Conspiratio X

An Alias/The X-Files Crossover

Vaughn runs away to the FBI where he crosses paths with their most unwanted.

Disclaimer: Special Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully are Chris Carter's creations. Case Officer Michael Vaughn is JJ Abram's.

Chapter One

I transferred to the FBI. I couldn't handle it anymore. One morning I got up and left, somehow ending up in Washington D.C. working on counter-terrorism for the FBI. Here I pretend I'm okay. I'm not okay.

While recovering from a weeklong hangover and writing up a report, I receive an official memo summoning me to the basement offices. Others in my department raise their eyebrows and I know why. On slow news days I heard the stories about the basement agents who chase after Little Green Men. I wonder what they want with me; I don't believe in that shit.

Stopping at the cracked office door, I eavesdrop on two voices arguing. The male, his voice whined in a nasal way, sounds pretty pissed. "What the hell did you do that for?"

His partner, a woman who sounds exasperated, disgustedly snaps back, "I wanted a second opinion."

"Scully, in the five years we've been working together when have you ever needed a second opinion?"

"We have four dead bodies -- one of them is the perpetrator -- and the weapon used appears to have been assembled in the 16th century. But we won't know until the full lab analysis comes back, and even then we might not fully understand. Mulder, I want to know exactly what happened in that convenience store. I called him in, because he has experience in these matters."

I should turn around right now and run away (run far, far away and throw up). They can't be serious. I am not an expert. I'm just some fucking schmuck unlucky enough to know Rambaldi exists. This isn't happening. I need to focus, breathe, and possibly get a few tequila shots in me.

Mulder seems unimpressed, "Right. There's nothing about that in his file."

Scully has no response. Next, the sound of shuffling papers fills the pause. "Michael C. Vaughn. He graduated from Georgetown with a degree in economics. Shortly after, began working at the CIA. Climbed the ranks pretty fast… Up until three years ago. He had, uh, issues with protocol."

Scully injects something I can't hear.

Mulder raises his voice, continuing, "Went missing for three months, three years ago; and went missing for six months, a year ago. After that, it was just a downhill spiral: breaking protocol left and right, disobeying CIA directives, and going on non-sanctioned ops. Clearly, we have a rebel on our hands. Still to be decided, whether he's with or without a cause."

He stops after that remark for a second; then finishes up. "He met with the CIA psychiatrist somewhat regularity before transferring to the Bureau two months ago. And, that's just from the de-classified file they sent me."

"There are rumors something called Rambaldi might be involved. The FBI has no records of Rambaldi in its databases, and when I ran a larger search Vaughn's name was one of the only three to come up."

"And…?" Mulder emphasizes the word. "No one knew about the El Chupacabra, but we didn't need assistance solving that."

The pregnant pause erupts when Scully blurts out, "You're just being territorial."

"What?"

"You don't like the idea that someone other than you can crack an X-File."

"That is such…" His voice drops, and I sense he will say it. "Scully, you know the stories as well as I; you know the theory on why he really lost it; and you know he didn't leave the CIA, but they buried him here. Michael Vaughn is unstable. The guy is a nut."

He said it.

"I wouldn't be talking." There is a pause. "Spooky."

A tall man stands in the doorframe, with his green eyes and brown hair; he's undeniably attractive and maybe handsome on a good day. But today is not a good day. His disheveled appearance -- bed hair, unshaven cheeks, and wrinkled blue oxford -- boarded on unprofessional. Gazing from him to Mulder -- in his pressed blue oxford, tightly tied tie, and fresh appearance -- I smell a small victory for the FBI.

Mulder makes his expression when people referenced his nickname, and ignores the man for Vaughn's file.

"Michael Vaughn?" He nods at me and enters the office taking a look around. Vaughn picks up a pencil, and taps it against his palm. He seems assumed by the NICAP cap, the Mars creator face, the solar system posters, the binders and newspaper clippings, and most of all, Mulder's "I Want to Believe" poster. He turns his attention to the cages, resting his right hand against them.

His left hand snaps the pencil. He looks down at it, and sinks the pieces into the new trashcan Mulder replaced yesterday (the old one never survived his post-Ronnie Strickland hissy fit).

I look to Mulder for some telepathic support in diagnosing Vaughn's behavior, yet Mulder remains glued to the file.

"Agent Vaughn," This time I get his attention, "I'm…"

"I know who you are. You're Special Agent Dana Scully."

He leans against the file cabinet, "A medical doctor with an undergraduate degree psychics, you actually wrote your senior thesis on Einstein's Twin Paradox. The FBI recruited you shortly after, and you taught at the academy until five years ago. That's when the FBI assigned you to debunk, or spy on, Spooky over there.

Vaughn turns to Mulder. "And…. " He stretches out the word in a familiar fashion, "You must be, Fox Mulder, the Oxford educated psychologist who for a long time was considered the brightest young agent in Violent Crimes. Until about five years ago, you developed an unhealthy obsessed with a non-sanctioned op, called 'The X-Files'" -- he quotes it with his fingers -- "cases that dealt with the paranormal. You also have a problem with protocol." Vaughn pauses, "They say you're a nut."

Vaughn takes me aback. Mulder's right, I have heard the stories -- but those stories never referenced his attitude. I sense distrust, hurt, perhaps even betrayal. Maybe Mulder is right: we might be better off without Vaughn's assistance.

Mulder chuckles a little. "Agent Vaughn, Scully summoned you here because…"

Vaughn cuts us short, "I heard. I possess no information pertaining to Rambaldi, nor were my colleagues and I privy to any such information. More importantly, I wouldn't tell you, even if I could. I'm sorry to waste your time and mine. It was nice meeting you."

Mulder smiles his Mulder smile, "Well, if that isn't every conspiracy theorist's wet dream denial, I just don't know what is."

Vaughn starts to open the door, and Mulder acts threatening. "Scully summoned you here to assist a federal investigation. If you choose to not cooperate you'll be charged with obstruction of justice. You got that, Boy Scout?"

"It wouldn't be the first time." And with that, he walks out of the office.

Mulder and I stare at each other for a moment, trying to figure out what happened. Clearly, Michael Vaughn didn't just have a sudden breakdown. He must have witnessed something, probably Rambaldi related. He couldn't and wouldn't talk about it? Why? If he was sworn to secretary who else in the government knows about Rambaldi? Who is covering up his existence?

Mulder agrees with me, "But if the higher ups know about Rambaldi, why was it made an X-File? Why didn't they just sweep it under the rug?"

"You think something else going on?"

"I always think something else going on."

And Mulder assumes 99.9% correctly. "We need to interrogate Michael Vaughn before someone else does."

The kid's hiding something. Behind that five o'clock shadow that probably took weeks to grow, lies more than he's willing to share. I have a sixth sense about these sort of things. Instinct, intuition... Call it whatever you want, the fact of the matter is that I obtain this power and I know this kid is hiding something. He may not fit the profile, but he has 'CIA' stamped all over him. He's been taught to keep his secrets well; but where's the fun if the government isn't working against you? We've cracked bigger shells than Boy Scout's.

Scully exits the office and I follow her. Vaughn stands the hallway in front of the elevator. He inhales deeply and presses his palm against his forehead like he has a headache. But he doesn't have a headache. He doesn't rub his temples or eyes to stop the pain. Vaughn lets his palm slide down to cover his mouth, and takes another deep breath.

He's suppressing his memories. He definitely knows.

I hang back as Scully moves closer, "Vaughn?"

"I'm not cooperating. I have a report on Abu Nidal activity due. You know, I have work to do."

Scully softens her tone, "Vaughn, we know something happened to you. And if it's happening again, you have the chance to prevent it. If you help us."

Impatiently, he presses the elevator button, again and again. "You think because you read my file you can make assumptions? What happened to me, I did to myself. I don't give a rat's ass about preventing it or saving lives. If they meddle with Rambaldi, they had it coming."

I ask, "You know who Rambaldi is?"

The door opens, and Vaughn looks me in the eye. "Not who, what. Rambaldi is an enigma. Men obsess over it, they wage secret wars for it, they kill and die for it. Rambaldi is pure… evil. I barely escaped with my life. And if you don't watch out, Spooky, you and your little girlfriend will be its next victims."

He disappears into the elevator.

Scully turns to me, at a lost for words.

Little does Vaughn know, threats don't scare me; they simply fuel the fire. According to him, the truth is out there. It just needs to be told.

[tbc...]