5:03pm
Scully's Apt.
Georgetown
*************
Skinner met Scully at her apartment within a couple of
hours.
"What's this all about, Scully?"
"Mr. Starkweather was not the man whose autopsy I performed
a couple of hours ago."
"How do you know?"
"Dental records matched...I don't know how...but the dental
records matched. I didnt' realize that the body I just
finished an examination of was not Mr. Starkweather's."
"That still doesn't explain how you know it wasn't his."
Skinner persisted.
"I was looking at what was left of the victim's eyes for
detection of poisoning beforehand, and the color wasn't
right. Starkweather had brown eyes...the body I examined
had blue ones."
"So what do you think that means?" Skinner asked, messaging
his sinuses.
"I'm not sure..." Scully hesitated, "it could be entirely
likely that Ben Starkweather is still alive."
"Have you showed your evidence to the detectives in charge
of this case yet?"
"No..." she said, taking a deep breath, "As long as we
think Ben Starkweather is dead, whoever is behind this
whole mess won't harm us."
"Scully..." Skinner began cautiously, "I think Mulder's
getting to you...do you realize what you're implicating? I
*know* he didn't do anything he was charged with, but to
say it's part of some giant conspiracy is a bit far-
fetched."
"I know it's out in left-field...but Doggett and I saw four
men...one of them Mulder's boss and one of them ours.
Another was Admiral Jeremy Bailey..."
"Starkweather's father?" Skinner blurted out. Scully
nodded. "Do you think Agent Starkweather was put here to
cover for her dad?
"It's possible...but Sir...she's one of the best Agents
I've worked with in a long time...she's held her own in
that office, and just because her adoptive father's used
her as a pawn is not cause for dismissal."
"I agree completely..." Skinner "I have absolutely no
intentions of transferring her. Kersh would be all too
happy to see her go."
"I'll bet Kersh is dancing on Ben's casket." Scully said
with a sly grin.
"Well, Kersh is thrilled with this incident," Skinner
admitted. "With Mulder out of the way like this, and
Doggett concentrating on his own issues, there's no time
left for investigation of his own office, let alone media
frenzy reflecting negatively on the FBI. The FBI is
positively glowing right now. How's Agent Starkweather
holding up?"
"Doggett's the better one to field that question, sir.
Quite frankly, with my ties to Mulder, I'm not sure I want
to be caught in her crossfire just yet. She's got a very
strong spirit, Sir."
"Wilting flower, Jerilyn Starkweather ain't. That's for
sure." Skinner growled. "How do you propose to prove all
this implications?"
Sam knew Mulder's only offense was his talent to get people
annoyed at him, but jack-assness wasn't something that was
punishable by law. As aggravating as he was at times, Sam
was beginning to understand that Mulder sometimes had to
forego being likable in order to find the truth he made his
life's work to seek. Despite that, or maybe even because
of, Sam still found himself wishing he could spend more
time on Mulder's quest for the Truth, and more driven than
ever to stop his projected end. People that driven by such
a one-sided cause are sometimes as compassionate as they
are purposefully irritating. But...Sam decided...that just
came with the territory. Either way, he couldn't let Mulder
end his quest...not now.
The first step in that direction seemed to be getting
Starkweather convinced that Mulder didn't commit her
husband's murder. He had to convince her somehow that there
was no murder even committed, but that wasn't the first
priority for now. The first priority at this moment was
getting Scully to convince Starkweather that Mulder wasn't
playing her for a fool.
Sam got in the pick-up and headed to Doggett's house,
whipped out the cell phone, and dialed Scully's number.
"Scully, it's Doggett."
"What's going on? You found anything?"
"Sorta...how do you feel towards Starkweather right now?"
"What does that have to do with anything?" Scully demanded
"Oh...nothing..." Sam lied, "just answer the question, will
ya?"
"Um...no hard feelings, sympathy...why?"
"Wouldn't you agree that she'd be a good ally to have on
this case?"
"Of course...but she won't stand up to her father, and she
thinks Mulder killed her husband. I wouldn't wanna stay in
the x-files if I were her either."
"Well...I think she might have changed her mind about
staying in the x-files. What if I brought her over to your
place say around six to talk things over?"
"Sure...that sounds fine...I'll order some pizza or
something for dinner. I'd fix a real meal, but there isn't
many groceries here beyond baby food."
"That'll be great Scully...thanks. Making any progress?"
"Uh huh," Scully said, nodding her head as if he could see
her, "Booked a flight to Martha's Vineyard a half an hour
ago. Skinner's going to get me a search warrant for the
Admiral's summer home. I'm hoping I'll have something solid
there."
"Me too...see you at six." He affirmed, and hung up, hoping
that he would be able to touch base with Al. As hard as it
was going to be for him, he needed to give Starkweather
some proof that Ben was still alive.
He hoped that was what she really wanted.
Sam knew Scully would straighten Starkweather out where
Mulder was concerned, now all he needed to do was come up
with some way to convince her that Ben was still alive. Al
was waiting for him inside.
"How's it going, Sam? How's Starkweather holding up?"
"She'll be just fine if I can figure out some way to
convince her Ben's still alive. We need her as an ally. I
think she's coming around, though."
"That's good to know..." Al said it as if he was waiting
for something more. When Sam filled the beat of silence
with a gulp of coffee, he decided to drop the issue. "Any
ideas?"
"Al...I know what you're thinking..."
"Sam...it would be much easier if you just follow my
philosophy with women, you know buddy?"
"...over one million served is a slogan with golden arches
under it...not a philosophy." Sam growled.
"I just hate seeing you beat yourself up over women every
single time. Your brain ain't the only organ swiss-
cheezed**."
"My love life is not up for discussion, Al..." he hissed
indignantly, "this is about getting Mulder out of jail so I
can leap...who knows..."
"...yeah, I know...I know...for now, though, we gotta come
up with some way to get the Little Hurricane to help break
Spooky outta the joint...listen to me...I sound like
someone off the A-Team..." he grumbled, shaking his head.
"Can she still see you?"
"Huh?"
"Starkweather...can she still see you?"
"I think so...why? What have you got up your sleeve, Sam?"
"How are your wings?"
"My wings?" Al sputtered, "Sam...I think the swiss-cheeze
effect has gotten to your head, kid."
"Pollish your halo, Al...Starkweather's gonna have a
revelation tonight."
"Sam...I think I lost my halo with my Little Orphan Annie
decoder ring. No...wait," Al spat, "I lost *that* with my
virginity...I lost my *halo* somewhere in the pacific...we
got bored, so we started playing frisbee with it, wind
caught...and..."
"Al..." Sam admonished, pretending to be annoyed.
Then he headed out the door to Scully's place
Scully, still waiting for files to load, picked up her
cellphone again.
"Byers, it's Scully. Can you boys do something for me
please?"
"Sure, Scully. What's up?"
"I need you to get something for me. Is there any way you
can access Mulder's phone records and personal files and
fax them to the office?"
"Yeah, sure..." Byers started, but Langley took over.
"Only if you tell me why you need them."
"You don't think he's up to something, do you?" Frohike
butted in.
"You haven't read the paper this morning yet have you?"
Scully said with a heavy sigh. She really hated giving them
bad news.
"Scully, we don't exactly have a mailing address,
remember?" Frohike reminded.
"I don't think he's up to something, but we...I...need
those as proof."
"Proof for what? Mulder's in trouble again?"
"We have to ask that, Frohicke?" Langley butted in.
"He was arrested this morning for the murder of Mr.
Starkweather. We need that stuff as proof so we can get
Mrs. Starkweather..."
"The one who had me in a death grip yesterday?" Frohike
interrupted.
"That's the one." Scully answered with an annoyed tone.
"Nice girl." Langly chided.
Scully barely held in a scream. "We need that proof so we
can get Mrs. Starkweather on our side. If she's convinced
Mulder didn't kill her husband then she'll help us clear
his name."
"That shouldn't be a problem." Frohike said. Scully heard
the beeping and whirring of a computer being booted up. "We
can send it to you as a .ZIP file in about half an hour."
"That'd be great guys, thanks." Scully said, taking off her
glasses and messaging her forehead, "I appreciate it."
"How's Will doing?" Frohike managed to sputter out before
Scully hung up.
"He's asleep." She said flatly. "Frohike, I'd love to chat,
but I'm just a bit busy at the moment." She abruptly hung
up on him as the files she was waiting on finally printed
out.
Just as the last page printed out the phone rang again.
She would've just left it to order the pizza, but the CLD
identified the number from the FBI. "Scully." She responded
curtly.
"I've got the warrant issued." Skinner was saying. "I hadda
pull a few strings, but I got it. All you hafta do is pick
it up before your flight departs."
"Thanks, I appreciate it. See you tomorrow." She didn't
wait for him to say anything before hanging up.
Then she dialed for pizza.
Later on that afternoon....
George Washington University Hospital
901 23rd Street NW
Washington DC
"Ready, Mrs. Starkweather?" The doctor said with a smile,
holding the small circular saw which he was going to use to
cut the cast off.
Starkweather flinched at the word 'Mrs.' "Ready," she said,
positioning her arm.
The saw gnawed loudly through the plaster. Starkweather
turned her head away. "Here we go," he said, peeling the
rest of the cast off of her. "Looks good as new," he
proclaimed.
Starkweather thought it looked skinny and dandruffy.
"Gross," she muttered, brushing the dead skin flakes off
and away.
"That will all wash off." The doctor said good naturedly.
He rotated her wrist. "Any pain?"
"No."
"Tingling sensations in the fingertips?"
"No. Feel fine."
"Then, why are you so pale, Mrs. Starkweather?"
"Um... I just received some REALLY bad news before I came
here."
"I'm sorry to hear that," he said but did not push for
which, Starkweather was infinitely grateful.
He fitted her with the splint that she had to wear for
another month, which would be a pain, but infinitely
preferable over the hot, heavy cast she had been wearing
for over a month. The doctor gave her some instructions For
her at-home physical therapy and released her.
Starkweather got into the car, but did not go home. She did
not go to Scully's right away either.
She went to the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
She needed to re-read that damn file that started this
entire mess. Starkweather was convinced that there was
something that everyone was overlooking.
"Unfortunately, I'm only gonna know it when I find it," she
muttered, flexing her "bad" hand, the right hand, before
she started up the car and drove away while thinking
guiltily I wonder if I can handle the motorcycle now that
the cast is off? for only a few nights back, she told her
husband not to drink too much while at dinner with friends
because she wouldn't be able to work the Kawasaki very well
with her broken hand.
In a park in Starkweather and Mulder's neighborhood...
*****************************************************
"Look, Admiral," Kersh was saying, "I'd like to stop it,
but we've gone too far now. The scale is too momentous;
your daughter is only a grieving widow now. Undoubtedly,
she will leave her position on the x-files after this
ordeal, and do so with her career unscathed."
"Kersh," the Admiral replied, skirting around him making it
certain that they wouldn't be seen talking, "how long have
you been working on the FBI?"
"A very long time, sir."
"In your entire career, have you ever known someone to
willingly leave the x-files office?"
"Come to think of it Jeremy," Kersh paused for a thoughtful
beat of silence, "I haven't. If I didn't know any better,
I'd say Mulder still sucks people in somehow."
"That senior officer, Agent Scully..." Admiral Bailey
mused, "I knew her as a little girl. We'd vacation over the
summer. I would never have figured her to work with the
likes of Fox Mulder. Even as a little girl, she was all
seriousness. I don't want to start anything that leads in
bloodshed. I just want my little girl to stay ignorant."
"If that's going to happen, Admiral," Kersh answered,
"we're going to have to close the x-file division. Even
then, we still can't guarantee your daughter won't find out
the truth through other venues. Some people will have to be
terminated."
"I can't have that weight on my conscience, Alvin. Knowing
the truth would kill my little girl...but not at that
cost."
"People will be terminated, Admiral Bailey, regardless of
what Jerilyn may or may not know. The x-files division
cannot remain open if our cause is to continue. What if we
save thousands of lives at the sacrifice of a few, or what
if we save the human race..."
"What-if games only get people killed." Mayor Swanson
softly insisted as he approached the pair. "I want them
stopped. We have done enough--we have done too damn much.
Admiral, do you want your little girl to love you for a
lie?"
"I don't want her to hate me for the truth." The Admiral
answered in a self-admonishing whisper.
Without a word, Kersh pointed a gun at the Admiral. "I
think you should reconsider your stance on this, Jeremy."
Mayor Swanson stood wide-eyed at the barrel pointed at the
Admiral. The Admiral closed his eyes slowly. "Lynn,
honey..." he murmured softly looking Heavenwards.
"Alvin, are you sure you know what you're doing?" the Mayor
began cautiously. "In a public place...in broad
daylight...we'd be found for sure."
"No one's around for a few miles, Harry. No one but the
birds and squirrels, and they ain't talkin'." The gun
clicked as his finger tightened around the trigger.
Despite Mayor Harry Swanson's slight build, by having the
advantage of surprise, he managed to grab Kersh's arm and
point the gun skyward. "Jeremy!" Mayor Swanson hollered,
and the Admiral leapt to his feet, both the men tackling
Kersh, the Admiral belting Kersh in the stomach, hard
enough to make him double over.
"Murder is not our policy." The Admiral hissed, shakily
holding the gun in Kersh's ear.
"I'd keep that in mind if I were you, Alvin." Mayor Swanson
chided. "I heard about how you ran things." The Mayor said,
giving him a swift kick in the gut, eliciting a low groan.
"My Deputy told me everything."
"You're right...no one around..to hear us...but birds...and
squirrels...for miles." the Admiral said, accentuating
every so often following the Mayor's movements. "And they
ain't talkin'."
"Mulder's in jail now," The Mayor said, silently
admonishing himself for the small part he played in that,
"the x-files are no harm to our cause anymore. There's no
need to bring any bloodshed unless it's from your own ass.
I can't...I can't do this anymore." He glanced at both at
them. "You both make me nauseous." he fumed indignantly,
"How you two can sit back and save the world at the cost of
the people who make living in this world worth it is beyond
me!"
"You are such a hypocrite, Harry." Kersh growled as soon as
he was able to catch his breath, "Here you are
pontificating about what you were doing, and there you go
sitting on a fence. At least we are choosing to do
something about our fate."
"Our fate was something we could do about?" The Mayor fired
back, and stormed off. The Admiral shot Kersh one last
dirty look, and followed him.
They didn't stay long enough to see Kersh's form twist and
contort until Kersh was no longer recognizable as the
Deputy Director of the FBI...
...but as Billy Miles.
Later on....
J. Edgar Hoover Builder
The X-Files Office
Starkweather had been sitting at Mulder's old desk for over
two hours now, pouring through the oil rig case file,
unconsciously nibbling on the sunflower seeds that had been
laying on his desk. "F*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck, F*CK!!!!!" she
finally cursed aloud, in complete frustration. With one
sweeping motion, she knocked EVERYTHING off of his desk.
She buried her face in her hands.
Skinner walked in just in time to see pens, sunflower
seeds, pages of files, folders, desk planner, highlighters,
paper clips, a calculator and a coffee mug flying
everywhere. The coffee mug shattered on impact.
"Agent Starkweather?" he asked carefully.
She didn't even look up. "Yes sir?"
"You should be at home."
"I was going insane at home sir. I thought if I came here,
maybe I could be productive," she finally looked up. "Ha,"
she said bitterly.
Skinner coughed before going on. "I took the liberty of
notifying Ben's parents of the bad news," he said gruffly.
"I hope I didn't overstep my boundaries."
If Skinner was worried about being on the receiving end of
her mingled wrath and grief, the look of gratitude on her
haggard face alieved any concerns. "No... that... that was
good of you," she said, equally gruff.
"Starkweather, go home."
"Sir, with all due respect... I can't... I have to..."
"You have to take time to grieve, Agent," Skinner said
sternly. Starkweather rested her head in her hands again.
He crouched down to pick up the scattered sheets of paper
from the file she sent sailing across the room. "Let Scully
and Doggett take care of this. You need to tend to your
personal needs," he stood up, holding papers in his hand.
"That is an order, Agent Starkweather."
But Starkweather wasn't listening to Skinner, she was
staring at the photocopy that he was holding. "Let me see
that sir," she said, getting up from Mulder's desk.
"See what?" Skinner asked but she had already taken the
paper from him.
"Oh my God... oh my God... this is it... this is the link.
Jesus... sir... if Mulder is innocent... then this entire
fucking game makes sense..."
"What is it?" Skinner instantly forgot his order for
Starkweather to relieve her duties.
"It's not conclusive, it won't get Mulder out of jail...
but it makes perfect sense... and it's a start," she waved
the photocopy of an indigenous man's green card in front of
him. "I can't believe I missed this. According to Doggett's
report, two men were singled out and killed on the rig. Two
men from a remote indigenous village in Mexico. They were
immune to that black oil stuff. Now, whether it's truly go
from Mars or a man-made biologically engineered nightmare
is inconclusive, but it HAS been proven that it exists and
documented that it is a virus, capable of destroying a
living organism within days, correct?"
"Yes..." Skinner said slowly. "You can say that."
"Plus, it has also been proven and documented that Agent
Scully was infected with this black oil by a bee sting and
was saved by a vaccine given to Mulder from a dubious
source, correct?"
"Yes... but I don't follow Starkweather."
She continued, growing excited, "If Mulder's wild tales are
true... about the Syndicate... launching a massive
biological war on the public... as dogged as our fine media
is... the minute they would find out there is a deadly
virus out there, but there was a race that was immune to
the disease, they would broadcast it to the four winds. As
advanced as our medical technology is as well... WE could
have our own vaccine or maybe at least a therapy to slow
the progress of the black oil's effects until a cure could
be found. Plus, if you connect it to the whole bee-sting
thing... if you remember, a few years back, there was a
scare about killer bees, aggressive, volatile stinging bees
coming into the United States from Mexico. Scully was stung
by a bee in Texas and according to THAT file..." she dove
into the tall file cabinet, thumbed through some files,
pulled out the one she wanted and flipped through the
pages, "she was stung by a African honey bee, the same bee
that was imported from Africa to Mexico that started the
panic. She was stung in Texas, near the Mexican border."
She said triumphantly. "Don't you see? It would completely
blow the conspiracy into the open. Mulder and Doggett
didn't want this to come to light because they were worried
about the safety of their near and dear ones... but they
never thought about the bigger picture."
"Which is?"
"The AIDS virus has been around for years, decades. So has
Ebola, the Hanta virus... you name the disease, it has been
around longer than the dinosaurs. There is no such thing as
a 'new' disease. People think it's new because they've
never heard about it before. Only when they become educated
about it, then they panic and start screaming for a cure.
Plus, if it comes to light that the oil rig has been
attempting import the virus itself to the United States,
all hell would break loose. The Syndicate would be screwed
because either A-- if they really are aliens and they're in
cohorts with them... they're screwed because ET is going to
be pissed that the race of immune humans were not taken
care of. And then we're talking about 'Independence Day.'Or
B -- if they are doing this themselves... with all the
information Mulder and Scully have complied over the
years... we've got the makings of a real witch hunt right
here. Heads would start to roll. And all of this would have
come out if Ben would have succeeded in bringing it to
trial. "
"How does that clear Mulder of..." Skinner stopped himself
before he said "Ben's murder."
"That's the problem..." Starkweather said. "It doesn't. But
it's making me re-think somethings..."
"You think Mulder's innocent then?" Skinner asked
hopefully.
His hopes were dashed when she said "I said it's making me
rethink some things. I only said this theory makes sense if
Mulder was innocent, but I have no evidence. Just a hunch.
I'm not going to run on a hunch, I'm going to research it.
I'm making no moves until I have conclusive proof of either
his guilt or innocence."
"A man is innocent until proven guilty." He reminded her.
To which she responded, "Every man is guilty of
something..."
Skinner couldn't place it, but the way Starkweather looked
up at him, and the way she was sitting at the desk with her
arms confrontation-ally crossed echoed something familiar.
He stooped down, helping her pick up the debris on the
floor.
"Regardless of whether or not Mulder's guilty or innocent
of his charges, you still need the rest." Skinner insisted.
"Sir, I'm only going to be able to rest until I find out
the truth behind what happened to my husband. That truth
may or may not clear the x-files, and along with it the
founder of this division. Scully and Doggett both have
their hands full right now."
"I appreciate your dedication to finding the truth, but
your health and well-being is not up for discussion. Scully
and Doggett are very capable of carrying on this
investigation by themselves."
"Is that all you came down here, for, Sir? To tell me to go
home?" She said, crinkling her nose in amusement, making
Skinner wish again that he could remember why that seemed
so familiar, "Because I have a hunch to research, and Ben's
not going to rest in peace until I resolve his case."
"Yes, I did come down here for something. Deputy Director
Kersh wants you, me, Doggett and Scully all in his office
tomorrow for review, and I have a s--" he stopped himself
short of saying 'search warrant' "something for Scully."
"I'm on my way over to her apartment in a few minutes, I
can deliver it for you."
"That won't be necessary, Starkweather, but I appreciate
the offer. Off the record, Jerilyn," Skinner began gruffly,
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"You're only sorry Ben was murdered" Starkweather hissed
coldly, "because the FBI's former Golden Boy is in trouble
for it, and will probably spend the rest of his life behind
bars for what he did. With all due respect, I know full
well that if Ben's case had been allowed to continue, your
little cause would be shot down in a heartbeat, and your
career would most likely be over." She glowered, her gaze
full of ferocious intent.
"Agent Starkweather," he growled with his jaw clinched
fiercely, "are you even aware of what you just implicated?
You have just proven to me now more than ever that you need
your grieving period. Don't think for one minute that
taking your anger out on me, Mulder, or anyone else is
going to bring Ben back. And if this anger harbored towards
anyone is causing friction within the ranks of this
division, believe me, I will not hesitate to recommend a
transfer." With that, he stormed out.
At that moment, Starkweather was grateful that her wrist
had just been taken out of the cast, because she needed to
throw something.
Hard.
"Well, Ben got what he fucking wanted." She grumbled.
She picked up one of the larger fragments of the mug that
was still scattered on the floor and threw it against the
wall, smattering it into smaller bits and then landing it
in the trashcan.
"You hear that Ben!" She screamed picking up another piece,
and promptly smashing it against he wall, "I fucked up
ANOTHER position, got on ANOTHER boss's bad side."
The motion was followed again swiftly with another of the
larger fragments. She didn't notice that her wrist was
throbbing.
"I'll be lucky now to get a janitorial position at Quantico
after this." She almost-whispered, nursing her wrist. She
sat back down at the desk, hoping one more look would earn
her the answers she needed, looking sadly over at Doggett's
desk.
Doggett, for reasons beyond her comprehension, seemed to
think Mulder was innocent. She knew Skinner was certain of
his former agent's innocence. Her eyes averted to Scully's
desk. She walked behind it, and glanced at the picture of
her, Mulder, and Will at what was a apparently taken at
Will's christening.
She didn't know Scully for very long, but the brief period
of time that she had watched Mulder and Scully interact
showed her that Scully was no pushover. There wasn't very
much that Scully let Mulder get away with, and as much as
she wanted to hate Mulder, she knew that it was illogical
to think that Dana Scully would allow herself to be taken
for a fool. She glanced at her wristwatch.
Maybe, Starkweather hoped, the meeting in Scully's kitchen
was for answers. She locked the door behind her and headed
for her car.
She drove by just missing the stiff movements of a form
that what was once Kersh, and what was once a human Billy
Miles swiftly approaching the tourist entrance of the FBI
office.
En Route to Scully's
*******************
Something gnawed at Starkweather as she started up her car.
She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something wasn't
right. She stopped by the county courthouse for the arresting
report. To Starkweather, Mulder had a crystal clear motive for
killing her husband. Ben's investigation would challenge the
world as we know it. If they wanted to nail Mulder, the strongest
evidence for the prosecution would be any peice of Ben's argument.
But the hole in her case against Mulder was that there was
none of Ben's evidence in the police reports found in the
searches done either at Mulder's or Scully's apartments.
It's the end of the world as we know it
(I I am am not alone)
It's the end of the world as we know it
(I I am am not alone)
It's the end of the world as we know it
And I feel fine
"Michael Stipe, you don't know the half of it."
Starkweather grumbled as she flipped the station. She
couldn't deny that a lot of the police evidence piled up
against Mulder was circumstantial.
I know your only protecting yourself
I know your thinking of somebody else
Some people look for a miracle cure
Some people just accept the world as it is
But I know this is a fight I can't loose
The accused is an innocent man
Starkweather was thrilled at that moment that she just
pulled up into Scully's place. It hit her as she rang
ascended in the elevator. Doggett could have easily been
set up, or herself for that matter. It made sense that
Mulder would have been set up, but she still needed proof
that he didn't commit the crime.
She approached Scully's door with a great deal of
apprehension. After all, she did just destroy the x-files
shrine. Maybe she shouldn't own up to that just yet.
"Starkweather, come in, I've got pizza on the way.
I'm...uh...sorry for your loss." Scully said rather
awkwardly with a strained, thin, smile crossing her lips,
and ushered her on the couch. "Doggett's on his way. I've
got some fresh coffee brewing if you'd like some."
"That'd be great, Scully, thanks. Listen...about what
happened this morning with Mulder..."
"Starkweather, it's alright." Scully consented, rising to
get the coffee. "I know what it's like..." she handed her
the mug, "not to belittle your situation, but the strange
thing about what you did is that I've seen Mulder act the
exact same way." She buried her head sheepishly in her
hands. "If I wasn't around a bunch of people when I first
met Doggett, I would have done a lot more harm than get his
face wet. It's forgiven and forgotten."
"Do you have any idea why Doggett asked me here?"
Starkweather questioned, taking a long gulp of coffee.
"I think it has something to do with the case. I've got
something to show you. I want you to know that I still
count you as an ally, whether you think Mulder is guilty or
not."
"I appreciate that..." Starkweather hesitated, "but there's
something else you should know before you stick up for
me..."
"Just because Skinner threatened to transfer you doesn't
mean we're gonna let it happen..." Scully started.
"That's not it..." Starkweather said sheepishly.
"What is it?" Scully asked harboring a quizzical smile
across her face.
"Gravity." Starkweather replied slowly
"Huh?"
"I was looking for anything that might help Doggett's
case," Starkweather began sheepishly, "and I kind of
knocked everything off the shrine. The
mug...everything...I'll replace the mug, of course..."
"That's alright Starkweather," Scully said with a groan. "I
dunno why we keep his old desk like that. While he was
missing it was a way of keeping him in that office, as
though he'd be coming back. Doggett kept it up out of
respect for me, but eventually when Reyes comes back full
time, we'd have to make room for her. I appreciate your
honesty."
"Well," Starkweather replied. "I'll go in tomorrow and put
the mess back. Any new light on the case?"
Just then the doorbell rang. Just behind a youth with a
face just as pepperonied as the pizza in the box he was
carrying came Sam. He took the box and paid for it.
"You didn't have to do that, John." Scully said with a
broad smile.
"Consider it a consolation prize." Sam said dryly.
"Scully," he said, setting the pizza box down on the
kitchen counter, "I want you to explain to Starkweather
exactly why Mulder couldn't have been guilty of killing her
husband." He felt like a parent talking two kids out of a
fight.
It was Scully's turn to hesitate, she prolonged the answer
by playing hostess. "I'll get some plates."
"I need to hear why you think Mulder's innocent of his
charges, Scully." Starkweather started.
"Starkweather, the e-mail I was printing out earlier is
something I want you to look at." Scully said, skillfully
skirting the question Sam had wanted her to answer. "I had
Byers scan me a copy of Mulder's phone records and email
all his e-mails, from both his work account and personal
account. They're all to either people with the FBI or the
Gunmen. Not one of those numbers are questionable. None of
his e-mails are questionnable either...well...unless you
count his sense of humor...but his behavior is completely
in line."
"You asked me here to get me to believe Mulder's innocent?"
Starkweather demanding, her eyes glancing from Scully to
Doggett. "That is phucking incredible..." she murmured.
"Starkweather," Sam began desperately, "look, if it *was* a
set-up for what happened on that oil-rig case, I could have
just as easily been set up as Mulder was, or Scully."
"We're not trying to persuade you to believe anything,
Starkweather." Scully argued. "We're trying to find the
truth here. I understand that the grief is clouding your
judgment right now, but I think you missed one clear peice
of evidence."
"And what was that?" Starkweather questioned fiercely.
"That all the evidence built up against Mulder was
circumstancial." Scully finished, sighing exasperatingly.
"They are about to hang someone over proof no more solid
than"--he saw Al appear in a shadow just then, "a
hologram." Sam offered.
"Look Starkweather," Scully persisted angrily, "The reason
I know positively beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is
innocent of those charges is" here she glanced warningly at
Sam, who in kind gave her an urging nod, "he was with me
that night." She finished softly with a sigh.
*Busy bunnies* Al mouthed from his shadows. Sam shot him an
annoyed glare.
"Oh God." Starkweather whispered. "Scully...I
didn't....well, I did but...Jesus fucking Christ,
Scully...I'm really sorry."
"Starkweather, it's alright...you didn't know." She looked
apologetically up at Sam. "Nobody knew."
"I think they got the idea when Will came along." Al
couldn't help himself from whispering, earning him another
warning glare from Sam.
"Who said that?" Starkweather demanded, snapping around in
the direction of the whisper. Sam feigned ignorance. "Damn,
I need to lay off the coffee. Ever since this whole thing
exploded, I've been hearing things. You think the alien DNA
is contagious?"
"Do you still think Mulder's guilty of killing your
husband?" Scully softly persisted.
Starkweather bit her lip, pressing her palm in her forehead
with her elbow propped on the edge of the couch. "I don't
know what to think, Scully. If he was with you...I believe
you...but if he's innocent of these charges..." her voice
wavered and her lips quivered as she made the realization.
"...then there's only one other likely possibility here..."
"Your father?" Sam finished for her, and over her shoulder,
gave an urging glance over at Al.
*I'll find what I can* Al mouthed. Starkweather bolted up
the minute the click and sweep of the chamber door
resounded.
"I'm loosing my fucking mind." Starkweather mumbled.
"Starkweather," Scully hesitated, "If you want a transfer
still..."
"No." she answered firmly, "This is the only way I can
protect Ben's memory..." a thin smile crossed her lips, "by
fighting the darkside. So...where do we start looking for
evidence."
"Doggett and I will handle gathering evidence.
Starkweather," Scully insisted gently, "you have to take
time for yourself now."
"I *need* to find the truth, Scully."
"I know you need to find the truth, but you won't find it
with a clear head." Sam insisted.
"Sometimes," Scully said thoughtfully, "the truth is like
rain--repressing, oppressing, comforting, gray, and
drenching all at once but in the same composition,
refreshing and life-giving; offering rainbows or clear
skies at its end. Get out of the rain for a little while,
Starkweather. You need to rest."
Sam drove Starkweather home. During the pow wow, he
couldn't help but notice that Starkweather had kept nodding
off, jerking her head up whenever she started to doze off.
Her exhaustion caused her to miss another opportunity to
formally meet Agent Reyes as she came over to sit with Will
again. Starkweather just sort of mumbled hello with her
eyes closed as Sam lead her out the door.
In her daze, Starkweather went to her car, dropping the
keys on the sidewalk. Sam scooped them up. "Uh-uh, you're
coming with me."
"Aw, Doggett, come on..." Starkweather complained. "I'm not
that feeble."
"But you're exhausted," Sam argued. "And it's been proven
that more automotive accidents are caused by sleep
deprivation than drunken driving. I'll take you home."
And so, as Sam took her to her apartment, she had fallen
asleep, her head leaning again the window. Sam kept
stealing looks at her. She was still wearing the white
shirt and black dress slacks she had on this morning when
they went to the police station. The cast was gone though,
replaced by a slender white splint that molded to her
wrist. Her hair, lock by lock, was beginning to escape the
military perfect bun she usually styled her hair in.
Sam parked Doggett's truck in front of Starkweather's
apartment building. He looked at himself in the rearview
mirror.
Doggett's tired face stared back at him. Huge purple-
smudges ring the icy blue eyes. The lines in the craggy
face looked even deeper than before. He needed a shave. He
needed to sleep, perhaps even worse than Starkweather. He
had almost nodded off a few times himself as he drove
Starkweather home.
"Starkweather?" he said gently. "Jerilyn? Hey, wake up."
"Huh?" Starkweather's eyes popped out as if waking up from
a bad dream, then her eyes fluttered shut again.
Sam smiled wryly. He got out and walked around the truck to
Starkweather's side. He carefully pried Starkweather's
house keys out of her hands. He picked her up and slid her
out of the truck. Awkwardly, he managed to hit the power
locks of the trucks, then kicked the door shut.
Starkweather never stirred.
Sam carried her up the stairs to her apartment and into the
livingroom, placing her gently on the sofa. He found two
pillows and propped them behind her head. Then he fumbled
through her darken apartment to hopefully find blankets.
In the process, he tripped over the cat who was laying
peacefully in front of the open doorway to Starkweather's
bedroom
"Ooff!," Sam landed face first.
He could have swore he heard the cat snickering.
Grabbing a quilt off of the bed, he went back to the living
room. He covered Starkweather. But she still looked
dreadfully uncomfortable, so Sam tilted her head up just a
bit and one by one, plucked the hairpins out so she
wouldn't be laying on an uncomfortable knot of hair. The
only sounds in the moonlit apartment was the **plink
plink** of metal hairpins dropping on the coffee table.
Starkweather, as if drugged, never even stirred.
Sam gently lowered her head back on the pillow, pushing her
long, thick hair out of her face. He pushed her heavy bangs
out of her eyes and noticed an odd looking scar on her
forehead Wonder how she got that Sam wondered. He
noticed that, even in sleep, her brow was crinkled in
dismay and her lips were turned down. Not even in sleep was
Starkweather getting a reprieve from the guilt and sorrow
that hounded her.
Sam turned his attention to her socks and shoes, lifting
the blanket off her feet so he could remove her sensible
black penny loafers, shined to a military spit polish.
Starkweather moved slightly, giggling just a little in her
sleep as Sam slipped her shoes and socks off.
Sam could not suppress a grin, "Ticklish, huh?" he said
quietly as he turned back to look at her face, which looked
a little more peacefull. "Sorry," he whispered as he kissed
her cheek.
"SAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMM," Out of nowhere, Al's voice, chock full
of warning rang out. Sam turned and saw Al glowering at him
at the foot of the couch. "Uh-uh, she's a married woman."
Meanwhile... Starkweather twitched... dreaming.
Later...
The Mayor's office
City Hall
Washington DC
The Admiral sunk into the Mayor's comfortable leather sofa.
He pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. The Mayor
went to his little private wet bar and prepared two stiff
drinks. "I made you a double, Jeremy," he said, handing him
the glass.
The Admiral took a long pull from the glass, letting Dr.
Jack Daniels work his miracle cure. "Deputy Director Kersh
seems to have forgotten himself," he mumbled.
"I'll say... Jesus, Jeremy... I thought you said you have
control over him?"
The Admiral shook his head miserably. "Control is an
illusion. I haven't had control over anything for the past
twenty-eight years." He turned to look at an ashen-faced
Mayor. "Oh relax," he chuckled. "I still have the power to
destory Kersh's career if push comes to shove. The gun just
surprised me though. So not Kersh's style. He's not really
into blatant threats, just slithering innuedos, like a
rattlesnake sliding through the desert sands, waiting for a
victim to pounce on."
The Mayor took a swallow of liquid courage before
continuing. "Jeremy," he said seriously. "I don't know what
you've gotten yourself into, what you've been involved with
for the past thirty years. I don't know what strings you
pulled to get me this position. And now the strings you
pulled are going to strangle me."
The Admiral looked at his old friend. "I never meant to get
you involved this deeply."
"This deeply! Do you realize what I stand to lose?" The
Mayor looked out of the window at the city below him. "My
job... my family... Jesus, I have my daughter to think of."
"I have my daughter to think of as well," The Admiral
retorted hotly.
"YOUR daughter?" The Admiral turned to face him. "YOUR
daughter?" He snorted with ironic laughter. "I hired
Mulder, as a favor, to you, to protect YOUR daughter. Now,
this man, who I actually like and respect very much; this
same man you begged him to find the truth to protect YOUR
daughter, is rotting in jail for something we both know he
damn well didn't do to once again, protect YOUR daughter."
"If I didn't help set Mulder up, Jerilyn would be dead. I
don't know how they figured out I went to Mulder and Scully
for help, but they did and they threatened to kill Jerilyn.
They almost succeeded twice before. I didn't want to find
out that the third time was going to be the charm so,
against my better judgement, I went along with it... and
sacrificed not only Mulder... but my son-in-law in the
process."
The Mayor went to the Admiral and took his glass. As he
prepared two double strength Jack and Cokes, he asked
quietly, "Jeremy... you know... and I know that Benjamin
Starkweather isn't dead."
The Admiral jerked his head up. "How did you find out?"
The Mayor handed his friend, his buddy from the nightmarish
haze that was Vietnam, whose life he saved, who had been
trying to repay him for his heroic deed ever since. "I have
a dirty cop on the take. A Detective Somerset. The Chief
and I have been after him for years. But he's worse than
Teflon. Anyway, two and a half years ago, we assigned
Carillo to go on deep undercover on this case we've been
building against Somerset. For two years, Somerset has been
buddy-buddy with Carillo and have been absolutely
clueless."
"Carillo is good," The Admiral mumbled.
"Carillo is VERY good," The Mayor agreed. "But he hadn't
been able to get anything on Sommerset. Until today..." The
Mayor sat on his desk, folded his arms. "Right before we
went to our happy meeting with Deputy Director Snakebite, I
got a call from Carillo. He thought it was a little fishy
that Somerset had such a hard-on for Mulder..."
The Mayor took another sip of his drink before continuing.
"Especially since all the evidence was circumstantial.
Especially since all the evidence is still circumstantial.
No matter how many judges that little sh*t Justin Leo has
up his sleeve, the DA is MY friend and she is drooling for
a judgeship," The Admiral looked up at his friend in
surprise but the Mayor kept talking,"She would not allow
herself to be made a fool of and bring a weak case to
trial, especially if she knows that bringing Mulder to full
trial would piss me off. She knows the case is too full of
holes. Motive yes, but she has to rely on the word of two
drugged-out car thieves, she has no murder weapon and the
accused spent the night at Agent Scully's. The DA would
plead-bargain it and get him off with time served."
"How does Somerset fit in?" The Admiral asked wearily.
"Somerset is caught on tape," The Mayor took a security cam
tape out of his briefcase. "Carillo's got a copy, the
Chief's got a copy, the morgue... Washington Hospital
reported theft of a body... a burn victim... from their
morgue late last night..." the Mayor said smoothly, "know
anything about it?"
The Admiral hung his head. "So that's where the body came
from."
The Mayor leaned forward. "It's only a matter of time,
Jeremy. Carillo doesn't think Mulder's guilty, he's using
the man as a front to get to Somerset to get to the man
he's working for. Somerset's under twenty-four hour
survelliance, Leo is a heartbeat away from getting
disbarred, the evidence is mounting, Carillo is ready to
pounce."
"The minute Carillo pounces, both Jerilyn and Ben are
dead," the Admiral protested.
"The minute Carillo pounces, EVERYTHING comes out in the
open and I'm out of a job. If I'm out, Mulder is out too."
The Mayor sighed. "And to think... I helped the Chief start
his undercover campaign for Somerset. Now it's going to
bite me in the ass... unless you and I find a way to solve
this, quickly and quietly."
"You don't know these people," the Admiral said quietly.
"Then you better give me a crash course," the Mayor said
firmly. "Because I am not going to lose the job that I love
or risk the well-being of my family because I allowed
myself not to be educated about the risks."
"The best defense you can take," the Admiral said. "Is to
stay out of it and let me take care of this. These people
are ruthless. Twelve years ago, I threatened to blow their
conspiracy to the media and let the press try them." The
Admiral was very quiet for a moment. "They killed
Lynnette."
The Mayor looked confused. "I thought your first wife died
of cancer?"
The Admiral glared at him, "They killed Lynnette," he
repeated himself. "And they promised me if I played by
their rules, not only would I have all the political clout
I could ever dream off, but Jerilyn would not be harmed."
"Looks like they're not keeping up with their end of the
bargain if they're still after her." The Admiral fell
silent again. The Mayor cleared his throat. "Look, say what
you want, but I'm in this up to my neck. I'm not staying
out so I need you to tell me the truth."
"What truth is that?"
The Mayor ran his fingers through his hair. "Jeremy... you
know I love Jerilyn too... I watched her grow up, I was at
her wedding, she was bright as a button as a kid and she's
grew up to be a pretty great person but... Jeremy... admit
it... she's not exactly..." he searched for an appropriate
word, "normal? I guess? Am I right?"
"You are right," he said slowly. "Jerilyn is very special."
"Jeremy... buddy... who's daughter is she?"
County Jail
DC
***********
Mulder sat after the trial with a degected expression on
his face.
"Tough day man?" Manny asked sympathetically.
"Well...they set bail at this insane amount, so there's no
way I'm getting out before the trial."
"You got a lawyer?"
"Yeah...I've got this guy who offered to take the case for
free--"
"Oh...one of them spring chickens who need a case."
"Not quite..." Mulder said with a heavy sigh, "He offered
my services for his."
"What do you do?"
"I'm an FBI agent." Mulder said disinterestedly.
"Really? I guess lawyers need protection." Manny remarked
flatly.
"So what do you do?"
"A little of this, a little of that...mostly I'm in
agricultural enhancement." Manny shrugged.
"When my partner and I were off my division, we were placed
dealing with shit...literally."
"Manuer?" Manny finished incredulously.
"Yep...the powers that be tried to shut our division down,
and they sent us on the crap cases...investigating farms
and manuer and stuff."
"Oh man...that stinks."
"No pun intended, huh?"
"Right..."
"Well, believe what you want, but it's the truth. I've
investigated conspiracies, aliens, freaks of nature..."
"That's just plain bizarr-o, man."
"No...that liver-eating mutant...*that* was bizarr-o."
"Hombre, you're a nice guy, so I'm gonna tell you this for
your own good. Lay off the science fiction flicks."
"Oh man...science fiction makes up half my video
collection!" Mulder announced excitedly.
"What makes up the other half?"
"Porn." Mulder answered flatly.
"No kidding!" Manny whispered. "That's scary..."
"Not half as scary as this smoking guy who has the FBI
under his thumb."
"What's the dude's name?"
"Doesn't have one." Mulder said shaking his head, "We just
call him the Smoking Man...evil doesn't need a name to be
identified."
Later that night
Martha's Vineyard
The Admiral, carrying a duffle bag and a small bag of
groceries, let himself into his summer house he hadn't been
to in over fifteen years. However, he made a tidy little
profit by renting it out to vacationers. He knew that it
was going to be empty for the next two weeks before the new
renters came down to escape from the pressures of the city.
Plus, he could take a look-see to make sure it was still in
pristine condition... which, naturally as he only rented it
out to extremely wealthy people, it was. Plus, his current
wife, the Honorable Jenneva Wesley-Bailey, United States
Senator for Arizona, used it quite often to entertain
guests and potential political allies. She always double-
checked to make sure it was in shipshape condition.
The Admiral knew a pang of guilt. Not only has he not
called his daughter, but his wife. He liked Jenny, they had
always been friends but they did not married because of
unbridled passion for eachother. They needed to form an
alliance, so, much like ancient Rome, where men wed their
friends' daughters to earn their respect and support, the
Admiral and Jenny married eachother so they could both reap
the benefits of their political clout. And with a
Republican president in the White House, Jenny's clout
increased tenfold.
But even Jenny was on a leash. Jenny's power would remain
as long as she voted the way THEY wanted her to vote. So
she did. She lobbied hard against ethanol, alienating
herself from the Iowan senators whose state economies
depended on the fuel from corn to sustain their small
state. But Jenny wouldn't budge. If the country went from
petroleum to ethanol, it would become increasingly
difficult to smuggle the lethal black oil into the country.
If ethanol was approved and became mainstream... the oil
company that Doggett and Mulder risked their lives on and
which Kersh received healthy dividends on would lose their
contracts with the military bases... military bases who
coincidentally had planes go off radar and crash miles and
miles and miles off target... such as the plane
Starkweather, Scully and Doggett investigated in Scotland
just a month and a half ago....
The Admiral closed his eyes. I am doing the right thing,
I am doing the right thing he told himself as he put his
groceries away in the kitchen.
But his mind's eye betrayed him and replayed a scene from
the not-so-distant past
A month and a half ago...
The Admiral's house
Sedona, Arizona
"So, you met Deputy Mayor Mulder," he got right to the
point.
"Yes."
"What did you think?"
"He's insane... Was any of the horseshit the Deputy Mayor
told me true?"
"I really wished he hadn't told you anything."
"Was any of that horseshit true? Yes or no, Daddy?"
The Admiral shifted in his chair. "I did summon Agent
Scully and Deputy Mayor Mulder to dig into your past to
discover what really happened to you as a child, yes."
She repeated to him what she had said to Mulder "Did it
ever cross your mind that I don't want to know?"
"I had counted on that."
"Okay, Dad, I really don't get this. In the same breath,
you said you asked Scully and Mulder to get the true story
about my childhood but at the same time, banking on the
fact that I don't want to know? What???" She dropped her
hands into her face. "I get promoted to the X-Files and
instead of working on the cases, I become one of the
cases?" To temper her anger with humor, she said "That will
not look good on my resume."
The Admiral laughed. She had begun to develop her biting
sarcasm around the age of twelve. Lynnette had tried to
curb her daughter's blooming acerbic humor, but the Admiral
had secretly it. When Lynnette passed away, only the drill
sergeant had the power to still her tongue, but only during
the trauma of Basic Training. Once she made the return to
"real life", the pent up sarcasm erupted.
"Dad, I'm serious," she said. "Look what happened to
Mulder. I don't want to be forced out of the FBI because of
little green men. Yeah, okay, so I'm investigating
paranormal and other weirdness now, but Dad, how can I do
my job when people are questioning my credibility because
they think I a nutcake alien abductee?"
"We don't know that for sure."
"Mulder seems to think so."
"It's a possibility that I've asked Mulder to explore," the
Admiral admitted slowly.
"What? Dad, no. You can not be serious." Starkweather
bounded out of her chair in anger. "Dad, I do not want that
man involved in my life whatsoever. I don't want all of
this. ANY of this. Please," she knelt by his side, her big
eyes gazing up him, pleading. "Daddy, whatever influence
you used to start this, please stop it. Please let me live
a normal life. If I am," she rolled her eyes in disbelief
that these words were about to leave her mouth, "an alien
abductee or experiment, whatever, I don't want to know.
Okay? Please get Mulder out of my life. Please let me live
like everyone else."
"But angel, you're not like everyone else and you KNOW
that," he said insistently, gripping her small hand.
Starkweather didn't pull away. "My God, Jerilyn, you
learned by ear to play Bach's "Goldberg Variations'
flawlessly on the piano when you were seven years old.
You've always been special and people want you dead because
of it. Baby, even if I wanted to stop this, I can't. This
is so much bigger than you and me and your private life.
There's so much you don't understand!"
"Then TELL me! For Christ's sake, Dad, I'm not a little
girl anymore! I haven't been one for a very long time. I'm
old enough to have had a military career, complete a
medical degree, go through FBI training. I'm old enough to
be a federal agent who willingly puts her life on the line
every damn day. I'm old enough to be someone's wife. I'm
old enough to have carried and lost a child. Dad, if I'm
old enough to be, to have all of that," Starkweather
gripped his hand, "then I'm old enough to hear the truth on
why you went behind my back to have an unwanted
investigation about my childhood, only to have me find out
from someone I completely and totally hate? Do you know who
Fox Mulder is? He's the man that upset Mom so bad a few
days before her death? He's so blinded by his quest, he
couldn't even let a suffering woman die in peace. So you
tell me, you tell me right now, what the hell is going on
and why are you treating me like an idiot child?"
The Admiral looked down at her with genuine tears in his
eyes. "Because, even though you're a retired Airman, even
though you're a doctor, even though you're a highly
competent and exceptional FBI agent, even though you're
married and even though you and Ben will someday have
grandchildren for me." Starkweather laughed a little, but
only a little. "You're still my little girl. Even when," he
stroked her pretty hair with a trembling hand, "God willing
that I live long enough, you hair turns gray, I'm still
going to see you with hair ribbons and curls. Yes, I used
my politic influence to investigate what sick monster
could... do what they did to you. But I went behind your
back, hoping you wouldn't find out, so you COULD live a
normal life. Because a normal life is what you deserve,
because a normal life was a luxury you never had as a
child. Angel," he touched her face. "Even to this day, I
still get death-threats, not for me. For you."
Starkweather felt twin tears slip down her cheeks. "But why
me? What did I do?"
"It's not what you did. It's what you are."
"So, what am I?"
"That's what I asked Mulder and Scully to find out. That's
why..." he paused, debating whether or not to tell her,
deciding to confess, "that's why I had Jenny pull strings
to get you transferred to the X-Files. Jerilyn, listen to
me," he said urgently. "All of this," he waved his hand
around, indicating his garden, his house, his wealth, his
being. "All of this, means nothing if anything happens to
you. I've told you all I can tell you. Anything more,
endangers your life even more. Hate Mulder all you want,
but let him help you," he insisted. "If not for yourself,
but for me, for Benjamin, for everyone who loves you and
whose world would collapse without you in it," his voice
cracked at the end of his speech...
(From Starkweather: Introitus)
"But why me? What did I do?"
Sitting on the porch, alone not even the roars of the ocean
at sunset could banish his daughter's broken voice from the
Admiral's ears. ears. "Angel, I don't know... but I'm going
to find out... and I'll get Ben home to you... I just don't
know how yet..."
He didn't know how much time on the big clock was left for
either Mulder or Ben. He knew he had taken a big risk going
to Mulder to ask him to help him protect Jerilyn but he was
running out of options. Mulder had been the logical answer.
But the Admiral had a sinking feeling that it was only a
matter of time before the Syndicate would wise up, stop
playing Austin Powers/Dr. Evil World Domination games with
Mulder and just kill him off for good. Ben, on the other
hand, was a different story. He was a civillian in this
war, the classic case of wrong place, wrong time.
But I don't even know where to look or where he is he
mourned to himself. And I don't know where else to go for
help. He turned his head to pop his neck and looked over
at the little bungalow a few yards away... the answer hit
him... "Scully..." he said aloud.
He had been good friends with Agent Scully's father while
they were both in the Navy. They had been stationed at the
same time in San Diego and on the recommendation of another
mutual friend of theirs, vacationed out at Martha's
Vineyards one fine summer. The Admiral smiled as he
remembered the good times... little Dana Scully, dirty and
barefooted, running after her hulking brothers on the
beach, just to prove she could keep up with the boys.
Maggie Scully and Lynnette sitting on the porch, either
playing cards or working on various sewing projects;
Lynnette was always making fancy quilts or frilly dresses
for Jeri, when Jeri would wear frilly dresses while Maggie
patched the boys and Dana's torn jeans and overhauls. He
and William Scully would usually get the boat out and go
deep sea fishing together, talking shop and talking about
family life. And Melissa Scully, luminous and spiritual
even at that tender age, would stay and watch the baby
Jeri. In fact, Jeri's first words were not "mama" or "dada"
but "Missy."
The smile faded from the Admiral's lips.... just two miles
away from here was the Mulder summer home, where a thirteen
year old Fox Mulder struggled through his first summer
without his sister, not realizing how close he was to his
future partner who, at the time, was a grubby little
tomboy. Neither Dana, nor her brothers nor her parents, nor
Lynnette and certainly not little Jeri knew what the future
held. Teena Mulder and her son certainly did not know what
was going to happen either... but the Admiral did. And Bill
Mulder did. Bill Mulder was the one who clued him on what
the future held.
The Admiral went inside and went to the picture hanging
over the fireplace. He took it down and turned it around.
Taking his pocket knife out, he flipped it open and cut
down the back of it. A letter, hidden for twenty-seven
years fell out. He picked up the letter and unfolded it...
reading it for the first time in almost three decades.
He placed it on the coffee table, partially hiding it under
some magazines. He would call Dana Scully tomorrow. He
would invite her here in the guise of helping her clear
Mulder's name when actually, she would be helping him save
Jerilyn and Ben's life.
After Lynnette's death, Jerilyn was all that he had
...a couple of hours later in the same Jail cell...
****************************************************
"...you like porn huh?" Mulder asked.
"What guy doesn't?" Manny returned.
"You ever see Forrest Hump?"
"Space Kittens From Mars..."
"Yeah. Oooohhhhh...I didn't know that position was humanly
possible..."
"Don't laugh, but I got the most hard ones off of Madonna's
Erotica." Manny said sheepishly.
Bwaahahahaha. Was all Mulder contributed to the rest of
that conversation. He was still bursting out laughing when
Scully approached.
Manny and Mulder both exchanged glances and bursted out
laughing.
"Mulder...I'm glad you two howler Monkeys find me so
amusing..." Scully started flatly.
"Monkeys!" Manny blurted out, sending the two into fits of
laughter.
"Mulder...I can come back another time if this isn't
working." Scully said crossly.
"Scully...I'm sorry," Mulder tried to apologize whiping
tears of laughter away from his eyes. "Hey Manny, this is
my partner, Scully. Scully, Manny the Illegal Alien"
Scully was not amused. "Manny, do you think you can give us
a little privacy here, man."
"Sure, I'll uh, make myself scarce here."
"Thanks, Manny." Scully said. "Glad to see your playing
nice with your roommates Mulder." Scully said with a slight
grin.
"Where's Boo?"
"It's after 9 oclock at night, Mulder, he's sleeping. I
left Reyes with him."
"Scully, what color license plate do you want? I've been
looking at the activity schedule, and we've got poetry
coming up..."
"Mulder..." Scully said, taking his hand through the bars,
"you're innocent. You're going to be home next week.
Skinner, Doggett and I have already got leads we're looking
into and we'll find out who really did this."
"Well, that's good, Scully, because orange is not my
color." He smirked.
"Don't do this, Mulder...please...no jokes. We're doing
everything humanly and nonhumanly possible to get you out
of this. Just hang in there, alright?"
"You better, I don't think a jail is a good place to bring
Will. I mean, no offense Manny, but you wouldn't make the
best Uncle."
"I don't think the Lone Gunmen are a good enfluence on him
either, but I still let them come over." Scully said with a
small smile. "I'm not going to let them keep you here for
long. Don't forget that."
"Scully, you and Will are my freedom." He said softly,
carressing her face.
"I'll bring a barfbag when I come next time." Scully said
with a slight smile, voice quivering and eyes tearing.
"Scully, this place has so much potential for us here."
Mulder was saying, "I mean...bars...handcuffs...public
place...this is a 900 caller's fantasy."
"Mulder you better watch it, if you take a cold shower
around here you hafta take it with some ex-con named
Barry."
"Oooohh...people watching us...Scully! You little sex-
kitten! I didn't know you had it in you!" Mulder teased.
Mulder, don't think I won't be able to kick your *ss from
here." Scully threatened.
"Oooohhh, S&M...even kinkier!" Mulder smirked.
"Mulder..." Scully said, sighing defeatedly.
"This is nothing, Scully...just wait...a month down the
road with no women around...unless you count Klinger
impersonators."
"Mulder, before me how long had it been since you were
laid? Ten years?" Scully returned.
"Yeah, well...chasing little gray men and mutants kept me
from dating. How about you? You didn't have much of a sex
life before me, either...that vampire with the bucked
teeth?"
"He did NOT have bucked teeth!" Scully protested.
"Yeah...neither did bugs bunny."
"Two words for you Mulder...Diana Fowley" Scully said with
a grin.
"Two words for you Scully...Daniel Waterson." Mulder
retorted. Scully was opened and shut her mouth a couple of
times before she realized that Mulder was going to have the
last word.
"Cheap shot, Mulder." Scully admonished.
"Yeah well...you must be losing it, Scully...'cheap shot'
is the best comeback you can think of?" Mulder taunted.
"It's late..." Scully began.
"Yeah...you better get back, I bet Boo misses his Mommy."
"He misses you too, you know." She said softly
"Yeah...I know..." Mulder croaked.
"What's that noise?" Scully said as she heard sniffling in
the corner.
"I think someone forgot to turn off the waterworks." Mulder
said in his monotone.
"You guhihihis...you're like...Boggie and
Becall...better....*sniff!* than Boggie and Becall"
*Bogie and Becall?* Mulder mouthed to Scully.
"You know, they both want to be together *sniff!* but they
can't. It's soo beeeeeeeeautiful *Pfffffmmmmmmmmmt* said
Manny blowing his nose.
"Scully!" Mulder begged with desperation.
"Mulder, you two were getting along. Why...of all the
offices...in all of Washington, did you hafta walk into
mine..."
"Uhhhh...you walked into mine, Scully." Mulder retorted.
"Mulder, do a Bogie impression and I'll kick your ass."
"Scully...just get me outta here, please." He pleaded
almost in jest.
"Don't hold your breath, Bogie, I've got Dolf Lundren
waiting at the airport for me." she said with a sly grin on
her face and with that, decided to leave.
Meanwhile...
The Lone Gunman's Lair
Langly, the insomniac, was the one who noticed the
persistent knocking on the door. Byers, not a night owl by
nature, escaped to the small room in their secret compound
that he had commandeered as his private bedroom. Frohike,
meanwhile, had fallen asleep at his computer console,
mumbling incoherently in his sleep.
Langley continued to work on by himself for a little while,
but eventually, frustrated by his lack of progress, gave up
and hopped online to play "EverQuest."
So deeply into the game, it took a little while for Langley
to notice the knocking on the door, but eventually it got
loud enough to annoy him. Langley checked out the video
monitor that fed him images of the outside world. A figure,
dressed in a long black trench coat and wearing a black hat
was persistently pounded on the dress.
Langley licked his lips. He may look like a scrawny chicken
man, but he was just as brave as Mulder or Doggett... when
he had to be. He picked up a wrench and went to the door.
Clenching the wrench tightly in his hands, he called out,
as intimidating as he could with his nasally voice "Who's
there?"
The knocking stopped. Langley stood there for at least five
minutes. He turned back to check the monitor. There was no
one there, but there was a package on the doorstep.
Langley put the wrench down and went to Frohike: "Dude,
wake up."
Frohike murmured "Dana... my pet..."
"Oh BARF," Langley groaned. He shook Frohike awake. "Dude,
GET UP. I need your help."
"Huh?" Frohike joined the world of the living. "Langly,
what the sam hell are you doing?"
Langly filled him in. "I'll cover your back, you get the
package."
"Wait a minute, why should I have to go out? YOU go out
there and I'll cover your back."
They argued like that, wasting more time until Langly said:
"Let's get Byers to get the package."
"Now you're thinking," Frohike went to wake Byers.
Byers, in a black t-shirt and blue boxer shorts with purple
and green polka dots stumbled out after Frohike. Yawning
enormously, he asked. "Wha'?"
"Get the box that's on the doorstep," Langley told him,
picking up the wrench again. Frohike found a dusty, never
used tennis racket and poised by the door, ready.
Made stupid by lack of sleep Byers mumbled, "Oh, okay."
Langley unlocked the door and threw it open. Byers stepped
out, picked up the box and carried it inside without
incident. Langley slammed the door shut and locked it.
Starting to wake up a bit, Byers asked "What is this?"
"We don't know," Langly said and he filled him in on what
he saw.
Which woke Byers up completely. "You-you-you l-let me go
out there!!!" he sputtered furiously.
"Hey, buddy, we had your back," Frohike said as Langley got
out a stethoscope and a small metal detector.
Langley swept the metal detector over the box without
getting so much as a crackle. He then listened to its
contents with the stethoscope. "Nada," he concluded. "It
ain't a bomb." He reached into one of their many junk
drawers and pulled out an exactor knife. "I'm gonna open
it."
"If Gwyneth Paltrow's head is in there, I'm gonna puke,"
Frohike mumbled.
"Shh," Byers hushed him, scratching his beard as Langley
put on a pair of latex gloves before starting his work.
Langly carefully cut through the paper wrapping and sliced
through the duct tape that kept the box shut. Uneasily he
opened the box lid. "Oh man..."
"What?" Byers asked as he and Frohike came closer. "What is
it?"
"Well, it ain't Gwyneth Paltrow's head... but there's
blood."
"Blood?" Byers instantly paled.
Langly lifted out two plastic vials of blood. "What the
fuck, man?" Langly quailed.
Frohike adjusted his glasses and peered at the vials. "They
look like blood samples... like from a hospital," he
observed. "They're labeled too... I can't read 'em from
this far away, what do they say?" he stood on tiptoe to try
to get a better look while Byers put a pair of latex gloves
on his shaking hands.
Langly put one vial down. He read the label on the vial he
held to himself. "What the fuck...?" he repeated as Byers
took the vial Langly had put down.
"What IS it, Blondo?" Frohike snapped.
"Mulder," Langly read, "Fox, William."
"WHAT?" Frohike exclaimed.
"And this one reads, Starkweather, Jerilyn M.B." Byers
said.
"I don't get it," Langley said. "What the hell is someone
doing sending up *blood*, an' Mulder and Starkweather's
blood, of all things?"
"And how do we know if it's really theirs?" Byers reasoned.
"We could very well be set up on a wild goose chase."
"We compare it with other DNA samples." Frohike went to the
closet and pulled out the coat he had been wearing the
first and last time he had been to the Starkweathers. He
pulled off a long blond strand of hair that had clung to
his coat via static electricity. "Girl sheds like a cat,"
he grunted, putting the hair into a jar. "Almost two months
later and I'm still picking her hair off of my clothes."
"Alright," Byers said. "But what do we have of Mulder's
that was can test against?"
The Lone Gunmen pondered for a bit. Then Langly remembered
something. "His puke!"
"WHAT??" Byers and Frohike asked in unison.
"Remember after our... um... unsuccessful visit to the
Starkweathers, Mulder had gotten sick," Langly went on.
"When we got 'im to Scully's, he threw up on her shoes.
Well, some of the barf got onto some of my clothes too...
wait a minute..." and he bounded off.
Frohike grumbled. "No wonder this place stinks."
Byers, meanwhile busied himself, examining the box.
"There's an envelope in here," he said, taking it out.
Langley came out again, holding a pair of jeans and one
sock, stained with vomit. Frohike sniffed and gagged.
"Gross."
"Do you think it will work?" Langley asked. "I mean...
these stains are pretty old."
"Just think how old the stains were on Monica Lewinsky's
dress," Frohike pointed out, holding his nose. "It should
work."
"Guys, listen to this," Byers said, reading the letter he
had taken out of the envelope:
The truth is not out there
It's in here.
"And these two color photo copies were enclosed with the
letter," Byers laid the last two pages on the counter top.
"Pictures of kids?" Frohike asked, looking at the
photocopies.
"Not just any kids," Byers said, pointing to the typewriter
names and dates on the pages.
"Holy shit," Langley said, looking at the picture of the
little boy. "Fox Mulder, September 15, 1969."
Frohike read aloud the name and date on the picture of the
little girl. "Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather, September 8,
1981." He looked up. "Pictures of Mulder and Starkweather
when they were age 8."
"Are we sure it's really pics of them?" Langly asked even
though they all knew the answer. It was undeniable. The
little boy had a small birthmark on his face in the same
place Mulder did. The little girl's nose was crinkled in
amusement the same way Starkweather's did when she was
privately laughing at some joke.
"And look at this," Byers, using his hands, covered up the
long braids that hung down, in front of Starkweather's
ears.
Langley and Frohike looked. "Holy Jesus Christ on a Pogo
Stick," Langley burst out.
"Looks like the same kid, doesn't it?" Byers said. He
picked up Starkweather's vial of blood. "Make some coffee,
Langley," he said with a sigh. "Looks like we're going to
have a long night."
******************
The figure in the black trench coat had waited patiently in
the shadows until the tall man with the beard came out and
picked up their gift from her. Only then did she slip into
her car, take off her hat, shaking her platinum blonde hair
out of its bun and drove away without looking back.
Marita Covarubias knew that these men had helped the X-
Files in the past. She knew that they would get conclusive
proof of the truth that the Cancer Man had desperately
tried to hide. She knew she was endangering the project
with the truth, but she had motive. She had been scorned by
the Cancer Man and hell hath no fury...
The Syndicate had been running fine until the old man
seized control again. Now they were back in the olden days
of long drawn out conspiracies and complicated plans and
other such foolishness. Like keeping Ben Starkweather
alive. This idiotic plan of planting a fake body, forging
the dental records and trying to entice Ben into working
for them was ridiculous. But, as usual, CSM wasn't
listening to anybody and everyone else was too scared to
stand up to him, herself included.
Eventually, Mulder and Starkweather would have to be taken
out... but first, let them to the dirty work of distracting
the Cancer Man. Maybe they'll even get lucky and do what
she and Krycek couldn't... which was wipe him out.
Permanently.
Starkweather dreamt she was in a kitchen of a modest one
story, three bedroom home with a large front yard and an
even bigger backyard. Big enough for a small vegetable
garden, a swingset, a playhouse and a flower bed.
She dreamt she was standing at the counter, slicing
vegetables from her garden for a salad as she talked on the
phone. "That would be awesome if you could do that... as
long as you don't care... let me ask..." she turned around
to look at the little girl playing with a kitten at the
kitchen table, "Bailey," she said firmly, "what did we say
about animals on the table?"
The little girl looked up at her with brilliantly beautiful
blue eyes "We said no animals on the kitchen table," she
said sliding the kitten off the table into her lap.
"Alright then, say..." she softened her tone, "your Aunt
Dana called, she wants to know if you and your brother want
to spend the night at their house and watch movies."
"Can I watch movies then come home?" the little girl asked
hopefully.
"You don't want to sleep over?" Starkweather asked her.
The little girl shook her head. "Fox might miss me," she
said, hugging her kitten tightly, nearly squishing him. The
kitten looked up at Starkweather as if to say "Kill me
now."
"Honey, you're going to squeeze the life out of him,
remember, he's only a baby, hold him like a baby, hold on
Scully," she said into the phone before she put it down to
teach her daughter how to hold a kitten. "That's better.
Well... if you don't want to spend the night, I suppose you
don't have too. Why don't you and..." she grimaced as she
said the kitten's name "*Fox* go play in the back yard
until your dad comes home." Bailey, carefully cradling the
kitten in her arms, scampered out. "Well, Bailey doesn't
want to spend the night because she wants to spend time
with her new kitten... did Mulder get the thank you card
from her? Okay... good...... sure, I can send Will home for
you. I'll talk to you later, bye..."
She left the kitchen and went to the front door and yelled
at two little boys tearing around on their bikes. "WILL!!!
YOUR MOM CALLED!!! SHE WANTS YOU TO COME HOME... AND JB....
YOU COME IN AND GET CLEANED UP BEFORE YOUR DAD GETS
HOME!!!"
A descolate voice called back "Oh... alright..."
Before going back to the kitchen, Starkweather paused in
front of the mirror over the fireplace of her cluttered
living room, constantly littered with toys and books. She
had tried to keep it neat, but with a pair of active and
michevious twins... it was impossible so she gave up. She
took her glasses off and examined the crow's feet at her
eyes. She couldn't help but notice just a touch of silver
in her shoulder length brown hair. She wondered if she
should start dying her hair again but really didn't want
to.
She sure couldn't pose as a teenager anymore, but she still
did not really look her age. She looked to be late
twenties, early thirties, not staring forty straight in the
face.
She had just started to slice up the rest of the cucumbers
when she heard a familiar voice yell out over the slamming
of the door. "Doc? I'm home!"
Starkweather rinsed her hands and walked out into the
living room, drying her hands on a dishtowel that has seen
better days.
It was undeniable that the little boy was hers. He had a
moptop of dark brown hair and a pair of sparkling hazel
eyes like her own. With a huge gap-tooth smile, he started
up at his father.
Starkweather gasped when she looked at the man who's hand
the boy was holdng. He was tall, broad shouldered, with
straight dish-water blond hair save for one lone lock of
hair that had gone completely gray. He had kind eyes. But
he was not her children's father.
She snatched the boy away from him and pulled her ever-
faithful Baretta out of her ankle holster. "Who are you?"
she said, holding her son, stepping away from the stranger,
pointing her gun at him.
"Mom," the boy said calmly, taking the gun away from her as
if it was a toy and handing it to the stranger. "His name
is Sam and he said he can bring Dad home....."
*************************
Starkweather woke up with a gasp and found herself in the
little apartment she had shared with Ben...
Meanwhile...
"Ticklish, huh?" Sam said quietly as he turned back to look
at her face, which looked a little more peacefull. "Sorry,"
he whispered as he kissed her cheek.
"SAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMM," Out of nowhere, Al's voice, chock full
of warning rang out. Sam turned and saw Al glowering at him
at the foot of the couch. "Uh-uh, she's a married woman."
Sam sighed forcefully. "I know," he snapped at Al. "But
she's not happy though."
"Well, of course not, you dummy," Al lit up a cigar. "She
thinks Ben's dead."
"Have you guys been able to get a lock on Ben's location?"
Sam got back to business.
Al fussed with his hand held link. "Ziggy's still not
completely up to speed, the virus is out of her, we're
still cleaning up the mess that it left behind. The good
news is that we don't have to worry about her crashing and
burning anymore..."
"'And the villagers rejoiced'" Sam quoted Monty Python.
"'Yay...'"
Al glowered at Sam, "How is it..." Al asked "that you can
forgot almost all of American history but your Swiss
Cheesed memory can remember 'The Holy Grail'?"
"Just lucky, I guess," Sam grinned for a minute before
gettng back to business. "Now, about Ben?"
"Oh yeah..." Al thumped the console. It squealed like a
dying animal. "Well, so far, we've figured out that Ben's
still in DC, which is good, but we can't get a lock on his
exact location. Goush is working on that." Al smacked the
console again. "As for other news... well, we've got four
days left before Mulder gets his internal organs re-
arranged... but I finally have some good news for you
Sam... Sam... Sam, are you listening to me???"
Sam had been staring at Starkweather's sleeping face,
watching her lips moving along with her dreams. "I heard
you... it's about time that we got some good news..."
Al groaned, "Sam... look... I know... she's a great girl...
I understand what you're going through..."
"Do you Al?" Sam snapped. "Do you really? Do you know what
it's been like... these past fifteen years, drifting in and
out of lives... getting so close to so many people... being
treated like a son, a father, a brother, a lover, only to
disappear out of their lives again and I can't even give
them the courtesy of remembering their names. Not to
mention the loved ones I may have back at home that I don't
even remember... I don't even though if I'm married or not,
Al... and don't you DARE tell me if I am or not... well,"
Sam looked at the floor for a minute, "I guess it wouldn't
matter since I was instantly forget the minute I leapt into
a new life, wouldn't I Al... Al... Al...?"
But Al had stopped listening to Sam. He was staring wide-
eyed at Starkweather.
"Doggett?" Sam suddenly heard as he felt her hand,
trembling, on his shoulder. "Please tell me you see a
little man in an electric blue zoot suit and a butt-ugly
tie," Starkweather said in a trembling voice as she locked
eyes on Al.
"Um..." Sam tried to stall.
Al leapt into action, hoping that she would still be in the
greylands between sleep and wakefulness. "He can't see me
honey because you're still dreaming. Just close your eyes
again and go back to sleep. Your nerves are shot from what
happened today, just go back to sleep," he said in a
lulling voice, as if trying to coax a child back to bed.
Sam noticed that Starkweather was not buying it. She leaned
over and pinched Sam on the arm, hard.
Sam leapt up. "Ouch!!!" he cried, "What was that for?"
"You think I'd pinch myself??" Starkweather kicked off
the covers and pulled her gun out of her holster.
Al dropped his arms, sagging in defeat. "Honey, that's not
going to do any good."
Whispering to Sam, she said "Doggett, am I losing my mind
or is there really a little dude smoking a cigar over
there?"
Al burst out, "He can't me, only you can."
Sam mumbled lamely, "I don't see anything..." Starkweather
started to shake. Sam, nervously asked, "Starkweather let
me have the gun..."
Starkweather turned it on him. "Who are you?" she demanded
as she took the safety off.
Sam thought very very quickly as he stared down the shaft
of Starkweather's gun. Noting how badly her hands were
trembling, Sam realized that she was one heartbeat away
from becoming totally unhinged. With that realization, he
took a chance, swinging his hands in an inside-out guarding
block, knocking the gun from Starkweather's unsteady hands.
He grabbed her shoulders and yelled at her, "Listen to me,
Jerilyn, okay? It's ME. It's John Doggett," Sam lied,
knowing that the truth would probably send her over the
deep end. "I'm your partner, I'm your friend... Jesus,
Jeri, look at me!!!" he shook her a little bit.
Starkweather twisted her way out of his grip. Sam tried to
grab her again, but she leaped over the coffee table like a
hurtler and snatched up her gun. Hands no longer shaking,
she pointed it at Sam again. "Doggett," she informed him
coolly, "NEVER calls me by my first name."
SHIT!! Sam groaned to himself. "Starkweather-" he
started up lamely, while watching Al who was standing
behind Starkweather now. Al had tucked the console in his
pocket and was trying to use sign language to him while at
the same time mouthing a word, a monosyllabic word... it
looked like...
"Doc..." Sam spluttered out. "You're being ridiculous!" he
snapped, hoping he correctly guessed Al's charades and that
he was nailing the character of John Doggett. "What is with
you? Put that gun down!"
It worked. With a stifled sob, Starkweather safetied the
gun and handed it to Sam. "I don't know..." she whimpered.
"Jesus... I just came back from a month long medical
leave... I haven't even been back two whole days and I'm
being sent right back out again..." she put her hand to her
head. "I just... I don't know... nothing seems real... I
mean... it doesn't even FEEL like Ben's gone and now I'm
SEEING things and I'm HEARING things...." Al decided that
now would be a good time to leave.
When Al had left, Sam said, "There's no one here, honey."
Starkweather, dry-eyed but still over-emotional, started to
shake again. She leaned against the wall, and slid down,
holding herself. "Oh God, oh god, oh god..." she whispered
as she hung her head. Sam went over to her in a shot and
wrapped his big arms around her. She felt cold. She was in
shock. Seeing Al was too much for her. "Come on
Starkweather," he said, rocking her back and forth, wishing
she'd cry or yell or do SOMETHING.
Finally, she came around, "I'm sorry I freaked out on you,"
she mumbled.
Sam laughed "It was the cherry on the Sundae from hell," he
said.
Starkweather scootched closer to him and hugged him
fiercely around the neck. "Is this nightmare going to end?"
she asked.
"God, I hope so," Sam said to her, holding her tight. Then,
to himself he muttered again. "God I hope so."
And so, huddled together like two refugees from a war-torn
land, the agent and the time traveler fell asleep, only
holding it together because they were holding each other.
Scully's Apt.
Georgetown
*************
Skinner met Scully at her apartment within a couple of
hours.
"What's this all about, Scully?"
"Mr. Starkweather was not the man whose autopsy I performed
a couple of hours ago."
"How do you know?"
"Dental records matched...I don't know how...but the dental
records matched. I didnt' realize that the body I just
finished an examination of was not Mr. Starkweather's."
"That still doesn't explain how you know it wasn't his."
Skinner persisted.
"I was looking at what was left of the victim's eyes for
detection of poisoning beforehand, and the color wasn't
right. Starkweather had brown eyes...the body I examined
had blue ones."
"So what do you think that means?" Skinner asked, messaging
his sinuses.
"I'm not sure..." Scully hesitated, "it could be entirely
likely that Ben Starkweather is still alive."
"Have you showed your evidence to the detectives in charge
of this case yet?"
"No..." she said, taking a deep breath, "As long as we
think Ben Starkweather is dead, whoever is behind this
whole mess won't harm us."
"Scully..." Skinner began cautiously, "I think Mulder's
getting to you...do you realize what you're implicating? I
*know* he didn't do anything he was charged with, but to
say it's part of some giant conspiracy is a bit far-
fetched."
"I know it's out in left-field...but Doggett and I saw four
men...one of them Mulder's boss and one of them ours.
Another was Admiral Jeremy Bailey..."
"Starkweather's father?" Skinner blurted out. Scully
nodded. "Do you think Agent Starkweather was put here to
cover for her dad?
"It's possible...but Sir...she's one of the best Agents
I've worked with in a long time...she's held her own in
that office, and just because her adoptive father's used
her as a pawn is not cause for dismissal."
"I agree completely..." Skinner "I have absolutely no
intentions of transferring her. Kersh would be all too
happy to see her go."
"I'll bet Kersh is dancing on Ben's casket." Scully said
with a sly grin.
"Well, Kersh is thrilled with this incident," Skinner
admitted. "With Mulder out of the way like this, and
Doggett concentrating on his own issues, there's no time
left for investigation of his own office, let alone media
frenzy reflecting negatively on the FBI. The FBI is
positively glowing right now. How's Agent Starkweather
holding up?"
"Doggett's the better one to field that question, sir.
Quite frankly, with my ties to Mulder, I'm not sure I want
to be caught in her crossfire just yet. She's got a very
strong spirit, Sir."
"Wilting flower, Jerilyn Starkweather ain't. That's for
sure." Skinner growled. "How do you propose to prove all
this implications?"
Sam knew Mulder's only offense was his talent to get people
annoyed at him, but jack-assness wasn't something that was
punishable by law. As aggravating as he was at times, Sam
was beginning to understand that Mulder sometimes had to
forego being likable in order to find the truth he made his
life's work to seek. Despite that, or maybe even because
of, Sam still found himself wishing he could spend more
time on Mulder's quest for the Truth, and more driven than
ever to stop his projected end. People that driven by such
a one-sided cause are sometimes as compassionate as they
are purposefully irritating. But...Sam decided...that just
came with the territory. Either way, he couldn't let Mulder
end his quest...not now.
The first step in that direction seemed to be getting
Starkweather convinced that Mulder didn't commit her
husband's murder. He had to convince her somehow that there
was no murder even committed, but that wasn't the first
priority for now. The first priority at this moment was
getting Scully to convince Starkweather that Mulder wasn't
playing her for a fool.
Sam got in the pick-up and headed to Doggett's house,
whipped out the cell phone, and dialed Scully's number.
"Scully, it's Doggett."
"What's going on? You found anything?"
"Sorta...how do you feel towards Starkweather right now?"
"What does that have to do with anything?" Scully demanded
"Oh...nothing..." Sam lied, "just answer the question, will
ya?"
"Um...no hard feelings, sympathy...why?"
"Wouldn't you agree that she'd be a good ally to have on
this case?"
"Of course...but she won't stand up to her father, and she
thinks Mulder killed her husband. I wouldn't wanna stay in
the x-files if I were her either."
"Well...I think she might have changed her mind about
staying in the x-files. What if I brought her over to your
place say around six to talk things over?"
"Sure...that sounds fine...I'll order some pizza or
something for dinner. I'd fix a real meal, but there isn't
many groceries here beyond baby food."
"That'll be great Scully...thanks. Making any progress?"
"Uh huh," Scully said, nodding her head as if he could see
her, "Booked a flight to Martha's Vineyard a half an hour
ago. Skinner's going to get me a search warrant for the
Admiral's summer home. I'm hoping I'll have something solid
there."
"Me too...see you at six." He affirmed, and hung up, hoping
that he would be able to touch base with Al. As hard as it
was going to be for him, he needed to give Starkweather
some proof that Ben was still alive.
He hoped that was what she really wanted.
Sam knew Scully would straighten Starkweather out where
Mulder was concerned, now all he needed to do was come up
with some way to convince her that Ben was still alive. Al
was waiting for him inside.
"How's it going, Sam? How's Starkweather holding up?"
"She'll be just fine if I can figure out some way to
convince her Ben's still alive. We need her as an ally. I
think she's coming around, though."
"That's good to know..." Al said it as if he was waiting
for something more. When Sam filled the beat of silence
with a gulp of coffee, he decided to drop the issue. "Any
ideas?"
"Al...I know what you're thinking..."
"Sam...it would be much easier if you just follow my
philosophy with women, you know buddy?"
"...over one million served is a slogan with golden arches
under it...not a philosophy." Sam growled.
"I just hate seeing you beat yourself up over women every
single time. Your brain ain't the only organ swiss-
cheezed**."
"My love life is not up for discussion, Al..." he hissed
indignantly, "this is about getting Mulder out of jail so I
can leap...who knows..."
"...yeah, I know...I know...for now, though, we gotta come
up with some way to get the Little Hurricane to help break
Spooky outta the joint...listen to me...I sound like
someone off the A-Team..." he grumbled, shaking his head.
"Can she still see you?"
"Huh?"
"Starkweather...can she still see you?"
"I think so...why? What have you got up your sleeve, Sam?"
"How are your wings?"
"My wings?" Al sputtered, "Sam...I think the swiss-cheeze
effect has gotten to your head, kid."
"Pollish your halo, Al...Starkweather's gonna have a
revelation tonight."
"Sam...I think I lost my halo with my Little Orphan Annie
decoder ring. No...wait," Al spat, "I lost *that* with my
virginity...I lost my *halo* somewhere in the pacific...we
got bored, so we started playing frisbee with it, wind
caught...and..."
"Al..." Sam admonished, pretending to be annoyed.
Then he headed out the door to Scully's place
Scully, still waiting for files to load, picked up her
cellphone again.
"Byers, it's Scully. Can you boys do something for me
please?"
"Sure, Scully. What's up?"
"I need you to get something for me. Is there any way you
can access Mulder's phone records and personal files and
fax them to the office?"
"Yeah, sure..." Byers started, but Langley took over.
"Only if you tell me why you need them."
"You don't think he's up to something, do you?" Frohike
butted in.
"You haven't read the paper this morning yet have you?"
Scully said with a heavy sigh. She really hated giving them
bad news.
"Scully, we don't exactly have a mailing address,
remember?" Frohike reminded.
"I don't think he's up to something, but we...I...need
those as proof."
"Proof for what? Mulder's in trouble again?"
"We have to ask that, Frohicke?" Langley butted in.
"He was arrested this morning for the murder of Mr.
Starkweather. We need that stuff as proof so we can get
Mrs. Starkweather..."
"The one who had me in a death grip yesterday?" Frohike
interrupted.
"That's the one." Scully answered with an annoyed tone.
"Nice girl." Langly chided.
Scully barely held in a scream. "We need that proof so we
can get Mrs. Starkweather on our side. If she's convinced
Mulder didn't kill her husband then she'll help us clear
his name."
"That shouldn't be a problem." Frohike said. Scully heard
the beeping and whirring of a computer being booted up. "We
can send it to you as a .ZIP file in about half an hour."
"That'd be great guys, thanks." Scully said, taking off her
glasses and messaging her forehead, "I appreciate it."
"How's Will doing?" Frohike managed to sputter out before
Scully hung up.
"He's asleep." She said flatly. "Frohike, I'd love to chat,
but I'm just a bit busy at the moment." She abruptly hung
up on him as the files she was waiting on finally printed
out.
Just as the last page printed out the phone rang again.
She would've just left it to order the pizza, but the CLD
identified the number from the FBI. "Scully." She responded
curtly.
"I've got the warrant issued." Skinner was saying. "I hadda
pull a few strings, but I got it. All you hafta do is pick
it up before your flight departs."
"Thanks, I appreciate it. See you tomorrow." She didn't
wait for him to say anything before hanging up.
Then she dialed for pizza.
Later on that afternoon....
George Washington University Hospital
901 23rd Street NW
Washington DC
"Ready, Mrs. Starkweather?" The doctor said with a smile,
holding the small circular saw which he was going to use to
cut the cast off.
Starkweather flinched at the word 'Mrs.' "Ready," she said,
positioning her arm.
The saw gnawed loudly through the plaster. Starkweather
turned her head away. "Here we go," he said, peeling the
rest of the cast off of her. "Looks good as new," he
proclaimed.
Starkweather thought it looked skinny and dandruffy.
"Gross," she muttered, brushing the dead skin flakes off
and away.
"That will all wash off." The doctor said good naturedly.
He rotated her wrist. "Any pain?"
"No."
"Tingling sensations in the fingertips?"
"No. Feel fine."
"Then, why are you so pale, Mrs. Starkweather?"
"Um... I just received some REALLY bad news before I came
here."
"I'm sorry to hear that," he said but did not push for
which, Starkweather was infinitely grateful.
He fitted her with the splint that she had to wear for
another month, which would be a pain, but infinitely
preferable over the hot, heavy cast she had been wearing
for over a month. The doctor gave her some instructions For
her at-home physical therapy and released her.
Starkweather got into the car, but did not go home. She did
not go to Scully's right away either.
She went to the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
She needed to re-read that damn file that started this
entire mess. Starkweather was convinced that there was
something that everyone was overlooking.
"Unfortunately, I'm only gonna know it when I find it," she
muttered, flexing her "bad" hand, the right hand, before
she started up the car and drove away while thinking
guiltily I wonder if I can handle the motorcycle now that
the cast is off? for only a few nights back, she told her
husband not to drink too much while at dinner with friends
because she wouldn't be able to work the Kawasaki very well
with her broken hand.
In a park in Starkweather and Mulder's neighborhood...
*****************************************************
"Look, Admiral," Kersh was saying, "I'd like to stop it,
but we've gone too far now. The scale is too momentous;
your daughter is only a grieving widow now. Undoubtedly,
she will leave her position on the x-files after this
ordeal, and do so with her career unscathed."
"Kersh," the Admiral replied, skirting around him making it
certain that they wouldn't be seen talking, "how long have
you been working on the FBI?"
"A very long time, sir."
"In your entire career, have you ever known someone to
willingly leave the x-files office?"
"Come to think of it Jeremy," Kersh paused for a thoughtful
beat of silence, "I haven't. If I didn't know any better,
I'd say Mulder still sucks people in somehow."
"That senior officer, Agent Scully..." Admiral Bailey
mused, "I knew her as a little girl. We'd vacation over the
summer. I would never have figured her to work with the
likes of Fox Mulder. Even as a little girl, she was all
seriousness. I don't want to start anything that leads in
bloodshed. I just want my little girl to stay ignorant."
"If that's going to happen, Admiral," Kersh answered,
"we're going to have to close the x-file division. Even
then, we still can't guarantee your daughter won't find out
the truth through other venues. Some people will have to be
terminated."
"I can't have that weight on my conscience, Alvin. Knowing
the truth would kill my little girl...but not at that
cost."
"People will be terminated, Admiral Bailey, regardless of
what Jerilyn may or may not know. The x-files division
cannot remain open if our cause is to continue. What if we
save thousands of lives at the sacrifice of a few, or what
if we save the human race..."
"What-if games only get people killed." Mayor Swanson
softly insisted as he approached the pair. "I want them
stopped. We have done enough--we have done too damn much.
Admiral, do you want your little girl to love you for a
lie?"
"I don't want her to hate me for the truth." The Admiral
answered in a self-admonishing whisper.
Without a word, Kersh pointed a gun at the Admiral. "I
think you should reconsider your stance on this, Jeremy."
Mayor Swanson stood wide-eyed at the barrel pointed at the
Admiral. The Admiral closed his eyes slowly. "Lynn,
honey..." he murmured softly looking Heavenwards.
"Alvin, are you sure you know what you're doing?" the Mayor
began cautiously. "In a public place...in broad
daylight...we'd be found for sure."
"No one's around for a few miles, Harry. No one but the
birds and squirrels, and they ain't talkin'." The gun
clicked as his finger tightened around the trigger.
Despite Mayor Harry Swanson's slight build, by having the
advantage of surprise, he managed to grab Kersh's arm and
point the gun skyward. "Jeremy!" Mayor Swanson hollered,
and the Admiral leapt to his feet, both the men tackling
Kersh, the Admiral belting Kersh in the stomach, hard
enough to make him double over.
"Murder is not our policy." The Admiral hissed, shakily
holding the gun in Kersh's ear.
"I'd keep that in mind if I were you, Alvin." Mayor Swanson
chided. "I heard about how you ran things." The Mayor said,
giving him a swift kick in the gut, eliciting a low groan.
"My Deputy told me everything."
"You're right...no one around..to hear us...but birds...and
squirrels...for miles." the Admiral said, accentuating
every so often following the Mayor's movements. "And they
ain't talkin'."
"Mulder's in jail now," The Mayor said, silently
admonishing himself for the small part he played in that,
"the x-files are no harm to our cause anymore. There's no
need to bring any bloodshed unless it's from your own ass.
I can't...I can't do this anymore." He glanced at both at
them. "You both make me nauseous." he fumed indignantly,
"How you two can sit back and save the world at the cost of
the people who make living in this world worth it is beyond
me!"
"You are such a hypocrite, Harry." Kersh growled as soon as
he was able to catch his breath, "Here you are
pontificating about what you were doing, and there you go
sitting on a fence. At least we are choosing to do
something about our fate."
"Our fate was something we could do about?" The Mayor fired
back, and stormed off. The Admiral shot Kersh one last
dirty look, and followed him.
They didn't stay long enough to see Kersh's form twist and
contort until Kersh was no longer recognizable as the
Deputy Director of the FBI...
...but as Billy Miles.
Later on....
J. Edgar Hoover Builder
The X-Files Office
Starkweather had been sitting at Mulder's old desk for over
two hours now, pouring through the oil rig case file,
unconsciously nibbling on the sunflower seeds that had been
laying on his desk. "F*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck, F*CK!!!!!" she
finally cursed aloud, in complete frustration. With one
sweeping motion, she knocked EVERYTHING off of his desk.
She buried her face in her hands.
Skinner walked in just in time to see pens, sunflower
seeds, pages of files, folders, desk planner, highlighters,
paper clips, a calculator and a coffee mug flying
everywhere. The coffee mug shattered on impact.
"Agent Starkweather?" he asked carefully.
She didn't even look up. "Yes sir?"
"You should be at home."
"I was going insane at home sir. I thought if I came here,
maybe I could be productive," she finally looked up. "Ha,"
she said bitterly.
Skinner coughed before going on. "I took the liberty of
notifying Ben's parents of the bad news," he said gruffly.
"I hope I didn't overstep my boundaries."
If Skinner was worried about being on the receiving end of
her mingled wrath and grief, the look of gratitude on her
haggard face alieved any concerns. "No... that... that was
good of you," she said, equally gruff.
"Starkweather, go home."
"Sir, with all due respect... I can't... I have to..."
"You have to take time to grieve, Agent," Skinner said
sternly. Starkweather rested her head in her hands again.
He crouched down to pick up the scattered sheets of paper
from the file she sent sailing across the room. "Let Scully
and Doggett take care of this. You need to tend to your
personal needs," he stood up, holding papers in his hand.
"That is an order, Agent Starkweather."
But Starkweather wasn't listening to Skinner, she was
staring at the photocopy that he was holding. "Let me see
that sir," she said, getting up from Mulder's desk.
"See what?" Skinner asked but she had already taken the
paper from him.
"Oh my God... oh my God... this is it... this is the link.
Jesus... sir... if Mulder is innocent... then this entire
fucking game makes sense..."
"What is it?" Skinner instantly forgot his order for
Starkweather to relieve her duties.
"It's not conclusive, it won't get Mulder out of jail...
but it makes perfect sense... and it's a start," she waved
the photocopy of an indigenous man's green card in front of
him. "I can't believe I missed this. According to Doggett's
report, two men were singled out and killed on the rig. Two
men from a remote indigenous village in Mexico. They were
immune to that black oil stuff. Now, whether it's truly go
from Mars or a man-made biologically engineered nightmare
is inconclusive, but it HAS been proven that it exists and
documented that it is a virus, capable of destroying a
living organism within days, correct?"
"Yes..." Skinner said slowly. "You can say that."
"Plus, it has also been proven and documented that Agent
Scully was infected with this black oil by a bee sting and
was saved by a vaccine given to Mulder from a dubious
source, correct?"
"Yes... but I don't follow Starkweather."
She continued, growing excited, "If Mulder's wild tales are
true... about the Syndicate... launching a massive
biological war on the public... as dogged as our fine media
is... the minute they would find out there is a deadly
virus out there, but there was a race that was immune to
the disease, they would broadcast it to the four winds. As
advanced as our medical technology is as well... WE could
have our own vaccine or maybe at least a therapy to slow
the progress of the black oil's effects until a cure could
be found. Plus, if you connect it to the whole bee-sting
thing... if you remember, a few years back, there was a
scare about killer bees, aggressive, volatile stinging bees
coming into the United States from Mexico. Scully was stung
by a bee in Texas and according to THAT file..." she dove
into the tall file cabinet, thumbed through some files,
pulled out the one she wanted and flipped through the
pages, "she was stung by a African honey bee, the same bee
that was imported from Africa to Mexico that started the
panic. She was stung in Texas, near the Mexican border."
She said triumphantly. "Don't you see? It would completely
blow the conspiracy into the open. Mulder and Doggett
didn't want this to come to light because they were worried
about the safety of their near and dear ones... but they
never thought about the bigger picture."
"Which is?"
"The AIDS virus has been around for years, decades. So has
Ebola, the Hanta virus... you name the disease, it has been
around longer than the dinosaurs. There is no such thing as
a 'new' disease. People think it's new because they've
never heard about it before. Only when they become educated
about it, then they panic and start screaming for a cure.
Plus, if it comes to light that the oil rig has been
attempting import the virus itself to the United States,
all hell would break loose. The Syndicate would be screwed
because either A-- if they really are aliens and they're in
cohorts with them... they're screwed because ET is going to
be pissed that the race of immune humans were not taken
care of. And then we're talking about 'Independence Day.'Or
B -- if they are doing this themselves... with all the
information Mulder and Scully have complied over the
years... we've got the makings of a real witch hunt right
here. Heads would start to roll. And all of this would have
come out if Ben would have succeeded in bringing it to
trial. "
"How does that clear Mulder of..." Skinner stopped himself
before he said "Ben's murder."
"That's the problem..." Starkweather said. "It doesn't. But
it's making me re-think somethings..."
"You think Mulder's innocent then?" Skinner asked
hopefully.
His hopes were dashed when she said "I said it's making me
rethink some things. I only said this theory makes sense if
Mulder was innocent, but I have no evidence. Just a hunch.
I'm not going to run on a hunch, I'm going to research it.
I'm making no moves until I have conclusive proof of either
his guilt or innocence."
"A man is innocent until proven guilty." He reminded her.
To which she responded, "Every man is guilty of
something..."
Skinner couldn't place it, but the way Starkweather looked
up at him, and the way she was sitting at the desk with her
arms confrontation-ally crossed echoed something familiar.
He stooped down, helping her pick up the debris on the
floor.
"Regardless of whether or not Mulder's guilty or innocent
of his charges, you still need the rest." Skinner insisted.
"Sir, I'm only going to be able to rest until I find out
the truth behind what happened to my husband. That truth
may or may not clear the x-files, and along with it the
founder of this division. Scully and Doggett both have
their hands full right now."
"I appreciate your dedication to finding the truth, but
your health and well-being is not up for discussion. Scully
and Doggett are very capable of carrying on this
investigation by themselves."
"Is that all you came down here, for, Sir? To tell me to go
home?" She said, crinkling her nose in amusement, making
Skinner wish again that he could remember why that seemed
so familiar, "Because I have a hunch to research, and Ben's
not going to rest in peace until I resolve his case."
"Yes, I did come down here for something. Deputy Director
Kersh wants you, me, Doggett and Scully all in his office
tomorrow for review, and I have a s--" he stopped himself
short of saying 'search warrant' "something for Scully."
"I'm on my way over to her apartment in a few minutes, I
can deliver it for you."
"That won't be necessary, Starkweather, but I appreciate
the offer. Off the record, Jerilyn," Skinner began gruffly,
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"You're only sorry Ben was murdered" Starkweather hissed
coldly, "because the FBI's former Golden Boy is in trouble
for it, and will probably spend the rest of his life behind
bars for what he did. With all due respect, I know full
well that if Ben's case had been allowed to continue, your
little cause would be shot down in a heartbeat, and your
career would most likely be over." She glowered, her gaze
full of ferocious intent.
"Agent Starkweather," he growled with his jaw clinched
fiercely, "are you even aware of what you just implicated?
You have just proven to me now more than ever that you need
your grieving period. Don't think for one minute that
taking your anger out on me, Mulder, or anyone else is
going to bring Ben back. And if this anger harbored towards
anyone is causing friction within the ranks of this
division, believe me, I will not hesitate to recommend a
transfer." With that, he stormed out.
At that moment, Starkweather was grateful that her wrist
had just been taken out of the cast, because she needed to
throw something.
Hard.
"Well, Ben got what he fucking wanted." She grumbled.
She picked up one of the larger fragments of the mug that
was still scattered on the floor and threw it against the
wall, smattering it into smaller bits and then landing it
in the trashcan.
"You hear that Ben!" She screamed picking up another piece,
and promptly smashing it against he wall, "I fucked up
ANOTHER position, got on ANOTHER boss's bad side."
The motion was followed again swiftly with another of the
larger fragments. She didn't notice that her wrist was
throbbing.
"I'll be lucky now to get a janitorial position at Quantico
after this." She almost-whispered, nursing her wrist. She
sat back down at the desk, hoping one more look would earn
her the answers she needed, looking sadly over at Doggett's
desk.
Doggett, for reasons beyond her comprehension, seemed to
think Mulder was innocent. She knew Skinner was certain of
his former agent's innocence. Her eyes averted to Scully's
desk. She walked behind it, and glanced at the picture of
her, Mulder, and Will at what was a apparently taken at
Will's christening.
She didn't know Scully for very long, but the brief period
of time that she had watched Mulder and Scully interact
showed her that Scully was no pushover. There wasn't very
much that Scully let Mulder get away with, and as much as
she wanted to hate Mulder, she knew that it was illogical
to think that Dana Scully would allow herself to be taken
for a fool. She glanced at her wristwatch.
Maybe, Starkweather hoped, the meeting in Scully's kitchen
was for answers. She locked the door behind her and headed
for her car.
She drove by just missing the stiff movements of a form
that what was once Kersh, and what was once a human Billy
Miles swiftly approaching the tourist entrance of the FBI
office.
En Route to Scully's
*******************
Something gnawed at Starkweather as she started up her car.
She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something wasn't
right. She stopped by the county courthouse for the arresting
report. To Starkweather, Mulder had a crystal clear motive for
killing her husband. Ben's investigation would challenge the
world as we know it. If they wanted to nail Mulder, the strongest
evidence for the prosecution would be any peice of Ben's argument.
But the hole in her case against Mulder was that there was
none of Ben's evidence in the police reports found in the
searches done either at Mulder's or Scully's apartments.
It's the end of the world as we know it
(I I am am not alone)
It's the end of the world as we know it
(I I am am not alone)
It's the end of the world as we know it
And I feel fine
"Michael Stipe, you don't know the half of it."
Starkweather grumbled as she flipped the station. She
couldn't deny that a lot of the police evidence piled up
against Mulder was circumstantial.
I know your only protecting yourself
I know your thinking of somebody else
Some people look for a miracle cure
Some people just accept the world as it is
But I know this is a fight I can't loose
The accused is an innocent man
Starkweather was thrilled at that moment that she just
pulled up into Scully's place. It hit her as she rang
ascended in the elevator. Doggett could have easily been
set up, or herself for that matter. It made sense that
Mulder would have been set up, but she still needed proof
that he didn't commit the crime.
She approached Scully's door with a great deal of
apprehension. After all, she did just destroy the x-files
shrine. Maybe she shouldn't own up to that just yet.
"Starkweather, come in, I've got pizza on the way.
I'm...uh...sorry for your loss." Scully said rather
awkwardly with a strained, thin, smile crossing her lips,
and ushered her on the couch. "Doggett's on his way. I've
got some fresh coffee brewing if you'd like some."
"That'd be great, Scully, thanks. Listen...about what
happened this morning with Mulder..."
"Starkweather, it's alright." Scully consented, rising to
get the coffee. "I know what it's like..." she handed her
the mug, "not to belittle your situation, but the strange
thing about what you did is that I've seen Mulder act the
exact same way." She buried her head sheepishly in her
hands. "If I wasn't around a bunch of people when I first
met Doggett, I would have done a lot more harm than get his
face wet. It's forgiven and forgotten."
"Do you have any idea why Doggett asked me here?"
Starkweather questioned, taking a long gulp of coffee.
"I think it has something to do with the case. I've got
something to show you. I want you to know that I still
count you as an ally, whether you think Mulder is guilty or
not."
"I appreciate that..." Starkweather hesitated, "but there's
something else you should know before you stick up for
me..."
"Just because Skinner threatened to transfer you doesn't
mean we're gonna let it happen..." Scully started.
"That's not it..." Starkweather said sheepishly.
"What is it?" Scully asked harboring a quizzical smile
across her face.
"Gravity." Starkweather replied slowly
"Huh?"
"I was looking for anything that might help Doggett's
case," Starkweather began sheepishly, "and I kind of
knocked everything off the shrine. The
mug...everything...I'll replace the mug, of course..."
"That's alright Starkweather," Scully said with a groan. "I
dunno why we keep his old desk like that. While he was
missing it was a way of keeping him in that office, as
though he'd be coming back. Doggett kept it up out of
respect for me, but eventually when Reyes comes back full
time, we'd have to make room for her. I appreciate your
honesty."
"Well," Starkweather replied. "I'll go in tomorrow and put
the mess back. Any new light on the case?"
Just then the doorbell rang. Just behind a youth with a
face just as pepperonied as the pizza in the box he was
carrying came Sam. He took the box and paid for it.
"You didn't have to do that, John." Scully said with a
broad smile.
"Consider it a consolation prize." Sam said dryly.
"Scully," he said, setting the pizza box down on the
kitchen counter, "I want you to explain to Starkweather
exactly why Mulder couldn't have been guilty of killing her
husband." He felt like a parent talking two kids out of a
fight.
It was Scully's turn to hesitate, she prolonged the answer
by playing hostess. "I'll get some plates."
"I need to hear why you think Mulder's innocent of his
charges, Scully." Starkweather started.
"Starkweather, the e-mail I was printing out earlier is
something I want you to look at." Scully said, skillfully
skirting the question Sam had wanted her to answer. "I had
Byers scan me a copy of Mulder's phone records and email
all his e-mails, from both his work account and personal
account. They're all to either people with the FBI or the
Gunmen. Not one of those numbers are questionable. None of
his e-mails are questionnable either...well...unless you
count his sense of humor...but his behavior is completely
in line."
"You asked me here to get me to believe Mulder's innocent?"
Starkweather demanding, her eyes glancing from Scully to
Doggett. "That is phucking incredible..." she murmured.
"Starkweather," Sam began desperately, "look, if it *was* a
set-up for what happened on that oil-rig case, I could have
just as easily been set up as Mulder was, or Scully."
"We're not trying to persuade you to believe anything,
Starkweather." Scully argued. "We're trying to find the
truth here. I understand that the grief is clouding your
judgment right now, but I think you missed one clear peice
of evidence."
"And what was that?" Starkweather questioned fiercely.
"That all the evidence built up against Mulder was
circumstancial." Scully finished, sighing exasperatingly.
"They are about to hang someone over proof no more solid
than"--he saw Al appear in a shadow just then, "a
hologram." Sam offered.
"Look Starkweather," Scully persisted angrily, "The reason
I know positively beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is
innocent of those charges is" here she glanced warningly at
Sam, who in kind gave her an urging nod, "he was with me
that night." She finished softly with a sigh.
*Busy bunnies* Al mouthed from his shadows. Sam shot him an
annoyed glare.
"Oh God." Starkweather whispered. "Scully...I
didn't....well, I did but...Jesus fucking Christ,
Scully...I'm really sorry."
"Starkweather, it's alright...you didn't know." She looked
apologetically up at Sam. "Nobody knew."
"I think they got the idea when Will came along." Al
couldn't help himself from whispering, earning him another
warning glare from Sam.
"Who said that?" Starkweather demanded, snapping around in
the direction of the whisper. Sam feigned ignorance. "Damn,
I need to lay off the coffee. Ever since this whole thing
exploded, I've been hearing things. You think the alien DNA
is contagious?"
"Do you still think Mulder's guilty of killing your
husband?" Scully softly persisted.
Starkweather bit her lip, pressing her palm in her forehead
with her elbow propped on the edge of the couch. "I don't
know what to think, Scully. If he was with you...I believe
you...but if he's innocent of these charges..." her voice
wavered and her lips quivered as she made the realization.
"...then there's only one other likely possibility here..."
"Your father?" Sam finished for her, and over her shoulder,
gave an urging glance over at Al.
*I'll find what I can* Al mouthed. Starkweather bolted up
the minute the click and sweep of the chamber door
resounded.
"I'm loosing my fucking mind." Starkweather mumbled.
"Starkweather," Scully hesitated, "If you want a transfer
still..."
"No." she answered firmly, "This is the only way I can
protect Ben's memory..." a thin smile crossed her lips, "by
fighting the darkside. So...where do we start looking for
evidence."
"Doggett and I will handle gathering evidence.
Starkweather," Scully insisted gently, "you have to take
time for yourself now."
"I *need* to find the truth, Scully."
"I know you need to find the truth, but you won't find it
with a clear head." Sam insisted.
"Sometimes," Scully said thoughtfully, "the truth is like
rain--repressing, oppressing, comforting, gray, and
drenching all at once but in the same composition,
refreshing and life-giving; offering rainbows or clear
skies at its end. Get out of the rain for a little while,
Starkweather. You need to rest."
Sam drove Starkweather home. During the pow wow, he
couldn't help but notice that Starkweather had kept nodding
off, jerking her head up whenever she started to doze off.
Her exhaustion caused her to miss another opportunity to
formally meet Agent Reyes as she came over to sit with Will
again. Starkweather just sort of mumbled hello with her
eyes closed as Sam lead her out the door.
In her daze, Starkweather went to her car, dropping the
keys on the sidewalk. Sam scooped them up. "Uh-uh, you're
coming with me."
"Aw, Doggett, come on..." Starkweather complained. "I'm not
that feeble."
"But you're exhausted," Sam argued. "And it's been proven
that more automotive accidents are caused by sleep
deprivation than drunken driving. I'll take you home."
And so, as Sam took her to her apartment, she had fallen
asleep, her head leaning again the window. Sam kept
stealing looks at her. She was still wearing the white
shirt and black dress slacks she had on this morning when
they went to the police station. The cast was gone though,
replaced by a slender white splint that molded to her
wrist. Her hair, lock by lock, was beginning to escape the
military perfect bun she usually styled her hair in.
Sam parked Doggett's truck in front of Starkweather's
apartment building. He looked at himself in the rearview
mirror.
Doggett's tired face stared back at him. Huge purple-
smudges ring the icy blue eyes. The lines in the craggy
face looked even deeper than before. He needed a shave. He
needed to sleep, perhaps even worse than Starkweather. He
had almost nodded off a few times himself as he drove
Starkweather home.
"Starkweather?" he said gently. "Jerilyn? Hey, wake up."
"Huh?" Starkweather's eyes popped out as if waking up from
a bad dream, then her eyes fluttered shut again.
Sam smiled wryly. He got out and walked around the truck to
Starkweather's side. He carefully pried Starkweather's
house keys out of her hands. He picked her up and slid her
out of the truck. Awkwardly, he managed to hit the power
locks of the trucks, then kicked the door shut.
Starkweather never stirred.
Sam carried her up the stairs to her apartment and into the
livingroom, placing her gently on the sofa. He found two
pillows and propped them behind her head. Then he fumbled
through her darken apartment to hopefully find blankets.
In the process, he tripped over the cat who was laying
peacefully in front of the open doorway to Starkweather's
bedroom
"Ooff!," Sam landed face first.
He could have swore he heard the cat snickering.
Grabbing a quilt off of the bed, he went back to the living
room. He covered Starkweather. But she still looked
dreadfully uncomfortable, so Sam tilted her head up just a
bit and one by one, plucked the hairpins out so she
wouldn't be laying on an uncomfortable knot of hair. The
only sounds in the moonlit apartment was the **plink
plink** of metal hairpins dropping on the coffee table.
Starkweather, as if drugged, never even stirred.
Sam gently lowered her head back on the pillow, pushing her
long, thick hair out of her face. He pushed her heavy bangs
out of her eyes and noticed an odd looking scar on her
forehead Wonder how she got that Sam wondered. He
noticed that, even in sleep, her brow was crinkled in
dismay and her lips were turned down. Not even in sleep was
Starkweather getting a reprieve from the guilt and sorrow
that hounded her.
Sam turned his attention to her socks and shoes, lifting
the blanket off her feet so he could remove her sensible
black penny loafers, shined to a military spit polish.
Starkweather moved slightly, giggling just a little in her
sleep as Sam slipped her shoes and socks off.
Sam could not suppress a grin, "Ticklish, huh?" he said
quietly as he turned back to look at her face, which looked
a little more peacefull. "Sorry," he whispered as he kissed
her cheek.
"SAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMM," Out of nowhere, Al's voice, chock full
of warning rang out. Sam turned and saw Al glowering at him
at the foot of the couch. "Uh-uh, she's a married woman."
Meanwhile... Starkweather twitched... dreaming.
Later...
The Mayor's office
City Hall
Washington DC
The Admiral sunk into the Mayor's comfortable leather sofa.
He pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. The Mayor
went to his little private wet bar and prepared two stiff
drinks. "I made you a double, Jeremy," he said, handing him
the glass.
The Admiral took a long pull from the glass, letting Dr.
Jack Daniels work his miracle cure. "Deputy Director Kersh
seems to have forgotten himself," he mumbled.
"I'll say... Jesus, Jeremy... I thought you said you have
control over him?"
The Admiral shook his head miserably. "Control is an
illusion. I haven't had control over anything for the past
twenty-eight years." He turned to look at an ashen-faced
Mayor. "Oh relax," he chuckled. "I still have the power to
destory Kersh's career if push comes to shove. The gun just
surprised me though. So not Kersh's style. He's not really
into blatant threats, just slithering innuedos, like a
rattlesnake sliding through the desert sands, waiting for a
victim to pounce on."
The Mayor took a swallow of liquid courage before
continuing. "Jeremy," he said seriously. "I don't know what
you've gotten yourself into, what you've been involved with
for the past thirty years. I don't know what strings you
pulled to get me this position. And now the strings you
pulled are going to strangle me."
The Admiral looked at his old friend. "I never meant to get
you involved this deeply."
"This deeply! Do you realize what I stand to lose?" The
Mayor looked out of the window at the city below him. "My
job... my family... Jesus, I have my daughter to think of."
"I have my daughter to think of as well," The Admiral
retorted hotly.
"YOUR daughter?" The Admiral turned to face him. "YOUR
daughter?" He snorted with ironic laughter. "I hired
Mulder, as a favor, to you, to protect YOUR daughter. Now,
this man, who I actually like and respect very much; this
same man you begged him to find the truth to protect YOUR
daughter, is rotting in jail for something we both know he
damn well didn't do to once again, protect YOUR daughter."
"If I didn't help set Mulder up, Jerilyn would be dead. I
don't know how they figured out I went to Mulder and Scully
for help, but they did and they threatened to kill Jerilyn.
They almost succeeded twice before. I didn't want to find
out that the third time was going to be the charm so,
against my better judgement, I went along with it... and
sacrificed not only Mulder... but my son-in-law in the
process."
The Mayor went to the Admiral and took his glass. As he
prepared two double strength Jack and Cokes, he asked
quietly, "Jeremy... you know... and I know that Benjamin
Starkweather isn't dead."
The Admiral jerked his head up. "How did you find out?"
The Mayor handed his friend, his buddy from the nightmarish
haze that was Vietnam, whose life he saved, who had been
trying to repay him for his heroic deed ever since. "I have
a dirty cop on the take. A Detective Somerset. The Chief
and I have been after him for years. But he's worse than
Teflon. Anyway, two and a half years ago, we assigned
Carillo to go on deep undercover on this case we've been
building against Somerset. For two years, Somerset has been
buddy-buddy with Carillo and have been absolutely
clueless."
"Carillo is good," The Admiral mumbled.
"Carillo is VERY good," The Mayor agreed. "But he hadn't
been able to get anything on Sommerset. Until today..." The
Mayor sat on his desk, folded his arms. "Right before we
went to our happy meeting with Deputy Director Snakebite, I
got a call from Carillo. He thought it was a little fishy
that Somerset had such a hard-on for Mulder..."
The Mayor took another sip of his drink before continuing.
"Especially since all the evidence was circumstantial.
Especially since all the evidence is still circumstantial.
No matter how many judges that little sh*t Justin Leo has
up his sleeve, the DA is MY friend and she is drooling for
a judgeship," The Admiral looked up at his friend in
surprise but the Mayor kept talking,"She would not allow
herself to be made a fool of and bring a weak case to
trial, especially if she knows that bringing Mulder to full
trial would piss me off. She knows the case is too full of
holes. Motive yes, but she has to rely on the word of two
drugged-out car thieves, she has no murder weapon and the
accused spent the night at Agent Scully's. The DA would
plead-bargain it and get him off with time served."
"How does Somerset fit in?" The Admiral asked wearily.
"Somerset is caught on tape," The Mayor took a security cam
tape out of his briefcase. "Carillo's got a copy, the
Chief's got a copy, the morgue... Washington Hospital
reported theft of a body... a burn victim... from their
morgue late last night..." the Mayor said smoothly, "know
anything about it?"
The Admiral hung his head. "So that's where the body came
from."
The Mayor leaned forward. "It's only a matter of time,
Jeremy. Carillo doesn't think Mulder's guilty, he's using
the man as a front to get to Somerset to get to the man
he's working for. Somerset's under twenty-four hour
survelliance, Leo is a heartbeat away from getting
disbarred, the evidence is mounting, Carillo is ready to
pounce."
"The minute Carillo pounces, both Jerilyn and Ben are
dead," the Admiral protested.
"The minute Carillo pounces, EVERYTHING comes out in the
open and I'm out of a job. If I'm out, Mulder is out too."
The Mayor sighed. "And to think... I helped the Chief start
his undercover campaign for Somerset. Now it's going to
bite me in the ass... unless you and I find a way to solve
this, quickly and quietly."
"You don't know these people," the Admiral said quietly.
"Then you better give me a crash course," the Mayor said
firmly. "Because I am not going to lose the job that I love
or risk the well-being of my family because I allowed
myself not to be educated about the risks."
"The best defense you can take," the Admiral said. "Is to
stay out of it and let me take care of this. These people
are ruthless. Twelve years ago, I threatened to blow their
conspiracy to the media and let the press try them." The
Admiral was very quiet for a moment. "They killed
Lynnette."
The Mayor looked confused. "I thought your first wife died
of cancer?"
The Admiral glared at him, "They killed Lynnette," he
repeated himself. "And they promised me if I played by
their rules, not only would I have all the political clout
I could ever dream off, but Jerilyn would not be harmed."
"Looks like they're not keeping up with their end of the
bargain if they're still after her." The Admiral fell
silent again. The Mayor cleared his throat. "Look, say what
you want, but I'm in this up to my neck. I'm not staying
out so I need you to tell me the truth."
"What truth is that?"
The Mayor ran his fingers through his hair. "Jeremy... you
know I love Jerilyn too... I watched her grow up, I was at
her wedding, she was bright as a button as a kid and she's
grew up to be a pretty great person but... Jeremy... admit
it... she's not exactly..." he searched for an appropriate
word, "normal? I guess? Am I right?"
"You are right," he said slowly. "Jerilyn is very special."
"Jeremy... buddy... who's daughter is she?"
County Jail
DC
***********
Mulder sat after the trial with a degected expression on
his face.
"Tough day man?" Manny asked sympathetically.
"Well...they set bail at this insane amount, so there's no
way I'm getting out before the trial."
"You got a lawyer?"
"Yeah...I've got this guy who offered to take the case for
free--"
"Oh...one of them spring chickens who need a case."
"Not quite..." Mulder said with a heavy sigh, "He offered
my services for his."
"What do you do?"
"I'm an FBI agent." Mulder said disinterestedly.
"Really? I guess lawyers need protection." Manny remarked
flatly.
"So what do you do?"
"A little of this, a little of that...mostly I'm in
agricultural enhancement." Manny shrugged.
"When my partner and I were off my division, we were placed
dealing with shit...literally."
"Manuer?" Manny finished incredulously.
"Yep...the powers that be tried to shut our division down,
and they sent us on the crap cases...investigating farms
and manuer and stuff."
"Oh man...that stinks."
"No pun intended, huh?"
"Right..."
"Well, believe what you want, but it's the truth. I've
investigated conspiracies, aliens, freaks of nature..."
"That's just plain bizarr-o, man."
"No...that liver-eating mutant...*that* was bizarr-o."
"Hombre, you're a nice guy, so I'm gonna tell you this for
your own good. Lay off the science fiction flicks."
"Oh man...science fiction makes up half my video
collection!" Mulder announced excitedly.
"What makes up the other half?"
"Porn." Mulder answered flatly.
"No kidding!" Manny whispered. "That's scary..."
"Not half as scary as this smoking guy who has the FBI
under his thumb."
"What's the dude's name?"
"Doesn't have one." Mulder said shaking his head, "We just
call him the Smoking Man...evil doesn't need a name to be
identified."
Later that night
Martha's Vineyard
The Admiral, carrying a duffle bag and a small bag of
groceries, let himself into his summer house he hadn't been
to in over fifteen years. However, he made a tidy little
profit by renting it out to vacationers. He knew that it
was going to be empty for the next two weeks before the new
renters came down to escape from the pressures of the city.
Plus, he could take a look-see to make sure it was still in
pristine condition... which, naturally as he only rented it
out to extremely wealthy people, it was. Plus, his current
wife, the Honorable Jenneva Wesley-Bailey, United States
Senator for Arizona, used it quite often to entertain
guests and potential political allies. She always double-
checked to make sure it was in shipshape condition.
The Admiral knew a pang of guilt. Not only has he not
called his daughter, but his wife. He liked Jenny, they had
always been friends but they did not married because of
unbridled passion for eachother. They needed to form an
alliance, so, much like ancient Rome, where men wed their
friends' daughters to earn their respect and support, the
Admiral and Jenny married eachother so they could both reap
the benefits of their political clout. And with a
Republican president in the White House, Jenny's clout
increased tenfold.
But even Jenny was on a leash. Jenny's power would remain
as long as she voted the way THEY wanted her to vote. So
she did. She lobbied hard against ethanol, alienating
herself from the Iowan senators whose state economies
depended on the fuel from corn to sustain their small
state. But Jenny wouldn't budge. If the country went from
petroleum to ethanol, it would become increasingly
difficult to smuggle the lethal black oil into the country.
If ethanol was approved and became mainstream... the oil
company that Doggett and Mulder risked their lives on and
which Kersh received healthy dividends on would lose their
contracts with the military bases... military bases who
coincidentally had planes go off radar and crash miles and
miles and miles off target... such as the plane
Starkweather, Scully and Doggett investigated in Scotland
just a month and a half ago....
The Admiral closed his eyes. I am doing the right thing,
I am doing the right thing he told himself as he put his
groceries away in the kitchen.
But his mind's eye betrayed him and replayed a scene from
the not-so-distant past
A month and a half ago...
The Admiral's house
Sedona, Arizona
"So, you met Deputy Mayor Mulder," he got right to the
point.
"Yes."
"What did you think?"
"He's insane... Was any of the horseshit the Deputy Mayor
told me true?"
"I really wished he hadn't told you anything."
"Was any of that horseshit true? Yes or no, Daddy?"
The Admiral shifted in his chair. "I did summon Agent
Scully and Deputy Mayor Mulder to dig into your past to
discover what really happened to you as a child, yes."
She repeated to him what she had said to Mulder "Did it
ever cross your mind that I don't want to know?"
"I had counted on that."
"Okay, Dad, I really don't get this. In the same breath,
you said you asked Scully and Mulder to get the true story
about my childhood but at the same time, banking on the
fact that I don't want to know? What???" She dropped her
hands into her face. "I get promoted to the X-Files and
instead of working on the cases, I become one of the
cases?" To temper her anger with humor, she said "That will
not look good on my resume."
The Admiral laughed. She had begun to develop her biting
sarcasm around the age of twelve. Lynnette had tried to
curb her daughter's blooming acerbic humor, but the Admiral
had secretly it. When Lynnette passed away, only the drill
sergeant had the power to still her tongue, but only during
the trauma of Basic Training. Once she made the return to
"real life", the pent up sarcasm erupted.
"Dad, I'm serious," she said. "Look what happened to
Mulder. I don't want to be forced out of the FBI because of
little green men. Yeah, okay, so I'm investigating
paranormal and other weirdness now, but Dad, how can I do
my job when people are questioning my credibility because
they think I a nutcake alien abductee?"
"We don't know that for sure."
"Mulder seems to think so."
"It's a possibility that I've asked Mulder to explore," the
Admiral admitted slowly.
"What? Dad, no. You can not be serious." Starkweather
bounded out of her chair in anger. "Dad, I do not want that
man involved in my life whatsoever. I don't want all of
this. ANY of this. Please," she knelt by his side, her big
eyes gazing up him, pleading. "Daddy, whatever influence
you used to start this, please stop it. Please let me live
a normal life. If I am," she rolled her eyes in disbelief
that these words were about to leave her mouth, "an alien
abductee or experiment, whatever, I don't want to know.
Okay? Please get Mulder out of my life. Please let me live
like everyone else."
"But angel, you're not like everyone else and you KNOW
that," he said insistently, gripping her small hand.
Starkweather didn't pull away. "My God, Jerilyn, you
learned by ear to play Bach's "Goldberg Variations'
flawlessly on the piano when you were seven years old.
You've always been special and people want you dead because
of it. Baby, even if I wanted to stop this, I can't. This
is so much bigger than you and me and your private life.
There's so much you don't understand!"
"Then TELL me! For Christ's sake, Dad, I'm not a little
girl anymore! I haven't been one for a very long time. I'm
old enough to have had a military career, complete a
medical degree, go through FBI training. I'm old enough to
be a federal agent who willingly puts her life on the line
every damn day. I'm old enough to be someone's wife. I'm
old enough to have carried and lost a child. Dad, if I'm
old enough to be, to have all of that," Starkweather
gripped his hand, "then I'm old enough to hear the truth on
why you went behind my back to have an unwanted
investigation about my childhood, only to have me find out
from someone I completely and totally hate? Do you know who
Fox Mulder is? He's the man that upset Mom so bad a few
days before her death? He's so blinded by his quest, he
couldn't even let a suffering woman die in peace. So you
tell me, you tell me right now, what the hell is going on
and why are you treating me like an idiot child?"
The Admiral looked down at her with genuine tears in his
eyes. "Because, even though you're a retired Airman, even
though you're a doctor, even though you're a highly
competent and exceptional FBI agent, even though you're
married and even though you and Ben will someday have
grandchildren for me." Starkweather laughed a little, but
only a little. "You're still my little girl. Even when," he
stroked her pretty hair with a trembling hand, "God willing
that I live long enough, you hair turns gray, I'm still
going to see you with hair ribbons and curls. Yes, I used
my politic influence to investigate what sick monster
could... do what they did to you. But I went behind your
back, hoping you wouldn't find out, so you COULD live a
normal life. Because a normal life is what you deserve,
because a normal life was a luxury you never had as a
child. Angel," he touched her face. "Even to this day, I
still get death-threats, not for me. For you."
Starkweather felt twin tears slip down her cheeks. "But why
me? What did I do?"
"It's not what you did. It's what you are."
"So, what am I?"
"That's what I asked Mulder and Scully to find out. That's
why..." he paused, debating whether or not to tell her,
deciding to confess, "that's why I had Jenny pull strings
to get you transferred to the X-Files. Jerilyn, listen to
me," he said urgently. "All of this," he waved his hand
around, indicating his garden, his house, his wealth, his
being. "All of this, means nothing if anything happens to
you. I've told you all I can tell you. Anything more,
endangers your life even more. Hate Mulder all you want,
but let him help you," he insisted. "If not for yourself,
but for me, for Benjamin, for everyone who loves you and
whose world would collapse without you in it," his voice
cracked at the end of his speech...
(From Starkweather: Introitus)
"But why me? What did I do?"
Sitting on the porch, alone not even the roars of the ocean
at sunset could banish his daughter's broken voice from the
Admiral's ears. ears. "Angel, I don't know... but I'm going
to find out... and I'll get Ben home to you... I just don't
know how yet..."
He didn't know how much time on the big clock was left for
either Mulder or Ben. He knew he had taken a big risk going
to Mulder to ask him to help him protect Jerilyn but he was
running out of options. Mulder had been the logical answer.
But the Admiral had a sinking feeling that it was only a
matter of time before the Syndicate would wise up, stop
playing Austin Powers/Dr. Evil World Domination games with
Mulder and just kill him off for good. Ben, on the other
hand, was a different story. He was a civillian in this
war, the classic case of wrong place, wrong time.
But I don't even know where to look or where he is he
mourned to himself. And I don't know where else to go for
help. He turned his head to pop his neck and looked over
at the little bungalow a few yards away... the answer hit
him... "Scully..." he said aloud.
He had been good friends with Agent Scully's father while
they were both in the Navy. They had been stationed at the
same time in San Diego and on the recommendation of another
mutual friend of theirs, vacationed out at Martha's
Vineyards one fine summer. The Admiral smiled as he
remembered the good times... little Dana Scully, dirty and
barefooted, running after her hulking brothers on the
beach, just to prove she could keep up with the boys.
Maggie Scully and Lynnette sitting on the porch, either
playing cards or working on various sewing projects;
Lynnette was always making fancy quilts or frilly dresses
for Jeri, when Jeri would wear frilly dresses while Maggie
patched the boys and Dana's torn jeans and overhauls. He
and William Scully would usually get the boat out and go
deep sea fishing together, talking shop and talking about
family life. And Melissa Scully, luminous and spiritual
even at that tender age, would stay and watch the baby
Jeri. In fact, Jeri's first words were not "mama" or "dada"
but "Missy."
The smile faded from the Admiral's lips.... just two miles
away from here was the Mulder summer home, where a thirteen
year old Fox Mulder struggled through his first summer
without his sister, not realizing how close he was to his
future partner who, at the time, was a grubby little
tomboy. Neither Dana, nor her brothers nor her parents, nor
Lynnette and certainly not little Jeri knew what the future
held. Teena Mulder and her son certainly did not know what
was going to happen either... but the Admiral did. And Bill
Mulder did. Bill Mulder was the one who clued him on what
the future held.
The Admiral went inside and went to the picture hanging
over the fireplace. He took it down and turned it around.
Taking his pocket knife out, he flipped it open and cut
down the back of it. A letter, hidden for twenty-seven
years fell out. He picked up the letter and unfolded it...
reading it for the first time in almost three decades.
He placed it on the coffee table, partially hiding it under
some magazines. He would call Dana Scully tomorrow. He
would invite her here in the guise of helping her clear
Mulder's name when actually, she would be helping him save
Jerilyn and Ben's life.
After Lynnette's death, Jerilyn was all that he had
...a couple of hours later in the same Jail cell...
****************************************************
"...you like porn huh?" Mulder asked.
"What guy doesn't?" Manny returned.
"You ever see Forrest Hump?"
"Space Kittens From Mars..."
"Yeah. Oooohhhhh...I didn't know that position was humanly
possible..."
"Don't laugh, but I got the most hard ones off of Madonna's
Erotica." Manny said sheepishly.
Bwaahahahaha. Was all Mulder contributed to the rest of
that conversation. He was still bursting out laughing when
Scully approached.
Manny and Mulder both exchanged glances and bursted out
laughing.
"Mulder...I'm glad you two howler Monkeys find me so
amusing..." Scully started flatly.
"Monkeys!" Manny blurted out, sending the two into fits of
laughter.
"Mulder...I can come back another time if this isn't
working." Scully said crossly.
"Scully...I'm sorry," Mulder tried to apologize whiping
tears of laughter away from his eyes. "Hey Manny, this is
my partner, Scully. Scully, Manny the Illegal Alien"
Scully was not amused. "Manny, do you think you can give us
a little privacy here, man."
"Sure, I'll uh, make myself scarce here."
"Thanks, Manny." Scully said. "Glad to see your playing
nice with your roommates Mulder." Scully said with a slight
grin.
"Where's Boo?"
"It's after 9 oclock at night, Mulder, he's sleeping. I
left Reyes with him."
"Scully, what color license plate do you want? I've been
looking at the activity schedule, and we've got poetry
coming up..."
"Mulder..." Scully said, taking his hand through the bars,
"you're innocent. You're going to be home next week.
Skinner, Doggett and I have already got leads we're looking
into and we'll find out who really did this."
"Well, that's good, Scully, because orange is not my
color." He smirked.
"Don't do this, Mulder...please...no jokes. We're doing
everything humanly and nonhumanly possible to get you out
of this. Just hang in there, alright?"
"You better, I don't think a jail is a good place to bring
Will. I mean, no offense Manny, but you wouldn't make the
best Uncle."
"I don't think the Lone Gunmen are a good enfluence on him
either, but I still let them come over." Scully said with a
small smile. "I'm not going to let them keep you here for
long. Don't forget that."
"Scully, you and Will are my freedom." He said softly,
carressing her face.
"I'll bring a barfbag when I come next time." Scully said
with a slight smile, voice quivering and eyes tearing.
"Scully, this place has so much potential for us here."
Mulder was saying, "I mean...bars...handcuffs...public
place...this is a 900 caller's fantasy."
"Mulder you better watch it, if you take a cold shower
around here you hafta take it with some ex-con named
Barry."
"Oooohh...people watching us...Scully! You little sex-
kitten! I didn't know you had it in you!" Mulder teased.
Mulder, don't think I won't be able to kick your *ss from
here." Scully threatened.
"Oooohhh, S&M...even kinkier!" Mulder smirked.
"Mulder..." Scully said, sighing defeatedly.
"This is nothing, Scully...just wait...a month down the
road with no women around...unless you count Klinger
impersonators."
"Mulder, before me how long had it been since you were
laid? Ten years?" Scully returned.
"Yeah, well...chasing little gray men and mutants kept me
from dating. How about you? You didn't have much of a sex
life before me, either...that vampire with the bucked
teeth?"
"He did NOT have bucked teeth!" Scully protested.
"Yeah...neither did bugs bunny."
"Two words for you Mulder...Diana Fowley" Scully said with
a grin.
"Two words for you Scully...Daniel Waterson." Mulder
retorted. Scully was opened and shut her mouth a couple of
times before she realized that Mulder was going to have the
last word.
"Cheap shot, Mulder." Scully admonished.
"Yeah well...you must be losing it, Scully...'cheap shot'
is the best comeback you can think of?" Mulder taunted.
"It's late..." Scully began.
"Yeah...you better get back, I bet Boo misses his Mommy."
"He misses you too, you know." She said softly
"Yeah...I know..." Mulder croaked.
"What's that noise?" Scully said as she heard sniffling in
the corner.
"I think someone forgot to turn off the waterworks." Mulder
said in his monotone.
"You guhihihis...you're like...Boggie and
Becall...better....*sniff!* than Boggie and Becall"
*Bogie and Becall?* Mulder mouthed to Scully.
"You know, they both want to be together *sniff!* but they
can't. It's soo beeeeeeeeautiful *Pfffffmmmmmmmmmt* said
Manny blowing his nose.
"Scully!" Mulder begged with desperation.
"Mulder, you two were getting along. Why...of all the
offices...in all of Washington, did you hafta walk into
mine..."
"Uhhhh...you walked into mine, Scully." Mulder retorted.
"Mulder, do a Bogie impression and I'll kick your ass."
"Scully...just get me outta here, please." He pleaded
almost in jest.
"Don't hold your breath, Bogie, I've got Dolf Lundren
waiting at the airport for me." she said with a sly grin on
her face and with that, decided to leave.
Meanwhile...
The Lone Gunman's Lair
Langly, the insomniac, was the one who noticed the
persistent knocking on the door. Byers, not a night owl by
nature, escaped to the small room in their secret compound
that he had commandeered as his private bedroom. Frohike,
meanwhile, had fallen asleep at his computer console,
mumbling incoherently in his sleep.
Langley continued to work on by himself for a little while,
but eventually, frustrated by his lack of progress, gave up
and hopped online to play "EverQuest."
So deeply into the game, it took a little while for Langley
to notice the knocking on the door, but eventually it got
loud enough to annoy him. Langley checked out the video
monitor that fed him images of the outside world. A figure,
dressed in a long black trench coat and wearing a black hat
was persistently pounded on the dress.
Langley licked his lips. He may look like a scrawny chicken
man, but he was just as brave as Mulder or Doggett... when
he had to be. He picked up a wrench and went to the door.
Clenching the wrench tightly in his hands, he called out,
as intimidating as he could with his nasally voice "Who's
there?"
The knocking stopped. Langley stood there for at least five
minutes. He turned back to check the monitor. There was no
one there, but there was a package on the doorstep.
Langley put the wrench down and went to Frohike: "Dude,
wake up."
Frohike murmured "Dana... my pet..."
"Oh BARF," Langley groaned. He shook Frohike awake. "Dude,
GET UP. I need your help."
"Huh?" Frohike joined the world of the living. "Langly,
what the sam hell are you doing?"
Langly filled him in. "I'll cover your back, you get the
package."
"Wait a minute, why should I have to go out? YOU go out
there and I'll cover your back."
They argued like that, wasting more time until Langly said:
"Let's get Byers to get the package."
"Now you're thinking," Frohike went to wake Byers.
Byers, in a black t-shirt and blue boxer shorts with purple
and green polka dots stumbled out after Frohike. Yawning
enormously, he asked. "Wha'?"
"Get the box that's on the doorstep," Langley told him,
picking up the wrench again. Frohike found a dusty, never
used tennis racket and poised by the door, ready.
Made stupid by lack of sleep Byers mumbled, "Oh, okay."
Langley unlocked the door and threw it open. Byers stepped
out, picked up the box and carried it inside without
incident. Langley slammed the door shut and locked it.
Starting to wake up a bit, Byers asked "What is this?"
"We don't know," Langly said and he filled him in on what
he saw.
Which woke Byers up completely. "You-you-you l-let me go
out there!!!" he sputtered furiously.
"Hey, buddy, we had your back," Frohike said as Langley got
out a stethoscope and a small metal detector.
Langley swept the metal detector over the box without
getting so much as a crackle. He then listened to its
contents with the stethoscope. "Nada," he concluded. "It
ain't a bomb." He reached into one of their many junk
drawers and pulled out an exactor knife. "I'm gonna open
it."
"If Gwyneth Paltrow's head is in there, I'm gonna puke,"
Frohike mumbled.
"Shh," Byers hushed him, scratching his beard as Langley
put on a pair of latex gloves before starting his work.
Langly carefully cut through the paper wrapping and sliced
through the duct tape that kept the box shut. Uneasily he
opened the box lid. "Oh man..."
"What?" Byers asked as he and Frohike came closer. "What is
it?"
"Well, it ain't Gwyneth Paltrow's head... but there's
blood."
"Blood?" Byers instantly paled.
Langly lifted out two plastic vials of blood. "What the
fuck, man?" Langly quailed.
Frohike adjusted his glasses and peered at the vials. "They
look like blood samples... like from a hospital," he
observed. "They're labeled too... I can't read 'em from
this far away, what do they say?" he stood on tiptoe to try
to get a better look while Byers put a pair of latex gloves
on his shaking hands.
Langly put one vial down. He read the label on the vial he
held to himself. "What the fuck...?" he repeated as Byers
took the vial Langly had put down.
"What IS it, Blondo?" Frohike snapped.
"Mulder," Langly read, "Fox, William."
"WHAT?" Frohike exclaimed.
"And this one reads, Starkweather, Jerilyn M.B." Byers
said.
"I don't get it," Langley said. "What the hell is someone
doing sending up *blood*, an' Mulder and Starkweather's
blood, of all things?"
"And how do we know if it's really theirs?" Byers reasoned.
"We could very well be set up on a wild goose chase."
"We compare it with other DNA samples." Frohike went to the
closet and pulled out the coat he had been wearing the
first and last time he had been to the Starkweathers. He
pulled off a long blond strand of hair that had clung to
his coat via static electricity. "Girl sheds like a cat,"
he grunted, putting the hair into a jar. "Almost two months
later and I'm still picking her hair off of my clothes."
"Alright," Byers said. "But what do we have of Mulder's
that was can test against?"
The Lone Gunmen pondered for a bit. Then Langly remembered
something. "His puke!"
"WHAT??" Byers and Frohike asked in unison.
"Remember after our... um... unsuccessful visit to the
Starkweathers, Mulder had gotten sick," Langly went on.
"When we got 'im to Scully's, he threw up on her shoes.
Well, some of the barf got onto some of my clothes too...
wait a minute..." and he bounded off.
Frohike grumbled. "No wonder this place stinks."
Byers, meanwhile busied himself, examining the box.
"There's an envelope in here," he said, taking it out.
Langley came out again, holding a pair of jeans and one
sock, stained with vomit. Frohike sniffed and gagged.
"Gross."
"Do you think it will work?" Langley asked. "I mean...
these stains are pretty old."
"Just think how old the stains were on Monica Lewinsky's
dress," Frohike pointed out, holding his nose. "It should
work."
"Guys, listen to this," Byers said, reading the letter he
had taken out of the envelope:
The truth is not out there
It's in here.
"And these two color photo copies were enclosed with the
letter," Byers laid the last two pages on the counter top.
"Pictures of kids?" Frohike asked, looking at the
photocopies.
"Not just any kids," Byers said, pointing to the typewriter
names and dates on the pages.
"Holy shit," Langley said, looking at the picture of the
little boy. "Fox Mulder, September 15, 1969."
Frohike read aloud the name and date on the picture of the
little girl. "Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather, September 8,
1981." He looked up. "Pictures of Mulder and Starkweather
when they were age 8."
"Are we sure it's really pics of them?" Langly asked even
though they all knew the answer. It was undeniable. The
little boy had a small birthmark on his face in the same
place Mulder did. The little girl's nose was crinkled in
amusement the same way Starkweather's did when she was
privately laughing at some joke.
"And look at this," Byers, using his hands, covered up the
long braids that hung down, in front of Starkweather's
ears.
Langley and Frohike looked. "Holy Jesus Christ on a Pogo
Stick," Langley burst out.
"Looks like the same kid, doesn't it?" Byers said. He
picked up Starkweather's vial of blood. "Make some coffee,
Langley," he said with a sigh. "Looks like we're going to
have a long night."
******************
The figure in the black trench coat had waited patiently in
the shadows until the tall man with the beard came out and
picked up their gift from her. Only then did she slip into
her car, take off her hat, shaking her platinum blonde hair
out of its bun and drove away without looking back.
Marita Covarubias knew that these men had helped the X-
Files in the past. She knew that they would get conclusive
proof of the truth that the Cancer Man had desperately
tried to hide. She knew she was endangering the project
with the truth, but she had motive. She had been scorned by
the Cancer Man and hell hath no fury...
The Syndicate had been running fine until the old man
seized control again. Now they were back in the olden days
of long drawn out conspiracies and complicated plans and
other such foolishness. Like keeping Ben Starkweather
alive. This idiotic plan of planting a fake body, forging
the dental records and trying to entice Ben into working
for them was ridiculous. But, as usual, CSM wasn't
listening to anybody and everyone else was too scared to
stand up to him, herself included.
Eventually, Mulder and Starkweather would have to be taken
out... but first, let them to the dirty work of distracting
the Cancer Man. Maybe they'll even get lucky and do what
she and Krycek couldn't... which was wipe him out.
Permanently.
Starkweather dreamt she was in a kitchen of a modest one
story, three bedroom home with a large front yard and an
even bigger backyard. Big enough for a small vegetable
garden, a swingset, a playhouse and a flower bed.
She dreamt she was standing at the counter, slicing
vegetables from her garden for a salad as she talked on the
phone. "That would be awesome if you could do that... as
long as you don't care... let me ask..." she turned around
to look at the little girl playing with a kitten at the
kitchen table, "Bailey," she said firmly, "what did we say
about animals on the table?"
The little girl looked up at her with brilliantly beautiful
blue eyes "We said no animals on the kitchen table," she
said sliding the kitten off the table into her lap.
"Alright then, say..." she softened her tone, "your Aunt
Dana called, she wants to know if you and your brother want
to spend the night at their house and watch movies."
"Can I watch movies then come home?" the little girl asked
hopefully.
"You don't want to sleep over?" Starkweather asked her.
The little girl shook her head. "Fox might miss me," she
said, hugging her kitten tightly, nearly squishing him. The
kitten looked up at Starkweather as if to say "Kill me
now."
"Honey, you're going to squeeze the life out of him,
remember, he's only a baby, hold him like a baby, hold on
Scully," she said into the phone before she put it down to
teach her daughter how to hold a kitten. "That's better.
Well... if you don't want to spend the night, I suppose you
don't have too. Why don't you and..." she grimaced as she
said the kitten's name "*Fox* go play in the back yard
until your dad comes home." Bailey, carefully cradling the
kitten in her arms, scampered out. "Well, Bailey doesn't
want to spend the night because she wants to spend time
with her new kitten... did Mulder get the thank you card
from her? Okay... good...... sure, I can send Will home for
you. I'll talk to you later, bye..."
She left the kitchen and went to the front door and yelled
at two little boys tearing around on their bikes. "WILL!!!
YOUR MOM CALLED!!! SHE WANTS YOU TO COME HOME... AND JB....
YOU COME IN AND GET CLEANED UP BEFORE YOUR DAD GETS
HOME!!!"
A descolate voice called back "Oh... alright..."
Before going back to the kitchen, Starkweather paused in
front of the mirror over the fireplace of her cluttered
living room, constantly littered with toys and books. She
had tried to keep it neat, but with a pair of active and
michevious twins... it was impossible so she gave up. She
took her glasses off and examined the crow's feet at her
eyes. She couldn't help but notice just a touch of silver
in her shoulder length brown hair. She wondered if she
should start dying her hair again but really didn't want
to.
She sure couldn't pose as a teenager anymore, but she still
did not really look her age. She looked to be late
twenties, early thirties, not staring forty straight in the
face.
She had just started to slice up the rest of the cucumbers
when she heard a familiar voice yell out over the slamming
of the door. "Doc? I'm home!"
Starkweather rinsed her hands and walked out into the
living room, drying her hands on a dishtowel that has seen
better days.
It was undeniable that the little boy was hers. He had a
moptop of dark brown hair and a pair of sparkling hazel
eyes like her own. With a huge gap-tooth smile, he started
up at his father.
Starkweather gasped when she looked at the man who's hand
the boy was holdng. He was tall, broad shouldered, with
straight dish-water blond hair save for one lone lock of
hair that had gone completely gray. He had kind eyes. But
he was not her children's father.
She snatched the boy away from him and pulled her ever-
faithful Baretta out of her ankle holster. "Who are you?"
she said, holding her son, stepping away from the stranger,
pointing her gun at him.
"Mom," the boy said calmly, taking the gun away from her as
if it was a toy and handing it to the stranger. "His name
is Sam and he said he can bring Dad home....."
*************************
Starkweather woke up with a gasp and found herself in the
little apartment she had shared with Ben...
Meanwhile...
"Ticklish, huh?" Sam said quietly as he turned back to look
at her face, which looked a little more peacefull. "Sorry,"
he whispered as he kissed her cheek.
"SAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMM," Out of nowhere, Al's voice, chock full
of warning rang out. Sam turned and saw Al glowering at him
at the foot of the couch. "Uh-uh, she's a married woman."
Sam sighed forcefully. "I know," he snapped at Al. "But
she's not happy though."
"Well, of course not, you dummy," Al lit up a cigar. "She
thinks Ben's dead."
"Have you guys been able to get a lock on Ben's location?"
Sam got back to business.
Al fussed with his hand held link. "Ziggy's still not
completely up to speed, the virus is out of her, we're
still cleaning up the mess that it left behind. The good
news is that we don't have to worry about her crashing and
burning anymore..."
"'And the villagers rejoiced'" Sam quoted Monty Python.
"'Yay...'"
Al glowered at Sam, "How is it..." Al asked "that you can
forgot almost all of American history but your Swiss
Cheesed memory can remember 'The Holy Grail'?"
"Just lucky, I guess," Sam grinned for a minute before
gettng back to business. "Now, about Ben?"
"Oh yeah..." Al thumped the console. It squealed like a
dying animal. "Well, so far, we've figured out that Ben's
still in DC, which is good, but we can't get a lock on his
exact location. Goush is working on that." Al smacked the
console again. "As for other news... well, we've got four
days left before Mulder gets his internal organs re-
arranged... but I finally have some good news for you
Sam... Sam... Sam, are you listening to me???"
Sam had been staring at Starkweather's sleeping face,
watching her lips moving along with her dreams. "I heard
you... it's about time that we got some good news..."
Al groaned, "Sam... look... I know... she's a great girl...
I understand what you're going through..."
"Do you Al?" Sam snapped. "Do you really? Do you know what
it's been like... these past fifteen years, drifting in and
out of lives... getting so close to so many people... being
treated like a son, a father, a brother, a lover, only to
disappear out of their lives again and I can't even give
them the courtesy of remembering their names. Not to
mention the loved ones I may have back at home that I don't
even remember... I don't even though if I'm married or not,
Al... and don't you DARE tell me if I am or not... well,"
Sam looked at the floor for a minute, "I guess it wouldn't
matter since I was instantly forget the minute I leapt into
a new life, wouldn't I Al... Al... Al...?"
But Al had stopped listening to Sam. He was staring wide-
eyed at Starkweather.
"Doggett?" Sam suddenly heard as he felt her hand,
trembling, on his shoulder. "Please tell me you see a
little man in an electric blue zoot suit and a butt-ugly
tie," Starkweather said in a trembling voice as she locked
eyes on Al.
"Um..." Sam tried to stall.
Al leapt into action, hoping that she would still be in the
greylands between sleep and wakefulness. "He can't see me
honey because you're still dreaming. Just close your eyes
again and go back to sleep. Your nerves are shot from what
happened today, just go back to sleep," he said in a
lulling voice, as if trying to coax a child back to bed.
Sam noticed that Starkweather was not buying it. She leaned
over and pinched Sam on the arm, hard.
Sam leapt up. "Ouch!!!" he cried, "What was that for?"
"You think I'd pinch myself??" Starkweather kicked off
the covers and pulled her gun out of her holster.
Al dropped his arms, sagging in defeat. "Honey, that's not
going to do any good."
Whispering to Sam, she said "Doggett, am I losing my mind
or is there really a little dude smoking a cigar over
there?"
Al burst out, "He can't me, only you can."
Sam mumbled lamely, "I don't see anything..." Starkweather
started to shake. Sam, nervously asked, "Starkweather let
me have the gun..."
Starkweather turned it on him. "Who are you?" she demanded
as she took the safety off.
Sam thought very very quickly as he stared down the shaft
of Starkweather's gun. Noting how badly her hands were
trembling, Sam realized that she was one heartbeat away
from becoming totally unhinged. With that realization, he
took a chance, swinging his hands in an inside-out guarding
block, knocking the gun from Starkweather's unsteady hands.
He grabbed her shoulders and yelled at her, "Listen to me,
Jerilyn, okay? It's ME. It's John Doggett," Sam lied,
knowing that the truth would probably send her over the
deep end. "I'm your partner, I'm your friend... Jesus,
Jeri, look at me!!!" he shook her a little bit.
Starkweather twisted her way out of his grip. Sam tried to
grab her again, but she leaped over the coffee table like a
hurtler and snatched up her gun. Hands no longer shaking,
she pointed it at Sam again. "Doggett," she informed him
coolly, "NEVER calls me by my first name."
SHIT!! Sam groaned to himself. "Starkweather-" he
started up lamely, while watching Al who was standing
behind Starkweather now. Al had tucked the console in his
pocket and was trying to use sign language to him while at
the same time mouthing a word, a monosyllabic word... it
looked like...
"Doc..." Sam spluttered out. "You're being ridiculous!" he
snapped, hoping he correctly guessed Al's charades and that
he was nailing the character of John Doggett. "What is with
you? Put that gun down!"
It worked. With a stifled sob, Starkweather safetied the
gun and handed it to Sam. "I don't know..." she whimpered.
"Jesus... I just came back from a month long medical
leave... I haven't even been back two whole days and I'm
being sent right back out again..." she put her hand to her
head. "I just... I don't know... nothing seems real... I
mean... it doesn't even FEEL like Ben's gone and now I'm
SEEING things and I'm HEARING things...." Al decided that
now would be a good time to leave.
When Al had left, Sam said, "There's no one here, honey."
Starkweather, dry-eyed but still over-emotional, started to
shake again. She leaned against the wall, and slid down,
holding herself. "Oh God, oh god, oh god..." she whispered
as she hung her head. Sam went over to her in a shot and
wrapped his big arms around her. She felt cold. She was in
shock. Seeing Al was too much for her. "Come on
Starkweather," he said, rocking her back and forth, wishing
she'd cry or yell or do SOMETHING.
Finally, she came around, "I'm sorry I freaked out on you,"
she mumbled.
Sam laughed "It was the cherry on the Sundae from hell," he
said.
Starkweather scootched closer to him and hugged him
fiercely around the neck. "Is this nightmare going to end?"
she asked.
"God, I hope so," Sam said to her, holding her tight. Then,
to himself he muttered again. "God I hope so."
And so, huddled together like two refugees from a war-torn
land, the agent and the time traveler fell asleep, only
holding it together because they were holding each other.