TITLE: Conloquor
AUTHOR: Brittany "Thespis" Frederick
E-MAIL: baltimorelt@yahoo.com
SPOILERS: Existence
RATING: PG for language
CATEGORY: Case File, new character, Doggett, Mulder
and Krycek-heavy
SUMMARY: Set after the events of my fan fics "Hold On"
and "Sacrifical Angel." Stark returns to the scene of
the shooting and gets an unpleasant surprise while she
ruminates, forcing her to investigate what everyone
else believes is the truth. This is my humble (and
hopefully sensible) attempt to un-murder Krycek.
DISCLAIMER: All nonoriginal content belongs to Chris
Carter, 1013, and FOX. Agent Stark Patrick and all new
content/ideas et cetera belong to me and I'm proud of
it. Archive's okay, with my permission.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: In case you don't speak Latin,
Conloquor is Latin for "to speak." And if some of this
makes no sense, you either need to read more of this
or some of the other stories in the Napoleon's Battle
Plan series. I apologize for nothing. Well, that's not
true, I apologize for some of the things. Not all of
the things. I apologize for about half the things that
make no sense in this fanfic. ("Sports Night" fans,
give yourself a pat on the back if you recognized that
paraphrase from 'Intellectual Property.')
This morning feels like yesterday
Yesterday follows me around
Standing on the outside looking in
Funny how you see the truth
But the feeling does come back to you
Standing on the outside looking in
State of grace, state of sin
Standing on the outside looking in
I cannot feel a single thing
But the feeling does come back again...
- Sheryl Crow, "On The Outside"
Special Agent Stark Patrick leaned against the pylon
in the parking garage and looked out at her
surroundings, all the parked cars, the silent
concrete. Just feet away she could see the scars in
the concrete that represented her bitterest memory.
The one she hadn't even really been conscious enough
to remember. It was silent now, and she reached up
under her collar to run her fingers across the scar
that she'd earned. A jolt of the familiar sensation
ran through her veins and she remembered the initial
pain, after which she'd collapsed in her partner's
arms and blacked out, only to find herself in the
Deputy Director's bedroom with an IV hooked up to her
and her partner crying himself a river.
It didn't make sense to her, either.
They'd all been trying to protect Scully's baby, and
had beaten Billy Miles to the car by barely seconds.
She still remembered catching her breath as the
Chrysler skidded out of the garage with Agent Reyes at
the wheel, Scully safely inside. Remembered her heart
racing as she looked at John and A.D. Skinner and
Mulder and silently affirmed that they had indeed come
out on top. Or so they thought. Later that same early
morning, or whenever it was, they had been down in the
garage en route to covering their final bases when
Alex Krycek had pointed a gun at her and proceeded to
shoot her. She had faced liquid metal killing machines
and survived but she wasn't so lucky. She remembered
bleeding over the pavement, all over John, before she
heard a second gunshot and then lost consciousness.
According to John, he'd shot Krycek, then they'd -
they meaning the two of them, Skinner, Mulder and
Ratboy himself - hauled ass to the domicile of Deputy
Director Kara Exstead where emergency care had taken
place. She had apparently been left there because
Krycek was dead and Skinner had shot him in the same
garage. This garage was getting to be a hot zone for
bullets and blood, she decided, looking down and
shaking her head. No one had been able to tell her the
full story of what had gone down and she had wondered
if the shoot was clean. The man had shot her and she
should have been happy. But as an officer of the law
and a woman of honor she had to ask herself if it was
right. And the facts said that it was. Skinner had
shot Krycek to avoid Krycek's killing Mulder.
Justifiable homicide, the books called it. But still,
there was this sense - her infamous sixth sense as a
matter of fact - that something was incongruous.
She could imagine John right now, still upstairs over
the other files currently pending investigation. He
knew that she'd left to go to her car, and in a few
minutes he'd probably set down the Billie Tasker file
and come looking for her. But that was another time,
minutes into the future. Right now she had only
herself and cold concrete and half-memories of what
was.
"Jesus Christ," she muttered to herself.
"I'm afraid he's not in right now," another voice
said.
Stark's head shot up and John's name caught in her
throat. It was the first one that formed on her lips
but she stopped it this time. She had a talent for
recognizing voices and that was not John's voice. It
was something else. It all fell into place as she saw
his face again as he appeared. It lacked the decisive
egotistical flair of that first encounter, the frost
in his eyes that had been cold and dead. She should
have hurt him but she didn't want to. She accepted
blood loss as the job. And he was supposed to be dead
to begin with. That was enough of a mystery.
"Krycek," she said his name slowly, emotionlessly.
"Agent Patrick." She was surprised he hid whatever he
was feeling or thinking so well. "You've recovered
nicely."
She nodded. "You didn't as far as I was told."
He laughed, a short, dry sardonic sound. "There are
always surprises."
"Yes, there are." She'd learned that much from the
X-Files. "Such as, why are you here? Pissed off that
you missed, or..."
"Hardly." He smirked. "I wanted to see you in the
flesh. I had heard, of course, that you'd survived,
but that's not the same as seeing it. And I believe I
owe you."
"For what?"
"For giving me the benefit of the doubt. Considering
the company you keep, I would have expected that you
would have written me off, but I was pleasantly
surprised." He paused. "Scully, Mulder, Skinner,
Doggett - they didn't tell you the stories about me?"
"Oh, they told me." She shook her head. "I chose to
wait and see." Then she fixed him with a look, "That
was a mistake."
"Was it?" he said evenly.
Her gaze turned hard. "Don't play this with me,
Krycek. You shot me. I should walk away right now, not
to mention I don't know how I'm talking to a dead
man."
"I'm not dead," he said, stating the obvious with that
same flat tone of fake indifference.
"Mulder saw you die," she corrected firmly.
"He's lying," Krycek insisted.
"Is he?" she said. She wondered what was going on
behind those dark eyes, what processes of thought,
what feelings, what ideas. If Krycek was some sort of
alien replicant or something and had been resurrected.
One could not have a conversation with the person who
had shot them and not wonder that, and looking at that
face that was so easily deceptive, she wondered that
very much.
Krycek laughed at her serious comment and reached into
his jacket. Stark's hand instantly went to her gun,
and stayed there even as he produced a small minidisc
and held it out to her, saying simply, "This will tell
you all you need to know." Then he turned and walked
away, "I'll be in touch, Agent Patrick. And for what
it's worth ... I'm sorry." He actually sounded like he
meant it, but she figured he couldn't possibly mean
it.
She watched him go in disbelief. She should have done
anything but that, but the conflict within her that
she had hidden had bubbled up with his appearance and
she was too numb to do anything. She could barely
believe she held the minidisc, but it was cold and
thin in her hand. The physical evidence supported no
other possibility than that which she wanted to deny.
From behind her, the elevator bell dinged and the
doors parted. She could hear her partner's approach
sounding on the concrete, "Stark, you okay?"
She slipped the minidisc into her jacket, "I'm fine."
********
"You want me to wait for you?"
"Hmmm?" Stark looked up from her computer where she'd
been earnestly typing for the last hour. John smirked
from his desk, where he was putting the last of his
things together. "I said, you want me to wait for you?
I'm heading out for the night."
"I'm going to be about ten more minutes," she said,
looking briefly at the screen even though she didn't
really care about that particular report which was
displayed.
He nodded. "I can wait."
"You're sure?" she said, raising an eyebrow.
"What am I gonna do, go home and watch CNN?" he
quipped. They shared a smile and he stood, fingering
his car keys. "I'll be down in the garage. Take your
time."
"Okay," she called after him. The door clicked shut
behind her partner.
As soon as John had left, Stark felt for the minidisc
in the pocket of her jacket, which hung on the back of
her chair. It felt almost alien. After all, she'd
received it from a dead man. But she was curious and a
doubting cop - a bad combination in situations like
this. She popped the disk into her CD-ROM drive and
found herself staring at a file directory the likes of
which she hadn't seen before. It all appeared to be
things pertinent to recent events in the office. She
clicked on one
file and noted that it had something to do with the
shootings. Pausing a moment as she thought about what
to do, she finally found an idea and opened a desk
drawer. Copying the contents of the minidisc to a zip
disk, she put both the original and the new copy into
her backpack, grabbed her own belongings and headed
for the door.
She didn't know what she was getting into. Maybe the
Lone Gunmen would. Either way, she didn't want this.
Not tonight. She wanted to go home, so she turned out
the lights in the basement office and started on her
way there.
********
Stark met John in the parking garage eight minutes
from when he had left and slid into the passenger seat
of the truck. He swung it out into the D.C. night. The
radio was silent, the temperature optimal, and the
normally verbose Special Agents were oddly manipulated
into silence.
"John?" she started.
He glanced over at her, "Yeah?"
"What if Krycek wasn't dead?"
Her partner raised an eyebrow, "What do you mean?"
She looked at him then, took in the concern and
confusion and conflicting emotions on his face. "I
mean what if Assistant Director Skinner didn't kill
him. Maybe just wounded him or something."
"I wasn't there, but I'm pretty sure he hit him," John
said. "What's on your mind?"
"I was wondering," she admitted. "If he really was
dead. I was thinking that ... that would tell me
everything I need to know."
He nodded with a base understanding of what she was
after but not of the veiled ideas in her mind. "In
this line of work, it rarely does," he said quietly.
They drove on. She studied his face, the flickering of
those blue eyes, the planes of his face. She wanted to
tell him everything, about the minidisc, about seeing
Alex Krycek, about all of that. She always wanted to
tell him because their relationship was built on that
trust. She felt safe with him there. She wanted to
tell him all of it and have him help her find the real
truth, or at least to hold her hand like he always did
when she was concerned and tell her it was all right
to doubt, to be confused, to see dead people. After
all, he was a straight arrow and if there was
something wrong with the shooting, he would go after
it, even if it was a friend involved. But considering
the circumstances - and seeing the look in his eyes,
hearing the sound of his voice when she'd suggested
the possibility - she nixed the idea. It was just too
much, she decided. Not until she knew what she was
talking about. He'd be ready then. Ready to accept
that his partner had been mysteriously approached by
the supposedly dead man that had shot her? It might
take a while, but ... She sighed.
"Seriously..." he said after a moment, "is that it?"
The words caught in her throat and she forced them
down. "Yeah, that was it."
"I know what you're going through," he said quietly.
"You read the file on the soul eater? On how it..."
"I read it several times," she said. "I don't
understand it, John, but for what it's worth, I'm
thankful that you're here." She abruptly turned to
look at him, "You know that, right?"
He smiled. "I know it." Then he let out a sigh. "I
guess, sometimes, in this ... there is no explanation."
She nodded, momentarily satisfied, and watched the
oncoming road through the windshield. Sounds played at
the back of her mind because she remembered. When the
gun went off, she closed her eyes. The shot echoed in
her mind for another few minutes until finally,
mercifully, there was nothing but silence in her head.
Silence and the open road leading home. Which were two
things, she decided then, that she really needed.
********
"John, did you want a drink or something?" she offered
later as she unlocked the door to her apartment. He'd
walked her to the door, as he always did when she
wasn't crashing at his place, and for some reason he
checked his watch. "It's midnight," he said. She
paused, almost bewildered by him, "And this differs
from the dozens of times we've been up until two in
the morning watching SportsCenter reruns how?" He
smiled. "I guess you're right," he admitted, and
followed her in, closing the door behind himself.
Her apartment always looked neat, mostly because she
was hardly ever there to change that. And despite that
she was not the type of person to break things in
anger. So she simply let him settle in on her couch
and she walked to the fridge for two cans of beer,
tossing him one. Her partner caught it easily. Stark,
however, was already drinking slowly, letting the
alcohol numb her frayed nerves, gathering the courage
to say what she had to say. She swallowed and out came
the words.
"John ... Krycek's not dead."
His head jerked up abruptly, and she looked into those
blue eyes which were now filled with a startled
disbelief and an old anger which still burned. "What
are you talking about?" he asked her.
"John..." she paused, crossing over to the couch, "I - I
saw Alex Krycek tonight. In the parking garage. After
I went down to my car." She forestalled any reply, "I
don't know how it happened either. But it did happen.
I can't deny what I saw."
"How do you know?" he asked.
She produced the minidisc and handed it to him. "He
gave me this. He said it would tell me everything I
needed to know."
He looked down at the golden surface of the disc in
his hand for a moment and then back up at her. "Stark,
this guy tried to kill you. He tried to kill me. Why
would he - what does he want?" He trusted her more
than anyone else, and the proof was undeniable, but
the echo of disbelief, denial, still rang in his
voice.
"I don't know." She shook her head. "I figured I'd
call Byers in the morning and see if the Gunmen could
look into it. Even I - I don't want to touch this
stuff." She sighed, disparate. "But I'm in it now, for
whatever reason. You're the first person I've told.
But I thought you had to know." There was a pause. "I
don't want this," she muttered.
"Then don't take it," he insisted. "Walk away, say to
hell with it. You always have a choice. There is
always another way, right?"
A small smile formed on her lips at his quotation of
her famous phrase, but it quickly died there, replaced
with uncertainty. "I should look into it, John," she
replied. "If this has to do with anything we know
about, anything we don't ... if this has to do with the
shooting, if the shooting's not clean..."
"They called it justifiable homicide," he interrupted
and his voice had some edge to it, an insistence. She
knew that kind of tone well. It was the same tone Mike
Kellerman had possessed when asked if his shooting of
Luther Mahoney was clean even though he knew it
wasn't. Although John didn't pull the trigger with
Krycek, he was still understandably defensive. "It was
clean."
"I don't *know* that," she cut him off irritably.
"John ... I owe it to the truth to check this out. But
mostly ... I owe it to myself. If you don't want to be a
part of this, I understand. Just ... just let me do what
I have to do, okay?" Stark let out a sigh and looked
away from him then, letting the silence fill the gaps.
John looked at her then. What she was saying was
unbelievable, and that she wanted to chase it even
more so. She didn't go on Spooky Mulder tangents. But
neither had Scully, neither had Mulder himself in the
beginning. Even Doggett himself was forced to admit
things weren't as kosher as they had been in C.I.D.
She wasn't paranoiac, not as Mulder had gotten. She
was simply going on what she knew, what she saw, and
was determined to find whatever answer was waiting for
her. He was concerned about opening that whole
situation again, but he was mostly concerned about
her. She was his partner of almost seven years and
she'd followed him through fire. He didn't want to
lose her again. And not to some stupidly convoluted
semi-death argument such as this was turning out to
be.
"Stark..." he started, reaching for her hand.
She turned to face him then with a look on her face
that said she would accept whatever decision he chose
to make. "Yeah?" she said quietly.
"Do what you have to do," he said simply.
She nodded. "What about you?"
"I don't know yet," he admitted. She looked
crestfallen almost as if accepting the worst, and
shifted. He knew that she expected that he would
probably walk away, but he didn't. He reached for his
hand. "No matter what becomes of ... this," he said
quietly, "Partners don't leave partners."
She nodded numbly. "I'm sorry, John. I shouldn't have
involved you."
He shook his head. "Don't apologize. You're doing what
your instincts are telling you to. What the precinct
taught you to do. When I first came to the Bureau,
when we were in C.I.D., I probably would have done the
same thing."
"And now?" she reluctantly inquired.
"And now I'm lucky enough if I know a quarter of
what's going on when I show up in the morning," he
finished her statement for her. "I couldn't do this if
I wanted to, Stark." He met her eyes then, and they
demanded an explanation silently. "I was there. I was
involved. I can't be impartial about all this. I threw
down with Krycek and all of that. You didn't. You..."
His breath caught in his throat, "You don't have those
expectations. No one's wondering whose side you're on.
You can investigate this and come away clean."
"Can I?" she whispered. "Can I, really?"
He bit his lip. "I don't know. But I'm willing to take
that chance if you are."
Stark smiled and reached for her beer, draining
another swallow. "I appreciate that."
"I owe it to you," he admitted. "Among other things."
She rolled her eyes. "Let's not talk about it, hmm?"
she said, and handed him the television remote without
further explanation.
*******
"Obviously I'm not here, which means I'm probably out
chasing something, but use your imagination to fill in
the blanks. Assuming I ever get a life, leave a
message..."
Stark answered the phone in the middle of her
answering machine tape, having stumbled out from the
bedroom at three in the morning to do so. "This better
be good," she growled into the receiver as she turned
on a light and winced at the brightness.
"How is it you never manage to answer the phone before
the machine when I call?" the familiar voice taunted
and Stark rolled her eyes.
"Maybe 'cause you seem to call when I'm in the middle
of something, Mulder," she said but her demeanor
quickly turned serious. Last time he had called, it
had been about John, when he'd gone missing outside of
Herman Stites' property. As a reflex, she looked over
her shoulder back at the door of the second bedroom.
He was standing in the darkness with a questioning
look on his face, and she nodded to placate him.
Apparently satisfied, he didn't say anything, and she
went back to Mulder. "Talk to me. Is it about Agent
Scully?"
"Scully's fine," Mulder assured her. "No, this is
about something entirely different. It's about Alex
Krycek."
Stark blinked and she sat down on the couch almost in
disbelief. "What is it?" She briefly feigned
innocence, "I thought he was dead."
"Yeah, well, so did I," Mulder drawled sardonically,
"but I've got information that points to otherwise."
"From who? What?" she blurted.
"I'd rather do this in person," he offered. "How soon
can we meet?"
"Well, unless you want to see me in my robe, I'll need
at least fifteen minutes," she tried to quip but it
sounded lame and dead.
"And while I wouldn't mind," he joked, then stopped.
"I'm with Scully over at her apartment. You know the
place?"
"Yeah, yeah, I've been there before," Stark said.
"I'll see you in fifteen minutes, Mulder," she said,
and abruptly hung up the phone, standing. She'd
totally forgotten about John, and now felt his eyes on
her. She looked up from the phone after a beat.
"That was Mulder," she explained, "He wants to see me
about Krycek."
"You want me to come with you?" he offered.
She thought about this for a moment, "Yeah. Yeah,
John, I do." Then she met his eyes, met the concern
and the conflict in them. "But only if you want to."
He nodded. "You don't have to ask," he reminded her
and she smiled briefly before she disappeared back
into her bedroom, leaving him to stand there and shake
his head at the events of the past few hours, of
everything he'd seen and been told. "What have you
gotten yourself into?" he whispered to her, but she
wasn't there to hear, and only the silence replied. He
finally rubbed tiredly at his eyes and turned back
from where he'd come, hoping she wasn't finally in
over her head, but wondering if she could be.
*********
Fox Mulder answered the door of Dana Scully's
apartment some ten minutes later, letting in the two
Special Agents, both dressed in casual clothes and
faded jeans. "Come on in," he said needlessly, closing
the door behind them, then he remarked, "Agent
Doggett, I didn't expect to see you here." Doggett
smirked. "Well, you know I tend to follow my partner
around," he quipped sarcastically and Stark rolled her
eyes as Mulder laughed.
Scully sat in the chair near her couch, holding her
sleeping son, and she looked up and smiled as they
entered. "Agent Patrick, Agent Doggett," she greeted
them as they sat on the couch.
"Agent Scully," they both replied, almost in unison.
Doggett added, "How's the baby?"
"He's doing fine," she said, then changed her tone,
"Much like Krycek, I've heard."
"That's what we're here for," Stark said quietly as
Mulder himself took a seat. All of the room's other
occupants looked at him expectantly. He leaned
forward, let a pause of silence break the ice, and
began to speak.
"About half an hour ago I received information from a
source of mine who said Krycek may be alive. She
claims to have seen him."
"Who's the source?" Doggett inquired.
"A woman you've probably heard of. Marita
Covarrubias," Mulder explained. "She works at the U.N.
and she's had some dealings with Krycek in the past."
"Yeah, we've heard of her," Stark replied. "So she saw
him?"
"That's what she says," Mulder replies. "She was
working late tonight and apparently he managed to get
himself into the building and find her. Knowing
Krycek, I'm not surprised. However," he spoke the last
part slowly, "she says he also gave her a minidisc,
and told her it would tell her everything she needed
to know."
Stark was momentarily startled, and she and John
looked at each other, remembering those exact words
and that disc. "Tell him, Stark," John prompted
quietly, and Mulder glanced at her, surprised. "Is
there something you know about this?" he asked of her.
She nodded, then made solemn eye contact with him. "I
was down in the parking garage tonight, and I - I saw
Krycek. He handed me a minidisc and told me the exact
same thing."
Mulder and Scully were both surprised. "Do you have
the disc?" Scully asked.
Stark started to shake her head, but John produced it
from his jacket. She looked at him questioningly, and
he shrugged. "I had my suspicions," he said and she
smiled. Mulder nodded. "Well, this just gets more
interesting," he quipped, then glanced at Scully.
"Scully, would you be okay without me for a while?"
"Yeah, Mulder," Scully said, "Why?"
"I'll call the Lone Gunmen and they can come over,"
Mulder said, standing, as did everyone else. "I think
that Agent Doggett and Agent Patrick and I should pay
Marita a visit. Perhaps Ms. Covarrubias can explain
what's going on tonight."
"I hope she can," Stark said, "because I can't."
"I don't think I want to," Mulder said firmly before
heading for the phone, leaving everyone else to stand
silent and second-guess all they'd experienced over
the past days and wonder why it had all come to this.
Finally Mulder put down the phone. "They'll be here in
a few minutes," he explained to Scully, then fixed his
glance on the other two. "Let's get ready to go," he
suggested. "It's going to be a long night."
Stark nodded and reached for John's hand, never taking
her eyes off Mulder, feeling comfort when he squeezed
firmly. "It can't be any longer than what I've already
gone through," she said, "but you know what they say."
"What?" Mulder said, raising an eyebrow.
She tried to muster a smile. "The truth is out there."
Mulder smiled. "Yeah, and so are a lot of other
things, too, I've learned. But I don't think it's
anything that we can't handle," he tried to reassure
her. Inwardly, he wasn't so sure. But that was okay
because inwardly, none of them were.
********
"Welcome to the U.N.," Mulder said quietly later when
he drove the vehicle to a stop. Climbing out of the
passenger and back seats respectively, Agents Doggett
and Patrick circled around the vehicle and the trio
started walking across the street toward the
foreboding building. "I've been here before," Doggett
informed Mulder, adding at the younger man's gaze, "I
was with the Multi-National Peacekeeping Force.
Lebanon Development."
Mulder regarded Stark, "What about you?"
"This is my first time," she said. "I was with
Baltimore P.D."
"Well, I'm sorry I can't give you the guided tour, but
we've got other things to do," Mulder said as they
reached the perimeter of the building's lot. Because
it was early morning and the building was virtually
empty, security was almost dead. A mere flash of
badges at a lone guardpost got them in. They were
rather relieved. They weren't in the mood for a fight.
Doggett craned his neck to see the height of the
building, "So where is Ms. Covarrubias anyway?"
"In her office, fourteenth floor," Mulder said. "Let's
not keep her waiting."
"Good advice," was John's reply.
The U.N. building was cold, dark and dead as they
stepped inside, the door closing silently behind them.
Since the elevators had been turned off hours before,
Mulder directed them into the stairwell. In the
process of climbing thirteen flights of stairs, they
moved on in relative silence, not knowing what awaited
them on that fourteenth floor. They were gripped with
a variety of emotions ranging from fear to anger, all
tempered with a healthy dose of tension. In the space
of a few hours, there had been reasonable doubt and
unreasonable sightings, a chain reaction of improbable
events that all pointed to the conclusion that a man
who should have been dead after being shot by one of
their own in an act declared clean but that may not
have been was suddenly alive and leaving mysterious
minidiscs to female acquaintances. That was not the
conclusion they wanted. They wanted the one which
remained six feet underground, but they had no choice
but to pursue the truth. And as they reached the
fourteenth-floor stairwell, Stark wondered how Mulder
dealt with it, the bitter feeling of moments like
these. She didn't ask him and he pushed open the door,
leading them out into the cold hallway where they
filled their lungs with fear and exhaled.
"Marita?" Mulder called. "It's me. It's Mulder."
"Over here," came the reply, and they followed the
voice to a barely lit office, where a blond woman sat
numbly in a desk chair, a single desk lamp lighting
the room, the light glinting off a minidisc similar to
the one in Agent Doggett's jacket pocket. She glanced
up as they entered, obviously of Russian or Ukrainian
or somesuch other descent. Mulder introduced her as
the Special Assistant to the Secretary General and
watched as she suspiciously eyed his two companions.
"Who are these two?" Covarrubias asked Mulder warily.
"These are Special Agents Doggett and Patrick," Mulder
explained. "They work with me on the X-Files. They've
had some run-ins with Krycek themselves, as a matter
of fact," he said, leaving the door open for either of
them to explain the whole sordid affair.
"I was..." Stark started. "He shot me. Before A.D.
Skinner shot him, he shot me." Marita appeared not
really surprised but not expectant either, and Stark
continued. "Tonight ... this morning ... I saw him.
According to what Agent Mulder's told me of what you
told him, your encounter matches mine."
"He gave you..." Marita began.
"A minidisc," Doggett interrupted, producing the disc
and letting her examine it until she was certain that
it was exactly like the one sitting on her desk. After
she'd handed it back to him, he added, "He told her
that it would tell her everything she needed to know.
Just like you."
Covarrubias nodded. "What would you have me do?"
"We were hoping you could shed some light on this,"
Mulder began. "On how Krycek, who we'd thought dead
until Agent Patrick saw him hours ago, is suddenly
alive, and why he picked you, and why he picked her,
and what's on those disks, and what he's talking
about."
"A couple of events and you expect I know all about
him," she scoffed. "Contrary to that, Agent Mulder, I
don't really know anything about this ... that's why I
called you."
"Is it?" Mulder started. "I think you know more than
you're letting on."
"Marita," Stark inserted softly, "If you know anything
that can help me put this to rest, I'd ... I'd
appreciate it."
Covarrubias paused. "I have theories, but that's about
it."
"Why don't you start by telling them the rest of the
story?" Mulder suggested. The U.N. agent nodded and
shut the office door, sinking back into her chair as
the three federal officers stood there expectantly,
each mulling over different opinions, different ideas.
There was a long silence until he prompted again,
"Krycek found you, didn't he?"
"Against all odds, yes." She chose her next words
carefully. "About an hour ago. I was here ... and
suddenly, so was Alex. I didn't notice him coming. I
still believed that he was dead. But he was here. He
explained to me, once he'd ignored all of my obvious
questions, that he couldn't stay, but he handed me the
disc and told me it would tell me all I needed to
know. Before I could say anything else..." She searched
for the phrase, "...he disappeared. Just as if he'd
never been." Her eyes met those of the federal agents,
who were soaking in the whole story. No one spoke. No
one really had the words. Not at that moment.
Stark finally threw up her hands. "I'm done," she
said, and headed for the door. John called her name,
but she walked out of the office into the hall. A
heartbeat later Covarrubias followed on some unknown
impulse, leaving the men to stand there and think
about it all and try to put together the pieces.
"Will she be okay?" Mulder asked, looking out the
door, after both women had gone.
Doggett's gaze followed Mulder's. "That depends," he
said quietly, "on where this ends. Right now, this
moment? I don't know."
Mulder glanced at him then, entirely surprised. He
knew the implications which followed with that
statement. And they frightened him more than anything
else.
********
The two women stood alone in the open space at the end
of the hall opposite from the stairwell. Stark leaned
her weight against the wall with a disparate sigh.
Covarrubias observed her, as she had from the
beginning. She was a fairly accurate observer of body
language, and she had noted in Mulder's two companions
a true synergy. Perhaps, as someone had once said, no
one gets there alone. No one - including Alex Krycek,
if that was to be the case.
"Alex shot you?" she said quietly.
The special agent nodded. "In the parking garage after
we'd sent Agent Scully on her way. He said something
about me not being ready. How I was a liability to her
because I wasn't ready. And he shot me. And John shot
him back. I don't know the rest of it, but A.D.
Skinner shot him in the parking garage a little while
after that. He took four bullets in less than
twenty-four hours, including at least one to the head.
By all accounts he should be dead, and..."
"Instead he comes looking for us," Covarrubias
finished. She paused. "I can understand why he would
come looking for me. We've worked together in the
past. But why he would come after you ... guilt? I don't
understand it," she said.
Stark looked up. "I don't," she said. "He said
something about how I chose not to believe all the
stories ... all the facts ... that everyone else had told
me. And he apologized, and that was ... that was it. I
don't know what he expects me ... expects us ... to do.
But I think it has something to do with his shooting.
With A.D. Skinner. As if he wants the two of us to
look at it again."
Covarrubias nodded. "He and Skinner were consistently
at odds."
"I noticed," Stark replied.
The U.N. agent shook her head. "Not in the fashion
you're thinking of. You're right, but this is
something different. A.D. Skinner has nanotechnology
probes in his blood. Alex had ... has ... a Palm Pilot in
his possession which controls them. Therefore, with
that device, he literally controls the Assistant
Director's life in his hands. And he knows it."
"Christ," the younger woman swore. "I read the files,
but..."
"It wasn't in the files. Understandably," corrected
Covarrubias.
"Kersh would have locked him down," the special agent
drew the necessary conclusions. "And hell, I don't
know what Exstead would, or will, or whatever ... what
she'll make of it. If she knows." She let out a sigh.
"Somehow, we're both weapons in this thing. And I want
to know why."
"If you ever find out, that's an accomplishment in
itself," Covarrubias said calmly. It was a common
statement of fact, nothing more, nothing less. Stark
nodded in a grim acceptance. She looked down the hall
and noticed that the two men seemed to be finished
with their own business, then she locked eyes with
Covarrubias. "Marita," she said, "in case something
happens..."
The U.N. agent handed her a card and she slipped it
into her pocket. "If anything happens," she said,
"Agent Mulder has my number."
Covarrubias nodded. "I don't really have anything to
say, Agent Patrick."
Stark stood from the wall. "Except an old Egyptian
blessing."
"May the grace of God be with you in all the empty
places where you must walk," Covarrubias repeated,
watching Stark walk away into the darkness of the
hall, and then, much like Krycek, simply disappear.
********
They were back in the car and on the road later,
sitting in the silence once again, mulling over what
Marita Covarrubias had told them for the second and
third time, frustrated because the answers weren't
there but worn down by the suddenness of the whole
damn affair. John looked over his shoulder at Stark,
who appeared increasingly distant in the backseat. "We
were thinking," he said slowly, "about going back to
Scully's place and having the Gunmen take a look at
the disc."
She nodded. "Go ahead and drop me off." Then she added
with a small smile, "I hope you don't mind that I'm
not going to wait up for you."
"Not at all." Ordinarily the exchange would have been
funny, but it was now weak and dead, much like the
mood of the rest of the evening, and he turned back to
the road and she watched it from the window until she
finally closed her eyes and hoped it was all a dream.
She'd done that before, on her first few X-Files, or
whenever things got out of hand. But she had never
meant it more than she did that moment.
********
Once Mulder and Doggett had dropped her at her
apartment, Stark didn't even bother to change clothes
again. She simply locked the door (he did have a key,
after all) and went back to bed, pulling the covers
tight around her and trying to get much needed sleep
when she was supposed to be at work in less than two
hours.
Half an hour later, she awoke to a sound. "John?" she
said, but there was no answer. Stark reached over and
turned on her nightstand lamp, squinting with the
brightness but quickly adjusting as she sat up in bed
to find out if it was just the kitchen faucet again or
if it was something more.
"Son of a bitch!" she exclaimed, backing up and
reaching for her service weapon in the nightstand
drawer. She had it out and aimed, but for no real
reason. Anyway, she supposed, if Krycek was going to
kill her (or try to again), he would have done it by
now and she shouldn't have noticed. She lowered the
gun but did not let go. "I know I don't see dead
people," she said, "so why don't you tell me what the
hell is going on?"
He reached over and brushed her arm with his
fingertips. "I think that should prove you're not
seeing anything," he said simply. She shook her head
in abject disbelief. "What, now that John's not around
and you've already scared the hell out of Marita
Covarrubias, you figured you'd just torment me again?"
she insisted, her voice taking on an edge. She really
didn't like being lead on or screwed over, and he was
doing both. He simply smirked. "Did you have a chance
to look at the disc yet?" he inquired of her as if
they were old friends making small talk rather than a
federal agent and a triple agent confined by wrong
place, wrong time.
"It's in safe hands," she said, and he nodded. "I'd
heard you spoke with Marita. I wanted to make sure
that you were still alive."
"What?" she exclaimed. "There wasn't any threat."
"Not that you saw," he explained, "but anyone I told
is a target. The knowledge that I'm alive is a
dangerous thing when it's an unclean shooting. And
there are always people watching me," he added evenly.
She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I can't take this,
Krycek. Being lead around with your cryptic
doublespeak crap and middle of the night escapades and
this ... whatever. You breaking into my apartment, into
my bedroom, is just ... is it. I didn't ask for this."
"Who am I supposed to turn to?" he asked. "Your
partner is right. You are the only person who wasn't
involved. You are the only person concerned with
ethics. You'll understand what is wrong with that
shooting. And you'll put it to justice. You have to."
"You're telling me I have to put Skinner down," she
said slowly, "after you've been screwing him over with
the Palm Pilot."
Krycek shook his head. "Not Skinner. Other people who,
unbeknownst to the Assistant Director, forced him into
making that choice. You think I really wanted that? If
I'd wanted to kill Mulder, I would have killed him,
not stood there for five minutes..."
"You wanted Skinner to kill you." She stared
incredulously.
"All lies lead to the truth," he said.
In the other room, the sound of the door unlocking was
clearly audible. Stark held Krycek's gaze. "Unless you
want my partner to fillet you," she growled, "you
should get the hell out of here." When he appeared
unconvinced, she added, "I'm giving you the benefit of
the doubt, Krycek. Don't make me regret it."
By the time she heard John step through the front
door, she looked back and Krycek was gone. As Marita
had told her, it was as if he had just disappeared.
She put the gun away and exhaled a sigh of relief.
Maybe, no, probably, she told herself, it would be
better for everyone if he really did disappear.
Her bedroom door slid quietly open and she looked up
to see John standing in the doorway. "I'm guessing you
didn't manage to get any sleep while I was gone," he
commented. His eyes were sober with his concern and
she felt placated by his presence, if not comfortable.
But, she doubted then, she wouldn't be comfortable
again. Not tonight, not for a while, not with this on
her hands.
She looked out the window, at the stars, and thought
of Alex Krycek and everything that had just happened
and the whole big picture. "No," she said simply,
"It's just not my night."
He smiled thinly, "That's an understatement."
"And a hell of one," she whispered, having no other
words to say.
His voice was quiet. "You wanna talk about it?" he
offered.
Stark shook her head almost imperceptibly, still
looking out at the night as if it would suddenly
reveal all the answers. He felt her desperation. He
had been there once, many times, and he was there
again, this night, with her. He doubted it would be
the last time they would walk this road. This road, as
in the song, was a lifetime long.
His gentle calling of her name brought her back to
reality. "Stark."
"I'm fine," she whispered, only after that at last
tearing her eyes away from the window to make eye
contact with him.
He nodded. "I know, and I'm right here."
She smiled for the first time all night, a small,
brief smile. "I know."
John Doggett returned the gesture. "Okay," he said
quietly, and together, they gazed out at the
Washington night through her bedroom window, wondering
if at all it was possible to change the stars.
Here I am again
Overwhelming feelings
Part of me is here
Miles that stand between
You can't separate
All I am begins with you
Half of me breathes in you
Here we are again
Saying goodbye
When I close my eyes
Entwined, you and I
Still we'll fall asleep underneath the sad sky
Thoughts of hope understood...
- The Nixons, "Sister"
=====
"Oh, for God's sake, please be somebody else."
- Lewis Black
Natalie: Two guys have ascended 5 miles into the sky. They walked up a wall of ice and are preparing to knock on the door of heaven itself. There's really no end to what we can do. You know what the trick is?
Dan: What?
Natalie: Get in the game!
- "The Quality of Mercy at 29K", "Sports Night"
AUTHOR: Brittany "Thespis" Frederick
E-MAIL: baltimorelt@yahoo.com
SPOILERS: Existence
RATING: PG for language
CATEGORY: Case File, new character, Doggett, Mulder
and Krycek-heavy
SUMMARY: Set after the events of my fan fics "Hold On"
and "Sacrifical Angel." Stark returns to the scene of
the shooting and gets an unpleasant surprise while she
ruminates, forcing her to investigate what everyone
else believes is the truth. This is my humble (and
hopefully sensible) attempt to un-murder Krycek.
DISCLAIMER: All nonoriginal content belongs to Chris
Carter, 1013, and FOX. Agent Stark Patrick and all new
content/ideas et cetera belong to me and I'm proud of
it. Archive's okay, with my permission.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: In case you don't speak Latin,
Conloquor is Latin for "to speak." And if some of this
makes no sense, you either need to read more of this
or some of the other stories in the Napoleon's Battle
Plan series. I apologize for nothing. Well, that's not
true, I apologize for some of the things. Not all of
the things. I apologize for about half the things that
make no sense in this fanfic. ("Sports Night" fans,
give yourself a pat on the back if you recognized that
paraphrase from 'Intellectual Property.')
This morning feels like yesterday
Yesterday follows me around
Standing on the outside looking in
Funny how you see the truth
But the feeling does come back to you
Standing on the outside looking in
State of grace, state of sin
Standing on the outside looking in
I cannot feel a single thing
But the feeling does come back again...
- Sheryl Crow, "On The Outside"
Special Agent Stark Patrick leaned against the pylon
in the parking garage and looked out at her
surroundings, all the parked cars, the silent
concrete. Just feet away she could see the scars in
the concrete that represented her bitterest memory.
The one she hadn't even really been conscious enough
to remember. It was silent now, and she reached up
under her collar to run her fingers across the scar
that she'd earned. A jolt of the familiar sensation
ran through her veins and she remembered the initial
pain, after which she'd collapsed in her partner's
arms and blacked out, only to find herself in the
Deputy Director's bedroom with an IV hooked up to her
and her partner crying himself a river.
It didn't make sense to her, either.
They'd all been trying to protect Scully's baby, and
had beaten Billy Miles to the car by barely seconds.
She still remembered catching her breath as the
Chrysler skidded out of the garage with Agent Reyes at
the wheel, Scully safely inside. Remembered her heart
racing as she looked at John and A.D. Skinner and
Mulder and silently affirmed that they had indeed come
out on top. Or so they thought. Later that same early
morning, or whenever it was, they had been down in the
garage en route to covering their final bases when
Alex Krycek had pointed a gun at her and proceeded to
shoot her. She had faced liquid metal killing machines
and survived but she wasn't so lucky. She remembered
bleeding over the pavement, all over John, before she
heard a second gunshot and then lost consciousness.
According to John, he'd shot Krycek, then they'd -
they meaning the two of them, Skinner, Mulder and
Ratboy himself - hauled ass to the domicile of Deputy
Director Kara Exstead where emergency care had taken
place. She had apparently been left there because
Krycek was dead and Skinner had shot him in the same
garage. This garage was getting to be a hot zone for
bullets and blood, she decided, looking down and
shaking her head. No one had been able to tell her the
full story of what had gone down and she had wondered
if the shoot was clean. The man had shot her and she
should have been happy. But as an officer of the law
and a woman of honor she had to ask herself if it was
right. And the facts said that it was. Skinner had
shot Krycek to avoid Krycek's killing Mulder.
Justifiable homicide, the books called it. But still,
there was this sense - her infamous sixth sense as a
matter of fact - that something was incongruous.
She could imagine John right now, still upstairs over
the other files currently pending investigation. He
knew that she'd left to go to her car, and in a few
minutes he'd probably set down the Billie Tasker file
and come looking for her. But that was another time,
minutes into the future. Right now she had only
herself and cold concrete and half-memories of what
was.
"Jesus Christ," she muttered to herself.
"I'm afraid he's not in right now," another voice
said.
Stark's head shot up and John's name caught in her
throat. It was the first one that formed on her lips
but she stopped it this time. She had a talent for
recognizing voices and that was not John's voice. It
was something else. It all fell into place as she saw
his face again as he appeared. It lacked the decisive
egotistical flair of that first encounter, the frost
in his eyes that had been cold and dead. She should
have hurt him but she didn't want to. She accepted
blood loss as the job. And he was supposed to be dead
to begin with. That was enough of a mystery.
"Krycek," she said his name slowly, emotionlessly.
"Agent Patrick." She was surprised he hid whatever he
was feeling or thinking so well. "You've recovered
nicely."
She nodded. "You didn't as far as I was told."
He laughed, a short, dry sardonic sound. "There are
always surprises."
"Yes, there are." She'd learned that much from the
X-Files. "Such as, why are you here? Pissed off that
you missed, or..."
"Hardly." He smirked. "I wanted to see you in the
flesh. I had heard, of course, that you'd survived,
but that's not the same as seeing it. And I believe I
owe you."
"For what?"
"For giving me the benefit of the doubt. Considering
the company you keep, I would have expected that you
would have written me off, but I was pleasantly
surprised." He paused. "Scully, Mulder, Skinner,
Doggett - they didn't tell you the stories about me?"
"Oh, they told me." She shook her head. "I chose to
wait and see." Then she fixed him with a look, "That
was a mistake."
"Was it?" he said evenly.
Her gaze turned hard. "Don't play this with me,
Krycek. You shot me. I should walk away right now, not
to mention I don't know how I'm talking to a dead
man."
"I'm not dead," he said, stating the obvious with that
same flat tone of fake indifference.
"Mulder saw you die," she corrected firmly.
"He's lying," Krycek insisted.
"Is he?" she said. She wondered what was going on
behind those dark eyes, what processes of thought,
what feelings, what ideas. If Krycek was some sort of
alien replicant or something and had been resurrected.
One could not have a conversation with the person who
had shot them and not wonder that, and looking at that
face that was so easily deceptive, she wondered that
very much.
Krycek laughed at her serious comment and reached into
his jacket. Stark's hand instantly went to her gun,
and stayed there even as he produced a small minidisc
and held it out to her, saying simply, "This will tell
you all you need to know." Then he turned and walked
away, "I'll be in touch, Agent Patrick. And for what
it's worth ... I'm sorry." He actually sounded like he
meant it, but she figured he couldn't possibly mean
it.
She watched him go in disbelief. She should have done
anything but that, but the conflict within her that
she had hidden had bubbled up with his appearance and
she was too numb to do anything. She could barely
believe she held the minidisc, but it was cold and
thin in her hand. The physical evidence supported no
other possibility than that which she wanted to deny.
From behind her, the elevator bell dinged and the
doors parted. She could hear her partner's approach
sounding on the concrete, "Stark, you okay?"
She slipped the minidisc into her jacket, "I'm fine."
********
"You want me to wait for you?"
"Hmmm?" Stark looked up from her computer where she'd
been earnestly typing for the last hour. John smirked
from his desk, where he was putting the last of his
things together. "I said, you want me to wait for you?
I'm heading out for the night."
"I'm going to be about ten more minutes," she said,
looking briefly at the screen even though she didn't
really care about that particular report which was
displayed.
He nodded. "I can wait."
"You're sure?" she said, raising an eyebrow.
"What am I gonna do, go home and watch CNN?" he
quipped. They shared a smile and he stood, fingering
his car keys. "I'll be down in the garage. Take your
time."
"Okay," she called after him. The door clicked shut
behind her partner.
As soon as John had left, Stark felt for the minidisc
in the pocket of her jacket, which hung on the back of
her chair. It felt almost alien. After all, she'd
received it from a dead man. But she was curious and a
doubting cop - a bad combination in situations like
this. She popped the disk into her CD-ROM drive and
found herself staring at a file directory the likes of
which she hadn't seen before. It all appeared to be
things pertinent to recent events in the office. She
clicked on one
file and noted that it had something to do with the
shootings. Pausing a moment as she thought about what
to do, she finally found an idea and opened a desk
drawer. Copying the contents of the minidisc to a zip
disk, she put both the original and the new copy into
her backpack, grabbed her own belongings and headed
for the door.
She didn't know what she was getting into. Maybe the
Lone Gunmen would. Either way, she didn't want this.
Not tonight. She wanted to go home, so she turned out
the lights in the basement office and started on her
way there.
********
Stark met John in the parking garage eight minutes
from when he had left and slid into the passenger seat
of the truck. He swung it out into the D.C. night. The
radio was silent, the temperature optimal, and the
normally verbose Special Agents were oddly manipulated
into silence.
"John?" she started.
He glanced over at her, "Yeah?"
"What if Krycek wasn't dead?"
Her partner raised an eyebrow, "What do you mean?"
She looked at him then, took in the concern and
confusion and conflicting emotions on his face. "I
mean what if Assistant Director Skinner didn't kill
him. Maybe just wounded him or something."
"I wasn't there, but I'm pretty sure he hit him," John
said. "What's on your mind?"
"I was wondering," she admitted. "If he really was
dead. I was thinking that ... that would tell me
everything I need to know."
He nodded with a base understanding of what she was
after but not of the veiled ideas in her mind. "In
this line of work, it rarely does," he said quietly.
They drove on. She studied his face, the flickering of
those blue eyes, the planes of his face. She wanted to
tell him everything, about the minidisc, about seeing
Alex Krycek, about all of that. She always wanted to
tell him because their relationship was built on that
trust. She felt safe with him there. She wanted to
tell him all of it and have him help her find the real
truth, or at least to hold her hand like he always did
when she was concerned and tell her it was all right
to doubt, to be confused, to see dead people. After
all, he was a straight arrow and if there was
something wrong with the shooting, he would go after
it, even if it was a friend involved. But considering
the circumstances - and seeing the look in his eyes,
hearing the sound of his voice when she'd suggested
the possibility - she nixed the idea. It was just too
much, she decided. Not until she knew what she was
talking about. He'd be ready then. Ready to accept
that his partner had been mysteriously approached by
the supposedly dead man that had shot her? It might
take a while, but ... She sighed.
"Seriously..." he said after a moment, "is that it?"
The words caught in her throat and she forced them
down. "Yeah, that was it."
"I know what you're going through," he said quietly.
"You read the file on the soul eater? On how it..."
"I read it several times," she said. "I don't
understand it, John, but for what it's worth, I'm
thankful that you're here." She abruptly turned to
look at him, "You know that, right?"
He smiled. "I know it." Then he let out a sigh. "I
guess, sometimes, in this ... there is no explanation."
She nodded, momentarily satisfied, and watched the
oncoming road through the windshield. Sounds played at
the back of her mind because she remembered. When the
gun went off, she closed her eyes. The shot echoed in
her mind for another few minutes until finally,
mercifully, there was nothing but silence in her head.
Silence and the open road leading home. Which were two
things, she decided then, that she really needed.
********
"John, did you want a drink or something?" she offered
later as she unlocked the door to her apartment. He'd
walked her to the door, as he always did when she
wasn't crashing at his place, and for some reason he
checked his watch. "It's midnight," he said. She
paused, almost bewildered by him, "And this differs
from the dozens of times we've been up until two in
the morning watching SportsCenter reruns how?" He
smiled. "I guess you're right," he admitted, and
followed her in, closing the door behind himself.
Her apartment always looked neat, mostly because she
was hardly ever there to change that. And despite that
she was not the type of person to break things in
anger. So she simply let him settle in on her couch
and she walked to the fridge for two cans of beer,
tossing him one. Her partner caught it easily. Stark,
however, was already drinking slowly, letting the
alcohol numb her frayed nerves, gathering the courage
to say what she had to say. She swallowed and out came
the words.
"John ... Krycek's not dead."
His head jerked up abruptly, and she looked into those
blue eyes which were now filled with a startled
disbelief and an old anger which still burned. "What
are you talking about?" he asked her.
"John..." she paused, crossing over to the couch, "I - I
saw Alex Krycek tonight. In the parking garage. After
I went down to my car." She forestalled any reply, "I
don't know how it happened either. But it did happen.
I can't deny what I saw."
"How do you know?" he asked.
She produced the minidisc and handed it to him. "He
gave me this. He said it would tell me everything I
needed to know."
He looked down at the golden surface of the disc in
his hand for a moment and then back up at her. "Stark,
this guy tried to kill you. He tried to kill me. Why
would he - what does he want?" He trusted her more
than anyone else, and the proof was undeniable, but
the echo of disbelief, denial, still rang in his
voice.
"I don't know." She shook her head. "I figured I'd
call Byers in the morning and see if the Gunmen could
look into it. Even I - I don't want to touch this
stuff." She sighed, disparate. "But I'm in it now, for
whatever reason. You're the first person I've told.
But I thought you had to know." There was a pause. "I
don't want this," she muttered.
"Then don't take it," he insisted. "Walk away, say to
hell with it. You always have a choice. There is
always another way, right?"
A small smile formed on her lips at his quotation of
her famous phrase, but it quickly died there, replaced
with uncertainty. "I should look into it, John," she
replied. "If this has to do with anything we know
about, anything we don't ... if this has to do with the
shooting, if the shooting's not clean..."
"They called it justifiable homicide," he interrupted
and his voice had some edge to it, an insistence. She
knew that kind of tone well. It was the same tone Mike
Kellerman had possessed when asked if his shooting of
Luther Mahoney was clean even though he knew it
wasn't. Although John didn't pull the trigger with
Krycek, he was still understandably defensive. "It was
clean."
"I don't *know* that," she cut him off irritably.
"John ... I owe it to the truth to check this out. But
mostly ... I owe it to myself. If you don't want to be a
part of this, I understand. Just ... just let me do what
I have to do, okay?" Stark let out a sigh and looked
away from him then, letting the silence fill the gaps.
John looked at her then. What she was saying was
unbelievable, and that she wanted to chase it even
more so. She didn't go on Spooky Mulder tangents. But
neither had Scully, neither had Mulder himself in the
beginning. Even Doggett himself was forced to admit
things weren't as kosher as they had been in C.I.D.
She wasn't paranoiac, not as Mulder had gotten. She
was simply going on what she knew, what she saw, and
was determined to find whatever answer was waiting for
her. He was concerned about opening that whole
situation again, but he was mostly concerned about
her. She was his partner of almost seven years and
she'd followed him through fire. He didn't want to
lose her again. And not to some stupidly convoluted
semi-death argument such as this was turning out to
be.
"Stark..." he started, reaching for her hand.
She turned to face him then with a look on her face
that said she would accept whatever decision he chose
to make. "Yeah?" she said quietly.
"Do what you have to do," he said simply.
She nodded. "What about you?"
"I don't know yet," he admitted. She looked
crestfallen almost as if accepting the worst, and
shifted. He knew that she expected that he would
probably walk away, but he didn't. He reached for his
hand. "No matter what becomes of ... this," he said
quietly, "Partners don't leave partners."
She nodded numbly. "I'm sorry, John. I shouldn't have
involved you."
He shook his head. "Don't apologize. You're doing what
your instincts are telling you to. What the precinct
taught you to do. When I first came to the Bureau,
when we were in C.I.D., I probably would have done the
same thing."
"And now?" she reluctantly inquired.
"And now I'm lucky enough if I know a quarter of
what's going on when I show up in the morning," he
finished her statement for her. "I couldn't do this if
I wanted to, Stark." He met her eyes then, and they
demanded an explanation silently. "I was there. I was
involved. I can't be impartial about all this. I threw
down with Krycek and all of that. You didn't. You..."
His breath caught in his throat, "You don't have those
expectations. No one's wondering whose side you're on.
You can investigate this and come away clean."
"Can I?" she whispered. "Can I, really?"
He bit his lip. "I don't know. But I'm willing to take
that chance if you are."
Stark smiled and reached for her beer, draining
another swallow. "I appreciate that."
"I owe it to you," he admitted. "Among other things."
She rolled her eyes. "Let's not talk about it, hmm?"
she said, and handed him the television remote without
further explanation.
*******
"Obviously I'm not here, which means I'm probably out
chasing something, but use your imagination to fill in
the blanks. Assuming I ever get a life, leave a
message..."
Stark answered the phone in the middle of her
answering machine tape, having stumbled out from the
bedroom at three in the morning to do so. "This better
be good," she growled into the receiver as she turned
on a light and winced at the brightness.
"How is it you never manage to answer the phone before
the machine when I call?" the familiar voice taunted
and Stark rolled her eyes.
"Maybe 'cause you seem to call when I'm in the middle
of something, Mulder," she said but her demeanor
quickly turned serious. Last time he had called, it
had been about John, when he'd gone missing outside of
Herman Stites' property. As a reflex, she looked over
her shoulder back at the door of the second bedroom.
He was standing in the darkness with a questioning
look on his face, and she nodded to placate him.
Apparently satisfied, he didn't say anything, and she
went back to Mulder. "Talk to me. Is it about Agent
Scully?"
"Scully's fine," Mulder assured her. "No, this is
about something entirely different. It's about Alex
Krycek."
Stark blinked and she sat down on the couch almost in
disbelief. "What is it?" She briefly feigned
innocence, "I thought he was dead."
"Yeah, well, so did I," Mulder drawled sardonically,
"but I've got information that points to otherwise."
"From who? What?" she blurted.
"I'd rather do this in person," he offered. "How soon
can we meet?"
"Well, unless you want to see me in my robe, I'll need
at least fifteen minutes," she tried to quip but it
sounded lame and dead.
"And while I wouldn't mind," he joked, then stopped.
"I'm with Scully over at her apartment. You know the
place?"
"Yeah, yeah, I've been there before," Stark said.
"I'll see you in fifteen minutes, Mulder," she said,
and abruptly hung up the phone, standing. She'd
totally forgotten about John, and now felt his eyes on
her. She looked up from the phone after a beat.
"That was Mulder," she explained, "He wants to see me
about Krycek."
"You want me to come with you?" he offered.
She thought about this for a moment, "Yeah. Yeah,
John, I do." Then she met his eyes, met the concern
and the conflict in them. "But only if you want to."
He nodded. "You don't have to ask," he reminded her
and she smiled briefly before she disappeared back
into her bedroom, leaving him to stand there and shake
his head at the events of the past few hours, of
everything he'd seen and been told. "What have you
gotten yourself into?" he whispered to her, but she
wasn't there to hear, and only the silence replied. He
finally rubbed tiredly at his eyes and turned back
from where he'd come, hoping she wasn't finally in
over her head, but wondering if she could be.
*********
Fox Mulder answered the door of Dana Scully's
apartment some ten minutes later, letting in the two
Special Agents, both dressed in casual clothes and
faded jeans. "Come on in," he said needlessly, closing
the door behind them, then he remarked, "Agent
Doggett, I didn't expect to see you here." Doggett
smirked. "Well, you know I tend to follow my partner
around," he quipped sarcastically and Stark rolled her
eyes as Mulder laughed.
Scully sat in the chair near her couch, holding her
sleeping son, and she looked up and smiled as they
entered. "Agent Patrick, Agent Doggett," she greeted
them as they sat on the couch.
"Agent Scully," they both replied, almost in unison.
Doggett added, "How's the baby?"
"He's doing fine," she said, then changed her tone,
"Much like Krycek, I've heard."
"That's what we're here for," Stark said quietly as
Mulder himself took a seat. All of the room's other
occupants looked at him expectantly. He leaned
forward, let a pause of silence break the ice, and
began to speak.
"About half an hour ago I received information from a
source of mine who said Krycek may be alive. She
claims to have seen him."
"Who's the source?" Doggett inquired.
"A woman you've probably heard of. Marita
Covarrubias," Mulder explained. "She works at the U.N.
and she's had some dealings with Krycek in the past."
"Yeah, we've heard of her," Stark replied. "So she saw
him?"
"That's what she says," Mulder replies. "She was
working late tonight and apparently he managed to get
himself into the building and find her. Knowing
Krycek, I'm not surprised. However," he spoke the last
part slowly, "she says he also gave her a minidisc,
and told her it would tell her everything she needed
to know."
Stark was momentarily startled, and she and John
looked at each other, remembering those exact words
and that disc. "Tell him, Stark," John prompted
quietly, and Mulder glanced at her, surprised. "Is
there something you know about this?" he asked of her.
She nodded, then made solemn eye contact with him. "I
was down in the parking garage tonight, and I - I saw
Krycek. He handed me a minidisc and told me the exact
same thing."
Mulder and Scully were both surprised. "Do you have
the disc?" Scully asked.
Stark started to shake her head, but John produced it
from his jacket. She looked at him questioningly, and
he shrugged. "I had my suspicions," he said and she
smiled. Mulder nodded. "Well, this just gets more
interesting," he quipped, then glanced at Scully.
"Scully, would you be okay without me for a while?"
"Yeah, Mulder," Scully said, "Why?"
"I'll call the Lone Gunmen and they can come over,"
Mulder said, standing, as did everyone else. "I think
that Agent Doggett and Agent Patrick and I should pay
Marita a visit. Perhaps Ms. Covarrubias can explain
what's going on tonight."
"I hope she can," Stark said, "because I can't."
"I don't think I want to," Mulder said firmly before
heading for the phone, leaving everyone else to stand
silent and second-guess all they'd experienced over
the past days and wonder why it had all come to this.
Finally Mulder put down the phone. "They'll be here in
a few minutes," he explained to Scully, then fixed his
glance on the other two. "Let's get ready to go," he
suggested. "It's going to be a long night."
Stark nodded and reached for John's hand, never taking
her eyes off Mulder, feeling comfort when he squeezed
firmly. "It can't be any longer than what I've already
gone through," she said, "but you know what they say."
"What?" Mulder said, raising an eyebrow.
She tried to muster a smile. "The truth is out there."
Mulder smiled. "Yeah, and so are a lot of other
things, too, I've learned. But I don't think it's
anything that we can't handle," he tried to reassure
her. Inwardly, he wasn't so sure. But that was okay
because inwardly, none of them were.
********
"Welcome to the U.N.," Mulder said quietly later when
he drove the vehicle to a stop. Climbing out of the
passenger and back seats respectively, Agents Doggett
and Patrick circled around the vehicle and the trio
started walking across the street toward the
foreboding building. "I've been here before," Doggett
informed Mulder, adding at the younger man's gaze, "I
was with the Multi-National Peacekeeping Force.
Lebanon Development."
Mulder regarded Stark, "What about you?"
"This is my first time," she said. "I was with
Baltimore P.D."
"Well, I'm sorry I can't give you the guided tour, but
we've got other things to do," Mulder said as they
reached the perimeter of the building's lot. Because
it was early morning and the building was virtually
empty, security was almost dead. A mere flash of
badges at a lone guardpost got them in. They were
rather relieved. They weren't in the mood for a fight.
Doggett craned his neck to see the height of the
building, "So where is Ms. Covarrubias anyway?"
"In her office, fourteenth floor," Mulder said. "Let's
not keep her waiting."
"Good advice," was John's reply.
The U.N. building was cold, dark and dead as they
stepped inside, the door closing silently behind them.
Since the elevators had been turned off hours before,
Mulder directed them into the stairwell. In the
process of climbing thirteen flights of stairs, they
moved on in relative silence, not knowing what awaited
them on that fourteenth floor. They were gripped with
a variety of emotions ranging from fear to anger, all
tempered with a healthy dose of tension. In the space
of a few hours, there had been reasonable doubt and
unreasonable sightings, a chain reaction of improbable
events that all pointed to the conclusion that a man
who should have been dead after being shot by one of
their own in an act declared clean but that may not
have been was suddenly alive and leaving mysterious
minidiscs to female acquaintances. That was not the
conclusion they wanted. They wanted the one which
remained six feet underground, but they had no choice
but to pursue the truth. And as they reached the
fourteenth-floor stairwell, Stark wondered how Mulder
dealt with it, the bitter feeling of moments like
these. She didn't ask him and he pushed open the door,
leading them out into the cold hallway where they
filled their lungs with fear and exhaled.
"Marita?" Mulder called. "It's me. It's Mulder."
"Over here," came the reply, and they followed the
voice to a barely lit office, where a blond woman sat
numbly in a desk chair, a single desk lamp lighting
the room, the light glinting off a minidisc similar to
the one in Agent Doggett's jacket pocket. She glanced
up as they entered, obviously of Russian or Ukrainian
or somesuch other descent. Mulder introduced her as
the Special Assistant to the Secretary General and
watched as she suspiciously eyed his two companions.
"Who are these two?" Covarrubias asked Mulder warily.
"These are Special Agents Doggett and Patrick," Mulder
explained. "They work with me on the X-Files. They've
had some run-ins with Krycek themselves, as a matter
of fact," he said, leaving the door open for either of
them to explain the whole sordid affair.
"I was..." Stark started. "He shot me. Before A.D.
Skinner shot him, he shot me." Marita appeared not
really surprised but not expectant either, and Stark
continued. "Tonight ... this morning ... I saw him.
According to what Agent Mulder's told me of what you
told him, your encounter matches mine."
"He gave you..." Marita began.
"A minidisc," Doggett interrupted, producing the disc
and letting her examine it until she was certain that
it was exactly like the one sitting on her desk. After
she'd handed it back to him, he added, "He told her
that it would tell her everything she needed to know.
Just like you."
Covarrubias nodded. "What would you have me do?"
"We were hoping you could shed some light on this,"
Mulder began. "On how Krycek, who we'd thought dead
until Agent Patrick saw him hours ago, is suddenly
alive, and why he picked you, and why he picked her,
and what's on those disks, and what he's talking
about."
"A couple of events and you expect I know all about
him," she scoffed. "Contrary to that, Agent Mulder, I
don't really know anything about this ... that's why I
called you."
"Is it?" Mulder started. "I think you know more than
you're letting on."
"Marita," Stark inserted softly, "If you know anything
that can help me put this to rest, I'd ... I'd
appreciate it."
Covarrubias paused. "I have theories, but that's about
it."
"Why don't you start by telling them the rest of the
story?" Mulder suggested. The U.N. agent nodded and
shut the office door, sinking back into her chair as
the three federal officers stood there expectantly,
each mulling over different opinions, different ideas.
There was a long silence until he prompted again,
"Krycek found you, didn't he?"
"Against all odds, yes." She chose her next words
carefully. "About an hour ago. I was here ... and
suddenly, so was Alex. I didn't notice him coming. I
still believed that he was dead. But he was here. He
explained to me, once he'd ignored all of my obvious
questions, that he couldn't stay, but he handed me the
disc and told me it would tell me all I needed to
know. Before I could say anything else..." She searched
for the phrase, "...he disappeared. Just as if he'd
never been." Her eyes met those of the federal agents,
who were soaking in the whole story. No one spoke. No
one really had the words. Not at that moment.
Stark finally threw up her hands. "I'm done," she
said, and headed for the door. John called her name,
but she walked out of the office into the hall. A
heartbeat later Covarrubias followed on some unknown
impulse, leaving the men to stand there and think
about it all and try to put together the pieces.
"Will she be okay?" Mulder asked, looking out the
door, after both women had gone.
Doggett's gaze followed Mulder's. "That depends," he
said quietly, "on where this ends. Right now, this
moment? I don't know."
Mulder glanced at him then, entirely surprised. He
knew the implications which followed with that
statement. And they frightened him more than anything
else.
********
The two women stood alone in the open space at the end
of the hall opposite from the stairwell. Stark leaned
her weight against the wall with a disparate sigh.
Covarrubias observed her, as she had from the
beginning. She was a fairly accurate observer of body
language, and she had noted in Mulder's two companions
a true synergy. Perhaps, as someone had once said, no
one gets there alone. No one - including Alex Krycek,
if that was to be the case.
"Alex shot you?" she said quietly.
The special agent nodded. "In the parking garage after
we'd sent Agent Scully on her way. He said something
about me not being ready. How I was a liability to her
because I wasn't ready. And he shot me. And John shot
him back. I don't know the rest of it, but A.D.
Skinner shot him in the parking garage a little while
after that. He took four bullets in less than
twenty-four hours, including at least one to the head.
By all accounts he should be dead, and..."
"Instead he comes looking for us," Covarrubias
finished. She paused. "I can understand why he would
come looking for me. We've worked together in the
past. But why he would come after you ... guilt? I don't
understand it," she said.
Stark looked up. "I don't," she said. "He said
something about how I chose not to believe all the
stories ... all the facts ... that everyone else had told
me. And he apologized, and that was ... that was it. I
don't know what he expects me ... expects us ... to do.
But I think it has something to do with his shooting.
With A.D. Skinner. As if he wants the two of us to
look at it again."
Covarrubias nodded. "He and Skinner were consistently
at odds."
"I noticed," Stark replied.
The U.N. agent shook her head. "Not in the fashion
you're thinking of. You're right, but this is
something different. A.D. Skinner has nanotechnology
probes in his blood. Alex had ... has ... a Palm Pilot in
his possession which controls them. Therefore, with
that device, he literally controls the Assistant
Director's life in his hands. And he knows it."
"Christ," the younger woman swore. "I read the files,
but..."
"It wasn't in the files. Understandably," corrected
Covarrubias.
"Kersh would have locked him down," the special agent
drew the necessary conclusions. "And hell, I don't
know what Exstead would, or will, or whatever ... what
she'll make of it. If she knows." She let out a sigh.
"Somehow, we're both weapons in this thing. And I want
to know why."
"If you ever find out, that's an accomplishment in
itself," Covarrubias said calmly. It was a common
statement of fact, nothing more, nothing less. Stark
nodded in a grim acceptance. She looked down the hall
and noticed that the two men seemed to be finished
with their own business, then she locked eyes with
Covarrubias. "Marita," she said, "in case something
happens..."
The U.N. agent handed her a card and she slipped it
into her pocket. "If anything happens," she said,
"Agent Mulder has my number."
Covarrubias nodded. "I don't really have anything to
say, Agent Patrick."
Stark stood from the wall. "Except an old Egyptian
blessing."
"May the grace of God be with you in all the empty
places where you must walk," Covarrubias repeated,
watching Stark walk away into the darkness of the
hall, and then, much like Krycek, simply disappear.
********
They were back in the car and on the road later,
sitting in the silence once again, mulling over what
Marita Covarrubias had told them for the second and
third time, frustrated because the answers weren't
there but worn down by the suddenness of the whole
damn affair. John looked over his shoulder at Stark,
who appeared increasingly distant in the backseat. "We
were thinking," he said slowly, "about going back to
Scully's place and having the Gunmen take a look at
the disc."
She nodded. "Go ahead and drop me off." Then she added
with a small smile, "I hope you don't mind that I'm
not going to wait up for you."
"Not at all." Ordinarily the exchange would have been
funny, but it was now weak and dead, much like the
mood of the rest of the evening, and he turned back to
the road and she watched it from the window until she
finally closed her eyes and hoped it was all a dream.
She'd done that before, on her first few X-Files, or
whenever things got out of hand. But she had never
meant it more than she did that moment.
********
Once Mulder and Doggett had dropped her at her
apartment, Stark didn't even bother to change clothes
again. She simply locked the door (he did have a key,
after all) and went back to bed, pulling the covers
tight around her and trying to get much needed sleep
when she was supposed to be at work in less than two
hours.
Half an hour later, she awoke to a sound. "John?" she
said, but there was no answer. Stark reached over and
turned on her nightstand lamp, squinting with the
brightness but quickly adjusting as she sat up in bed
to find out if it was just the kitchen faucet again or
if it was something more.
"Son of a bitch!" she exclaimed, backing up and
reaching for her service weapon in the nightstand
drawer. She had it out and aimed, but for no real
reason. Anyway, she supposed, if Krycek was going to
kill her (or try to again), he would have done it by
now and she shouldn't have noticed. She lowered the
gun but did not let go. "I know I don't see dead
people," she said, "so why don't you tell me what the
hell is going on?"
He reached over and brushed her arm with his
fingertips. "I think that should prove you're not
seeing anything," he said simply. She shook her head
in abject disbelief. "What, now that John's not around
and you've already scared the hell out of Marita
Covarrubias, you figured you'd just torment me again?"
she insisted, her voice taking on an edge. She really
didn't like being lead on or screwed over, and he was
doing both. He simply smirked. "Did you have a chance
to look at the disc yet?" he inquired of her as if
they were old friends making small talk rather than a
federal agent and a triple agent confined by wrong
place, wrong time.
"It's in safe hands," she said, and he nodded. "I'd
heard you spoke with Marita. I wanted to make sure
that you were still alive."
"What?" she exclaimed. "There wasn't any threat."
"Not that you saw," he explained, "but anyone I told
is a target. The knowledge that I'm alive is a
dangerous thing when it's an unclean shooting. And
there are always people watching me," he added evenly.
She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I can't take this,
Krycek. Being lead around with your cryptic
doublespeak crap and middle of the night escapades and
this ... whatever. You breaking into my apartment, into
my bedroom, is just ... is it. I didn't ask for this."
"Who am I supposed to turn to?" he asked. "Your
partner is right. You are the only person who wasn't
involved. You are the only person concerned with
ethics. You'll understand what is wrong with that
shooting. And you'll put it to justice. You have to."
"You're telling me I have to put Skinner down," she
said slowly, "after you've been screwing him over with
the Palm Pilot."
Krycek shook his head. "Not Skinner. Other people who,
unbeknownst to the Assistant Director, forced him into
making that choice. You think I really wanted that? If
I'd wanted to kill Mulder, I would have killed him,
not stood there for five minutes..."
"You wanted Skinner to kill you." She stared
incredulously.
"All lies lead to the truth," he said.
In the other room, the sound of the door unlocking was
clearly audible. Stark held Krycek's gaze. "Unless you
want my partner to fillet you," she growled, "you
should get the hell out of here." When he appeared
unconvinced, she added, "I'm giving you the benefit of
the doubt, Krycek. Don't make me regret it."
By the time she heard John step through the front
door, she looked back and Krycek was gone. As Marita
had told her, it was as if he had just disappeared.
She put the gun away and exhaled a sigh of relief.
Maybe, no, probably, she told herself, it would be
better for everyone if he really did disappear.
Her bedroom door slid quietly open and she looked up
to see John standing in the doorway. "I'm guessing you
didn't manage to get any sleep while I was gone," he
commented. His eyes were sober with his concern and
she felt placated by his presence, if not comfortable.
But, she doubted then, she wouldn't be comfortable
again. Not tonight, not for a while, not with this on
her hands.
She looked out the window, at the stars, and thought
of Alex Krycek and everything that had just happened
and the whole big picture. "No," she said simply,
"It's just not my night."
He smiled thinly, "That's an understatement."
"And a hell of one," she whispered, having no other
words to say.
His voice was quiet. "You wanna talk about it?" he
offered.
Stark shook her head almost imperceptibly, still
looking out at the night as if it would suddenly
reveal all the answers. He felt her desperation. He
had been there once, many times, and he was there
again, this night, with her. He doubted it would be
the last time they would walk this road. This road, as
in the song, was a lifetime long.
His gentle calling of her name brought her back to
reality. "Stark."
"I'm fine," she whispered, only after that at last
tearing her eyes away from the window to make eye
contact with him.
He nodded. "I know, and I'm right here."
She smiled for the first time all night, a small,
brief smile. "I know."
John Doggett returned the gesture. "Okay," he said
quietly, and together, they gazed out at the
Washington night through her bedroom window, wondering
if at all it was possible to change the stars.
Here I am again
Overwhelming feelings
Part of me is here
Miles that stand between
You can't separate
All I am begins with you
Half of me breathes in you
Here we are again
Saying goodbye
When I close my eyes
Entwined, you and I
Still we'll fall asleep underneath the sad sky
Thoughts of hope understood...
- The Nixons, "Sister"
=====
"Oh, for God's sake, please be somebody else."
- Lewis Black
Natalie: Two guys have ascended 5 miles into the sky. They walked up a wall of ice and are preparing to knock on the door of heaven itself. There's really no end to what we can do. You know what the trick is?
Dan: What?
Natalie: Get in the game!
- "The Quality of Mercy at 29K", "Sports Night"