tourniquet for your arm. It's gonna hurt like hell but you gotta let me do it, and I have to hurry. I can make it home in about 20 minutes. I can have Scully back here in maybe 10 more. Let me do this or else I think you're gonna bleed to death."

The warm stickiness pouring over the top of my hand made me nod mutely. I believe I was gone from the moment I felt him wrap something around my leg and start to tighten it, until I heard his boot heels moving away across half frozen, hard packed dirt. The sound of him riding off made my stomach lurch. I remember trying to spot the sun, but not being able to find it. My world was a dim, gray blur. Trying to ignore the pain in my shoulder, I cautiously reached to discover if he'd quelled the flow of blood from the gash in my right arm. I could still feel the liquid trickling out, a rhythmic ooze that matched my pulse.

I think what saved me that day was fear. The last words Wagner said to me had been about bleeding to death, and they stayed uppermost in my mind. Of course, I didn't want that to happen. I don't believe I consciously realized I was healing myself until I felt the smooth, new skin beneath my fingertips. The act was complete. With the understanding of what I'd done to the jagged tear on my right forearm, I realized that the tourniquet Wagner had made from his belt to quell the bleeding, was now a danger to me. I struggled to remove it. I finally managed to get the leather binding off, although my shoulder injury announced its presence with eye-watering agony.

I lay on my right side, trying to decide what to do next. I remembered the damage to my calf my friend had spoken of. Pulling my knee up I forced myself to examine the wound. The broken bones were throbbing constantly, but until I touched the wound, I wouldn't have known my muscle was half ripped off, if Wagner had not told me. The sharp, searing agony told me I had the right spot. My breath came in quick gasps as I tried to control the pain. I focused the energy, running like an electric current through my hand, into the savage rip in the muscle of my lower leg. Scully, Dr. Raposa and I found out later that knowledge of anatomy did help me focus the energy, but the ability to know what to do came from pure instinct. It took me more than a month of analyzing the memories of what I had done out on that trail, before I was able to pick apart the process enough to explain it to anyone.

I could feel the fibers of the muscle regrowing; the tissues and damaged nerves, blood vessel, tiny capillaries, reforming to make the injured leg whole. My task was almost complete when I heard the jeep tearing up the hill to where I lay huddled on my side. I was exhausted and hurting, but still had enough adrenaline remaining to offer Scully a grin when she hurried to my side.

"You know, nobody as little as you should make that much noise when they walk, Scully." I laughed breathlessly, elated over what I had accomplished and the touch of her warm, soft hands on my skin as she mutely began to examine me. "I'm almost done here," I murmured, lifting my hands away to let her see my work.

"I'll be a son of a..." I heard Wagner gasp, and felt his presence as he knelt at my feet to gape at my handiwork. "Scully, that leg was filleted wide open, down to the bone, I swear..."

I chuckled wearily, "Scully, let me rest a bit and I'll finish up, okay?" I knew I was rapidly running out of steam, so I spoke as quickly and convincingly as possible. "Scully, just take me back to the ranch. Not to town." I knew I was about spent. My words were starting to slur. "Scully, no hospital. You and Raposa can make sure nothing goes wrong, but we need to know what I can do. How I do it, too, okay?" I tried to grip her arm, but suddenly my strength was gone. I could hear Scully and Wagner talking; their voices blended, fading into a droning buzz. I sank back into the cold darkness that rose up and around me like a shroud.

*****

I awoke in a hospital bed. It took me less than half a heartbeat to recognize it was the same one I'd occupied for so long this past year, before I'd graduated to the wonderful queen-size mattress I shared with Scully. While I wasn't thrilled with what had been decided for my sleeping arrangements, I was thankful Scully had complied with my wishes and not taken me to a hospital. The fact that I was totally sightless told me it was most likely night. I listened for the telltale sounds around me to try to establish exactly where they might have put me. The soft, rhythmic half snore that filtered from somewhere to my side let me know that regardless of where I was, Scully was there also.

I cautiously began to access what had been done to me. My ankle had been casted, but the slightest movement of my foot informed me that my self-healing had not extended to the bones I'd splintered in my fall. My groan at the pain my movement caused wasn't loud, but it was heard. My partner was by my side before I even realized I'd awakened her.

"Mulder? It's me..." she whispered, flicking on the lamp.

"I'm..." My mouth was dry and there was a strange, metallic taste. The words stuck in my arid throat, but Scully instantly had a straw to my lips. The cool water helped. "My mouth tastes like ozone," I murmured, placing the odd, tangy bite that wouldn't wash away.

Her chuckle was a hushed, ruffled flourish against my cheek, and I turned to plant a kiss wherever it might land. Happily it was the warm tenderness of her lips. I'd wanted the contact to linger but she pulled away too soon.

"You need to save your strength," she whispered softly, letting me feel the gentle touch of her fingertips on my temple. The slight sting told me I must have been stung by barbed wire where she touched, and I flinched a bit.

"I hurt everywhere. My lips are the safest place to touch, Scully," I complained.

"I think you're right," she agreed and granted me a quick peck before moving away to grab some pills, which she began to feed me one at a time, slipping the straw to my lips after each dose.

"What are all these?" I managed, in the small break between tablet 7 and 8.

"Your normal meds, plus antibiotics, vitamins and a couple of pain relievers."

"The good stuff?" I asked hopefully.

"Oh-h-h yeah," Scully laughed, finally finishing up on what I think was pill number 30 -- more or less. There were a few moments of silence as she fussed about the room. I don't know what she was doing, but I soon felt the wonderful signs of the pain meds kicking in. I was allowing the foggy mist to begin its embrace when she spoke again. "We're going to do this right. At the first little sign of fever or anything the least bit off, you're on your way to PVH. Right?"

"Right," I smiled. She was also right that it was the good stuff. Everything was already getting nice and fuzzy. I knew I needed to get my answers quick or I wouldn't remember what they were. "Scully, what was the final damage?"

"Well, not having a x-ray machine we can't be completely sure, but you broke eight bones, all on the left side -- your clavicle, humerus, two ribs, and four bones in your foot and ankle."

"Ground was pretty hard I guess." My tongue was getting very thick.

"And you don't bounce like you used to." I could hear the smile in her voice so I knew she was happy I was not in pain. I was getting fairly 'happy' myself. "We decided to help you out. You have a total of 108 stitches at various places on your anatomy."

"Isn't that cheating?" I grinned, fighting a losing battle to keep my eye open. "Well, how long will it take to get me back on my feet?"

My comment brought her best laugh, free and wild. "Mulder, you're the miracle worker here, you tell me. This is on your clock, remember?"

I grasped her hand with my clumsy 'bad' one, and moved it toward my mouth. I think the thought that I was only going to have use of my weak side flitted across my drug addled brain, but at that point I was feeling to good to care. "I love ya, ya know?" I slurred, brushing my kiss across the smooth, tender flesh of her palm. "Always, forever and ever."

"I know." Her lips caressed my neck, light as a sigh, warm as her heart. This time I drifted into darkness wrapped in a blanket of contentment, hearing her whisper, "I love you, too, Mul..."

Tape ends -WSS-

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X

FWM Tapes Winter 2003 Wellington, Colorado

Looking back on it, I guess we could call our project a success. My recovery, while not amazingly swift, was more rapid than 'normal'. We did learn quite a bit by trial and error. While the exact limits to this particular power proved to be impossible to ascertain, we did establish some guidelines as to what I could and couldn't accomplish with my gift. This is when we developed the theory that I cannot create something out of nothing. I can speed up the rate that new cells reproduce, which is in essence how our body repairs itself. I don't actually know if the doctors were correct in their educated guesses as to the hows and whys of what I can do. Personally, I don't believe they were positive of their findings themselves.

The only tapes of mine we found in the entire basement, other than my mad rantings from that time before Mexico, are my musings during our little controlled experiment. What follows are a few excerpts of my thoughts from that long, sometimes fascinating, frequently boring month.

*****

FWM Tapes February 11, 2002

It has been two days and I'm think it's time for me start healing myself. I think this positive attitude should help, shouldn't it? I did my arm and almost rebuilt my leg all in a matter of an hour according to Wagner. So why can't I get the inch long cut on my ass to at least quit itching in 48 freaking hours? I know, Scully tells me it's itching like this because it's healing. Yeah, it's itching and burning and stinging like this because I've been lying on my ass for two solid days!

I can't move! When I felt myself flying through the air, I must have instinctively tried to break my fall. Now, since my right side is weak, I'm automatically going to try to land on my left side. That's only logical. So I wind up breaking half a dozen bones on my "good" side. Which effectively leaves me with no "good" side. Until I heal, I can't even scratch my own ass.

(Loudly). SCULLY!!! (Pause).

S.A.WAGNER - (Sound of door opening). Yeah? Scully ran down to the store. You need something, Mulder?

(Barely audible). Never mind.

*****

FWM Tapes February 15, 2002

If we could store sleep to use later, I think I'd have a backlog that would carry me through 'til doom's day (pause). Not a good thing to say anymore, I guess. Maybe I should demand the chance to use all that sleep. Buy us a little time.

Shit. Shit. (pause) Shit. I've got to get better. The days are dragging, but we're running out of time. I know my powers are working. I'm down to being 99% covered with barbed wire cuts. God. Raposa and Scully make me feel like I'm the latest fad. You bored? Let's go watch Mulder heal a sore. I ought to charge admission. I want to forget the freaking cuts and work on the bones. The stiches'll take care of the cuts. Damn. (Pauses and takes a few deep breaths to gain control). And what is wrong with me? Why am I always so tired? Is it because I'm using the powers?

*****

FWM Tapes February 22, 2002

Well, the doctors finally figured out what's wrong with me. I'm anemic from the blood loss. Apparently that's one thing I can't do. I can't make my red cells multiply or divide or whatever it is that they think I'm doing to heal myself. So that's one type of cell I can't manipulate. They've got me on Iron shots and I'm already starting to feel stronger after only 3 days. I've been able to get up and make it to the couch. I hate the fact I'm such an invalid here. Wagner is almost carrying me when he helps me get about, but I refuse to let him drag out the wheelchair from the medical supply storage shed he has accumulated since having me as his house guest.

I've been better able to focus since starting the shots and I've told Scully to cut out my pain medication, which has helped my concentration. Yesterday afternoon and this morning, I tried a direct, hands on effort at healing my ankle. I can actually feel the difference. Mr. Wagner has an old friend, Mary Filson, who is a vet. (I believe she's the same Mary Scott who went to DC with him, so long ago, and she wound up marrying the son of Wagner's old housekeeper). She has an x-ray machine in her mobile, equine/large animal hospital, so we're going to check out my shoulder and ankle this after noon. I believe everything is knitting up fine.

*****

I've hobbled out here to the living room because Scully's snoozing and I had a few things on my mind. I really don't want to wake her. She's been sleeping so lightly since my tumble, she wakes every time I change positions in the bed. I believe it might help if we get OUR four-poster back in and start sleeping together again. I'm such a restless bed partner, that out of self-defense, she's learned to snore through someone tossing and turning beside her all night. We need to get her back to being able to sack out through an earthquake. Plus, I rest better with her beside me.

It didn't hit me what was wrong with her all day. I couldn't figure out why she seemed to be just this side of tears when, all in all, our morning and afternoon had been relatively smooth and uneventful. The vet van x-rays showed my broken bones were healing perfectly. In another week or so, I'll probably be good as new. We'd been on the couch, and she was doing her Obi-wan routine, helping me heal my ankle when it all just came pouring from her.

I don't really think about what happened very much anymore. Now that's not to say I don't think about what that black lunged bastard has taken from me. No, there's not a day that goes by that I don't think about Sam, or how he destroyed my family. How he set me up and stole my life. But the actual injuries that resulted from that day don't cross my mind that often. Oh, sometimes, I feel the pain. I can't see the light that makes Scully's eyes sparkle that crystal blue when she laughs. Or catch the way her cheeks color when something excites her...or embarrasses her.

Still, I do know my other senses have heightened. Naturally or paranormally, I see things now I probably would have missed, even with all my training and 'spooky' ability. I can hear her smile, I can feel her blush, and I know the touch of her soul. It's imprinted on my mind. I know where she is and what she is feeling even when she is not physically around me (pause).

When she started crying, everything came out in such a flood of pain that I had to struggle to understand. Today is THE ANNIVERSARY. Apparently, this day has hit her this way every year since it happened. She finally admitted, with red faced embarrassment, that what bothers her is that this event happened the day before her birthday. Makes it hard for her to forget it, huh?

I did what I could to comfort her. I think just getting her feelings out helped. Scully is nothing if not resilient. Once her pain was spilled, she dried her face and it was business as usual. That is Scully. Back to the task at hand. Get the job done. She has made me her life. I wish I could give her more.

*****

FWM Tapes March 1, 2002

I'm on my feet. They took another x-ray at the mobile horse hospital, and my bones are all back together. The casts are off. I think that, all in all, our little experiment worked out great. To have healed half-a-dozen breaks in under a month is amazing. We've learned a lot from this. It's helped prove some theories Scully had on how I might be able to learn to project and channel my powers. Apparently, while I was in Central America, I was able to harness my abilities enough to do some very amazing feats. Scully says she witnessed a city that she believes I created from memories that were stored at the ruins where this ancient place had been. She claimed it was more than a vision, it was real.

Where did it come from? I don't remember that time, but Scully is not one to imagine things or to embroider on the truth. If she claims I made this place, that she saw this miracle with her own eyes, it really happened. It excites me. And yes, it frightens me, that I have that kind of power within me. I need her to help me draw it out, to help me control it. I truly believe that without her here to guide me, this would be a 'gift' that would be best not opened.

Tapes end -WSS-

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X

From the Journal of K.W. Wagner March 10, 2002 Sky Watch, Wellington, Colorado

"Ain't it good to be back home again. Sometimes this old farm feels like a long lost friend, and ain't it good to be back home again." John Denver.

You don't grow up in Colorado without knowing a lot of John Denver songs. There's even a high school in Fort Collins called Rocky Mountain High. Hey, that's a great lead in, so my next number will be...

Too little sleep does this to me. Should any future readers of this tomb wonder, two hours sleep and too much coffee make Katmandu Wind Wagner, world renowned physician and paragon of medical research, a bit punchy. Scully would probably tell me this weekend will be good practice for my on call stints during my residency. Shall I say a few Hail Marys for my patients? Will I even have patients? No, wait, I'm getting ahead of myself here.

The last two days have been so confusing, almost like a dream. Nothing seems real anymore. I'll try to get some order in this. Let me start at the beginning, wherever that might be. I'll start with the day after the fight with Derek. That's as good a place as any. As I wrote in the 10 pages of tears, anger and angst, Derek has chosen a different path than mine. With another person. Only thing new on that is -- I kept the ring. : )

Problem was my spring break plans went in the toilet, because it was his parent's condo in Aspen where we were going to stay that week. I planned on spending the final weekend at Sky Watch so I called Daddy and told him I was coming home. He seemed strangely distant at first, but then he said 'Come on down'. (It's actually up, but I knew what he meant,) so I grabbed my bag and ran home to lick my wounds.

Dad knew something was wrong the minute he hugged me, just like I knew something was on his mind, too. We both made a silent, telepathic agreement to talk about it later, and settled for small talk for the moment. Hi. You look great. School's fine. Yadda, yadda. Derek's name was not brought up so I knew he knew, but was waiting for me to pick the time to discuss my broken heart. My father is the best. I know that now.

I asked about M&S. He just gave me a quirky sort of smile, and told me they were down in the horse barn working on Mulder's exercises. Of course, my next question was, what exercises? But he just kept smiling that same silly grin and suggested I go check it out. Now I knew about Mulder's accident. It took Mulder himself ordering me not to miss any school to keep me from coming home. But, I didn't get all the details about what he'd done to himself this time, only that he'd broken some bones. The 'some' part bothered me, but Mulder reminded me that he is a fast healer. What are a few broken bones to a man who came back from both a traumatic brain injury AND a severe ICH? I took him at his word.

I walked down to the big barn picturing what various forms of tortuous therapy Scully might be putting him through. (I know, I'm a bitch when it comes to my Mulder). I must admit, tennis balls and broom handles never even crossed my mind.

The exercise was in full swing as I entered, and neither participant noticed when I walked into the very dimly lit building. Scully stood in front of me, tossing day glow, orange tennis balls down the aisle that separated the two rows of stalls. I must admit, the woman has a mean fast ball. I was impressed until I realized she was slinging these missiles at Mulder who was clear at the other end of the barn. I wouldn't have been able to see him in the gloom except his jersey was the same bright orange as the balls.

Shock was my first reaction. With the lighting as poor as it was I knew Mulder would have been totally blind. Why was Scully pelting Mulder with tennis balls? "Well, it's better that baseballs," crossed my mind. That just shows how upset I was. That was when a bright orange object hit my leg. Hard. My pain laced expletive interrupted the exercise.

"Kami!" Scully yelled and rushed over to me, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I murmured, rubbing my leg where the ball had stung me. It wasn't bad. After all, it was just a tennis ball. I glanced up to see Mulder shuffling over to me. There was a moment's concern as I noticed his gait was off. I know the man's walk like my own. Normally he hides his weak side so masterfully there's hardly a limp, but as he walked toward me his stride was almost a lurch.

"It's getting better. He broke the talus and all three inner tarsels. You know how the PT always goes slower than the actual healing." Scully whispered in my ear just before Mulder made it to me to get his hug.

He'd lost weight and tears filled my eyes as I returned his embrace. "You just can't stay out of trouble, can you?" I choked when he pulled away. His expression was a mixture of sheepish embarrassment and concern. I felt horrible at my chastising greeting, and clutched him again quickly. "I'm sorry, but you've got to quit hurting yourself. Okay?"

His face was still bright scarlet but he managed a weak smile. "I'll try," he offered, then broke into huge, boyish grin. Naturally, my mood brightened. How could it not, seeing that smile? "But I healed myself in a month. No hospital. Not too bad, huh?" He didn't notice the worried glance I shot Scully or the brief look she gave that told me -- later.

"When aren't you amazing, Mulder?" I asked, matching his grin.

"Hey, you want amazing, watch this." He hustled off in his odd, swagger/trot toward his spot at the rear of the barn, stopping to grope for something when he found his place. "Okay, Nolan! Let 'em rip!" Mulder yelled, as he fell into a batters stance, a cut-off stick at the ready.

Scully gave a muted chuckle and slight shrug. "You know, we have to humor him when he's like this."

Despite her words I could detect a note of excited pleasure and pride at what was about to happen. Scully paused a moment, then with perfect form cut loose with a hard, beautifully thrown curve ball. I followed it's neat arc as it moved straight toward my sightless friend. I watched, mouth popping agape, as Mulder's smooth swing connected expertly with the pitch. The ball bounced off the far side of the barn in a sultan-of-swat-like homerun.

"Way to use the force, Mulder," I murmured to myself. Scully's laugh ricocheted off the cavernous walls just like the ball.

Watching a game of blind man's baseball was just the start of this wild weekend. Mulder's exercises are only part of Scully's ingenious plan to help Mulder discover, focus and use his PSI-powers. We had a moment alone while Mulder was showering. The good doctor explained how Mulder wound up avoiding the dreaded hospital after his latest accident. I was glad to hear we now had Dr. Raposa in our confidence. Scully says that so far she has been able to keep the new of Mulder's miracle recovery under wraps. For how long, no one knows. I was soon to learn just how important nondisclosure of my friend's actual health might be when my father finally revealed what skeletons have been hidden in his basement.

I found everything out during our prerequisite home from college father/daughter talk. I thought I was going to be the one with the number one news flash. Everyone else had gone to bed, and Dad and I were chatting in the living room. I finally broke down, crying on his broad shoulders as I wove my lonely heart's soap opera of Derek and the new love of his life. This naturally lead to the topic of my future. I discovered I might have over planned my life a bit. It appears anything beyond this summer should carry an astrik - * subject to change should the Alien Colonization occur. I wonder if my student loan carries an Apocalypse clause.

I have to laugh, because I'm afraid I'll start crying. I'm torn. Should I be angry at my father? Why did he and my mother even consider bringing a new life into a world where there was no future? And he has lied to me my entire life. He has always promised me that I could grab that brass ring -- the tomorrows of my dreams, yet he has known all along what was coming. Okay, maybe not when, or for certain. But he knew THEY were here and what THEY wanted and still he has showered me with false hopes when what he should have given me was the TRUTH.

I didn't want to return to school. Why spend my last days preparing for a life that I'll never have. Mulder changed my mind. I had driven my father from the room with my angry tirade at hearing his story. I must have woken the whole house with my response to what I felt was my parent's ultimate betrayal -- giving me a life that could bear no promise. I was lying on the couch, dry eyed and feeling utterly hopeless when Mulder came in.

"Did he tell you everything?" Mulder asked, his voice soft and low.

"How should I know? You knew, too, didn't you? I guess everyone I know lies," I retorted bitterly, then immediately regretted the ire I'd directed at my friend. Scully once told me that before the accident Mulder's face always personified bland inscrutability except for those who knew him. She said she always knew what he felt because she could read it in his eyes. He no longer has the ability to hide his emotions. I could see the pain I'd caused the moment I spat the words.

"What is truth, Kami?" he murmured, sinking down in Dad's chair across from me. "What should he have told you? Better yet, WHEN should he have told you? Your 16th birthday party? Should he have given you the truth as a graduation present? Last Christmas? When you told us about you and Derek and Medical School? What good is truth? Does it change anything?"

He was right. He held me while I cried.

"What can we do, Mulder?" I finally asked when my tears were spent.

I watched his face as he searched for an answer. He looked at me, through me in the near darkness. I felt a chill at his sightless gaze. His answer offered no warmth. His voice was cold when he spoke, a tight grin tugging at his lips. "We just go on living -- and hoping. We still have hope, Kami."

<><><><><><><><><> CHAPTER NINE <><><><><><><><><>

FWM Tapes Winter 2003 Wellington, Colorado

"Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." Hebrews

I told Kami there is still hope. I had no idea what I was talking about. What could we humans do to stop this horde of highly advanced beings from another planet from taking over the World? These creatures had the support of some of the most powerful men and women on our planet.

Skinner, you said you read some of Wagner's files while I was sick. What did you think?

SKINNER - I just wish you'd documented your X-Files half as well.

(Laughs). If I'd had Wagners' money in my expense account maybe I could have. Did you believe what they said?

SKINNER - (Long pause). Considering what they said has come true, I believe I have to, Mulder. I believe in a lot of things now. I think we live in times when an open mind might be our only chance to survive. That and our faith.

Faith. (Mulder gives what can only be called a derisive snort). Faith in what? That we're in the last days? Is this Armageddon? Words in a book of myths, is that what you believe in now? Where's your proof? You always demanded proof from me? What changed you? One little parlor trick, me making your body speed up a natural process? Why, if we had a phone you'd be asking the Amazing Yappy about your sign. Hey, you think he saw this coming? (Laughs).

SKINNER - Just say I saw the light, Mulder.

Yeah, well, so did I, and now I'm blind (pause). So, help me out here. The files are down in the basement buried in 20 feet of snow. If we're going to finish this up I need to remember what they say about the "visitors," as my mom called them. Where should we start?

SKINNER - Genesis?

And they call me a smart ass. I remember Wagner had an interview with one of the Jeremiah Smiths. He explained who all those Smith boys were.

SKINNER - I caught that. Clones. One of the first tries at Alien/Human hybridization. The original Jeremiah Smith was an American scientist who offered to help them back in 1947. The man died in 1951. From what I understand, the clone Wagner talked to thought they were a success except for that one missing thing.

Oh, God, I should have known you'd buy that part.

SKINNER - Well, it makes sense, Mulder. Smith knew he had no soul. Only God can give us the spark of life. The aliens must have believed that's what they were missing, too. Right?

Well, if you want my opinion, I think for all their knowledge, the aliens are pretty lousy scientists.

SKINNER - I believe that's what their problem is. The alien's have lost their sense of wonder. THEY have no imagination. That's where genius truly lies. THEY can't dream. They've become stagnant. That's why THEY feel THEY need us, new blood. THEY want to get back what they're missing.

Okay, I can swallow that a lot more than my mother's "chosen people" theory.

SKINNER - It's all one and the same. We're all created by the same entity, but they threw away the gifts the Creator thought most important.

(Mulder's tone is angry). You sound just like my mother. I need the facts here, Skinner. All you can spout is religious fairy tales. How about just letting me get back to my work?

SKINNER - Okay, you tell your story. I'll go try to find some wood. We're running out of trees around here. Looks like that fence of the neighbor's might be my next haul.

You said they left back in August. I think that gives us squatters' rights. (Sound of door opening). Be careful! (Reply inaudible as door closes).

Wagner's files gave us the truth, but "there are truths that are not for all men, nor for all times." The governments of the world hid the fact that there is alien life on earth -- with the lie of alien abductions, but to what purpose? It depends on who was asked and when they were questioned. The plan was to hide behind an uneasy truce in order to buy time. The object was to create a human/alien hybrid to survive the proposed take-over. The plot was to concoct a vaccine that would render the visitors' killing machine, the black oil, useless against us. The desire was to save the world. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. The liars were lied to, the betrayers, betrayed. In the end only the devil and his minions were left standing. And of course, THEM.

(Sighs). This next part is hard. Skinner calls these powers my "gifts". They're a curse. Absolute power does corrupt absolutely With Scully's help we began to explore what I could do. We used information from Wagner's files to study the abilities the aliens had shown, and sought to uncover them in me. They were there, waiting beneath the surface. It was like we'd opened Pandora's box.

I practiced alchemy, clairvoyance, levitation, precognition, psychokenisis, psychometry and telepathy. I found I could control what another person thinks, sees, does. This is one way THEY are able to change their appearance. The simplest way. THEY implant an image of how they wish to be seen in the mind of the unsuspecting viewer. I got fairly good at this that summer. Imagine if I had tried my hand at acting. Why the money I could have saved the studios on makeup alone would have kept me in demand. Hollywood might have been breaking down my door except for one problem. I couldn't fool the camera. The talent I learned was another parlor trick. I think learning to truly morph would have taken more time than we had. I don't really know. I don't plan on using any of my gifts ever again, unless I truly have to. They are too dangerous. I think I can control the powers; it's myself I have the problem with.

*****

Skinner came back, so I had to stop. I don't want to talk about what happened in front of him. I know he will transcribe this, but I'm going to make sure I'm not around when he does. Let's just hope it's not snowing at that point. It's night now. He's asleep. Hopefully, I can get this done by morning. If I do it fast, maybe it won't hurt as much to tell it. Yeah, right.

We were like children, playing with fire. What we found out about my abilities during our days of discovery were only the surface facts. We had no idea how striking this match could set off a force that could consume us. Skinner's beliefs in my abilities being a gift from God will probably change when he hears this part of my story.

By the end of July we were all impressed by what I could do. Still, the thought of confronting our conquerors-in-waiting was daunting, to say the least. What could one man do against THEM, even with the powers. THEY, also, were gifted. To attempt to stop them without a plan was more than insanity. It was suicide. Of course, it never came to that. The arrival of Alex Krycek changed our course of action. Did he discover what transpired that next week when we went to Washington? Did he tell THEM what I could do? Is that what spurred the aliens to finally follow through with the colonization? I forgot to ask Krycek that last time I saw him. I was too busy bleeding.

Scully, Kami and I were taking a much needed vacation at the Estes Park cabin, when Wagner's prodigal son made his appearance, so we missed him. His dad coerced a confession out of him. He did steal the file. It did contain information that could clear me. Wagner then asked Krycek to leave, and he was gone before we arrived home that afternoon. I was ecstatic when I was told that the missing file contained copies of records confirming that I had received Marty Fulcher's identity in the Kansas City Office of the FBI.

It was then that Wagner explained that Krycek had not actually returned my mom's vindicating gift. No, the thief had hidden his pilfered information in a certain basement office. The manila folder had become an X-File. Our plan to get it back was nothing more than smoke and mirrors. The magic worked to the extent that we got what we went for. It also led to Scully not being here with me tonight.

We entered that dark office building on Pennsylvania Avenue at just past 10:00 p.m., August 4th. Mike, the guard let us pass without a second thought. After all, the faces and ID we showed him belonged to Alex Krycek and Diana Fowley. Why should he doubt his own eyes? My next trick was to momentarily disable each camera we passed, all the while assuring that Mike, ever alert at his security post downstairs, saw nothing but what I wished him to.

Scully was worried, walking beside me down that dimly lit hall. I could smell her nervousness, feel the staccato rhythm of her heart, taste the hot, wetness of tension in each of her exhaled breaths. But we made it to the door of our old office without a problem. It was locked, of course. I stilled her hand when she reached for her tool kit. Using my powers, I unlatched the bolt, allowing us to enter. That was when I first noticed a faint flutter of fear in my partner-in-crime. It wasn't because of the felony we were committing; it was because of what was happening to me.

She could feel the change, sense the energy that was coursing through me. I knew this, just like I knew everything else that was happening in the building. I "saw" Mike, cheating to solve a crossword puzzle. I heard the faint, straining hum of the air conditioning, working overtime on this sultry summer night. I smelled the pine scented mop as the ancient janitor wearily scrubbed the fifth floor bathroom. I knew that Krycek had placed my proof in the cabinet where his own file was stored.

"It's under "P" right next to Krycek's file," I instructed Scully. She chuckled as she flipped past prick, but her laughter died quickly when she found our prize.

She read the contents to me by the beam of her penlight. My concentration wavered those few brief minutes; so I didn't realize we had company until the door opened. Instantly the harsh bite of ozone shriveled the membranes of my nose and tongue. I felt my composure evaporate. I was flooded with emotions, smothered with sensations; my control had slipped to leave me hanging by my finger tips. The heavy, electric smell choked me as it seeped from my pores.

Diana Fowley was there at the door. Lights flashed on. She murmured something I didn't catch, for I was immediately engulfed by a wave of loathing and apprehension that surged out from the two women standing on each side of me. I was inundated by sharp words, bitter, cutting phrases, hatred, jealousy, distrust...passions, violently swirling within Scully's and Diana's thoughts.

"What do you want...so he's an idiot savant...his mother's file...Krycek stole...half a mind, like him...shut up...Fox...Mulder...leave him alone!" The women's voices blurred together; the venomously uttered rage burned my senses.

Somehow, I also felt the sting of the slap Scully delivered to Diana when she finally tired of the woman's taunts. Fowley uttered an angry hiss in response to the blow. My eyes watered in pain when a fist hit my jaw. It was only when Scully collapsed against me that I realized Diana had struck my partner, not me. A crackling, blinding burst of anger exploded from me in a thundering scream of primal energy, and the world fell suddenly, completely dark. The room was showered with sharp, tinkling glass as the light overhead burst. As the blackness swallowed the world, I felt an amazing calm encompass me. Once again my consciousness was able to expand. The guard, Mike, was trying to use a cell phone to report the blackout. It was not working. The hum of the air conditioning had stopped. The janitor was blindly stumbling to the stairs. Scully huddled near my feet, but I felt her hands grasping my pants legs as she tried to rise. Diana Fowley was slumped in the doorway, so very, very still.

I helped my partner to stand. She blindly attempted to bring some light into her world, clicking and reclicking the flashlight switch.

"It won't work," I murmured, my throat still raw from the cry that had strained it the moment the overload had been released.

"Mulder," Scully's voice was a small moan, almost lost in the night. "Mulder, what...what happened?"

I held her close, trying to lightly brush the tiny, crystal shards of glass off her hair and shoulders. She was trembling. Her small frame began to shake, but her sobs were silent. I continued to comfort Scully, but I reached out mentally to the limp form on the floor, wanting to see what help I could offer.

What happened next is completely my sin. My only excuse is ignorance. Scully had told me some of what I had done while I walked in the footprints of ancient Mayans, but she had not related the tale of Felicia. So I knew nothing of my prior mistake. The sound of Diana stirring announced that my unholy act was a success. At this point, Scully didn't know of either of the sins I'd committed that night. I knew though. I knew the moment the creature, who had once been Diana Fowley, made it to its feet. I touched a mind that was as dark as the grave it belonged in; as cold as the hands that clawed at me, crying out for release.

"Mulder?" Scully questioned, feeling the tangible shade as it moved beside her. I perceived her horror when she realized what I'd done, both the murder and the incomplete resurrection. "Oh, God! God, no, Mulder." My name was but a whisper.

We both backed away, shrinking from the abomination that shuffled toward us, desperately seeking liberation from its soulless agony. I granted it release and let the fire go. The walking corpse burst into flame. Instantly, water began to pour from the overhead sprinklers. With my thought they ceased their deluge. They'd served their purpose. The lump of charred flesh on the floor had been put out. Scully pressed her face to my chest, gagging at the sickly-sweet stench that wafted up from the body.

"We need to finish up here. Can you see if you can find me a plastic bag?" I asked, when the last of my partner's quaking finally stopped. She gave a loud, choking swallow, but moved to do as I requested.

We left the building unnoticed, and traveled through the darkened city streets unseen. I had Scully stop at the closest dumpster where I disposed of the remains. I felt no sadness at that point. The damning power still drove me. Scully never said a word the entire trip to the motel. Silently, she followed me inside. I heard her groan as she collapsed on the bed. Moving through my familiar darkness, I slid alongside her when her tears finally came.

"Rest," I soothed, stroking her back. She felt so tiny, so fragile. At last her gasps quieted, and she lay mutely against me. Her breath was a warm whisper on my outstretched arm. Minutes ticked away; an hour passed. "Scully, I need you to take me to his house," I said softly, finally making my decision.

Sleep had almost claimed her. Her reply was a soft, mumbled, "Who?"

"We need to finish this. I know where Spender lives," I answered, speaking louder than I wished with the excitement of knowing that justice was at last going to be served.

This is what makes my shame so hard to bear. This time, I can't claim illness; my mind was clear. I remember it all. The powers had consumed me, but I let it happen. I wanted these feelings to go on forever. Finally, I was in control again. I'd been a hopeless, helpless cripple for longer than I cared to remember. For the first time since I'd scrambled for my life in that cold, snowy field, praying to a God I wasn't sure existed, I felt whole. I felt good.

Scully gently pushed up to stare at me. The curtains were open. I was sure she could see me in the moonlight so I offered her a grin.

She moved to sit, grabbing my hand. I felt a tingle as her lips caressed my palm, lingering on the thumb where once there had been a scar. It had long since disappeared. Another "gift" of my gifts.

"Let's go home, Mulder," she murmured, placing my hand so it cupped her face. "Please. We have what we came for. Please." I was surprised to feel a warm droplet splash against my skin. "Tonight, okay? I can be ready in 10 minutes. We've got Wagner's platinum ticket back to Sky Watch. Please?"

I couldn't believe she didn't share my excitement. That she didn't understand my purpose, but I kept my voice low. "Okay, but I need to take care of this. You can wait in the car. I'll find him myself. It'll take 5 minutes, tops."

Her reaction surprised me. I took it as simply anger. Why couldn't I read her? What kept that part of me so blind? "No, do you hear what you're saying? Don't you know? All this makes us no better than them! Let's leave Mulder! We need to go home now. No more, Mulder. Please!"

She stood beside the bed. She was almost screaming. Why didn't I hear her fear?

"YOU don't understand. Why can't YOU see why I have to do this? I'm finally standing up for myself. I've finally got control. Why don't you want me to feel this way? You want me to stay weak, to stay a cripple. Then you can control me." My voice was loud. I was on my feet now. The taste of ozone was once again in my throat.

Scully stopped. The air was thick with tension. Finally, she sighed. "Then you go alone. I'll call a cab for you." She began to frantically rush about the room, gathering her things.

I stood, stunned speechless, amazed by what was happening. The click of the suitcase shutting brought me out of my stupor. "You can't leave me!"

She didn't answer. I heard the door open. I reached out to stop her with my will.

Scully's cry was a frightened gasp as the air left her lungs. I knew I had hurt her. She crumpled to the carpet in a heap. The sound of her head hitting the door echoed in my brain.

"Scully," I groaned, lurching to her side.

She pushed away from me, shuddering at my touch.

"I'm sorry." I tried once more, but she winced from the contact. I stopped, allowing my hand to fall away. "Scully..."

"No," she choked.

I fell back. The wall was my only support. "I'm sorry," I murmured. Panic made me reach for her blindly. My power was gone. My strength was beside me, struggling to stand, threatening to walk out that door. I frantically clutched at her hand, but she shook free.

"If you ever cared, Mulder, let me go," she whispered.

I let her go. The door closed behind her with a soft click; she was gone.

End Tape -WSS-

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X

FWM Tapes Late Winter 2003 Wellington, Colorado

I saw the sun yesterday; finally felt its warmth against my face. Is spring coming, or is this just one of God's practical jokes? Now, why did I say something like that? I don't even believe in God, and I know it'll just upset Skinner. I think I'm becoming a bitter old man, filled with hate. Even with the change in the weather, I feel old today. Maybe it's because of the change. I know that this is a false spring. Soon, maybe this evening, maybe tomorrow, another storm will come in, and the fair days will be gone; gone as though they were never here. I feel a cold darkness seeping into my bones. There are still bad times ahead, and I'm so tired.

*****

The blizzard hit as soon as the sun went down. The little bit of snow that had melted during the warm days froze instantly. Now we can't get the door open. The drifts have long since covered our two small windows. Skinner and I are trapped with a rapidly dwindling supply of wood (laughs). Wouldn't it be 'perfect' if we wound up having to burn these files?

End Tape -WSS-

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X

W.S. Skinner Est. Date March 25-30, 2003 Wellington, Colorado

The storm left us late last night. The morning dawned bright, but Mulder is still caught in a depression that hasn't lifted in a week. I know he is taking his medication. I don't believe he has the energy to use his powers on me, fooling me like he did Scully. My father used to call this type of mood his "black dog". It has always brought to mind the picture of a hound, slowly moving about, eyes sad, ears drooping. All Mulder wants to do is sleep. I am getting worried.

My part in recording this history starts now. It was late evening on August 7th. I was in the office of my insurance investigation agency, Skinner/Ross Investigations, when I received a call from a man inquiring if I was "An ex-FBI man named Walter Skinner?"

I answered in the affirmative, so the caller continued. "Well, my name is Amos Williams. I run a gas station over here on 14th Street. 'Bout three hours ago I caught some punks beatin' up on this white guy. I ran the assholes off and brought the guy here to the station. I thought he was a bum, ya know? But he claims he used to be FBI, too. I was gonna call him an ambulance 'cause they beat him up pretty good, but he wouldn't let me. All I could get outta him was your name so I looked you up. Do you know a tall, skinny, blind, one-eyed white guy?"

From what I'd last heard, the only person I knew who would remotely fit that description, was a bed-ridden, semi-vegetable, living over 1500 miles away." Did he tell you his name?"

"Mister, how many tall, blind, skinny, one-eyed, white guys do you know?"

The man did have a point. "Just give me the directions. I'm on my way."

*****

It wasn't until the next day that I finally got Mulder's home phone number out of him. From the time I picked him up at Amos Williams' gas station, until he awoke the following morning, Mulder spoke lucidly only once, and that was to inform me that a hospital was not necessary. Then he started muttering about having healing powers. I had assumed his ramblings were just part of the brain damage he'd suffered.

I'd last seen Mulder that day in January 1999 when I'd given him the undercover assignment. Here and there, I'd heard snatches about his condition. I knew he'd suffered a stroke the next year. I had thought he was brain dead. The half-crazed, mumbling maniac I picked up had me baffled. I was even more surprised by the monosyllabic, manic-depressive wreck who greeted me that following morning with a tearful plea to find Scully. I was afraid to guess how he'd lost her. I tried Margaret Scully's house, but to no avail. That's when he'd finally mumbled out the number to Sky Watch.

S.A.Wagner was grateful to hear from me. He had no idea what had happened to his two, long-time house guests, not having heard a word from either of them since August 4th. I was asked to bring Mulder home. Scully wasn't there, but we would deal with one problem at a time. There would be a ticket waiting for both of us at Dulles Airport. After making a call to Kim to inform her of my travel plans, we left to catch our flight to Colorado.

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X

From The Journal of K.W. Wagner August 9, 2002 Sky Watch, Wellington, Colorado

I haven't written in here since spring break. The news my father gave me quelled my desire to finish this book. I guess I thought no one would be around to read it, but I couldn't help myself. There are two more pages, and I can't stand the thought of leaving something undone. So sue me. I'm a Virgo. That means I'm a perfectionist. Perhaps the little green men (oh, forgive me, Mulder claims they're gray) will be curious as to what a young, female Homo Sapiens once thought about life, love and the world in general. Then again, probably not, but I don't give a shit. I'm finishing this up anyway. Go ahead and burn it, you frigging, hateful ET bastards.

God, that felt good. : )

I guess I have enough room left here to tell about Scully's and Mulder's return. It IS romantic, in a way. It is a good way to end this journal. My two friends left on August 4th to recover Mulder's files from where my asshole adopted brother had hidden them. Apparently, that part of their mission went well because Mulder returned home yesterday with the proof he needs to clear his name; but he returned without his Scully.

It seems that they had a disagreement somewhere along the way. I haven't learned all the details, and my father is right, it is their business. Still, I am a bit put out that Scully left Mulder, alone and helpless, in a town like Washington, DC. (Not that I really know Washington, DC is a bad town. But, I imagine it's not as friendly as Fort Collins). He'd even gotten mugged. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the way Mulder looked when his old boss, Walter Skinner, brought him home. He was clean at least, but he had half a week's worth of stubble on his battered face, and he was wearing Mr. Skinner's clothes, which hung like sails on his lanky frame.

From what I gather, Mulder hadn't had any of his medication since the day he and Scully left here, but that doesn't totally explain his mental state. We finally had Dr. Raposa come out and examine him yesterday. She diagnosed that he was in shock and sedated him. He still woke up two hours later when the phone rang. The man is half deaf, filled with enough drugs to put him out for a week, and he still knew the minute she called. Mulder IS more himself today. Why shouldn't he be? His Scully is coming back to him.

We finally got hold of Margaret Scully. From what Maggie said, when Scully showed up on her doorstep, just before dawn on August 5th, she wasn't in much better shape than Mulder is in now. Maggie simply assumed that Scully's condition was stress related, and had taken her distraught daughter away for a short rest cure. They returned to Baltimore this morning. Maggie claims Scully still hasn't told her the entire story. But she had gotten enough out of her daughter to know that Colorado was where she should be. So, both women are due here this afternoon. Mr. Skinner has gone to DIA to pick them up, because Mulder seems calmer with me here, and Dad doesn't make trips to Denver. Maybe when they arrive, we'll find out exactly what happened.

I do know that the couple's differences arose because of something that happened when Mulder used his powers. From what Maggie told us, Scully became frightened because he got a bit out of control while "using the force" this last time. What exactly did he do that terrified her so much she felt the need to desert him? For me, that IS the most puzzling question. Okay, so Scully did leave him all their cash and credit cards, but that just happened to be what got him mugged. Mulder was so "out of it" during his lost three days that he never understood that he had a way to come home there in his pocket.

During their mother/daughter talk, Scully confessed she has become frightened by some of the things Mulder is able do with his gifts. Maggie reminded Dana that it was she who convinced her partner to cultivate these hard to control abilities in the first place. I guess Scully didn't remember how scary it was while we were down south, and he had his gifts turned on full force. How could she have forgotten? I mean, was she actually able to convince herself those earthquakes that destroyed most of North Eastern Guatemala were a coincidence?

Scully did realize, thanks to Maggie, that she can't live without Mulder. She finally came to her senses, and accepts that she and Mulder are meant to be together. She and her mother should be arriving in Denver just about now. So, all's well that ends well. I just love happy endings.

I'm running out of room so I guess I'll stick this down in Dad's files. If, perchance, the next reader of this book happens to be someone who has English as a second language, AND cannot claim the planet Earth as their place of birth, I have just one thing to say -- Fuck you AND the space ship you rode in on!

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X

W.S. Skinner Est. Date March 25-30, 2003 Wellington, Colorado

Scully's flight was due in at 11:45 a.m., but I could see that it was delayed. Strangely, every flight was delayed. The airport was crowded; the travelers and those waiting for incoming flights were growing restless. The ticket agents were growing desperate, but one young woman kindly informed me the plane had departed BWI on time. Finally, flight 1013 from Baltimore, MD landed. I rushed to the gate, watching closely as each disgruntled passenger passed before me. Neither of the Scully women were on board.

Hurrying to a phone booth I tried to call Wagner, but, for some reason, all I got was a harsh click and a deafening squeal. I then attempted to phone Margaret Scully's house. The circuits were all busy. I had the same problem when I attempted to phone my office. It was then that the frantic shouts came from the smoking lounge that a news flash had just been aired. Alien beings had taken over our country in a bloodless coup. Pandemonium broke out almost immediately.

At a time like this, I knew a crowded airport was not the best place to be. As I ran for the exit, I saw the woman at the ticket counter, who had been so pleasant to me, get shot in the head. Someone was not happy that they were not going to be making the trip home. The panic had already begun, but would only get worse. It took me 18 hours to travel the 80 odd miles back to Wellington. I'm lucky I made it there alive, but then maybe it wasn't luck. Perhaps it was just part of His plan.

<><><><><><><><><> CHAPTER TEN <><><><><><><><><>

FWM Tapes Early Spring 2003 Wellington, Colorado

I feel as though I can finish this now. Spring is here. There might be more snow, but I know the worst is over; just as I know Scully is on the road, coming home to me. What I'll tell about here is hard for me to talk about, but it needs to be told. I feel stronger now, confident in the future. (Laughs). I don't know why.

Skinner talks constantly about faith. He embellishes the word with mythical, mystical qualities. I've always felt faith is here in each of us, in our hearts; we feel it stir when it's touched by love.

I remember the announcement. I still wasn't over what had happened in DC, but Dr. Raposa's magic elixirs, my medication, food, rest and most of all the knowledge that Scully was returning to attempt to salvage our relationship, had done wonders for my mental state. I no longer felt I was wandering in some twilight zone, nightmare world. The news that the colonization had finally occurred frightened everyone. I saw it as nothing more than a minor bump in the road. This does say quite a bit about the drugs I was on. This inner calm lasted until sunset.

I had wandered outside to watch for Scully's return. The part of County Road 76 that fronts Sky Watch didn't get much traffic. Most of the time you could even hear vehicles as they passed down Highway 1, almost 3/4 of a mile away. That is the direction from which Scully was to come. That is the direction from which THEY came. My instincts were dulled that day. The powers were nil.

At first I assumed the heavy trucks moving slowly up the dirt path that ran in front of the ranch belonged to the neighboring farm across the road. It was summer. The time for hiring pickers was near. The harvest that year would have been a bumper crop. Our neighbors', the Terrys, would need all the help they could get. I was leaning against the vintage wagon that decorated Wagner's front yard when the first shot of the attack was fired. It hit me in the head. This time I was lucky, I guess. The bullet only grazed me. Still, the wound took away what little sense I still possessed, and I crumpled to the ground, stunned.

When the haze lifted, I found there was a heavy boot pressed against my neck, and the unmistakable touch of the muzzle of a rifle against my temple. My oppressor barked orders that rang loudly in my head. "He with the crushing footwear" sounded vaguely familiar. I puzzled to put a name to the voice, but my head was pounding too painfully from the recently given part in my hair, so my efforts were in vain. All thoughts of solving the conundrum vanished with the deafening sound of a shotgun blast followed instantly by Kami's loud, plaintive tears. She cried out for her father. He didn't answer.

I almost toppled my mystery captor when I shoved up from the ground. My young friend's keening wails floated on the evening's breeze, cutting through my daze. The air had grown cooler. A storm was coming. Thunder shook the dirt beneath me. Once again, I pushed hard to right myself. The booted one tumbled back, crashing in a heap behind me.

The moment I got to my feet, something slammed hard into my right side, knocking me back down to the dirt with its force. My injury burned with a searing, fiery agony, and a warm wetness soaked my shirt. Kami gave a piercing scream. I moaned as I listened to a staccato riff of gunfire cut her down. I tasted her death when her blood splattered across my face; the hot, coppery bitterness of it making me choke. She landed hard on top of my wounded side. I cried out in pain. For her; for me.

*****

I smelled the smoke, a faint odor of wood and gasoline wafting through the pitch darkness that surrounded me. A hand lightly touched my neck. I heard a sigh. Someone was happy that I could still force a heaving, gasping breath.

"Mulder, it's me," my concerned companion murmured softly, directly into my ear.

I finally placed who "me" was, but by that time I was hurting too much to care that he was here.

"You've got a chance. You're right next to the stairs. I made them set the fire at the front of the house, on the second floor. They think you're dead. We'll be gone by the time you make it up to the main floor." Krycek paused, giving me a quick shake. I groaned. "You still with me?"

"Fuck you." It was a whisper, but he heard me. He laughed.

"You've fucked me over so many times I think you're starting to like it," he chuckled.

"Gonna kill you..." I had more to say but I couldn't quite get it out. A faint buzzing rose in my ears, growing so loud it swallowed me.

"Hey, you with me?"

Krycek was wiping my face with a cool, wet rag. Blindly grasping for his hand, I tried to make him move it to my mouth. He let a few drops of water trickle between my parched lips, then gently pushed my hand away. "Listen, you need to stay awake. THEY're loading up. You've got a chance if you head to the back door. The kitchen door. Do you hear me?"

"Kitchen door," I mumbled, trying to stay awake.

He grabbed my hand. "Here are the stairs. Sorry I can't help more but..." He stopped, then with both hands he pulled me up to lean against the wooden steps. "Remember, I gave you this chance. If THEY ask, I tried to help."

As he bolted away, his stomping feet shook the step where I stood, making the pain in my side flare. I groaned again, but I started my climb.

*****

There was nobody there to cheer when I made it to the top. I pulled myself up on the landing, struggling to gasp some non-smoke filled air. I drifted in and out. For how long I couldn't say. At one point I opened my eye, and I would swear I saw bright red flames consuming the ceiling above me. That would be impossible; how would I know red? The sudden shift in the floor finally pulled me from my stupor. I bolted upright, grasping for purchase. The once solid, wooden foundation beneath me listed. I began to slide.

I caught hold of the railing to stop my fall. I became conscious of the sound of crashing timbers. Wrestling against the pull of gravity, I finally managed to hike my left leg around the heavy, stairwell post. Flickering sparkles of light split the darkness. I knew my world was burning, turning to ash around me. Fear kept me moving, squirming, scrambling upwards. At last I succeeded in grasping hold of a board that must have been the open shelving at the end of the heavy, butcher block kitchen cabinets.

Once again I hiked my leg around secure purchase, holding on in desperation. I tried to catch my breath. There was no air left. My inhale was a sob that turned into a rasping cough. My strength and resolve dwindled as breathing became an impossible chore. The beam from the kitchen ceiling crashed down, splintering the countertop of my life raft, showering me with hot, stinging cinders. I tried to scream, but it never reached my ears. My grip was slipping. The floor was no longer there for me to slide down, so I just relaxed, welcoming the plunge into hell.

Tape End -WSS-

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X

W.S. Skinner Est. Date March 25, 2003 Wellington, Colorado

"The first angel sounded his trumpet, and there came hail and fire mixed with blood, and it was hurled down upon the earth." Revelations 8-7

I'd left S.A.Wagner's Jeep on the lower parking lot, near where arriving passengers claimed their luggage. The vehicle was there waiting for me, but it was not going anywhere for a while. From my memory of the gridlocked traffic, stalled to an utter standstill by countless abandoned vehicles, that red Cherokee might be sitting in that spot forever.

My hike down Pena Boulevard to the thoroughfare of Towers Road took me almost two hours. I was surrounded by a flood of fellow travelers all wearing the same stunned, stricken faces. Did my own countenance bear that frightened, haunted mask? I'm certain it did. That entire first leg of my journey was spent convincing myself I was not dreaming. The sights I saw that day assured me that I wasn't asleep. Life had simply become a waking nightmare.

Sheriff's Deputy Jesse James (no relation to the outlaw, that he knew of) saved my life that day. About a mile into my trek up the highway I'd stepped aside, off the paved shoulder, to allow a local PD patrol car to pass. Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of the officer who drove. The huge, bear of a man wore an angry, belligerent expression that stirred memories of several SP's I'd encountered during my tour with the Corps. Some people join the force to serve the public. Others sign up because a badge can afford them power; a stick to strike out and punish others for all the inadequacies they sense in themselves. I labeled this man who passed me as the latter. My instincts were right.

I next spotted this blue suited Hitler a half mile down the road. A middle aged man had stepped up to stop the car, thinking he'd at last found a public servant to help him with his problems. The cop angrily waved at the man, wanting him off the shoulder and out of his way. The citizen made the mistake of tapping on the passenger side glass, trying once again to get the officer to respond to his pleas. I watched in stunned silence as the irate patrolman suddenly braked. Not even fully extracting his huge bulk from his vehicle, he drew his service revolver and blew the side of Mr. John Q. Public's skull off. Because I foresaw what was coming, I had hurried forward, shouting a warning. For my efforts, I was splattered with blood and brain matter, and instantly drew the murderer's wrath. The cannon sized muzzle of his gun was now pointed at me.

A bullet never came. The Neanderthal cop suddenly pitched forward, his face exploding outward in a burst of crimson. Glancing down the road I spotted a tall, copper haired man holding a rifle at ready. My 'savior' was dressed in a bicolored uniform, and it finally registered that he was with the local County Sheriff's Department. The shotgun slowly lowered. I was offered a tired, crooked grin. I gave my thanks with a nod and all the smile I could muster.

The deputy joined me where the dead cop lay. He cautiously watched me reach down to pick up the man's gun. Warm, brown eyes studied me as I held the weapon out to the lawman.

"You might better keep it," he softly murmured, with another smile, nodding to my grotesquely decorated clothing. "The way your day is going, you'll probably need it."

I was then offered a hand to shake, an introduction and a ride. I gratefully accepted all three.

*****

Jesse decided we'd take the "back route" into Fort Collins, traveling up what he called the "Old Greeley Highway". It did make sense. The part of our trip from Towers Road to where we finally passed the last of the small communities of Brighton and Fort Lepton took until nightfall. The tedious task of picking our way through stalled traffic was over once we made it to the older, two-lane road.

The afternoon's thundershowers had become a late evening storm, and we watched nature's light show to the north.

"Looks like bad weather up ahead, "I murmured, in concern. The Northern skies seemed to boil. The moon highlighted the tumultuous, swirling clouds.

"It's normal for this time of year," Jesse replied. "I was born and raised in Fort Collins. Don't worry, it'll probably have blown over by the time we get there. Just like everywhere in Colorado -- if you don't like the weather..."

"...Wait a minute." I watched bright flashes of light, birthed from the black and gray thunderheads. I waited for each low rumble that followed, feeling the sound more than hearing it at this distance. "Do they get tornadoes here?" I asked, trying to recall just how far west the section of the country called "Tornado Alley" stretched.

"Naw, most of the large towns are too close to the mountains. Well, Denver has had a couple, but I don't think Fort Collins has had one in recent history. My Granny Annie would have told me about it if they had. Now some cities out on the plains get them...Lymon, got hit hard a few years back." The young deputy seemed to relax as he talked. I listened, letting him ramble on; thinking this was the least I could do for the kindness he'd shown. I felt I got to know the man a bit in those few, brief hours we shared. I knew him at least long enough to grieve his passing. Granny Annie was the only kin he had. I tried to find her when I made my trips into Fort Collins last fall, but I never did.

We'd passed through Greeley fairly easily. We made the turn onto State Highway 14 when we first noticed the lights. The storm had not abated; it had grown more violent. The moon was obscured by the thick black clouds, and our speed slowed with the coming of pea sized hail. From the icy white dunes on each side of the road, I could see that the area had been getting hit with this weather phenomenon for quite a while.

"We got company," Jesse murmured, glancing in his mirror.

I twisted, watching the rapidly approaching lights with awe. "Looks like they're in a hurry."

The blinding beacons were on our tail within minutes. The first bump was merely a love tap, but it jerked the wheel from Jesse's hands, making the man struggle to keep our vehicle on the road. Within minutes we were caught up in a four-wheeled dogfight; the growling sounds of metal upon metal drowning out the thunder. The Sheriff's Department equipped their vehicles with enough power to out run almost anything on the road, but the deputy was afraid to press the limits of his vehicle because of the rain and hail. Still, we had put a little room between us and our pursuers when it happened.

Highway 14 becomes Mulberry Street the moment it passes over Interstate 25 on the eastern side of Fort Collins. It was on this bridge that we lost control. One minute, we felt the pavement beneath us, the next, we were airborne, having crashed through the guardrail. The right, front tire blew, and we rolled several times when we landed. We finally came to a stop in the center gully that separated the north and southbound lanes of the freeway.

I hung upside down, stunned, until I felt my young friend pulling on my shirt. "We need to get you out. I think I smell smoke."

His comment got my attention; and I frantically struggled to unjam my seat belt. There was no door. There was hardly any vehicle left around me, yet I was trapped by a thin, woven piece of fabric that was meant to save lives. It probably had saved me when the car had rolled, but now I fought it like a man possessed. I, too, could smell the odor of gasoline and melting insulation. Not a comforting aroma. With a flick of his knife, Jesse freed me. He grabbed my arm and helped me to stumble away from the wreck. The vehicle burst into flames.

Neither of us had noticed what had happened to our pursuers, so the blinding headlights stunned both me and my deputy friend. I grabbed at Jesse's arm, trying to pull him from the path of the oncoming truck, but I was too late. We both were flung to the roadside when the vehicle struck the young man. I watched from my landing spot, there on the gravely shoulder, as the shiny, four-wheeled drive truck tore off down the interstate, its taillights finally disappearing in the distance.

The rain began in earnest at the same time I made it to the lawman's side. Once again hail started falling, bouncing off me and my companion with stinging abandon, but Sheriff's Deputy Jesse James (no relation to the outlaw, that he knew of) didn't feel it. He was dead.

*****

I left Jesse where he died, there alongside the road; and stumbled up to the freeway in the pouring rain. The hail had stopped. The night was still; no cars passed me during my soggy trek. I took the Wellington off-ramp, and passed through the little burg just as the rain stopped. The stars were out by the time I hit Highway 1. They were more brilliant than I'd seen them in years. Venus glowed its bright blue heat on the horizon, heralding the sun. Dawn had yet to break when I made the turn onto County Road 76, but it was near.

I strained my eyes in the semi-darkness for sight of the sprawling, two-storied house that was Sky Watch. The further I walked the more my fear grew. I couldn't spot the house. The eastern sky was a riot of orange, pink and purple when I stumbled over to stare down into the basement. I was certain nothing could have survived the blaze. I hoped my friends had escaped before it happened. The lingering stench of gasoline told me the destruction had not been accidental.

Looking across the gaping hole, I gazed into what had been the kitchen. Blackened timbers littered the linoleum floor. What was left of the roof lay at a slant atop the half gutted cabinets and appliances. Then, glancing down to see where the rest of the upper stories had crumbled, I spotted Mulder. I knew in my heart he was dead, but I scrambled down into the debris filled pit. I wanted to at least bury his body. The low moan he gave when I touched him told me that idea just might be premature.

*****

Many miles back, I happened to choose a road in life that took me to a place where I learned, with no more than a glance, whether an injured man would live or die. This was not some hither-to latent paranormal talent which just happened to surface in me at that particular point in my life. Actually, almost all of us who followed our destinies' path into those jungles, wound up developing this ability. A year of witnessing the dead and the dying at every turn does tend to give a person a certain insight as to what is hopeless and what is worth the fight. A soldier must learn quickly to assess whether offering aid is worth the risk. In battle, an injured man becomes a liability. Often, the severity of the wound itself didn't matter. It got so we all just knew.

I was certain that Mulder was going to die. Each morning, those first few days after I found him, burned and gut shot in that basement, I expected to wake up with a corpse to bury. Thankfully, he proved me wrong. Still, this error in my instinctual assessment of his mortality had me puzzled. At first I believed that perhaps, finally, enough time and distance had separated me from the hell where I'd once walked that I no longer remembered the evil face of death. I know now that particular knowledge is still burned into my soul. What I failed to see is the divine hand that touches my friend.

This winter I discovered the amazing truth. I've been handicapped for most of my adult life. The fact that I never noticed my disability, just proves how acutely limiting my impairment was. We're all born with the vision needed to see miracles. God's presence in our lives shines bright as a beacon when we are able to hold tight to the faith we had as a child. I found I had lost that gift, long ago, in a dark, war-torn jungle. Because I was blinded on the road of life; I couldn't spot the light of hope that was in Mulder; but then He healed me, and the scales fell from my eyes.

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X

FWM TAPES Spring 2003 Wellington, CO

Skinner saved me. My powers might have helped me to heal, but alone, I wouldn't have had the strength to use them. Gradually, I began to heal, mentally and physically. To keep boredom at bay while I convalesced, Skinner suggested I use the information stored in S.A. Wagner's fireproof file cabinets to tell my story. With his help, we began to piece together this tale.

And, now, our job is done. These files are finally complete. The brutal winter has passed; the season of rebirth is here. I asked my companion, my 'savior', my friend, what his plans are now that spring has come. I do believe he smiled.

"You're the psychic, you tell me. Where do WE go from here?"

I laughed, admitting that I'm blind as to what the future holds for either of us. But he'd answered my unasked question. He's staying. So, together, we'll wait for Scully's return and then...well, whatever comes next, that will be our next file.

End Tape -WSS-

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X

W.S. Skinner Est. date April 1, 2003 Wellington, Colorado

Mulder made his last tape for this file the day I walked into Fort Collins. I told him that I'd made the trip to claim my long overdue rations. That excuse was true, but my most pressing reason was to see if perhaps another night pharmacy raid might be possible. I knew his supply of medication was dwindling. What I saw convinced me the time had come for us to move on. The security of the building resembled a fortress. There would be little or no chance of successfully making it in and out of the pharmacy.

The notices were posted on the door of the dispensing center. I left without my supplies after reading the announcement. The missal told those who were interested that the final solution to solve the problem of unregistered humans was at hand. The local government was seeking volunteers to assist with a "round-up" of the illegals. The "salary" would be a housing allotment and increased provisions for both the "hired" citizen AND his family. I'd heard the rumors of impending food shortages the moment I walked into town. I knew there would be no shortage of applicants. Mulder now had a price on his head.

I was ready to leave that day. My companion had other ideas. I was informed that leaving our present location was out of the question until Scully returned. I argued that with their PSI-connection, his wandering partner would be able to find him wherever he went. Mulder's only rebuttal was to shake his head in stubborn refusal. He tried to reassure me our wait would be short.

The debate continued the following day, then into the next. By that time, I was seriously considering using one of the bullets I had hoarded for so long. I just didn't know whether to use it on myself, to end my frustration, or on him, to end his stonewalled stubbornness! I went to bed that third night deciding I would sleep on my 'murder versus suicide' quandary.

A full moon was rising when I awoke. Its bright, golden light cascaded through the tiny windows of the tinker shop. I drowsily glanced around, wondering what had interrupted my dreams. Sleep left me completely when I saw that Mulder's cot was empty. Stumbling to my feet, not bothering to put anything on but my shoes, I left to search for my friend.

I knew Mulder had been cutting back on his medication trying to ration what little of the prescriptions remained. With my limited pharmaceutical knowledge, I had no idea what the potential side effects of this reduced dosage might be. I silently prayed that midnight somnambulism wasn't on the list.

I spotted the man as I neared the corner where the dirt county road on which I was walking crossed State Highway 1. Mulder was standing, shaggy head bowed, exactly on the center line of the two-lane blacktop. His back was to me. As I neared, I watched him sway rhythmically from side to side. He seemed almost in a trance.

I'd made it to the junction when I spotted her; tiny, ivory colored arms encircling his waist. I stopped, silently relishing the sight of this long awaited reunion. I had to smile. I was just beginning to turn and start the walk back when Mulder leaned over, almost bending at the waist. He seemed to be whispering something to her. I paused, chuckling to myself at this reminder of the difference in their height.

"Sir!"

My about face was halted abruptly by her call, and she ran to greet me. It stunned me when her small, strong arms moved about my neck in a hug. I might have blushed when her lips moved to gently brush my cheek.

"Thank you," she murmured softly, stretching up on her tiptoes to speak into my ear. "For everything."

My hand was on her back. I could feel her tears. I discovered I couldn't quite choke out a reply, so I nodded instead. We waited for Mulder to join us. Scully wrapped an arm around each of our waists, and together, we walked home.

The End

The Damascus Files File Two 2/3