Disclaimer: I do not own the fantastic turn-of-the-twenty-first century heroes, Mulder and Scully, Chris Carter and 1013 Productions do, and I am in no way wanting any financial gain by writing this fanfic. In no way! With that clarified. Here is a synopsis.
This story takes bits and pieces of the second movie, and I hope my writing can accomplish the urgency of the FBI that compels them to turn to the discredited agents. I strongly felt the case needed to be a little more mysterious, more anomalous than a normal CSI case. There had to be an undeniable X-File connection, and there had to be more obstacles preventing them from returning to their old life, putting them at greater odds against each other. Tell me what you think. Here goes……..
I Want To Trust No One
1 A Special Case
The long drive back to his home helped him to ponder whether he was going to tell her about his latest sighting. It was farthest from alien to him in many respects as this new quest he had recently taken on was firmly attached to his heart, not only through emotions but through DNA. The glory days were over, and the expensive, unimaginative suits hung up to collect dust in the closet, and so it also seemed grooming instruments such as combs and razors. He struggled to keep from dwelling about the past, his lone quest, and to keep sight of the present with the thought of her as a reason for it all hoping it could comfort him a great deal. She made him feel that those days were all real, though he could never break any of the cases with hard concrete proof, as elusive as a recurring dream, a dream he didn't want to wake up from. But even when he eventually did awaken, he was most fortunate in having the voice of reason also as the keeper of his dreams. He grew excited at the thought of coming home to her.
But short a few minutes before reaching the last stretch of road that would take him to their unremarkable abode, he knew he couldn't tell her about this one yet. He knew Scully too well to believe anything out right, and he wasn't willing to convince her otherwise. If it was emotionally draining for him, which would explain his decision not to proceed, how much more would it be for her?
What he had been doing for the past six years was send anonymous letters to police precincts all over the nation, offering profiling tips in hopes of breaking cold case files, to recent ones. As much use as the Lone Gunmen could've been to him, any contact with them, would send red flags out to the FBI. He knew that from his first and last experience while still in New Mexico. He was able to establish an underground network through Gibson Praise's Navajo contacts, who kept a small-scale computer lab which Mulder was able to upgrade while they harbored him there.
She was home early, and he had just returned from a two-week stay at Camp Broken Radar, gathering more information to disseminate to his law enforcement contacts. Among his data collection were of missing kids. He was being covertly contacted by way of the "X" tape only now in the initials "JFK" by a detective, whose tenacity and unconventional methods reminded him of someone in his glory days. One child that had gone missing was the son of the Governor of Virginia. He discovered that Governor Arthur Todd's son was adopted and with a little further digging, made another discovery that this was the child's second time to be adopted. The first couple had mysteriously died in their small farm house.
"Mulder, you just got back, and you are suddenly so trusting leaving the doors unlocked," she reprimanded.
"Being transported in the back of an eighteen-wheeler for one week can give you claustrophobic tendencies and an acute case of incontinence, hence the open doors including this one," he explained without turning to look at her, gathering all the "missing child" reports and piling it into one folder.
Up until this point she didn't know whether her meeting with Agent Drummy excited her or terrified her. She wanted to let Mulder be the judge as she relayed the message.
"I was visited by the FBI, today, Mulder. They are willing to drop all charges if you come out and assist in a case that involves the deaths of several agents, who they have new reason to believe are all connected.
He turned around, and surprised her with how fast he developed a scruffy beard in two weeks.
"They want my help to find dead agents, when that's what they wanted me to be all these years."
She knew now, it had to be her to put things in the right perspective here.
"Mulder. There's a new order now. There's a greater threat to the nation, than what we've been ranting about all those years. It's real and it's an invasion that's already happening. They are giving back to you the years they took."
"Well, I deserve more than that," he protested.
"Then you and I both know how many war veterans feel. Some of them never received the justice they deserved. The truth is I worry about you, Mulder. Living in isolation was one long-standing reason and now it's the new development of disorders."
There was silence and the same famous stone-faced expression displayed on his face.
Scully broke it with, "Okay, I'll call them off."
"Wait! I'll go on one condition."
The helicopter dropped them off, and soon they were walking the same old familiar halls, which smelled and looked the same with the exception of the frame of the President. Both looked at each other and remembered Scully's previous statement, "A new order….." being an X-file in itself.
They entered a room filled with younger, busy yet clueless FBI Agents, many not familiar with Mulder's notoriety.
Agent Whitney came up to them and introduced herself. She gave Mulder a lingering look of admiration.
"So is there a suspect?" Scully asked.
"He should be, but he doesn't fit the profile," the agent whetted, and handed them a folder on Mr. Peter Spell. The photo inside pretty much summed up why. He was a double amputee from the elbows down.
"He couldn't commit those acts without his arms, but many amputees develop full dexterity of their feet," Mulder surmised.
"Mulder," Scully added, continuing to read the report, "that wouldn't be possible in his case. Those were amputated too."
"Look," Agent Whitney hastily debriefed, "this individual has been institutionalized all his life. The only time he has travelled was to receive surgery in hopes of saving his limbs. His doctors all agreed it was a success, but not to Mr. Spell. He tried everything and anything to remove the transplanted limbs."
Mulder quickly deduced the obvious, "and apparently he did," and glanced at Scully who looked up from the report.
"And what's the connection to him and the Agents?" Mulder asked.
Scully answered based on the reports, "Each limb belonged to four different agents, who had the same blood type as Mr. Spell."
"Who's the surgeon? Was he questioned?" Mulder asked.
"That's where the case begins. There were a team of visiting doctors from different parts of Europe, who did the operation on him. They're missing and there's no record of them leaving the country."
"I'm guessing you called me here, because this urgent case doesn't only involve the FBI, but because there might be a tinge to it. An x-file tinge."
He said the word, and it was as if a match was lit for a trick candle inside Mulder. His sparks were always a nuisance to kill.
"Well, we should jump in bed with this guy if we want to find anything out."
The room suddenly stood still, and the only sound heard were Scully's stiletto heels tapping closer to Mulder as she again reported,
"That wouldn't be a good idea, considering he has Paucibacillary Hansen's Disease otherwise known as tuberculoid leprosy."
His spark was now a fuse on a string as he looked at Agent Whitney and asked, "Is there any way to question him, via telephone? Reach out and touch someone. I'm sure he'd appreciate it."
Agent Whitney warned, "We can take you there, to his hospital, and his special room."
X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-
After receiving special clearance to enter the infirmary ward, there was still a distance before they got to the quarantine section. Mulder noticed Scully's preoccupation with her watch.
"Scully, you need to be some place?"
She answered, "I wanted to do a little more research on my patient's condition. I sensed a divided room of my peers when I expressed the need to perform an aggressive course of treatment."
"Well, you know how to bite the bullet. Don't forget that's why we're here too."
"I see it all over again, Mulder. A path with no rocks left unturned."
"I'm just going to ask questions. I have something that'll help them out. Trust me Scully, I've been working on this. I didn't want to say anything until now, but it helps people. It helps find people."
She was going to ask what it was, but she was awestruck at what she saw across the plastic glass dividing the two rooms. Mr. Spell was wheeled into the room, and Scully recalled reading his age to be thirty-five, but the figure before her looked like an eighty year old man.
"Mr. Spell, I'm Ag-, Dr. Scully, and we're here to ask you a few questions.."
He answered, with slurred speech, "Have we met before? Your hair was shorter though. I remember hearing sirens. In an ambulance? No! I think it was the sound of dogs. Dogs were barking, or it sounded more like cats."
Scully interrupted, "Maybe what you saw was one of the team of doctors who had taken you."
"No. I'm sure it was a while ago. So are you going to find these doctors who played this sadistic prank on me? I had nightmares of women screaming in my head, of men grabbing my hands and feet, and when I'd wake up the pain would still be there. The doctors here say that it's quite normal to have those dreams. Many transplant patients do. They say it's a psychological stage I have to hurdle over."
Suddenly Mulder jumped in, "Did you see doctors? Did you see them in your dreams?"
"Who are you? A secret agent pulled from a covert mission?" Spell asked, observing his scraggly beard.
"An unbelievably long one. Doctors, are they in your dream?" Mulder persisted.
"Yes."
"The one who operated on you, was he part of that visiting team?" Mulder asked.
"No. I heard a voice. It was speaking a different language—Russian or German, I can't tell. I felt like I was in a classroom. HHe was giving directions with every step. At first I was happy to get the transplant. I could feel again. I could write, but then the pain, the spasms and the dreams were too much. I told my doctors but they just kept giving me painkillers, It didn't help at all. Terrible things happened to those people, and it was passed on to me, until I did something. You can't imagine the relief, although I'm back to where I started. Again, I'm back to feeling nothing."
He shares this with everyone, but only looks at Scully, asking,
"Dr. Scully, did you come to help me? Or did you come just like the others using my name on their medical journals, picking and choosing which freak they'd want to help to put them in the Annals of Medicine?"
"Frankly, no. I'm not here to help you. Though your misfortune causes you enough pain to lash it out on everyone you meet, you have survived. I'm here for the four who didn't."
"How do you know they're dead?" Spell posed.
Scully just looked at him, not wanting to hurt the case by losing her temper. She felt definitely out of practice. She stood up and excused herself.
"Where are you going?" Mulder asked before she opened the door. Agent Whitney was right beside Mulder waiting for an answer too.
"It's better if I speak with the doctors. He sees me as an enemy. Maybe, I can get answers from the doctors."
"The doctors aren't any friendlier," Agent Whitney informed them, "Spell has a lawsuit against them, which complicates the case further. The only way it can be done is to set something up with their attorneys."
"You need to get that taken care of tonight. The clock is ticking now that he's given us a glimpse of hope in finding the agents," Mulder ordered.
Both women looked at him, following his lead—the only one.