synthesis

by Barbara Barnett

An alternate ending to season 4 of XFiles Note: If you enjoy this story, you will love my new novel "The Apothecary's Curse" coming from Pyr in October 2016. More info in my profile page.

Synthesis (part 1/1)

by Barbara Barnett

SA (and much deep abiding love, a lot of UST...maybe a hint of romantic

aura)

Summary: Alternate ending to Gethsemene (moot of course by season 5's start). M

& S attempt to put together all the clues they've gathered over the five

years of their partnership and try to understand what is real, what is

illusion, what is hoax and what is acuality.

Spoilers: All seasons, all episodes.

Dead. DEAD. By all outward appearances it would appear so.

Dead. It was a strange mantle to wear. Mulder had thought long and hard about

the implications. Well, maybe not long. Implications. Yes, well

there was money. An income source. Taken care of. Money was something

that Mulder had never really thought about much. He'd always been blessed

with ample financial resources. He sold most of his holdings and now had

enough cash to last a very long time...as long as would be necessary to sustain

his life as a phantom. As George Ellery Hale.

Of course there was his mother. Right. He watched his own

funeral from far away. There was his mother. Stoic to the end. Chin up.

Yankee pride and dignity unmussed. A twinge of regret. She would now be

alone. Truly alone. She'd left him so long ago. Still... Mulder buried the

thought, thinking back to the funeral. It was a strange business,

watching your own funeral. He had been surprised to see so many people there,

especially given the way in which his life ended. Suicide. What an unpleasant

business for the FBI. Keep it hushed up to the degree possible. Put up the

good front.

They'd all filed past the casket, bidding a farewell in the

spring sunlight, the smell of cherry blossoms infusing the air with an

oppressive aroma. Skinner. Mulder closed his eyes. Sorry, Skinner. We

couldn't let you know. Couldn't involve you in this one. Mulder felt a pang

of sadness as he remebered Skinner nearly breaking down in front of the

casket, mouthing words that Mulder couldn't hear from so far away. Didn't know

how much you cared, Walter. Not really. Not till lately.

The Lone Gunmen choir. Hewey, Dewey and Louie. What had it

cost them to rub elbows with all those government dudes? Thanks, guys. I'm

not really gone. You'll know soon enough. And then there was Scully. The

only one who knew. The only one who ever knew. Anything. Everything about

him. They had talked in the morning. Argued. Could she go through with

it? Give a eulogy. Make it sound convincing. Sincere. She was adamant.

"Mulder, I am grieving for you, you know. For all you've lost. For the

deceptions, mind games, all the time we've lost. I grieve every day for

this. It won't be a leap to give this eulogy. They just won't know what

specifically I'm eulogizing."

He had watched from so far away. It wrenched his soul watching

her. Pain on her face. Tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks. He

couldn't hear the words. But across the distant yards her soul communicated

her feelings to his and he knew. He understood.

Scully's apartment

Evening Day 1

"Thank you sir. I really appreciate the quick service." The

sweep of Scully's apartment revealed three separate listening devices.

One in the living room, one in the bedroom. The bedroom! And a last device

near her computer workstation. Her phone was not wiretapped. Well thank

heaven for small favors.

Scully picked up the receiver, dialling the unfamiliar phone

number. "Shoream Hotel. Good evening."

"Room 2235, please."

"Our guest in 2235 has restricted his phone calls to certain

callers. May ask who is calling?"

"Hester Prynne." Scully almost giggled at the code name they'd

selected. Hester Prynne, indeed!

"One moment. I'll connect you."

The call was answered but no voice spoke into the reciever.

Scully could picture Mulder waiting for the caller to speak first. Paranoid

to the end, she thought, a wisp of a smile overcoming her features.

"George?" Scully could feel Mulder relax at the sound of her

voice. "Dana." The sound of Scully's voice warmed him to his core.

Speaking her first name felt foreign to him. But everything seemed strange

now. And would continue to be so for as long as it took to finally and at

last uncover the truth.

"The coast is clear, Dana. No ears, no eyes. The place has

been swept twice by two different vendors."

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

clean."

"I have a suite at the Shoream. When can you be here?" His

voice was calm, professional, dispassionate. The job they were

about to undertake required this demeanor. Of both of them. For as long

as it took.

"I'll be there in 20 minutes."

Later the same evening:

Anywhere else in the world, she would have appeared out of

place. But in the lobby of the Shoream at 10:30 PM, she blended into the crowd

of diplomats, lobbyists and politicians moving about,

people-watching and schmoozing with purposeful intent. Scully glanced around the

lobby, smiling warmly at someone she didn't know, and, briefcase in hand,

slipped into the waiting elevator.

Her heart beat loudly and she gasped for air as the elevator

ascended. Scully was nervous. She hated lying to people. And this was

the biggest of lies. They don't get much bigger than this, she thought. She

fumbled in her pocket and removed a small white envelope, finding the key

inside. She checked the door and inserted the key. Mulder had not wanted to

come to the door...too much chance of being seen by...anybody, he'd said.

The key had been delivered by messenger that morning with no note and nothing

to sign for.

"George, I'm here!" She awaited his reply. Scully eyed the

room, smiling, impressed at the grand and gracious hotel suite. Mulder had not

heard her come in. "George? Mulder?" A momentary flash of worry. Then

she saw him. He was sitting on the bed in the spacious bedroom, headphones

on, listening to a tape. He was completely absorbed, rapidly typing notes into

a laptop computer, surrounded by files, notes and audio cassettes.

Mulder looked up, holding up his index finger, requesting

another moment of patience. He smiled, switching off the cassette

player and removing the headphones. He stood, inches from

Scully, not speaking. His eyes searched her face, not knowing

what to say, now, finally--finally that they were (at least for

the moment) safe. He felt like a schoolboy. She looked so good

to him. The wear of the last days; the isolation from everything

and everyone; the fear of exposure and the danger it would pose

to him and especially to her. And now he was at a loss for

words. He feared saying anything would cause his voice to break

into a million sobs of grief and joy. But she understood that, too.

Her own eyes moist at the release of the week's tension and

anxiety. She fell into his arms, holding him, being rocked by

him. He was--is alive. Really and truly. "I'm so sorry,

Scully," he said finally, a hoarse whisper. "It's the only way.

I, we," he corrected himself. "We have to know. Have to

understand what's real, what's propoganda, what's truth."

She nodded into his chest. "Oh God, Mulder, what if it doesn't

work. What if we can't put it together, make any sense of it. What then?

What if they find out...?" Mulder closed his eyes. It was the

unthinkable. He shook his head. Failure was not an option. He

hugged her more tightly, shuddering slightly at her words. She

knew the answer.

Scully expected the room to be a catastrophe. After all they

were intending to analyze... how many case files had Mulder said?

Nearly 100? Aside from the files on Mulder's bed there were several portable

file crates, each stuffed to more than capacity. Now how had he gotten them

up there unnoticed?

"Mulder, weren't you taking a big risk stealing those files?"

Mulder shrugged. " They're personal copies, not official. I

offprinted them from my computer." She then noticed the small ink jet

printer on the nightstand. He handed her a digital tape.

"Scully, remember our first case together when everything was destroyed? Everything, "

he repeated, recalling the affair. "Well, since then, I've

scanned every photo, every note, every report into the computer

and kept it on this tape...just in case... and voila. A trip to

the office supply store for some file folders, plenty of ink,

paper and my laptop and we have an instant X-files command

center...sans posters, drafty basement and unwelcome visitors.

The accomodations are far superior, dontcha think?"

Mulder seemed pleased with himself at that moment, exuding an air

of confidence she'd not seen in him for a very long time. But it

was Mulder...his other self. The side of Mulder few people

had sought out anymore and fewer had seen. Mulder--the keenly

analytical, organized and impresively logical solver of

impossible puzzles. He so seldom presented this Mulder,

prefering to foster his image as village eccentric for the

edification of the local FBI gentry. Over the past four years

most FIBBIES forgot his nickname of Spooky originated not from

his predilection for the paranormal but for his spookily

brilliant mind, able to piece together the mysteries of the

criminal mind into prosecutable cases.

And that was their current task: to piece together nearly five

years of cases into something that made sense. Finally, once and for all.

And, Mulder believed, this was the only way to do it without

interference and without interrupted time. And as dead man and

grieving partner, they had all the time they needed. Period.

The hour was late but both agents were anxious to set about the

task at hand. They talked briefly of strategy. They agreed to

re-examine each old case in detail, trying to recall what wasn't

in each case report as importantly as what had been written

officially. Much they had witnessed had been carefully omitted

from the official reports to protect themselves, and especially

Mulder, from ridcule and further sanction. Often the information

had been omitted after heated argument and over Mulder's

strenuous objections. But the mainstream nature of the reports

had, in Scully's belief, enabled them to continue operations much

longer than she thought possible.

Whatever she put in her official reports, Scully had kept

detailed personal notes on each case as had Mulder. Now these

personal logs had become as critical as the case reports

themselves.

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

"I figure we can start pretty much with any case, because we

can timeline it after we've finished analyzing. This is what I think we need

to do: Take each case. I think for now, tho we can dispense with the cases

that have nothing to do with aliens or conspiracies...you know, like our

encounters with Tooms, consults on VCS cases, stuff like that. We need to

deconstruct each relevant case and determine what might have been reality and

what could have been hoax or red herring, propoganda. At this point, I'm

not trusting anything to be real on its face. We need to look at everything

as a possible hoax or maniupulation." Mulder took a deep breath before he went

on, struggling to maintain his objectivity; his calm. He looked

deeply into her eyes now.

" I need to know, Scully, how badly I've been had. I know there

must be some truth in here. It can't all be lies. Not even

I'm that big a sucker. We need to find out. I need to find

out. I need to know Scully how much of my life has been nothing

but a lie...a meaningless manipulation..." He trailed off and

looked away from her, the confidence seeping away from his voice.

He was suddenly very intently staring at his hands.

Scully knew how bady Mulder was hurting. Words she had spoken to

him a week ago still stung. This much she knew. That he still

trusted her at all; still valued her input, her judgement was an

incredible testament to his integrity and faith.

She deeply regretted her part in causing him this kind of pain.

She understood that despite the sumptuous surroundings aforded by the

Shoream, this was a grim excercize, a desperation move at best.

Scully understood the cause and result of Mulder's despair, his

pain. The two things Mulder had always valued in himself (perhaps the only things, Scully

thought) were his intellect and his instincts. To be unceremoniously informed ,

and for Scully to be convinced, that he'd been manipulated, used

and intellectually victimized all his life was as if to rip away his last shreds of dignity. It was the

deepest kind of humiliation a man like Mulder could suffer. It was akin to rape.

And, if Kritchgau was telling the truth, Mulder had been victimized by

this intellectual and emotional rape over and over again for many,

many years.

Scully reflected back to her words that night, telling Mulder

that she was infected with Cancer to make him believe. That

he would cause her death. She had been angry, tired, at the

end of her own emotional rope. But she'd never meant to wound

him so deeply. The cruelty of those words, her words, had hit

him with the impact of a high caliber weapon to the head.

"Mulder," she said suddenly, breaking the silence. "I'm so

sorry. I never should have said those things to you about my cancer. I..." The

words emerged suddenly and out of context. She needed for him to

hear her regret.

"Why not? It's true, isn't it? Maybe not in the way Kritchgau

said, but you were taken because of me. Experimented upon because of me.

Ergo..." His words emerged sardonic, bitter with self-hatred.

"NO." She stopped him from continuing. "No. I was

taken...by whoever took me...not because of you. Because of me.

I was sent to debunk your work; to spy on you as you had

correctly surmised. But I wouldn't play their games. I began to

believe, not in your theories necessarily, but in your instincts,

your ability, you. It was me that wasn't playing along like the

good soldier and that's why I was punished. It had nothing to do

with you. You have to believe that. It's their fault. Not yours, not mine."

An ironic smile. "Belief in me," he interjected flatly. " Now

there's a waste of time and taxpayer money." He sighed, having

no energy to pursue that avenue. "Let's to work and see how

badly I've been had, Dr. Scully, shall we?" A false lightness

infused his speech, in vain attempt to cover the hurt and anger

that would otherwise be there.

She hated to see him this way. The sarcasm dripping from his

words did not obscure the sorrow in his eyes. "Mulder, we don't have to do

this tonight. Let's just sit a bit; enjoy the luxurious surroundings," she

paused, a mischevious grin on her lips. "I bet they even have adult movies

on the hotel TV."

He understood what she was trying to do. Part of him hated the

thought of being patronized like that. But he was also grateful for her

efforts to drive away the darkness and demons that were now his constant

companions.

"I'm fine, Scully." He grinned slightly. "The sooner we

figure this out, the sooner I can come back from the dead."

His voice no longer quavered, she noted. "Look, Scully. I know

what you're trying to do. I do appreciate it. God, Scully, I

don't even know why you've agreed to be in on this with me, but

I'm glad you're here. I'd be foolish not to acknowledge that I'm

depressed, extremely depressed, clinicaly depressed over the

possibility that my entire life has been one huge lie, that I've

been had and badly and easily so. But I also know that

everything that we've seen is not a confabulation, a hoax or some

elaborate scam to get me to believe in the existence of ebe's.

I'd have to have one hell of an ego to think the government has

gone to that much trouble for my sake. The whole notion is

ridiculous. But as our friend Deep throat once said, a lie is

best told between two truths. And that's what I need to do

here...what we need to do here. Find the slices of truth

between the lies. I think it's all here. Everything we need to know. We've

just never sat down and tried to put the whole thing together.

I think once we've separated the bullshit from reality, we'll

know enough, have enoughevidence to exert some power of those

bastards. I think that's the only language they understand. If we can put this thing together into

a case...a profile..."

"Yeah, but how and who would prosecute it? Those guys are too

well connected to ever bring them to justice."

"We won't need to. I think the threat of exposure will be

enough to make them share what they know about a cure for your cancer."

Scully looked at him in disbelief, the reality dawning on her.

"Mulder, you can't be serious. Is that what this is all about?

We're going to do this...you've faked your own death...are using

up your cash reserves to threaten them? Mulder, you're

crazier than I thought you were. What about exposing the

truth?"

"I've thought about that Scully. And I'd be willing to let it

go." Now Mulder turned completely away from her, leaving Scully to stare at his

back. Mulder swallowed hard before continuing.

"For me, Scully, the truth is everything. You know that. But to

have the truth exposed...to have that kind of victory,

knowing...knowing that in the process I've lost you, that the

price is your life. Scully, no truth, no victory, nothing would

be worth that to me. Ever. Not even recovering my sister would

be worth your life. Not to me." Scully's eyes moistened

rembering a trade on a bridge two years earlier. And she knew

that Mulder spoke the truth.

" I hope...I pray, Scully..." Now he turned back, looking up

directly into her face, seaching out her eyes, so she would have no doubt of

his meaning. "I pray, Scully, that you also know that about me." Suddenly,

Mulder started to laugh as a sudden irony struck him.

"You know Scully, and I can tell you this now because, after

all, I'm dead...but for several years now, I've wanted to take you in my

arms, make love to you for a week and never let you get more than three feet

from my side ever after. And I've never acted upon it, never even

mentioned my very strong feelings to you in hopes that you might be mutually

inclined. Do you know why?"

He didn't wait for her reply to the purely rhetorical question.

"I was afraid. Afraid that our cigarrette puffing friend and his

cabal would somehow use our relationship against us. Have, as it

were, an effective tool. Threaten one lover to get the other to

acquiesce. Do you know how ridculous that is? As if a physical

relationship would somehow makeit easier for them. It just

occured to me how funny that is. Not only could they do it now

(or at least before I died)...they have done it. Over and

over."

"Sorry Mulder, I must have zoned out. Could you repeat the

last part of what you just said?" Her voice was weak, and her knees.

"Um...from where?"

"From the part about having strong feelings for me..." Mulder

looked away. He could not believe he was blushing.

"Scully," he started, sounding exhasperated, "that was hard

enough to say once. I'm not sure I could..." He felt a cool hand on his

fire-hot jaw. The fingers small, delicate, but strong. They turned his head to

face their owner. Mulder's eyes closed, almost involuntarily, at the

overwhelming sensation of Dana Scully's gentle pressure on his cheek.

A week's worth of tension seemed to drain from his face and

into those cool fingers. And then she was kissing his eyes.

Morning brought croissant, cinnamon espresso and a large bowl

of fresh fruit to the door along with the Washington Post. "Damn it,

Scully, I'd give anything, to go for a run right now. I think

that's the worst of this. I feel like I'm in prison. I am in prison."

"Mulder, it's hard to look at this suite as a prison...but I do

understand. C'mon lets 'to work' as you said last night. Besides I'm stuck

here, too, now. I can't risk being seen around here, either. I'm supposed

to be camping in Maine, grieving for my dead friend and partner, not holed up in

the Shoream. So enough ruminations," said Scully emphatically, broadly

smiling. "...She closes her eyes...reaches in a hand and removes a file...And the

winner is..." She grandly pulled a file from the crate. She glanced

at it briefly. Oh, here's a loverly old, case, she thought, but

I don't think it will help us on our current mission.

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

"Thought we decided to make those determinations together."

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

"What is it?"

Scully sighed, "Pheobe Greene and her pyromanic. Next time

trust my instincts, huh? So which is the discard pile?" Mulder shrugged,

not meeting Scully's eyes. Talk about being had, he thought, grimly.

"Proof once again, Scully, that my reputation for not trusting

anyone is ill deserved. Am I really as gullible as I seem to be at this

juncture? Or am I just stupid."

Scully sighed deeply. "Mulder, you are neither." She thought

for a moment. No time like the present. "Mulder, I think, you want so

hard to believe in people, in their possibilities that..." No this was

not coming out as intended. Start again. "You are the most honest and

ethical man I know. I think you want to believe, not only in extreme

possibility, but in the innate goodness of people. You are not paranoid, not when

it's not justified, not really. You trust, sometimes, too easily. So,

you leave yourself open to being hurt, used, even. But even with amount

that you've been hurt your whole life by everyone from your father to Krychek

to the Ciggarette guy, you still keep that openess about you. You wear

it close and try to camouflage it with that aura of suspiciousness and

mistrust, but it's there for anyone who cares to look hard enough. Yeah your're

more jaded, a bit more weathered, a whole lot more beaten up.

"Mulder, it's not wrong to believe and it's not wrong to trust.

But I honestly believe that the one you have the most trouble

believing and trusting in is yourself." She felt a sudden need

to lighten the conversation. "So that's why you have me---to do

that for you."

Mulder's heart melted as that rare and radiant Scully smile

appeared from nowhere. "Scully, have I ever told you what an amazing smile

you have? It could light the arctic in the middle of winter. Thank you."

"For..."

"Just thank you." An awkward pause. They continued going

through the files: Mulder working on one crate Scully on the

other. The cases were triaged into three piles: obviously

non-pertinent cases; definetly pertinent cases and maybes. The

"maybes" formed the largest group, since Scully hesitated putting

anything into the "definite pile" and since the discard pile was only for

those cases that were completely obvious.

More files, more maybes, a few definites and several discards:

Tooms, A psychotic computer; a psychotic VCS section chief; Luther Lee

Boggs. Mulder had drawn Boggs' file. He glanced at Scully sitting cross-legged

on the floor surrounded by a pile of files of her own, deep in

concentration. His leg still occasionally ached from that case.

It had been one of their first cases together. Perhaps the

first time Mulder had felt something more than grudging tolerance for his

new partner For so long he had vowed over and over to never again work with

a partner...or if he absolutely had to, not become involved in a

friendship. He renewed that vow when the Bureau had saddled him with Scully.

But there was something he had observed during the Boggs case.

Something indefinable that revealed an inner saddness about her, despite

the hard-as-nails exterior. Almost as if something inside of her

reached out to something inside of him. He remembered how she had tried so hard

not to reveal her grief, to hide behind a professional demeanor, but

she had also trusted him to see the cracks in that demeanor. He had wondered,

just then, how often she had allowed anyone to view that part of her. He'd

bet it wasn't often.

He guessed it was around then that all bets were off on his vow

about partners and friendships. With a sigh, more audible than

he intended, he threw the file into the discard pile. Scully

looked up from her perch on the floor. "Something?"

"No, just Boggs." More silence. More files. Luchtime came and

went--sandwiches from room service-- and by 9PM they were

finished with this first pass through the files.

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

"Me, too, Scully. Let's organize these stacks back into crates

so they don't get mixed up and call it a night, OK?" His eyes burned.

He rubbed them hard with the heels of his palms, pushing his reading

glasses up onto his forehead.

"My eyes are on fire, Mulder. I have enough paper cuts to use

up a box of badages. I'm with you, if I can ever uncross my legs. I think

my right leg is asleep. Tomorrow we swtich. I get to work sitting on bed.

You get the floor."

"Actually I think we'll both be better off tomorrow working at

the big table in the sitting room. Now that we've gone through these once,

maybe we can start some preliminary analysis as we go through the

stack with a finer toothed comb.

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

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

service menu."

"Mulder, these guys are going to think we're on our honeymoon or

something if we keep ordering room service..."

"Or something?" Mulder replied laciviously, one eyebrow raised.

A smile from Scully. "Oh, Scully, you've got to stop with those smiles,

or I won't be responsible for my actions."

"Seriously, Mulder, how can we continue to order room service

indefinetly? This must be costing a fortune."

"Seriously, Scully, it doesn't matter. We have no choice. If

either of us is seen, the jig is up and we're both dead. Really dead. I

don't want to take that risk. Not now. Maybe this will only take a couple of

days. For my the sake of whatever remains of my sanity, I

certainly hope so. But however long it takes, we will figure

this out. We have to--for both our sakes."

Night had fallen and the last of the relevant files had been

organized and placed back into the crates. From the corner of

her eye, Scully caught Mulder peering out the terrace doors down

to the busy streets of Northwest DC. He shifted nervously from

foot to foot, hands clenching and unchlenching, head resting on

the glass.

"Hey, Mulder." She was standing behind him, her voice warm.

"Hey yourself, Scully." His eyes closed but he remained glued

to the window. "I'm finished in the shower. I left you a little hot water..."

"That a subtle hint, Scully?"

"Ah, so you do still know how to smile." A beat. "So," she

began impulsively, "can we sit on the terrace, or is against the

rules? I see dinner has arrived, and I thought..."

"Sure. I think it would be alright. We're 22 floors up. I

doubt anyone's watching us at this point... Ah, dinner under the

stars with the enigmatic Dr. Dana Katherine Scully...the stuff of

my fantasies." An air of melancholy surrounded the lightly

spoken words.

He turned around abruptly, almost knocking her over. She

caught his elbows in her hands. "And mine," she replied tenderly

but under her breath--not quite meant for his ears. "C'mon,

let's eat this before it gets cold." She moved her hand down his

forearm to meet his hand. She pulled him toward the silver cart.

"Bring out a couple of chairs; I'll wheel this thing outside.

I'm starved."

The air was cool but pleasant. The dinner sumptuous. No words

were spoken during most of the feast. They basked in a sweet,

familiar silence. Finally, it was Mulder who spoke. "Oh, I

almost forgot." He reached for a bucket attached to the side of

the cart. "Wine?"

Scully startled, flashing briefly to a recent case. Another

bottle of wine. She tensed momentarily, perceptible to Mulder's

supersensitive radar. He frowned. "Remember, Scully? I'm no

Eddie van Bluhndt. I think that's a good thing."

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

thought.

"I'd love some, Mulder. But you know Eddie was right about one

thing..." Now it was Mulder's turn to tense. Scully continued,

ignoring Mulder's sudden mood shift. "He was right only about

one thing. That we never just talk. We're always so caught up

in the intensity of the moment--the case; the danger. When we

talk it's usually about the work or the darker aspects of our

lives. You know, I don't even know what books you like--other

than Sir Arthur, that is...oh yeah and Criminal Psycholgy

monographs and UFOlogy books. Oh, and let me guess, Richard

Hawking...maybe Carl Sagan. I don't even know your real taste

in music...but I suspect it isn't Barry Manilow...at least I hope

not..." That smile again. She sipped the white zinfandel.

"I guess you're right. OK, I'll tell you. My favorite authors

are Thomas Pynchon and Richard Powers...the Godfather and son of

techno-fantasy literary fiction. For the classics, I turn to

Tolstoy. What can I say? I like big books. Seriously,

Scully, you didn't know I live and breathe for the Stones? I

also like Little Feat, Queen Ida and Handel. I live for Bach.

And..." he finished with a grin "I adore Holst's 'The Planets'

and Mussgorsky's 'Night on Bare Mountain'. It's creepy and

beautiful. Ok. Now that I've bared my soul, it's your turn for

small talk."

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

smiled.

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

"Well, I'm embarassed, Mulder. My tastes aren't nearly as

esoteric as yours. Must be the difference between that

Kennedy-esque life of yours including the Oxford Education and

my, more humble, middle class upbringing." The look on Mulder's

face made Scully regret the sarcastic remark.

"I'd trade in a minute, Scully," he declared flatly. "No. I

take that back. I'd never wish it on you, even in trade. My

Kennedy-esque life, as you put it-- as you know--came

factory-equipped with Kennedy-esque family tragedy."

"Sorry. Anyway, my favorite authors are Arthur Clarke and Carl

Sagan, especially Sagan's non-fiction early in his career." She

grinned at Mulder's surprised look. Arthur Clarke? "Close your

mouth, Mulder. Don't look so surprised. I was a typical science

geek as an undergrad. Like all slide-rule toting science geeks,

I loved scifi...but I went for the harder edged stuff. And like

I said, Sagan's best work was his more technical non-fiction.

His theories on exobiology, the very real possibility of life on

other planets, in other star systems. As for music, I like

Ellington and the Beatles; among the classics, no one outlasts

Mozart as far as I'm concerned."

"Scully, you're like a flower, you just keep on unfolding more

layers." Now it was his turn to grin. Scully shivered.

"Getting cold, Scully?"

"A little, but I like it out here. It's peaceful. It must be

my imagination, but I think I can smell the cherry blossoms, even

way up here. It's nice." They sat awhile longer, each lost in

thought, enjoying the peacefulness; the silence. Again, it was

Mulder who broke the silence.

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

"I'm..." she started to say 'fine' and thought better of it. "I

saw the Doctor the day before all of this started. The day you

called me to meet you and Arlinsky. Mulder, the tumor has

metastasised. The prognosis is not good." She tried to maintain

the professional cool of a doctor reporting on the condition of a

patient. "Mulder, if something does not drastically change, and

soon, I probably have about six months. Three of relative

normalcy and three of a living Hell." The facade was crumbling

fast.

Mulder stared at her. He got up abruptly, nearly knocking over

the cart. He swept his hand over the cart, sending the wine

bottle and its contents careening to the edge of the terrace.

His fist came down hard on the cart in fury. Mulder stalked to

the terrace wall, glaring into the night sky ,hands on his hips,

uttering silent curses to the stars above. He was struggling to

maintain control. He was losing the battle. Mulder turned his

glare onto Scully who still sitting speechlessly in her chair.

She knew this Mulder. Mulder, the enraged, whose temper

flared, not often, but white hot. She had not expected this

reaction.

"Damn it, Scully," he said finally, his breath rapid and

hoarse, still trying to control his rage. He closed his eyes in

supreme effort. "Damn it, Scully," he repeated, this time

quietly, dangerously so. "Why didn't you tell me. How could you

not tell me." The fury in his eyes changed perceptibly to

sorrow. "Oh, God, Scully. Every time I've asked you. Every

time you've answered 'I'm fine, Mulder'--somehow I've known you

were not fine. What did you think, Scully, that somehow I'd

treat you differently; that I'd betray your confidence? I needed

to know, Scully."

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

"That's not why, and you know it. Damn it, Scully, you're a

Doctor. What, did you think that you'd just fade away and die,

and that I'd never notice and life would just go on as before.

Even if there's nothing I can do, even now. I need that time to

prepare myself. To say things that need to be said; do things

that need to be done. And, more importantly than that, Agent

Scully, no one, NO ONE, do you hear me? NO ONE should have to go

through this alone. You are so brave, so resolute, so stoic.

But you have to be afraid. I know you, better than you know

yourself, better than I know myself. You're not afraid of dying,

I do know that; you're afraid of being incapacitated. Those

three months of Hell, as you put it. You can't do that alone.

Don't do that alone. And there's something else."

"You mean you're not done ranting at me?" Her words were

bitter, defensive.

"No. I'm not. This set-up. This whole little project of

mine,of ours. So far, it's taken a week. A week we've now lost.

A week we can't afford to lose. I'd never have done this. I'll

go to that ciggarette-puffing bastard tomorrow. Call the whole

thing off. Agree to anything. Anything. We don't have the time

to be doing this. To be playing this kind of game. We...I can't

be playing with your life like this."

Scully understood how hard this was for him. Almost harder for

him than it was for her. Mulder's anger had dissipated. Clouds

had gathered and lightning flashed in the western sky. Tears

welled in Mulder's eyes, causing them to shine like glass. He

breathed in shakily. Waiting.

"This is not the time to change strategy. We can do this. This

is my life to do with as I see fit. I really and seriously

doubt that the end result our activities here will change the

ending of the story of my life, but it can and will change

yours. Kritchgau cast doubt on the very foundation of your life,

your family, you. I played a big part in helping him do that to

you. If it's the last meaningful thing I do in my life, I have

to help you work this out, to work though it. I can't die

letting you feel your life has no meaning. I know that it's not

true, but you need to understand it, too. If, by some miracle,

we're able to save my life, too, great. But I'm not counting on

it at this point. Let this be my legacy to you, if that's what's

meant to be. Please?"

The rain was falling now.

"I love you Dana Katherine Scully."

"I know." Her voice was tender.

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

She closed her eyes. "We may not have a choice in this one.

Let's go inside."

The rain continued to fall for several more hours. Mulder and

Scully sat in the darkness of the sitting room, terrace shades

open, the eerie light of receding lightning providing the only

illumination. Words were not spoken for a long time as they

enjoyed mother nature's light show, fascinated by the awesome

beauty of the strong spring thunderstorm.

"You know, Mulder," said Scully finally. "I've always enjoyed

those stakeouts when we've sat together like this through a

thunderstorm. There's always been a sort of strange

peacefullness, especially as the storm subsided, like now. You

know, the thunder diminishing, leaving the air somehow

electrified and alive." Mulder nodded slowly, slightly. Still

not speaking. He continued to gaze, unspeaking, unmoving, into

the night sky. "Mulder?"

No response. She waved her hand in front of his eyes. "Hey

Mulder! Hello?" He blinked, startled. He turned to face her,

smiling sheepishly.

"Sorry. I...just...I guess I was just thinking," he stammered,

snapped suddenly out of his thoughts.

"Will you be OK, Mulder," she asked seriously, a concerned

expression crossing her face.

"I'm fine, Scully."

"Hey, that's my line," she laughed. Then serious again.

"Seriously, Mulder. When...if...I...if we can't beat this thing

and I die..." He looked away, burying his face in his hands.

She continued. "If I die, when I die, whatever...will you be

ok? I need to know that you'll get through it. I know you'll

grieve. You'd better grieve. And I know it will be so very

hard for you." Her voice became soft and tender. Scully reached

for his hand. He, in turn, grabbed her hand in both of his.

"I don't want to lose you, Scully. You're about all I have left.

There's so much we haven't done yet. A lot we have to prove as a

team--and to each other. I can feel us getting so close to

answers we've been seeking. After we do know...I can't predict

the future...but...if somehow we come out of this whole...there's

an entire future I want to...' He stopped, suddenly afraid to

continue this train of thought.

"I can't give up yet. I won't give up. But, I'm no idiot,

Scully. I know that with each passing day, we lose another 24

hours." There was resignation in his voice coupled with words so

hopeful, prayerful.

"Everyone does, Mulder."

"That's not what I mean and you know it. But, despite what you

may sometimes think of me...I also do understand that we may

lose this battle. And you'll be gone. Somehow, Scully, I will

manage to survive. I can be pretty resilient when I have to be.

Even you know that. I can't promise I'll go on unchanged,

fighting the fight, questing the quest. I can't think that far

ahead right now. Please don't make me do that now.

"You know, Scully. That night...the night I came back to the

hospital after your encounter with Scanlon? As I sat there in

the hall through the night, by Penny Northern's room, waiting for

you, needing to know you were going to be OK... I read your

journal. You know I told you that I'd read some of it, the part

that related to Penny. But I'd read it all. I know you said

that you were going to tear up those words, but those words, the

words I read...those words will stay with me forever, Scully.

They will give me strenghth. They will help me get

through...this, even if..."

He couldn't finish the sentence. Scully gazed at him...a sad

smile. "C'mere," she whispered through tears unshed. And in the

aftermath of the storm, the moon appeared and bled through the

terrace doors, creating a luminous glow that enfolded the two

friends as they slept entwined within the private sanctuary of

each others arms.

Day three

9AM

Mulder stood between the white marker board and the flip chart.

He looked every bit the college professor, reading glasses

pushed up into his hair; dress shirt with sleeves rolled up ;

blue jeans. Scully had to smile as he stood, marker in hand.

"What? Mulder asked self-counsiously. "Is my fly unzipped?"

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

"So you're not going to let me in on it, then. By the way,

Scully, you remember what I said about those smiles...I was

serious." Now his own smile reflected hers. A silence of

several beats, awkward beats.

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

Scully hadn't realized she's locked into his eyes until she

blinked back to the reality of what they were doing.

"Oh...uh...well this is the file from our first case. " The file

was thin. Of course they'd had lots of photos, documents and

x-rays that had been destroyed in the fire at their motel. "The

only piece of objective evidence is the implant taken from Ray

Soames' nasal passage...which, as you know, I gave to Blevins."

"Scully, why did you do that? Give it to Blevins." He didn't

need to wait for the answer. He knew. It had infuriated him

that she had insisted on it. Given it to them. He had known

it would dissappear into an irretreivable oblivion, a dimension

of plausible deniability. But she in all of her naievte and

barely-out-of the-lab enthusiasm refused to believe the worst of

the ones in authority. It was small recompense that she'd had

taken a series of photographs before handing over the object.

That she'd had it analyzed. "the object...no known substance."

It was a tiny vindication a trace of evidence to support the

extreme possibility that forces other than those of known science

had been at work in the affair.

Scully peered at the photograph she had made of it before giving

it to her section chief. She looked at Mulder, hoping that his

eyes would forgive her that early betrayal, one made in

innocence; the innocence of a first case. Her eyes conveyed the

why's. He looked away. He understood, and was struggling to get

past it. It still ranckled him, if only occasionally. They both

knew they would have to be able to get past petty annoyances with

each other; differing interpretations of the facts;

differing--very differing--worldviews--in each of the cases

--both at the time of the incident and now-- when re-analyzing

the facts in the light of hindsight and history.

Mulder drew a long breath. "So, what do you think happend to the

implant, Scully?"

A sudden flash of recognition, recall. "Mulder, wait. I

remember something. As I was leaving Blevins' office, that man,

the one who smokes the cigarrettes, he was going into meet with

Blevins. He was also there when I was assigned to assist you in

your investigations." She was speaking rapidly, as she

remembered details that, at the time, seemed

insignificant--probably normal bureau procedure. "And, wait, he

was there behind the two-way glass when you and Dr. Verber did

the regression session wiht Billy Miles."

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

somehow?"

"At the very least, Mulder, he was very interested in this case.

That much is very clear now." Mulder was writing on the flip

chart.

"So far, Scully, I think we can agree on these two facts about

this case. She glanced at the chart. He had written "Implants"

and "Cigarette Man." I think these are two threads we've found

common to lots of our cases. That's why I put them on the flip

chart. Let's dissect the case--so to speak--" added Mulder with

a wicked grin. "Let's dissect it to figure out why the

Cigarette Man was involved. The fact that he was says a hell

of lot to me. The other thing I was thinking, Scully, is that we

need to make sure our analysis is objective. So...let's try to

apply at least two theories to each case, one from your usual

point of view; one from mine a sorta ' Whodunit?'--the aliens or

the government baddies? Or both together. And given each case

what makes more sense...Before you cry foul," Mulder put up a

hand defensively before Scully could say anything. He knew

that face she was presenting to him.

"Scully, I know you don't believe that any of what we've

experienced has anything to do with aliens, alien technology,

genetic hybridization with alien life...anything like that. But

I do know you believe, as do I, that there is a subversive

conspiracy by some group--military--corporate,

whoever---supported and protected by people within the government

involved with it. Whether the conspiracy has acted only within

our known world...or has had, and continues to have, contact with

beings outside our world...perhaps that's something we'll never

know until we've done our job here, and maybe not even then, at

least not conclusively. At this point, I think the issue is a

practical one. I believe in the existence of extraterrestrial

life, and that those beings are here. You do not. For this

discussion, let's agree to disagree. I think the question is

important and crucial in the long run...philosophically,

scientifically and personally. But what we need to do with this

little project project of ours is much more nuts and bolts in the

short run. It doesn't matter if they are aliens or government

hacks. The results are the results and we have to find out why

and how. And I think we both need to remember to try to keep an

open mind about what we may discover during this journey.

"But I think putting the case to the two theory test will help us

both to open ourselves to objective analysis,forgetting both

our personal biasses for the moment." Mulder crossed his arms in

front of his chest as he finished.

Now Scully was sure of it. A college professor. An associate

professor. Idealistic, young, earnest, intelligent...one sure to

have high class registration among the female students. She

grinned.

"What?" He became suddenly flustered by the way she was looking

at him, enigmatic grin tweaking the corners of her mouth.

"Nothing. ...Oh yeah. Fine. It works for me. Mulder, you know

if you ever decide to come back to the living and then resign

from the FBI, you'd have a great career as a prof."

"What...was I pontificating again? Sorry." Scully shook her

head. Clueless, she thought. Back to business, she sighed. The

Billy Miles case.

"Let's visit the implants angle a minute. We've got lots of

cases where there was some kind of implant. So we know... I

think we can agree that... implants play one part in their

scheme. But what part? and why? and how do they do it without

the victim's knowledge?

"Also, I think we can safely assume there also is some kind of

beyond-state-of-the-art genetic engineering going on. They're

tampering with biology...and they're doing it in secret."

"Scully, I think those are two excellent areas to focus on to

start. Hey, maybe by the time we're finished our worldviews will

be reversed. You'll be thinkin' aliens and I'll be the skeptic."

"Yeah, right! So what do you think, Mulder? You still really

buy into the aliens calling the kids to the forest scenario?" He

winced. Of course he did...and, as Mulder had stated upfront, it

was beside the point. "Sorry. Just the facts ma'am. OK.

Obviously the kids were being controlled. Something,maybe that

implant was sending a signal directly to the brain, telling the

kids to go to the forest. For what? We know that the "Project"

involves testing. Oh, yeah, write 'testing' on the flip

chart...a third commonality in our cases. So maybe the kids

were test subjects of some kind. Billy Miles was kept in that

waking coma--convincingly, too, until he was signalled, and then

he was brought out of his vegetative state to carry out

orders--deliver test subjects, whatever."

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

The corpse..."

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

shit out me."

"Really? I never would have known that. You just seemed so

unaffected. Well, until you got those mosquito bites and..."

"You would have to have a photographic memory, Mulder. I'm so

embarassed about that. I'm glad you never put it in your field

report."

Mulder gazed at her seriously. "Scully, now why would I have

done that?" He seemed hurt that she would even have thought it.

"Well, Mulder, at the time, you didn't trust me. You had no

reason to. You knew why I was sent to work with you. It would

have been real easy, right then and there, to discredit me and

get rid of me in one fell swoop. You have no idea how I feared

my little indiscretion would wind up in my personnel file.

"You have no idea how grateful I am to you that it never has.

The way you handled that situation." She closed her eyes

briefly. "I can't think of anyone I know, especially someone

whose wings I had just been sent to clip, no, sever, who would

have treated a half-crazed, freaked out, terrified,

not-to-mention half-naked partner with such tenderness,

compassion and discretion.

"It spoke volumes about the kind of man and the kind of FBI agent

Fox Mulder was...and continues to be." Scully could hardly

believe how many emotions that single act brought to the surface,

even now. "Mulder, the consortium, the ones who sent me to you.

They lost me at that moment. They never had me back. Not for an

instant. I know you may not believe that, but it is true."

"I do believe it Scully," he replied quietly. Mulder began to

think that this project of theirs was going to take a while

longer than anticipated. If a case so old still carried

feelings, both of theirs, this close to the surface... Still, it

was good that they were talking about it. They never discussed

how cases had affected them personally, how it changed and grew

this beautifully complex relationship of theirs. He smiled.

Mulder remebered something a chemistry professor had said in an

organic chemistry class he'd taken at Oxford. He'd been talking

about complexity of some compound. "Why make something simple,

when you can make it complex and beautiful?" The words were out

of his mouth before he knew he'd uttered them aloud. Scully

looked up, puzzled. "Huh?"

"Scully, I know you didn't know me at the time. You only knew

what they had told you--and my reputation...good old 'Spooky'

Mulder."

"Mulder, you and I both know that "spooky" refers to your spooky

instincts and not...Let's not get off on a tangent here. Let's

get back to the case or we'll still be here when your money runs

out. OK, what else about this case?"

"Let's go back to that corpse for a minute, Scully. It was

obviously...it had to be the victim, don't even agree with that

now in retrospect? I know you thought it was some sort of

orangatan. But, Scully, that body looked an awful lot like what

I saw in the boxcar in New Mexico..."

"And no so different than how some of those victims appeared that

Leper colony. So, do you think it's a connection? Do you think

that whatever they do to subjects...it alters their biology

somehow...permanently? There's some sort of mutation? What

causes it? Why do that to someone?"

"What if...what if the physical manifestations of the mutation

don't appear until death and then they are revealed only upon

decomposition of the body."

"But what about the lepers, they were test subjects, too. But

their mutations presented and they were alive. OK...so...what if

the presence of leposy, a physically deforming disease to begin

with accellerated or exacerbated the physical manifestations?

Another entry for the flip chart: 'Gross physical mutations as

result of testing.'"

"No, how about just 'Testing'. Maybe there were multiple kinds

of experiments, some with gross presentations, some with less

visible signs...maybe are connections we can figure out. OK.

So, we've just remembered three cases with these phyisical

deformities: one we know is a post mortem presentation; one

presented before death; the third...that boxcar...I don't know

Scully. I only saw them dead. Could they ever have been human?

They did'nt look like it to me...but, God, Scully, they had

vaccination marks on their arms...vaccination scars, a new item

for the chart. Vaccination marks have figured in how many

cases?"

"Mulder, slow down. Maybe we should stay with our original

plan...one case at a time. This is getting a bit to stream of

conscious ... it's good brainstorming..but let's just slow it

down a bit. How about we pull those cases and look at them

next...the deformity cases; the vaccination cases; the implant

cases...but one at a time." Scully paused momentarily, thinking

about the cases they were about to tear into. Mulder almost died

in one of those cases. Melissa and Mulder's father, were

murdered in the same case. And implant cases...was she really

ready to discuss Duane Barry? She suddenly realized that they'd

have to do it. The thought terrified her.

"Mulder, let's finish with the Billy Miles case. We've gotten a

strong start, lots of directions to pursue from it, and then take

a break. I think we need to talk about where the next batch of

cases is going to take us..." a beat. "Take me."

Her voice trembled slightly. Mulder put his hand to his head.

What was he thinking. Implants...Duane Barry. Shit. The MJ

tape case. Was he ready to deal with it? Mulder knew he was

still emotionally fragile from that one. He knew that much

about himself. Could he handle it? What had they gotten

themselves into here? Cases. Just cases. Yeah. What had he

been thinking to think that they could just look dispassionately

at these cases...these cases. But then again, what other

choice did they have? No wonder they'd never done this before,

he thought grimly. Shit!

"You're right, Dana." He sounded suddenly tired. "Is there

anything else from that case? Well, aside from the fact that the

evidence was destroyed, systematically. Now where have we seen

that before? Puerto Rico. The sleep eradication experiment.

John Barnett. Duane Barry--remember, I told you he was killed by

Krychek--then Krychek disappeared. The MUFON..." He stopped

mid-sentence. The MUFON women. Killed by cancer. The same

cancer that Scully has. Every path seemed to lead to fragile

territory. Eggshell roads with no emotional safety nets. "Let's

break, Scully," he said abruptly. "I think it's time for lunch.

What's your desire?"

The Caeser salads arrived and were eaten in silence as they

rummaged through the case folders, searching for the files they

had agreed to discuss next. It was going to be a very long day.

And the rain started falling again.

It was sudden. Scully had seen them several times before, but

each time, the suddenness unnerved her and scared her. The

attacks had subsided but not completely disappeared. At first

Mulder had welcomed them, but the flashbacks had become more

distorted, confused and contradictory. But, at the same time,

they had intensified, causing terrible headaches, dizziness and

uncontrollable shivers when he finally snapped out of them,

Thankfully they were now a rare occurence, happening only once

every other week or so.

Mulder no longer trusted the memories he saw in the flashbacks.

He believed that there was truth in what he saw, but it was

increasingly difficult for him to extract anything concrete.

He'd pieced together some things from the earlier flashbacks but

he'd gotten nothing new or useful for weeks. Now he only wished

for them to go away; leave him alone.

To Scully, the episodes resembled epileptic seizures. Mulder

thrashed around, in evident pain. This time, Mulder was in the

shower when the episode began. Scully heard him cry out in

agony. Her eyes widened, knowing Mulder could be killed in the

shower. He could drown, hit his head.

"Mulder, I'm coming in," she warned, knowing he would not even

perceive her presence during the episode. She grabbed the white

Turkish towel bathrobe from the back of the bathroom door,

immediately moving to turn off the water.

"Mulder! C'mon Mulder snap out of it. MULDER!" She knew it was

useless to arouse him, but she continued shouting at him, trying

to break into the flashback she knew he was having. She stood at

the side of the tub willing him not to fall as he stood holding

his head, sagged against the tile wall. And suddenly it was

over.

Mulder was panting with exertion. His pulse was racing as he sat

down in the tub. His eyes remained closed, but he knew Scully

was there. He held up a hand, begging a moment, a moment to

regain enough energy to open his eyes or speak. Slowly, he

opened his eyes, closing them quickly again, at the harsh white

light of the bathroom. Scully understood and turned out the

light.

"You OK, Mulder?"

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

speak full sentences.

"Was it bad?"

Mulder nodded. He stood slowly and shakily. How different these

flashbacks were than the first ones. He'd come out of those

almost euphoric, with a heightened sense of well-being. Now he

only felt the need to take to ibuprofen and sleep.

Scully helped him out of the tub, wrapping him in his robe. "How

long has it been since the last one?" she asked as she led him to

the bed.

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

thick, uncertain.

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

"They had. Scully, I need to sleep. Sorry." His sad eyes

begged her indulgence. Pleaded for peace. Scully sighed.

"Mulder, I think I'll just keep at this. I'll pull the files and

maybe categorize them by type. OK?"

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

Scully picked up a crate of files and went out to sit on the

terrace. She closed her eyes remembering that terrible night,

two months earlier.

"I'm so tired. I want to know Scully, I just want to know." His

words still haunted her dreams, her waking. A prayer; a plea spoken in words

barely audible, just as they had been now.

"I know, Mulder, I know." Her words had come silently, then, as

now, communicated though the warmth and gentle caring of her

embrace, rocking him, trying to comfort, knowing that it would

not be possible to do so.

She had not known, not then. It was the one thing he still had

kept from her. Scully had always known that he was obsessed with

finding his past; his sister; the truth. He was a truth seeker;

he was angry at the demons who took his sister from him;

shattered his family and ripped away a part of his soul. It was

what drove his passion for justice; what made him empathic to

victims, made him Mulder. But he'd kept this disturbing,

frightening side of that obsession deeply under wraps.

She'd known something was wrong, terribly wrong the moment she'd

picked up the phone with Mulder, disoriented and frightened on

the other end of the line.

"I'm so tired Scully." Even now Mulder's words playing back in

her made brought tears to the rims of her eyes. He had turned around in

her embrace, no longer on all fours, until his eyes met hers. "Help me

Scully!" they said. "Help me climb from the abyss back into the peaceful night

air," they pleaded with her soul. A silent plea so earnestly conveyed, it

broke her heart into a million pieces. She continued to rock him. "Let it

go," she repeated softly. "Let it go, my love. I'm here. Always here,"

she had continued with words felt but unspoken.

Detective Imhoff and his officers had entered the house as Mulder

finished emptying his weapon into the study wall. Twenty years of anger,

of grief, of unrelenting sorrow, of chasing an ever-elusive past. A night.

Just one damn night. Why couldn't he just remember it, he had asked her,

almost pleading. Scully knew how, like a powerful acid, it had

eaten away at his soul for 20 years until every breath held the

bitter taste, unrelenting. A demon.

The officers, upon seeing the two FBI agents slumped together on

the floor, had looked to Imhoff for guidance. He glanced toward Scully. Her

eyes glowering beneath the sheen of tears unshed. They warned the officers off

with the fierceness of a lioness protecting her wounded young, protecting

the dignity of her shattered friend from the eyes of outsiders who would not

understand She barely understood, herself. They fled the house. Mulder

and Scully sat unmoving from their position for hours more. She knew then that

they would need to talk about it. But not that night.

And here it was two months later, still they had not discussed

it, not really. Mulder groaned in his fitful sleep. Scully

sighed, trying to turn her attention to the folders lying before

her. But the images of that night still played in perfect

recollection, invading her thoughts, relentlessly.

They had both been deeply shaken, and, long after Imhoff and his

crew had vacated, and as night had become morning and the first

rays of sun glinted off the ocean and through the French doors of

the summer house, Mulder finally had looked up at his partner.

His eyes were haunted, as they had been still, with this latest

attack. The pupils still dilated from the Ketamine made his eyes

shine like polished onyx. He glanced down at the handgun, still

resting loosely in his hand. He'd been horrified at his own

actions, his own desperation. No glib comments would do here. No

making light of it. No banter. "Scully, I..." She had chosen

the same moment to speak.

"Mulder, how could you have done this to yourself? What

possessed you? You really would have done it, killed yourself.

Do you understand that. Can you understand that? Are you so

much in pain? Were the truths locked inside

your head so painful that you couldn't live with them when they

emerged? Why did you go back to Dr. Goldstein?"

She still did not understand, and she fully believed that had she

not intervened, Mulder would committed suicide. Irony of

ironies, to the world around him, that's exactly what he had

done, only seven weeks later. Maybe that's where he got the

idea, she thought, grimly.

She remebered his words in response: "I had to know." To Mulder,

she knew, memory was everything, second only to truth. Mulder

had been blessed, or cursed, as he would say, with a photographic

memory--an eidetic memory, exceptionally vivid and total with

recall. To be missing memory, such a significant memory had

always been painful for him, in the extreme. Coupled with the

kidnapping of Samantha... She understood but did not condone

Mulder's need to recapture the memory, even if it meant risking

his own life in the process. At the time, Scully would not give him the luxury of her

understanding. She was furious and concerned.

"Know what? What did you learn? What did your mother say to you

that would drive you back to that...that butcher? What truth

could be worth sacrificing your life. God damnit, Mulder, you're a psycholgist.

You, of all people, should know that sometimes the truth is banished to

recesses of the mind because we're just not ready for it, can't handle it."

The words had been difficult to start, but once she started she

couldn't stop. She had to make him understand just how

irresponsible his actions had been.

He had sat back against the wall, hugging his knees agains his

chest. "Scully, do you know what it's been like for me. What

it's really been like?" He had started evenly, words measured with care.

"Twenty three years ago my sister disappeared. You know that. I know you

don't believe she was taken by aliens." He had smiled sardonically, listening

to his own words and how "out there" they sounded, even to him.

"I think she was taken. No, I know she was taken. Now I know by

who, and I think even why. It was him, Scully. Even back then.

It was him.

"The cigarette-smoking guy. The one who's plagued our lives for

four years. Who's behind your cancer, your own abduction. My father's

death, your sister's. And now it's clear. I saw it in my own memory. It

was him. He took her. He worked side by side with my father. He had some

sort of relationship with my mother. Oh my God, Scully. The pieces

hadn't come back together completely. They still haven't. That's why I needed to

know. Why I needed to go back to Goldstein: to find out. To remember.

When my mother had her stroke last year. I knew it was after she'd met with

them. I had no idea that they even knew each other. I knew he'd worked with my

father. I couldn't evven imagine them being other than the most distant of

colleagues. Didn't want to believe it.

"I saw him Scully. In those flahbacks. He was there that

night." Mulder had stopped, seeming to struggle for breath. His

eyes closed involuntarily, trying to block out the vision. "He

was there. They had some kind of argument. Him, and my parents.

Samantha and I watched it from the loft of our house in Chilmarc.

I remember being frightened...of him...of the arguments. He was

shaking my mother in one instant, caressing her in another. He held

Samantha in his arms as if he were her long lost uncle. But I saw the fear in

her eyes. There were lights. She was gone, calling my name. I couldn't

see her, couldn't help her...Samantha!" His arms had reached out into the

room grasping at the air. Scully had become frightened that she

was losing him again. She shivered, continuing to play back the

incident in her mind. Tears brimming in her eyes.

He had returned, then. Looking at Scully, unshed tears glazing

his eyes, he sighed and went on. "I realized he took her. Not aliens. A

real flesh and blood monster. Did to her what they did to..." Pausing again,

Mulder looked deep into Scully's eyes. "I couldn't help her anymore than I

could help you." He finished sardonically, looking down at his hands, which

had begun to tremble. "Hell of an FBI agent, I am...'all 'round smart

guy'" The words emerged bitter, acid on his tongue.

"Mulder it wasn't your fault." She had pleaded with him with as

if she was trying to talk a jumper down from a roof. "You've got

to know that. You were 12 years old! Maybe it was your parents, the cigarette guy, even John

Roche. It wasn't you. You have to believe that."

"Yeah? And what about when they took you? I wasn't 12 then, was

I? I should never have given you that chip they took from Duane Barry.

I should have told you what I thought it was."

"And would I have even believed you? I was the impulsive one. I

ran it under the grocery store scanner. I never told you this but the

scanner went wild. If it was a tracking device...a homing signal of some

sort, maybe that's how Duane Barry found me. Maybe it signalled back to him

in some way. Anyway, I should have had it analyzed and not done something so

stupid and impulsive. There was nothing you could have done differently.

You've got to believe me, Mulder. Anyway, this isn't about me now. It's about

you. You scared the Hell out of me last night. I really thought you were

going to do it, you know."

Mulder had glanced at her through the corner of his eye. "Kill

you? I thought it was him, Scully. I saw...him. But through the noise, the

lights, the pounding pain, I heard an angel call my name." He smiled weakly.

"It said 'this is not the way to the truth. Let it go.' The voice of

reason amid my insanity. Then I saw your face supplant his. I...Would I have

killed you, if you hadn't reached inside and pleaded with my soul to stop?

Thank God I'll never know. I don't want to know. The fact remains I

almost did. It's something I'll...we'll have to live with the rest of our lives.

I understand you'll never be able to trust me in the same way. What the Hell

kind of a partner do I make, Scully."

His voice was becoming dangerously quiet again. "Mulder, I know you couldn't have killed me. I knew you could be suicidal when I went in. I knew you were armed and desperate. That's why

I called out the cavalry to guard the house till I could get there. No,

what I meant was that you almost killed yourself. Even accounting for the

drugs, Mulder...even accounting for the pain of the flashbacks, I think

we have some serious issues here to deal with. You are in such pain, Mulder,

I honestly don't know if you'd try it again. And that scares the Hell out

me. Not because I'm your partner and I think you're a danger to me. But

because you are the closest person to me in the world. I care so much for

you, I don't think I could deal with the loss of someone so important to me

right now. I need you to be whole and OK. I'm dealing with so much now,

Mulder. I can't get through this without you to be there for me. You have to

hold on. Talk to someone about this. I mean a professional. For me. So, when

this cancer that has taken up residence in my body wreaks havoc, you'll be

there to make the pain go away, to help me fight back. Please."

The tears had brimmed over her eyes and on to her cheeks, betraying the calm tenor of

her words. "Scully, how can I help, if you don't let me in? Whenever I ask,

even probe, you only say 'I'm fine.' What am I supposed to do? How am I

supposed to help, if you don't trust me enough to let me past the garden

gate? I know you're afraid. Afraid of losing control of the situation, afraid

of appearing anything less than stoic. Afraid you'll let me down in

some way..." Mulder smiled an ironic smile. "You know, Scully, we

deserve each other. We're both classic psych text cases, you and I. I think

we both need help. And I think we can help each other. And I think we've

made a start...but just a start. I think it's time we both stopped

being so afraid of the truth and each other. We say we trust each other. But I

think it only goes just so far. I think we need to really start trusting

each other. Starting now." She looked deep within his eyes. He was right.

It had been then, that morning in Quanicotaug, Rhode Island that

they had begun to trust each other again. And to plan. They had

to get him. Get them. For good, but within the law. Cleanly.

Scully looked at her watch. Four O'clock. Mulder had been out

for four hours. She walked into the bedroom. He was awake,

lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. He turned to her as

she entered the room.

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

demeanor.

"Scully, I'm scared. I saw something. In my flashback. I don't

know if our little project triggered it or if I've seen it before

and only now am processing it." Scully stared at him, and in his

eyes were a fear she had never seen there.

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

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

Scully."

"Who?"

"Scully...Oh God, Scully, he knows!" The words were blurted loud

and anguished. He was trying to drown out the pounding

sensations in his head, defeat the demons that had infested

his...another seizure. Only this time no flashback, only pain

and a sensation of drowning. "Sculyyyyy"

"Mulder!" She shook him violently. His hands seemed glued to

his face, covering his eyes to no avail. She kneeled before him,

trying to calm him, calm the tremors shaking his body and soul.

He was gone, somewhere else.

"Please..." He gasped at the pain, never knowing a pain so

intense, so pure. He opened his eyes looking straight at her,

eyes empty, wide and unfocussed. And then, as quickly as it

began, it was over. He blinked, his eyes slowly refocussing.

Scully continued her hold on him and he crubmled into her arms

onto the floor, breathing still ragged, but better.

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

Mulder nodded slowly, then correcting himself, shook his head

"No." Scully was puzzled. "Mulder?" Her tone demanded an

explanation. Mulder sat up, back against the bed; Scully still

holding on to his arms.

"This time, Scully, there was no flashback...only pain, intense

pain." Then, picking up exactly where he'd left off when the

seizure hit, he continued. "Scully, he knows...about all of

this..." he broadly gestured his arm around the room, instantly

regretting the sudden movement, as it sent more ripples of pain

to his throbbing head.

"Wait, Mulder." Scully got up and grabbed the blanket from the

bed, wrapping in around Mulder's shoulders. Then she walked into

the other room, returing with a glass of water, three ibuprofen

tabs and her briefcase. "Mulder, I don't like this. These

symptoms are getting worse again, and more frequent. You need to

be checked out, and soon." Her gaze bored into his eyes. Mulder

was still gasping, trying to speak between the desperate grabs

for air and relief. He pushed her hands away, taking the

ibuprofen, drinking the water. Ignoring her concern.

"He knows, Scully."

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

know he knows?"

"I remebered something about Goldstein. I saw, in that first

flashback, what Goldstein did to me. Scully, I think Goldstein

is working for them. I think he implanted something in my

head. Those scars, the incisions? Like the one that Amy

Cassandra had? I also have one in my forehead. But Goldstein

had said

the procedure was non-invasive. He was obviously lying. I've

the scar to prove it. Why

would he do that? And why would he think he needed to lie about

it?

"I think he was implanting memories, erasing

memories, short-circuiting memories, whatever. When I went back

to

Goldstein, the second time...Scully, the during the attack I had

before...I flashed back on that he drilled a second time. I saw

him, Scully. I remember my eyes were covered, as were

my ears. But I saw him, somehow. He placed something in my

head. I know he did."

"But, Mulder, you went voluntarily. Goldstein didn't know you'd

go to him, the first or second time. How could he have known.

You didn't even know you were going to go back to him. You

didn't even remember him!"

"They know me better than I know myself, Scully. You don't think

I may have been manipulated into seeking out the Cassandras? Her

picture was on the front cover of Abductee magazine, for God's

sake! Right in the same neighborhood where my parents had a

summer house. They knew I'd make some kind of connection, at

least check it out...remember? It's me Mulder the sucker.

Push the right button and he jumps. Just say how high." Mulder

shook his head, pale as a ghost, a sour look on his face as a

reallization dawned on him. "My God, Scully, chalk up three more

deaths to the grand scheme to manipulate me. I'm racking up

quite a score, aren't I?"

"Mulder, you don't know for sure that you've been manipulated

into seeing Goldstein... To what purpose? To give you an

implant? To alter your memories of Samantha? Your memories are

already so unreliable about that night, what more can they do?"

"The more screwed up my memories are, the harder they are for me

to deal with...just keep piling it on: guilt, fear,

frutstration, confusion. I was already desperate. How much

farther did they have to drive me to such despair that I would

take my own life. Not very. Not very far at all, Scully. When

I failed to kill myself back in Rhode Island, they brought out

the big guns. This thing with Kritchgau."

"But why? Why do that to you?"

"They're afraid. If they kill me, too many people know my work.

Maybe they're afraid I've too good a paper trail, and evidence or no evidence, if I

die, and people suspect foul play, my work will go on. They

think people will make into some kind of martyr to the cause,

draw too much attention to them...too many eyes looking, and

those eyes not bound by the kind of oaths that bind us as FBI

agents to the rules of evidence and proper procedure, not to

mention the maintenance of state secrets.

" But if I commit suicide, I'm discredited. People, who believe

in what I do, are going to think I betrayed them, allies are

going to distance themselves as far from my name as possible.

Even you...even you, Scully. You would know I had betrayed you

in the worst way possible, at this time, when you are sick and

are already overburdened emotionally. Scully, the more I think

this through, the more certain I am. They know the buttons to

push. Hell, they invented some of them."

"But Mulder, you're still not making sense. If what you're

saying is true, then, why do that now, after four years?"

"I've gotten too close. I wish I knew to what. But Scully, that

flashback I just had. Of the second treatment by Goldstein.

Like I said, I saw him put something in my head. I don't know

how. But I know. I think it might have been a tracking

device...not something to play with my mind, but to track me.

During that flashback, I felt electrical sensations of some kind.

Almost as if there were electrical signals being transitted..."

Mulder smiled. "Do you think it's a leap?" She smiled. Of

course she did.

"I know, I know, I know. Scully, it sounds crazy. I know that.

I can't describe the feeling tho. I've never felt anything like

it. Scully, I also flashed on him. On Cancer Man. Heard his

voice in my head. The voice said. 'Good. we've got him.'"

"What? Mulder, you sound...How can you trust what was going on

your head during the episode? You were in monumental pain. How

could anything cogent come out of that? He can't know."

"Scully, I don't know if I'm having delusions or seeing something

in my head I'm not supposed to see. But I think we need to

concentrate now on some of our more recent cases. What could I

have gotten so close to ... to force them to act against me now.

To act against us now. Sorry. We have to figure out what they

are trying to do. What's the essence of the project. I don't

think we have the luxury of time to go meticulously through these

cases, as we started doing. If there's the slightest

possibility that my notion is right, we flat out may have nearly

run out of time."

Mulder closed his eyes in concentration. When he opened them

his eyes were on the flip chart. He crossed to it and

scrawled a quick list:

Bees, Perfect Soldiers. Master race. Immunity to biological

weapons. Genetic clones/alien (?) clones. Gulf war syndrome.

Drones. Smallpox

Disinformation--to hide what?

Vaccines for smallpox. Genetic markers for (?) tracking--genetic

implants, id cards

Mutations caused by?

Smallpox eradicated

Morphing clones/aliens?

Green blood-toxic to humans

a hoax? real?

Abuductions by?

Allentown women

Reproductive genetic material for?

When Mulder finally moved away from the board, it was covered.

he ripped the sheet off, pinning it to the wall. Finally he

spoke. "I think this is what we need to focus on. The implants,

I think we know, are meant to track people real time. Send

signals. I also think it's safe to assume that the Cancer guy is

involved throughout all of this...And, I think that there have

been several

small, side projects they've undertaken--that are only minimally

related to the main agenda...remember the stuff with... having to

do with mind control,

memory alteration. Stuff like that--well maybe it's not just

minimally related, but tangential to the main project. What do

you think, Scully."

"I think you're right, Mulder. Let's at least start here. Let's

flesh it out then go find the cases our findings relate to. Then

we'll fill in detail and paint a more elaborate profile of the

project. But I'm still concerned about you, Mulder. You have no

idea how you just frightened me with that latest seizure. What

if the next time you stroke out on me. Your bp must have been

racing to the moon. And let's bring the project board into the

bedroom, I want you lying down in

that bed. I'll write."

Mulder did not protest. The sudden adrenaline rush abated

swiftly and an overwhelming fatigue hit him with a stunning force. By the time

Scully had gathered their supplies into the bedroom, Mulder was

asleep. Scully pulled up a chair next to the bed along with flip

chart. She sat close to her friend, regarding his sleeping form.

"Sleep, Mulder," she sighed. And she began the task of putting

the pieces together. Scully did not leave his side as she

worked.

She was having better time distancing herself from the events

being studied with Mulder alseep. No hidden meanings, no having him

self-conciously avoid with her potentially painful subjects,

skirting around issues, afraid to trample on her emotions. Yes,

she was much better off working this way, pretending that

abductions by shadow governments, implants and genetic tests had

nothing in common with Dana Scully. Yeah right. She glanced at

the LCD screen of her Powerbook computer reading back over what

she'd just written.

Scully was trying to copy Mulder's list into the computer, make

some hasty first-impression notes. Her plan was to then get rid

of the charts, the white board...and then what to do with the

files. If Mulder was right...Oh Lord, what if he was right!

Then nowhere was safe. They would have to work fast, build the

case and be ready and waiting when they came. Scully grinned at

her own mounting paranoia. She was begining to think like

Mulder. "Now there's a dangerous notion," she reflected

audibly. She went back to her notes:

"Bees--Bees have figured in two cases, both within the past year.

Neither case contained hard evidence of the existence of

genetically engineered bees, or bees, as Agent Mulder contends,

that have been altered to spread the deadly and assumed extinct

disease of smallpox. Agent Mulder contends that bees of this

nature were being farmed on a farm in Alberta, Canada--a farm

revealed to him by Jeremiah Smith last fall. A farm that was

worked by, what Agent Mulder has referred to in his notes as

clones, clones of his sister and a boy. Of course that cannot be

substantiated. However, the case file for the Smith affair

contains several photgraphs. One of the photographs is of

children. Boys and girls. There are three boys and five girls

in the pictures. The boys are identical as are the girls.

Monozygotic triplets? Quints? Now there's quite a coincidence.

The girl looks familiar. Very familiar." Scully paused from her

typing, looking on Mulder's nightstand. She knew it would be

there. The picture. His cherished picture. Sam and Fox in the

blush of innocence. She looked back at the file photograph. Her

eyes went wide. It couldn't be possible. She continued typing:

"It cannot be completely ruled out that the girls in the

photgraph are genetic clones of Samantha Mulder. The resemblance

in incredible and cannot be dissmissed as coinidence without

further investigation. However, the techonogy for this type of

cloning is very far beyond anything remotely possible at this

time. Besides the fact that Samantha Mulder dissapeared more

than 23 years ago would tend to argue against the possibility

that this is her or even a clone of her. On the other hand

apparent monozygotic multiples have been observed in several

cases involving possible conspiracy connectons. These include

the multiple Jeremiah Smiths in the same case; the multile Dr.

Gregors in a case handled by us two years ago, and another case

from this year, involving a multiple named Curt Crawford. I only

met one of the Curt Crawfords. However, the very little that

Agent Mulder has revealed to me about that case includes his

assertion that there were indeed several Crawfords in existence.

He also contended that the Crawfords were in fact the boys he

observed on the Canadian farm." Scully sighed remembering that

case. Allentown Pennsylvania. It had been a difficult time for

both of them, the month before that case; it only got worse, much

worse from there.

"Stop it Dana! Back to work," she whispered to herself. The

click of the keyboard keys soothed her as she continued her

writing, glancing again at the photograph from the file,

wondering suddenly why Mulder had never shown it to her, never

shared it with her. "Probably because you would have shot him

down, quickly, efficiently and happily, Dana; because he didn't

think he could handle it then--knew he wasn't in the right frame

of mind to argue--with X dead; his mother recovering from a

serious stroke, that's why, idiot!" Why did she never win an

argument with herself. The photograph, back to it girl, she

thought to herself.

"The photograph also lends credence to Agent Mulder's contention

that there has been in existence a farm, although there are no

bees apparent in the photo. It also supports his contention that

there are genetic clones and that they are employed as drones or

workers on this and perhaps other farms. The fact that this farm

exists in Canada suggests, if Mulder's contentions have any truth

to them, that the conspiracy is International.

"There is nothing either in the photos or the files that suggest

allien involvement in this project. It is my feeling that these

"clones" or twins or whatever they are have to be a product of

the project. But why and what is their purpose?

Possibilities--to create:

Perfect Soldiers--we've seen this before. The results of a

failed attempt by the military to produce soldiers that, through,

surgical techniques, do not require sleep were the subject of an

investigation conducted by Agent Mulder and Agent Alex Krychek

three years ago. Documents and other evidence gathered during

that case were destroyed, maliciously and intentionlly by actors

specifically wishing to have the information supressed. Another

case, involving concerned the abilities of a physicist to channel

a deadly energy via his shadow. Agent Mulder and I both

witnessed the effects of this energy and a police detective lost

her life as a result of the case. The physicist was, according

to Agent Mulder, taken by military forces and was studied to

capture the technology and information that made this possible

with the express desire to create a sort of weapon.

"Death row serial killer John Barnett likewise was the subject of

an experimental procedure that greatly interested the military,

enough so that he was pronounced dead, only to turn up alive and

younger, with a regenerated hand created by a cutting edge

technology. Before his death, the subject was, according to

sources that cannot be verified, negotiating for his freedom in

exchange for the technology, which he stole from the researcher

who developed the procedures.

"As an investigator, I have witnessed several instances of an

ability to somehow alter appearance or perception. In one case

the perpetrator assumed (to me) the appearance of Agent Mulder,

only to attack me, then change into someone else before my eyes.

My understanding of nature would suggest to me that these people

somehow are able to alter our perception of them so they can

appear to be someone else, someone probably non-threatening.

However, the deception is short-lived and the perpetrator soon is

revealed to be who he (or she) really is. I do not know the

psychology involved in such a venture. However, this explanation

is more plausible to me than Agent Mulder's contention that these

are alien beings with the ability to "morph" into whomever they

wish." There is another possibility: the possible existence of

striated muscle tissue and hair follicle anomalies that enable

the subject to radically alter their appearance at will. We have

seen this anomaly in Eddie van Bluhndt, a fairly recent case.

The value to the militarity of such an ability would be great.

"Of course the question persists as to whether any of these

multiples, "morphing" beings or other potential weapons are the

creation of secret, state-of-the-art genetic engineering and

technology. And that technology is planned to be used not for

the creation of a better soldier, but of a master race." Scully

shivered at this possibility, just entered into her head.

Mulder stirred as Scully stretched, looking outside. It was

dark. 8:00?

"Hey, Mulder." She smiled sweetly as he shook the sleep from his

head and rubbed sand from his eyes.

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

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

He read her unfinished digest of cases recent and old.

"Good work, Scully. Why didn't you wake me?"

"You needed sleep. You really scared me with those two seizures.

Are you OK now?"

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

"Forgot all about it."

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

taking the scolding.

"Sorry," she replied sheepishly. "So, no time like the present.

The rain finally stopped again." He mentioned nothing of the

visions he'd seen during the first flashback. The panic was

gone; he was no longer pale. Scully saved her file and closed

the computer.

Broiled swordfish and asparagus...more white Zinfandel. Silver

service and a rose bud in a crystal vase. "To success, Scully."

It was the only thing to toast. If they did not succeed...

Dinner passed and the two agents continued their grim and

emotionally difficult review of cases past. Splitting the case

files, they agreed the work would go faster, and would be less

emotionally draining to work individually and then put the full

picture together. "So what happens after we've worked out their

plans?" Scully broke the silence. Mulder looked up from his

notes,

pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I've thought about that, Scully. I think at that point we need

to bring Skinner back into the picture. Show him what we've got

and any hard evidence, like the photograph of the Ray Soames

implant; your implant; the implants of the MUFON women..." He

stopped suddently, eyes wide. The ova. He'd never told Scully

about the test tube of her ova. He tried to put the thought out

of his head for the moment, and finished what he was saying.

"Yes, um...and the

biopsy information. Remember you told me what you did, taking

the small pox scar information from the biopsies you did on

yourself and Pendrell? Do you still have those documents?"

"Yeah. I brought them with me...oh, and the social security

administration data. I still have my hard copy of that too--and

I brought that with me,too."

"Scully, you're brilliant -and- beautiful." Mulder got up from

the sofa where he had been sitting next to Scully. He ran his

hand through his hair, pacing. He mouthed words inaudible,

seeming to have an internal argument.

"Mulder, are you OK?" He startled and remembered that Scully was

with him. He caught her gaze with his and moved slowly back to

the sofa, sitting at the opposite end. She repeated the

question. "Mulder?"

"Scully, I've never quite known how to discuss this with you..."

How to approach it? "The time was never right; the fact of your

cancer. I didn't think you'd believe it anyway, given your

skepticism about this stuff anyway..." he was babbling, trying,

unsuccessfully to rationalize his not telling her.

"Mulder, what are you talking about?" He looked away, playing

with a thread at the hem of his shirt. "Talk to me, Mulder.

What's going on?"

"Scully, what do you remember about your abduction? Never mind

if it was little grey men, or military or whoever. Just what do

you remember--even little pieces. I know...I know how hard

this is for you to talk about Scully. But I think it's

important. It's evidence and there's...I think it could help to

solve this quicker if we can put some of what you remember

together with what we already know about the project. I think we

both know that your abduction has everything to do with their

project, right?"

Mulder knew that this was the only way to

approach it. They needed to talk about it. But he also knew

that for Scully the emotions ran much too close to the surface,

even three years later. Even Mulder still had nightmares about

that time. And then there were the ova. One thing at a time.

Mulder thought that this approach would help Scully

intellectualize some of the horror she remembered, even if it

wasn't much. Be an investigator, not a victim. Then, maybe

then, he could bring up the issue of the ova.

Scully nodded. She, too, understood the importance of discussing

it for the sake of what they were seeking to reveal about the

project. "I still don't remember, Mulder." She was fighting it,

still fighting it. The struggle going on within Dana Scully

played out on her face in her hands. She crossed her arms in

front of her stomach: a defensive posture.

"But you do remember some things. I know that much, Scully.

The doctors, the fact they were doing something to you in an

operating theatre. You've told me enough to know that the same

men involved in the alien autopsy on that video...in that

case..." Mulder burned his fists through his eyes, trying to

forestall an oncoming headache. "The case that..." her eyes

bored into him.

"I know what case, Mulder. How could I not remember. You almost

died in that case." She did not want to travel that road

again. Not now. No petty differences to fog the end result

they were going for.

"So what else, Scully? What did they do? Did they do anything

to your abdomen?" Mulder did not, himself know why he thought of

that. Something he recalled flashing in his own mind on that

night, the night on the mountain...Duane Barry. Only imagining

the horrors being done to Scully. He remembered that night and

how hard he concentrated on her, calling to bear all of his

insight, his focus to be directed toward her and only her.

Trying beyond all hope to forge a connection with her, to find

her, find out if she was alright. The images that had flashed in

his mind did not serve him well. The told him she was not

alright.

Scully blanched at the question. "Why did you ask that?" There

was fear, but there was recognition in her eyes. But then she

closed them. "Something, pain, cramping...Oh God...a drill..NO!"

Then it was gone. Scully was cowering in the corner of the sofa,

knees drawn up, hugged by her arms. She opened her eyes.

"Mulder, I'm sorry...I can't...I'm sorry."

"Ssh. Hey, it's ok. It doesn't matter." His words were soft,

soothing. Scully knew that it did matter. It mattered so

much. To him. But he understood the not remembering.

Intimately. The pain involved in remembering. But to him, to

Mulder, the pain was worth it. The result is what mattered.

Scully was not ready to leap over the cliff, or even approach it,

even cautiously. Not yet. The wounds were too fresh. Maybe

they always would be. "I'm sorry. I know what this means to

you. I just can't. Not now, not yet, maybe...maybe never."

"Scully." He was very close to her, gathering her into his

embrace, tucking her head in the crook of his neck. "I...it's

ok." He fought to keep the dissapointment from his voice. He

fought the urge not to tell her about the ova. He didn't know,

given her state of denial and fear, just how she would take it.

But he couldn't keep it from her. Not now.

"Scully, I've learned something about what was done to the women

who were abudcted." He stared over her head at the window. Keep

it distanced, keep it in terms of the abuducted women,

depersonallize it. He was chanting this to himself as he

continued, determined not to strip her defenses any further,

leave her vulnerable to her memories. "Betsy, Penny, those MUFON

ladies. I found out when we were in Allentown, when you were in

the hospital. Scully, I traced the computer information we had

discovered in Betsy's computer to a facility for reproductive

medicine, connected to an infertility clinic of which those MUFON

women--all of them--were patients. They all were being treated

for infertility. I traced the data to the Lombard research

facility in DC. That's where I found out about Scanlon. Some of

this you know from our discussions about Scanlon. You know he

was on staff at this Lombard research facility. I went there

late one night, broke in...you also know that. What you don't

know is that I walked into a room where I encountered several

Kurt Crawfords. They were working around tanks, like the tanks

we'd seen before. Tanks with living, alive humans in them, boys.

I'd seen these boys before, back in Alberta, on the bee

farm...they were the same boys, Scully. I"m positive of it. The

Kurt Crawfords told me some things. I've no hard evidence, and I

know you won't believe the story, so I won't give you the

details." At that Scully looked quizzically at him.

"Why?"

"We agreed, Scully, to not get into philosophical debate here,

and remember, we're also working on the assumption, that at least

some, if not all of what we've experienced was a hoax, so I can't

necessarily trust those facts. But, Scully, I do know this. I

was shot at in that facility. Almost killed. I also know

this: the Kurts showed me to a room. A freezer room. In the

room were dozens of storage drawers; some with names, some

without. Betsy Hagopian's name was on a drawer; so was Penny's."

Mulder thought a moment. He knew Scully had to ask the

question. "I saw what was stored in those drawers, Scully." Her

look implored him to continue. He held her more tightly. "Human

ova taken from test subjects like Penny. What the Kurts said

were experiments in superovulation, harvesting of human ova,

rendering the subjects infertile."

Scully broke from his tight embrace, her eyes wide in horror.

She knew there was more. More he wasn't saying or had yet to

reveal. "And?"

"Scully, the Kurts said that the procedure used to induce the

superovulaton caused cancer. The fact that Scanlon is on staff

at the research facility lends some credence to what the Kurts

were saying."

"Mulder, how do you know any of this is true? You said yourself

that we have to assume some of all you've...we've experienced

has been a hoax of some kind. How do you know this isn't just

part of the plan to string us along?"

Then she knew. "You were given Cancer to make Mulder believe."

Kritchgau's words rang in her ears. She'd never asked: believe

what? In the existence of EBE's? How would that make Mulder

believe? It was ridiculous. Besides, although Mulder's belief

EBE's living on earth was a big part of his worldview, Mulder's

quest was to find his sister, no matter who took her. A large

part of Mulder understood that Samantha was taken by the same

thugs that kidnapped her, and it didn't matter whether the

kidnappers were little green men or very human monsters.

She remembered suddenly what Kritchgau had said about the little

lie...the disinformation, the instilled panic and anxiety about

the presence of EBE being used to deflect attention from the

bigger lie...the project---the deeply held secrets kept the

consortium and the Ciggarette guy. And then she knew. She

understood. Those men had no idea who Fox W. Mulder was. He

sought the truth--the real truth. He was an enemy of the

conspiracy as much as it's victim and potential tool of

disinformation. They understood Mulder's quest to be about

aliens and Samantha's abuduction by them. They didn't understand

Mulder at all. They had seriously underestimated him. Perhaps

something had happened to make them understand Mulder's agenda

better, understand taht he really was an enemy and a very

dangerous enemey. And that's when...Scully now understood.

That's when the consortium decided to destroy Fox William Mulder.

Mulder took Scully's hands in his, understanding the impact his

next words would have. He caught and held her gaze, forcing her

to believe with all his will that he was, and always would be,

there for her. "I have a vial of the human ova in my possession.

If it is analyzed and the contents verified, we would have proof

of a terrifying and enormous conspiracy, a government conspiracy,

the proof."

"If that is true, why haven't you had it analyzed?" His eyes

changed perceptibly. A sorrow and pain traveled the bond between

his soul and hers, telling her something she did not want to

know. And craved to know.

"Mulder, who's ova are they?" She knew the answer, yet still

denied it. He pleaded with God to not make him say this, to make

her understand, to know his mind, his heart, his soul. He drew a

shaky breath, his grief for her lost children almost

overwhelming. His eyes moistened as he fought the tears forming

in his deeply set eyes.

She had to look away, break the connection. It was too powerful,

consuming. She didn't want to know. Couldn't know. The

knowledge would shake her already shaken faith to the ground.

Had shaken her faith. For now she knew. Her ova. Her

infertility. Her cancer. He gently pulled her face back to look

at him.

"How do you know?" She asked indignantly, both acknowledging and

not accepting the fact. He shook his head slowly, afraid to

speak, afraid his emotions would render him unable to utter more

than a word or two. He drew a cleansing breath, rubbing his

eyes, knowing, understanding that he needed to play her game.

That was fine, necessary, even.

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

"Your name is on the vial; was on the drawer. Kurt pointed me to

the drawer. I don't know, Scully, Maybe you're right. It's a

hoax. After all, it could be a vial of anything. But doesn't

science demand that we find out? Have it analyzed?"

"Why haven't you?"

"I couldn't."

"Why?"

Now it was Mulder's turn to look away. "I...These are your ova.

I couldn't tell you about it. I never knew how to. But I

couldn't have the vial contents anlalyzed without your input,

your scientific knowledge. So, I was stuck." THey were back on

intellectual ground. Scientific inquiry, investigation. It was

much more comforatble for both of them.

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

"It's in a freezer storage compartment in a storage facility. I

change locations monthly; new facility, new city. It's safe."

"Scully, there's another reason I've not had it analyzed. If

it's true. That these are your ova, and that you are infertile,

these ova may be the only chance you have of creating offspring."

She put a hand up, interrupting him.

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

"The point is, Scully, I didn't want to destroy the contents of

this vial without your consent. These may be your ova. If they

are, you are the only one who can decide what's to be done with

them. Is there a way to DNA test these without destroying the

entire contents?"

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

"Let's just do it. One way or the other we'll know." His plea

was earnest. But he understood the implications for her, for her

belief system, her faith...in everything, if the vial was

analyzed and confirmed to be her ova.

"Scully. I know what this must be doing to you. I'm not going

to push you. I think you need to think this out for yourself.

Only you know if you're ready for what may be the results. I

can't make this decision for you. I accept it either way, and I

don't want to bias you." he fought the urge to explain that

results of a DNA analysis either way would provide hard and

damning evidence for one side of the argument or the other: hoax

or reality. Mulder glanced at his watch. It was 2 AM. "Scully,

let's get some sleep. We can talk more in the morning, OK?" He

didn't want her to decide this now, to make a decision she would

be unable to live with in the morning.

He remembered their conversation in the Smithsonian that night

after they'd met with Arlinsky. Her resolve, her unrelenting

refusal to open up to extreme possibilities. This decision would

mean potentially deconstructing her entire view of the world, of

government of the military, of science, of everything he he knew

her to believe in. He could not ask her to do that. She had to

decide for herself, and not impulsively.

"We have to know, Mulder. We need to do it. No matter what I

think or feel. I need to know, as a scientist; as a woman;

damnit...as a human." The fear was metamorphosing to anger then

fury. "How could they, Mulder? How could they do that? Who,

what monster would do that." Scully suddenly became nauseous and

bolted for the bathroom. Mulder followed, staying close behind

the closed bathroom door, waiting, knowing that the knowledge, a

terrible knowlege had hit her. Hard.

Scully emerged from the bathroom, eyes sunken, looking older and

more tired than Mulder remembered ever having seen her. She'd

only been in there five minutes and the changed was stunning,

even accounting for the very late hour. The vomiting had

triggered a nosebleed. He'd noticed, but said nothing. Nor did

she.

"Scully, you need to sleep." She stared at him, saying nothing.

"I'm going to clear off the bed for you. I'm..I.." He stammered

absently trying to think of something to say--anything to say to

break the now uncomforatable silence between them. Her movement

was abrupt, unexpected. She simply crumpled into him, sobbing.

They just stood there for an endless moment until Mulder picked

her up, a feather in his arms. He carried her into the bedroom

silently, placed her gently into the large bed. He surrounded

her with the down comforter, brushing away a stray strand of

auburn hair from her eyes. "i'm here, Scully." A whisper. She

held onto his hand tightly, continuing to weep. She wept for her

future, she wept for her lost children; she wept for her sister,

for her father, for her mother's endless grief; for Mulder.

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

the bed.

"i'm here, Scully," he repeated. "Oh, Mulder. What have they

done? It's worse than what any serial rapist could do; what any

serial killer could do. We have to get them. We have to know."

The weeping had diminished to sniffles. "But how? How can we

risk retreiving and then testing the sample?"

"I think it's time we call Byers. I think they can help us. if

it's real, then I think we have all the evidence we need, the

test results combined with what we've gathered. God, Scully, I

hate this. I feel like I'm in prison."

"You're not in prison." A smile crossed her face electrifying

every nerve in his body. "You're dead. And I am doing better,"

she said, sighing deeply.

"OK, Scully. I'm going to let you get some rest." Mulder knew

he had to leave now or...

"Stay. Stay with me awhile." He looked away, unable to deny her

this simple request, but unsure that he would be able to abide by

the agreement they'd made that first night in the Shoream. ...

It had been so difficult, nearly impossible. She had kissed him,

kissed his eyes, his hair. He had craved her mouth. But he was

facing away from her, in front of her. He had turned to her,

wanting her with every cell, the power of his desire for her was

staggering. He remembered thinking in a haze of sensation,

wondering why they had denied themselves...why he had denied him

this singular pleasure for so long. A moment of clarity in the

haze of desire. "We can't."

Mulder had almost not even realized that it was he who had said

it, whispered it. Scully stopped dead, glaring at him in

disbelief. "WHat?"

Mulder half regretted, even now, his next words. His body, his

heart, his soul screamed at brain. But his brain won the battle.

"We can't."

"Why?"

"Scully, I know myself. I know how I feel about you. I've told

you how I feel. I think, I hope, you feel the same." His

breathing was almost back to normal. He continued. "When I said

I want to make love to you for a week. I was not exaggerating.

If we do this now. Tonight. I will not want to stop tomorrow

morning and go back to work on this little project of ours. I'll

want to pitch it all. Forget the world, forget Cancer man,

forget all I've...we've ever done and bask in the glow of your

radiance. I want this. I want you, more than I've ever

wanted anything in my life. My heart and my hormones are telling

me that I'm nuts for stopping this. But my brain knows better.

Scully, this almost the most difficult thing I've had to do.

Almost harder than dying. When this is over we can revisit the

issue. And if...well..." She smiled at him then. That smile.

"Mulder, you are incredible. You do know I love you, don't you?

I know I've never said it in so many words. I've never met

anyone like you. I know you're right. This needs to be right.

And it's so tempting." They broke apart then, reassembling their

clothes, quickly and silently.

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

He smiled. "A chair. I'll be right back. I"m just going to get

a chair," he repllied softly. "Sleep, Scully." Mulder sat vigil

at her bedside. When she fell asleep he retreived Scully's

laptop and continued the report she had begun. He fought the

urge to sleep; a renewed feeling of urgency to close this, to get

on with life, fueled his continued work on the report.

He stared at the list on the computer screen. Why create a race

of genetically altered soldiers; soldiers with a radically

different biology? He remembered something that Kritchgau had

said, something about his son being very ill with Gulf War

Syndrome. Gulf war syndrome. Mulder knew the etiology of that

disease, the disease so vehemently denied by the military, could

be chemical or biological. He dismissed the notion that the

syndrome was psychological in nature as some had speculated.

He wrote:

"The next war will not be nuclear; it will not be fought with

conventional weapons either. Instead, as we were shown in the

Gulf War, the next war will be fought with biological weapons,

with chemical weapons. To recruit (or even create) soldies that

are immune to the effects of currently available and future

biological and chemical weapons would likely be a priority of the

military long range plans. But how? We have seen at least two

possible techniques for this during the years of our

investigations.

Using genetically engineered DNA (gene therapy techniques),

manufacatured DNA or (sorry, Scully, he smiled) an

extraterrestrial DNA..."

He thought about that momentarily. Should he erase it? After

all, he and Scully had agreed to only put down on paper those

things, those "facts" upon which they both agreed.

Extraterrestrial DNA. He continued:

"Agent Scully first verified that a DNA bearing amino acid

sequences unkown to our world were detected in an Erhlenmyer

flask collected from the laboratory of a Dr. Berube more than

three years ago. She was told by biochemists at Georgetown

University, that, by definition, the origin of the DNA was

extraterrestrial. All DNA (found in nature) contain four

nucleotides. These nucleotides are found in sequences that form

amino acids, the building blocks of life. All life forms on this

planet contain only these four nucleotides. The DNA in the

flask, contained two additional nucleotides, and that those

nucleotides did not occur in nature. If not extraterrestrial,

then the nucleotides, hence the DNA would have to be

synthetically created...manufactured. But why manufacture a new

DNA? To what purpose, since all life on this planet is composed

of the same genetic material?

"This DNA had been used to treat cancer patients with excellent

results, not only curing the cancer, and providing the treated

subjects with superhuman strenghth and endurance. However, the

treatment also rendered the blood of the patients toxic to

humans, as we have personally experienced. The substance, called

Purity Control, was also used on teenagers in a small Wisconsin

town for an unknown amount of time, causing erratic and violent

behavior among the test subjects."

HIs mind flashed back to severall months earlier, to a time he

wished he could erase from his vivid memory. He had not told

Scully the whole story. Now he would have to do so.

"Several months ago, Agents Mulder and Scully followed a lead

concerning a rock mined from a place called Tunguska in the

former Soviet Union. This rock was in turn studied at Goddard

research center and found to contain a deadly substance--a living

substance. The substance seems to be some sort of a parasite

that causes paralysis and catatonia. Upon death, which may or

may not be caused by the organism, the parasite emerges from open

cavities. Parasite it wormlike, but almost liquid in appearence.

During the investigation, Agent Mulder was taken captive in the

former Soviet Union and subjected to this organism during some

sort of test or experiment. However, it is also believed that

Agent Mulder was given a vaccination against the effects of this

organism before he was infected. That, in fact, the reason for

the experiment was to test the effectiveness of the vaccine.

Other test subjects/prisoners described the disease caused by

orgnaism as the "black cancer". The rock from which this

organism emerged may have come from a meteor that crashed in the

Tunguska region nearly a century ago. I can only think of one

reason to agressively seek, mine and then attempt to protect

against such an organism. That is to use it in biological

warfare.

"This case came to our attention when parties attempted to

smuggle this organism into the United States. The fact that it

was attempted in a diplomatic pouch and that the U.S. government,

including members of the Senate as well as Military officials

have tried to cover up the affair and refuse to hear evidence on

the case, even in light of the fact that a prominent physician

and board memeber of the World Health Organization lost her life

in connection with this affair, lead me to suspect U.S.

involvment in the development of this potential weapon. It is an

interesting irony that the physician who lost her life during the

affair, Dr. Karne-Sayer was an expert in Variola viruses and was

a strong advocate of destroying the last remaining quantities of

small pox vaccine." Mulder stopped, connections trying to form

in his memory. How...is it possible...could there be some

connection between the contents of the Tunguska rock, the "black

cancer", and the bees. The bees that carried smallpox.

Mulder rubbed his eyes, remembering how that ER doctor looked at

him as if he was insane (wouldn't be the first time). Smallpox?

There is no smallpox, not anymore! So what had those kids died

of? And what about the telephone repair man in Alberta...If it

wasn't smallpox, it had to be some sort of mutated variola

virus...carried by what? The bees? Why? What was he missing?

What else about smallpox? He was tired. Suddenly, so tired. He

glanced at his watch. Three-thirty AM. He save what he'd typed

and closed the laptop. He looked over at Scully. She was

sleeping fitfully, perhaps having a bad dream. He instinctively

leaned over her, pullling the blanket more securely around her,

gently so as not to waken her. He swept a hand softly across her

forehead, swiping strands of her hair from her eyes. He let out

a shaky breath of exhaustion and regret at having to leave her,

and headed for the couch in the sitting room. Sleep came

quickly.

Mulder awoke to the bright sun streaming through the terrace

curtains and the smell of strong coffee. He opened his eyes a

crack, still more than half asleep. Scully was sitting at the

table, laptop open.

"Mornin' Scully. What time is it?"

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

"Late. Around three, I think." He was certain that she hadn't

read his notes. She

would be pissed at him if she had, and she obviously wasn't

pissed at him. "i'm impressed. Coffee, scratch that, espresso;

croissants; bagels; melon." He walked by her on his way to the

bathroom, kissing the top of her head as he grabbed a grape.

"You feeling better?"

"No, but I'm coping," she replied a bit sadly. "Damnit, Mulder,

how can I be 'better' when I know I can never have children.

That those sons of bitches, who are somehow connected to my

sister's death, to my cancer have...that now I find out that even

if I don't die of cancer I can never have children.

'You know, Mulder, after I was returned, I had no recollection of

what had happened to me. Just that I was gone. I had no idea it

was for three months, so my sense of violation was tempered by

the not knowing. The cancer...well so many things can cause

cancer. Yes, the evidence was there that they had caused it.

Kritchgau said it, and for some reason I believed him. But this,

this. If it's true that they, whoever they are, took me

stripped my ova to create supersoldiers, clones or a new era a

master race...You can't imagine how violated I feel. You can't

even begin to imagine." Damn it, Scully thought. Tears again.

"You're right, Scully, I can't. I...I can't begin to feel the

kind of loss..."

She looked up. He was kneeling beside her. She put her head on

his chest, seeking comfort where she knew it would be. A

sanctuary, her personal sanctuary. "But Scully," he continued.

"I'm here for you. You know that. We can work though this. We

will work though it...together. So let's finish this report,

at least the draft. We'll call Byers and see what we can do

about that vial. Then we're on the final lap. We'll bring in

Skinner, Matheson..."

"Mattheson? But Matthesson wouldn't even return my calls last

year when I was trying to get you off that train. How do you

know they haven't gotten to him?"

"I know. I just do. He couldn't call you back. He has a lot of

enemies, not only because of his alliance with my work, and his

support for me, but because as one of the lone voices of reason

on the Senate intelligence committee, he's not a popular guy.

But, Scully, for him, this would be vindication of everything.

Of his work. As it would be for me--ven if it turned out not to

be extraterrestrials."

"Mulder, for someone who's personal mantra is 'trust no one' you

certainly are trusting."

"Just like a flower, Scully, didn'cha say it once to me...always

uncovering those new layers." A smile. "OK. Let's get this

finished. We have a date, you and I, and the sooner we finish

this...well..."

"Wait, Mulder. Look, I read what you wrote last night. Why

didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know...didn't want to worry you, I guess. It had no

impact on the case. No side effects...besides, if I was treated

with the vaccine, it apparently worked, because I was exposed

to those worm things, and I didn't go comatose, and obviously I

didn't die...so...Sorry. So let's to work, milady."

"By the way, Mulder, I think you're on the right track with your

ideas about the biological weapons. I think there's probably no

connection between the oily worm and the bees, tho...just two

weapons. I think Dr. Karne-Sayer's work on Smallpox and her

death in this particular case are not related to each other. I

don't doubt she was involved in the development of the oily worms

somehow, I just think her work on small pox, while a striking

coincidence is unrelated."

"Ok, Scully, I'll buy that. At least for now. But I want to

talk about smallpox. For some reason, aside from the oily worm

organism, small pox and small pox vaccines seem to play an

awfully big role in their project." Scully began typing notes as

she and Mulder discussed all they had witnessed together and

separately concerning smallpox.

The small pox vaccination scars had come to their attention more

than once. The MJ documents contained on the digital tape, the

one stolen by Krychek, encoded in Navajo, had mentioned something

about tests and smallpox vaccinations, using genetic markers to

catalogue people, document them.

"A high tech identity card. That's what Byers called the altered

DNA that was present in your blood after you came back from...

Could there be a connection?"

"Mulder, those documents are from the 1940's. There was no way

we had that kind of technology then...we don't even have it now."

"But what if...if originally, the smallpox vaccinations were

originally given to serve that dual purpose...to innoculate but

also to give people a genetic marker of some kind. We know that

they did. You even put yourself on the line and reported it

Skinner and some of the FBI brass. You know, what you discovered

with the biopsies taken from yourself and Agent Pendrell. So

what if...ok...so smallpox was eradicated. We know that. So now

they need a new genetic marker. What if that's one purpose of

the alien DNA, to somehow be that new-tech identity card?"

"Yeah, but Mulder, that stuff is so toxic. You've seen what it

does. But wait...maybe purity control is made from this bizzare

DNA, but is a product. So the DNA is also used to create a

marker in another product. That would make more sense."

"OK, so what about what I witnessed in New Mexico? Scully, what

I saw in that Boxcar. My God, Scully. I can still see it so

vividly, that it still makes me nauseous. They had small pox

vaccination scars, Scully. I'm sure of it. But they didn't look

human. They looked llike...my God, Scully...they looked like

Ray Soames corpse. Is that what happens to a person after

they've been treated with purity control...that the corpse

deteriorates into that?"

"So are you saying that the kids in Oregon, on that first case of

ours...were test subjects...that they were treated with purity

control or somehting similar, causing the metamorphosis of the

body post mortem? You know, I've seen...you know that

woman...who you thought was Samantha. That you...that after I

was kidnapped..." Mulder put up a hand, telling her silently

that it was OK about discussing the case.

"When she was taken out of the river, dead, her body corroded,

changed, shrunk, shrivelled in to a green goo covering the lower

layers of skin. I'd never thought to view the corpse later...But

I'm guessing perhaps she might look a lot more like Ray Soames

post mortem than you."

"But she was a clone, Scully. She had to be. When I went to the

abortion clinic there were several of them, looking just like

Samantha, or at least that original clone her. Another

connection to Purity Control, but perhaps a third connection.

Back to the clone concept...our perfect soldier, perfect drone,

worker, member of the Herrenvolk, the master race to be." He

shivered. "Let's get back to the small pox for a minute. Small

pox has been eradicated. We know that. No more vaccination of

babies, no more disfiguirng scars on the upper arm, right? This

is a good thing, right...but for some reason..."

"For some reason, some organizaiton or group wants to reintroduce

smallpox into the environment. Why would anyone want to do that?

It's crazy."

" Scully, I know what I saw. It wasn't the small pox we knew, it

was more virulent, more deadly. Those children...Scully it was

horrible to see. But I know what I saw...and it was confirmed.

Finally."

"Doesn't it make more sense, that if...if a new strain of

smallpox has been discovered, that it evolved naturally? And

that it is somehow carried by these bees. It makes a whole lot

more sense than some covert organization farming and letting

loose killer bees whose sole purpose is to reintroduce the most

horrible infectious disease to affect modern civilation? Mulder,

think about it!"

"I have, Scully, and I know what I saw. I know the lenghts they

went to in covering up their little surprise."

"But why, Mulder. Why do that? This is not somehting they can

control once it's in the environment. Surely they realize that

once in nature, they won't be able to bring the disease back into

a farm setting. It's nature, Mulder!"

"But what if they don't care? Or, maybe...maybe they don't wan't

to control it. Think about it, Scully. What a great way to

create panic, a smallpox scare. People will do anything to

protect their security if it's been threatened, esepcially by a

horrific disease carried by stinging insects. Create fear and

you can get people to agree to anything. Or, here's another

theory. Create a new smallpox...find the vaccine...hell, maybe

they already have it. Reinstitute the smallpox

vaccine...voila...instant identity card...they go back to

catologuing people, testing people, injecting them with purity

control...whatever they do...the new small pox is

controlled...everyone's happy."

Scully was silent. There was a clarity with which Mulder

spoke...it made sense. All of it...it all fit togther, sort

of...at least the focus was begining to come into view."

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

"Mulder, I thought we weren't going to deal with that. It's too

speculative...to out there" Mulder grinned.

"And killer bees and an international conspiracy to creat a new

world order; mad Mengle-llike scientists...that's not out

there? Besides, I think I can make the connection even the

enigmatic, yet skeptical Dr. Scully might appreciate."

Her left eyebrow lifted, urging him to continue.

"Disinformation."

"Disinformation?"

"Yeah. Disinformation..." Mulder gasped as pain put his head in

a vise. "Scully!" No seizure, only pain. She ran to him, as he

lay sprawled on the floor, gasping, holding his head,his eyes

clenched. She grabbed the iburpofin tabs and a glass of water on

the way, now holding them next to Mulder.

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

"Oh, God, Scully, it hurts, but...but I'm OK," he managed to

stammer through his clenched teeth. He held up a hand to her

arm, beseeching her not to talk for a moment. He took the tabs,

swallowing them dry. His eyes were haunted. He gasped a few

more times as he sat up, his back against the sofa. The pain was

subsiding fast. Finally, he spoke. "So, I guess, I should be

grateful these attacks are getting better, huh?"

'Mulder, I'm concerned...very concerned about your attacks.

Just rest awhile...we can go back to this later."

"No." His eyes closed involvuntarily at the throbbing still

going on inside his forehead. "No. We have to finish. I think

we're almost finished with this 'profile' we're creating."

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

"I think Kritchgau was right about something, Scully. I still

believe that I've seen EBE's. Those morphers...no domestic

technology could create those. I've seen too much not to

believe.'

"Mulder..."

"I know. You disagree. We don't need to put that in the report,

anyway. It's unnecessary. What I also believe, Scully is that

all those grey aliens, the cute little EBE's; the diminutive

ones. They are a hoax. A hoax to cover up abuductions by the

project--easier to believe the lie, right. Deflect suspicion

from the military...whoever those guys work for, maybe it's the

UN. PUt it onto little grey aliens from Reticula. Why not.

We've certainly seen enough evidence to support that. Also the

experimental aircraft. I still think they use EBE technology.

But whatever technology, its use creates a cover of extreme

possibility to cast eyes away from the more horrible truth...the

bigger truth, Scully...the truth that the American military in

connection with business men and and international group of

govenments and busineses are and have for the last fifty years

have continued the work of Hitler, Mengele and others. To

experiment on human test subects for the purpose of genetic

alterations...to create some sort of super human race...with or

without alien involvment." Mulder stopped. Appalled at his next

thought. Knowlege seeped though his brain. Connections formed.

"My father, Scully, was part of that project. We know that,or

were told that, by Victor Klemper. Samantha was a subject,

Scully, not an alien abuductee. A subject. Kritchgau was right

after all. My life has been fueled by a hoax." He closed his

eyes.

"But Mulder, Fox, your life hasn't been a lie. You've only

sought the truth...to find out what happened to Samantha. Yes,

your operational hypothesis was that she was abdcucted by aliens.

But whoever took her, she was taken. She was tested,

experimented upon. That's what you sought, the truth about what

happened to her and to expose those that did it. To her...to

your family. I know you still believe there is alien

involvement. I don't know entirely what to believe myself these

days. But you are close to the truth. We are close to knowing

why Samantha was taken, what your parents' involvement was in the

whole mess; why my sister had to die...We are so close. But it's

time to bring in the cavalry. There's still something I need to

know." She looked away. the ova, of course.

"We can bring them down, Mulder. We have the scenario worked

out. We have the documents, implants, but this is beyond our

depth to finish. We have to trust Skinner, bring him in. It's

time."

A noise. Outside on the terrace. Silently they nodded to each

other and drew their weapons. Scully put up three fingers to

count down. But it was too late. the attack was swift and

efficient.

LATER:

Mulder woke slowly, his eyes focussing around the dimly lit room.

He was alone. His head was once again pounding. He concentrated

trying desprerately to recall what had happened. What went

wrong. Scully. Where was Scully?

The room was empty except for a single desk, two chairs and a

television, incongruoulsy suspended from the ceiling. He was

strapped to one of the chairs, hands restrained behind his back.

He tried the restaints reflexively, knowing the effort would be

useless. Scully. Where are you Scully?

He damned himself for allowing himself to be used, duped and

victimized yet again. He thought about the implant he know knew

for certain had been imbedded in his head by Dr. Goldstein. How

else would they have known? But what did they know? Only where

they were? What he thought? What he said? Damn it. They were

so close...so...

Suddenly the television turned on; as simultaneously the door

opened and someone entered the room.

"Agent Mulder, so we meet again. How unfortunate to meet under

these, shall we say, less than desirable conditions. I suppose

it would be trite of me to inquire as to your health, although I

dare say, you look quite well for a man presumed dead of ...what

was it...a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head?"

Mulder knew the voice. It stepped from the shadow and into the

dim light. An elderly man, well-groomed. The kind that

habituated the men's clubs of London. Their paths had crossed a

few times over the past two years. He'd been a colleague, a

friend, of Bill Mulder's. Mulder examined him, saying nothing.

He kept his expression impassive trying desperately to appear

calm. Waiting.

"Of course we eventully learned that reports of your death were a

bit premature. I came as quite a surprise to us, actually."

Finally Mulder chose to speak.

"An implant, right? In my head, just below my hairline. Put

there by Dr. Goldstein. It sends out a signal, but that's not

why it was put there. It was put there to screw up my memories,

to drive me over the edge. Right? Why now?"

"In due time, Mr. Mulder. You will finally get your answers, if

that's what you truly want. The Holy Grail, as I believed you

called it once. But, down to business then, first." His

demeanor changed from a casual politeness to a serious menace.

The change startled Mulder.

"Mr. Mulder, I believe you have something I need. Something you

stole from myself and my colleagues. We want it back."

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

"No? A pity." The well-groomed man paused, contemplating,

patiently biding his time. "Perhaps this will refresh your

memory. I'm actually quite dissapointed that you don't remember,

in fact I don't believe that you don't remember since I

understand that you've a photographic memory, and eidetic memory

actually. No matter." He held a small remote control device. He

pushed a button and the picture on the television screen changed.

Scully. The well-groomed man waited, carefully studying Mulder as

he stared at the TV screen. Scully appeared to be in another

room, also bare. She was not bound. She sat upon a small cot,

apparently the only furniture in the room.

Mulder turned to the man. If he'd had an ounce of morality, his

heart would have broken for the look on Mulder's face. He'd seen

that look before, on another young man so many years ago, faced

with a choice, one no less difficult than the choice this young

man, 25 years later, would have to make. It affected him no more

now than it had then. He thanked whoever there was to thank for

granting him the superiority and rationality to be beyond such

trite emotions.

"We've not hurt her, if that's what you are wondering, Mr.

Mulder. That is not the plan. The plan is to make an exchange,

a bargin, if you will. You return our stolen merchandise and

you and your partner may go free. Back to the FBI or wherever

you wish. Of course you will need to explain your sudden

resurrection; I doubt you'll have much credibility left, despite

the impressive array of notes and documents you seem to have

compiled. I must say, by the way, I'm quite impressed. You seem

to have worked out a good deal of what we're about. However, I

am sorry to dissapoint you. No aliens." He sighed. "Just good

and very secret technologies. Although I do think the aliens

made a jolly good cover for us. A cover, Mr. Mulder, that you've

helped us perpetuate. Many thanks for your able assistance.

Actually I rather like you and Ms. Scully, so I do hope you'll

cooperate."

"So we just walk out of here and into the sunset. Just like

that. I don't believe you. I certainly don't trust you."

"Why? you're really no longer a threat to us. Either you stay

underground or you surface. If you stay underground, you're

still dead. Everyone believes you've committed suicide. You've

been heading down that path some time...of course we've assisted

that path a bit. Or, you surface. You have nothing. No

evidence. We've taken care of that. Your laptop, the notes,

even your tape copy. They've all been destroyed. I assure you.

You have nothing. You will continue to be the laughing stock of

the FBI. What is it they call you? 'Spooky' Mulder. Chasing

his little grey men, superhuman morphing master race members.

How ridiculous. Who would believe you without proof, surely even

you realize that, why you never came forward before, or even

after our last little hoax. Oh, yes, I almost forgot. You're

surely thinking that your originals, the X-files, all the reports

you've so studiously kept, are still secure in the bowels of the

Hoover building. Sorry to disillusion you, Mr. Mulder, but the

last act of my dear departed friend at the FBI, rest his

soul...oh well," he continued on a brief tangent. "He would have

died sooner or later from lung cancer in any event. Regardless,

his last act before his terrible accident was to...well let's

just say there was a terrible basement fire in the J Edgar Hoover

Building three days ago. Perhaps you saw it on the news." He

grinned slightly.

Mulder just stared, devastated by the facts, by the cruel

calmness of his tormentor. "You've lost. It was a noble battle,

but you've lost. You've been quite the capable adversary. In

fact, we were quite concerned that you'd come to the full truth.

So much so, dear boy, that we had to take some action. And I do

abhor violence, so I hope we can end this amicably. For the sake

of my friendship with your father and with your sister."

At this Mulder began again to fight the restraints. His face

reddened in fury. "What do you know about my sister?" The words

were rasped through gritted teeth, eyes narrowed to slits.

"Your sister. Ah yes. She's just fine. I spoke with her only

just this morning. Lovely young woman. She's given so much to

the project, you know. And of course she, too shall reap the

benefits on the dawning of the new era. Of course, she knows

nothing about you. Remembers nothing. Why her name isn't even

Samantha as far as she knows. It's Jennifer. Jennifer

Cassandra. Raised to beautiful adulthood by people I believe you

know, or knew, that is...David and Amy Cassandra. Dear Amy, she

was a good soul, a bit too good, perhaps. Began to feel guilty

and wanted to spill the beans as it were. Well, Jennifer is my

protege. Quiet brilliant. Not so naive as her brother, and a

bit more rutheless. My kind of woman."

"You're a liar. These are lies. Just like everything else

you've told me."

"I never lie, Mr. Mulder. It's undignified. Anyway, the hour

is late and we must conclude our bargin. So, it's settled then.

You tell me where it is and you and your partner may go free.

You can even see your sister. Though I doubt you'll convince her

of the truth. I can prove she is your Samantha, Mr. Mulder.

You can talk to her. Know she is well provided for, though not

quite the type of person you might have hoped for. So, you see,

your puzzle is solved. You've no need to find her. She is as

close as your telling me where my vial is, Mr. Mulder."

"And if I refuse to cooperate?"

"Agent Scully will be dead within five minutes."

"And me?"

"You, Mr. Mulder, well that's a more complicated story. Your

short-term memory will be selectively eradicated, I've no doubt

that you believe we can do this. You will be found with Agent

Scully's body, shot with your weapon. Through the head. I

promise it will be quick and painless. With your sudden

reappearance and your recent break from Agent Scully prior to

your staged death, it will not take a genius to determine that

you are the killer. With your memory partially eradicated, you,

yourself, will not be certain of your innocence. I will give

you some time to think. I will even give you some time with your

partner. But don't think too long, Mr. Mulder."

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

"It's all you've got. And you've only got it because my feelings

for you father and for your sister."

"What was my father's role in this? And my mother's? Can you

answer that for me at least?" His voice was resigned. He wanted

to see Scully. To hold her; to feel at least that bit of reality

as his world crumbled out from beneath him.

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

had a fatal flaw."

"And that was...?"

"He loved your mother. You see, he understood the importance of

our little project for the future of the world. However, he

always let his sense of morality get in the way of buying to our

methods. Your grandparents, your mother's parents perished at

Dachau during World War II. Your mother's father was a professor

of History and Literature at Berlin University.

"Your mother, a young beautiful woman who did not at all look

Jewish, managed to escape and blend into Berlin society. She was

taken in by friends and had papers secured by your grandfather in

1937 paid for with the last amounts of his fortune. She was able

to live this charade for awhile. But not for long. In 1938, she

was discovered, and presenting herself at the American Embassy,

requested assylum. She and thousands of others. Her earnestness

and beauty attracted William Mulder, who was stationed there with

the State Department. He took a liking to her, apparently, and

managed to somehow illegally get her into the United States under

false papers.

"What he had done on her behalf, at the least, could have gotten

him dismissed from his sensitive position. But he was not found

out...or so he thought. At the end of the war, with his career

on an upward spiral, we formed a consortium of nations and

corporate entities to combat the growing threat of communisim, a

politically and economically lucrative venture for us all, I

assure you. Your father was an integral part of our agenda. But

he had demurred. He had some ethical issues with our methods.

Let's just say, we were able to secure his acquiesence and his

formidable skills by vowing not to expose his little

indiscrection."

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

dumbfounded.

"So you see, Mr. Mulder, you are your father's son, after all,

fatal flaw included. Now if you will excuse me I will fetch your

rather fetching partner."

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

"Just that of a frightened woman. Grateful to the man who

rescued her from certain death. Frightened that she might

somehow give away a terrible secret that could harm your father.

I remember how hard she worked on ridding herself of that

frightful German accent. She never into the public until all

traces of her past were eradicated from her speech. She was

quite obsessive about it. Now if you will excuse me..."

"One more thing. I need to add something else to this bargain.

As you are aware, my partner has cancer. I believe you have a

cure, some sort of designer gene therapy technique."

The well-groomed man smiled, warmly. "Of course, I almost

forgot. You would want that wouldn't you. And I would be most

happy to oblige you. You do know, however, that gene therapy has

its own side effects. We've gotten the technology to a point

where subjects do not emit toxic gases from wounds or

disintegrate into horrific corpses upon death...but there are

still some unpleasant side effects. Most of them are temporary;

however the procedure does render the patient sterile." A vile

grin crossed his face.

Mulder instintively tried to escape the restraints and attack the

man. His bindings cut into his wrists with the unsuccessful

struggle. "You bastard."

"Oh yes," he continued patronizingly. That benignly hideous

smile. Mulder wished with all his being that he could wipe it

permanently from his face. "Of course, how cruel of me. Agent

Scully is already unable to bear children. Well then... Is that

all?"

Mulder understood defeat. He had dealt with it many, many times.

These truths...what the man had told him...they weighed upon his

heart like lead. He tried to clear his thoughts regarding the

decision he was asked to make. Decision my ass. There is none

to make. They knew that. Scully. She appeared at the door

with a woman. Oh God. Marita. Marita looked contemptuously

down at Mulder, shoving Scully into the room. A man stood behind

them, a Sig Sauer trained on Mulder's head.

Marita spoke. "Agent Mulder." That voice, he thought, sandpaper

on a chalkboard. "I'm going to undo these restraints. Don't try

anything foolish. You'll be dead within 20 seconds. So you will

be a good boy, won't you?."

Suddenly they were alone in the room, knowing however, that they

were being watched. Scully gazed into Mulder's face as he

approached her. Marita had only undone his bindings. Mulder's

eyes were wet, his expression pure sorrow. He did not speak as

he undid the ropes that bound her hands.

"Scully," his voice nearly a whisper, gravel. "Did they..." his

words broke off, he voice suddenly inoperable.

Scully wondered what went on in this room. She had been ushered

into a room with a cot and left alone. For hours, it seemed.

"I'm good, Mulder, considering the bump on my head. I suppose

our work has been confiscated, but we can..." She was trying to

put it in a good light. She was puzzled by Mulder's demeanor.

"Mulder? Mulder, look at me."

She touched his face, bringing it up to face her own. He closed

his eyes against the pain he knew she would see there. "My God,

Mulder, what did they do to you?"

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

"What choice?"

He explained the choice but chose not to tell her any of the rest

of it. Not here, not now.

"We can't give them the vial, Mulder. It's all the proof we have

left. The fact that they are offering you this ultimatum tells

me that the evidence, the hard evidence we need to expose their

lies, is in that vial. We can't give it to them."

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

"I'm already dying, Mulder."

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

"Oh great. So I can disintegrate into green goo. Thanks, but no

thanks. And how do you even know they'll live up to their end of

the deal, Mulder. They've lied to you before. They know every

button to push. What makes you think that as soon as they have

the vial, they won't just kill us both."

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

"But what about the truth? They know that you'd keep on looking

Mulder. For your sister; for my captors; for your father's

assassin...for Melissa's killers. They know you'd go on until

you'd exposed it, exposed them. How can they let you go?"

Arguing with Scully ripped from him the last remnants of control.

His gaze bore into her soul, pleading for understanding,

compassion. He grasped her upper arm.

"Please, Scully, I can't...I...just...it's...Please, no

more...I..." She drew him to

her chest as they sat on the floor. Slowly, painfully, he told

her most of what the man had said. When he was finished, he

collapsed to the floor, his head in Scully's lap. She mindlessly

stroked his hair, telling him in hushed tones that it would be

all right. Even she didn't believe it. Mulder wept for his

innocence lost; for the years; for his sister; his father. He

wept for grandparents he would never know, died long ago at the

hands of them men with which he had to now strike a bargain. A

bargain that would allow their work to go on unfettered.

"Scully, I have to do this. We have no other choice. We can

sti..." He suddenly remembered that they were being watched. He

stopped. A new tactic. For their hosts. "Scully. I need to do

this for myself. For once in my life. I've been dealt all the

worst hands. I've lost it all. Except for you. I can't lose

you

before I've even had you..." He smiled at the double entendre.

"I know you're sick...and you may die. But whatever time you

have left..."

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

sighed.

"Scully, I won't make the deal unless you agree to it. It's your

ova in that vial. I think we both know that now...or else our

polite host wouldn't be so anxious to obtain it from us."

"Make the deal." Mulder bolted upright, looking directly into

her eyes. She nodded tightly. He responded in kind.

The door flew open, startling the two agents, huddled together on

the floor. "Not interrupting anything, I trust, Hmm? Your

answer Mr. Mulder."

"I agree to the proposition. But I have to insist on something."

Scully looked quizzically at him. "I have to insist that the

contents of the vial are destroyed. In our presence." His voice

carried a confidence that not-quite-effectively covered the

torment in his eyes. A sick feeling, deep in the pit of his

stomach, appeared from nowhere at the unthinkable thought of

destroying Scully's ova. What if...he forced the thought from

his mind.

"Agreed. As you probably realize all the other vials were

destroyed at that facility during an unfortunate explosion."

Mulder had read about the firebombing of the Lombard Research

Facility. It had been attributed to anti-abortion terrorists.

"Wait," Scully interrupted. "I"m going to take a pass on

your kind offer of a gene therapy treatment of my cancer. I'd

rather take my chances with mother nature and bioethical

medicine." Mulder glared at her, stunned. He disagreed with her

to the core of his heart. But he had to support her. It was

her life, her body. He looked away, defeated. The

well-groomed man looked back to Mulder, waiting for him to react

to what was obivously a not-intended turn of events. Mulder only

looked at Scully, grasping her hand in his, intwining his fingers

with hers. He nodded at her, understanding, trusting her with

her own life and with his. For like their fingers, their lives,

too, were intertwined.

The well-groomed man produced an envelope filled with keys,

taken from Mulder, his apartment, the hotel suite, from Scully

and her home. Mulder shook his head. "I assume you have my

wallet?" The man snapped his fingers and his companion left the

room momentarily to return with Mulder's wallet. Mulder removed

a hotel key card. He handed it to the man, feeling the last

shreds of his dignity drain through his hands. He closed his

eyes, a shield against his growing sense of loss. "It opens a

freezer storage locker in New York City. Do you have a pen?" A

pen and a slip of paper were produced. Mulder wrote an address.

"You're in luck, Agent Mulder, we happen to be in New York City

now. You probably didn't know that, come to think of it. As

soon as we recover our merchandise, you will be free to go. You

can even have back your cash and credit cards. Sorry, but I

think you'll understand if we feel the need to hang onto these

keys."

Mulder glared at the man, sighing with resignation. The man

smiled cheerily. "It's a pleasure doing business with you Mr.

Mulder. Regards to your lovely mother when you see her. Miss

Scully..." he bowed slightly, almost deferrentially to her and

exited the room.

Once again, Mulder and Scully were alone in the monitored room.

Mulder sagged against the wall, the full weight of reality

settling upon him like a lead weight. Scully went to him. The

spoke soul to soul, daring not to utter a word, finding

sanctuary, the only sanctuary they knew, within each other.

A bargain made and executed. Mulder and Scully found themselves

in the middle of Manhattan. "Oh yes, and one last thing." The

man handed them one-way airline tickets to National Airport.

"You were a good adversary, Mr. Mulder. Rather like your father.

You've a lot of him in you, you know. You make a formidable

team. But you know you can never win against us. I hope that's

at least one lesson you've learned from this terrible waste of

years." The window went up on the black limousine. And they

were alone. At last.

Scully began to speak. "Not here. Not now." Mulder stopped her

with a finger to her lips. She kissed the finger tenderly. He

took her into his arms holding her, kissing her. A certain

relief creeping though the despair and grief, the sorrow and the

loss. Something had ended for now. Something new would take its

place.

Epilogue

His first act was to seek out a discrete physician to remove

the implant from his forehead. That gone, Mulder felt free for

the first time in a week. He had not resurfaced, he hadn't quite

figured out how he wanted to play it yet. He needed to plan.

They needed to plan. Now he was meeting Scully in the parking

lot of the Watergate Hotel.

She appeared from the shadows. He smiled at her. She swore that

the dark garage had suddenly become fully illuminated with his

radiant smile. "Mulder."

"So how are things back at the ranch, Agent Scully?" She looked

up at him, sadness in her eyes.

"It's gone Mulder, just like he said. All of it. The office is

a burned out shell. Even your photos of Samantha." He cringed.

"Samantha." He fought with himself, debating whether he should

tell Scully what the man had said about that issue.

"Scully," he started finally, "she no longer exists. She

doesn't exist. She

works for them. She has no knowledge of me, of our family, what

her disappeance cost, nothing. I can't grieve for her. She's

not dead. I can't hate her. She's done nothing wrong. I

finally know I could have done nothing to stop it. Nothing."

"How can you know that, Mulder, for sure? Is that what the man

told you? How can you believe him. What it's another lie?"

Mulder looked at her. "He proved it. Part of the deal. A

sample of her DNA, Scully. I had it analyzed." He swallowed

hard. It was still so difficult to accept. "Hard evidence.

Evidence that even you..." the words came out harsher than

he'd intended. "...even you would believe," he concluded softly,

a whisper. "Please, Scully, I can't do this now. What about

you? How are you coping with the untimely and humiliating death

of your wacko partner, Agent Scully?"

She smiled at the deflection. "I've been reassigned to Quantico

to teach for now. People are

sympathetic. Lots of clucking of tounges about "Spooky" Mulder,

dead and gone. When are you going to resurface? You are aren't

you?"

"I don't know, Scully. Haven't figured it out yet. Life as a

ghost has its advantages, you know." He produced something from

his

pocket. A key. Two keys.

"What is it?"

"There's something I didn't tell that polite old man. Nor you.

I couldn't. I knew I was being tracked with that damn implant.

I didn't know whether they could hear me, even read my thoughts."

"Mulder, that's science fiction."

"And tell me that what we've just gone through wasn't. I have no

idea what they're capable of. Besides, let's not argue

philosophy."

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

are they?"

"This one is for you, Scully. Key to my new apartment.

Apartment 420. George Ellery Hale. And this...this is a key to

another freezer locker. Right here in DC. There's not much in

that vial...it's only a small sampling. It may not contain any

of the material at all. It could be all media. But I had to

have a backup. I learned that the first time my hard drive died

in the middle of a case. Always make a backup."

"I love you."

"I know."

The end.

Author's note: I know this is not the most satisfying ending

imaginable. But I didn't want to write the end of the

series...only what might have happened after Gethsemene...taking

us through the first couple of eps next season...Sorry, but the

shipper part of my nature (no I don't want them to sleep together

until the very, very end...well maybe I can be convinced

otherwise) had to have them confirm their love for each other in

words. Should I do a sequel?

Please send feedback. Thank you so much to all of you who have

read an earlier version of Synthesis and sent me wonderfully kind

words and

suggestions!