Sorry about all the 8's in the last chapter. It was a personal editing error that I won't go into at the moment. It won't happen again… I hope.
FBI FIELD OFFICE
LOS ANGELES
1200h (PST)
It took several trips, but Scully got all the boxes of files into the yellow SUV she had been given at the Enterprise Car Rental station at LAX. She had complained about the colour, but hadn't put up her usual fight. Without Mulder around to raise her ire it was harder for Scully to get into a good rage. So, deciding that, if things went well, she wouldn't have to worry about tailing anyone, Scully took the yellow SUV and drove to the field station, the radio playing classic rock. Be it karma or fate or her all-around shitty luck with the West Coast or Mulder torturing her in abstencia, the only station that came through clearly on the abused radio was a classic rock one that Mulder would have loved but that made her wish she could afford to split her focus between the map and the road and the knobs because she just wanted the sound to go away.
She had tried to reach her partner at least a dozen times since landing at LAX, only succeeding in getting his voicemail and continually filing away a mental 'thank you' to Skinner for finally getting the Bureau issue phones on a plan that allowed them to call each other for free instead of having to try to explain away their sky-high cell phone bills whenever they had to do their song and dance with Accounting. Why the FBI didn't have the moble-to-moble plan in place for partners all along was something Scully had refrained from asking when all the calculators in Accounting heaved a collective sigh of relief at only having plane tickets, motel bills, and hospital fees to add up come audit time.
Scully was not only growing frustrated with Mulder, but she was getting more and more worried about him as well. So she went to Plan B.
Though they were, as a rule, her last resort for this kind of thing, Scully caved and called the Lone Gunmen to see if Mulder had left word with his geeky hacker friends.
Offering up a silent prayer to a God she wasn't altogether sure she still believed in that her brilliant but scattered partner had left her something—anything, even the tiniest hint of the proverbial trail of breadcrumbs—with the trio of misfits, Scully hit SEND. She crossed her fingers in hopes of getting Byers who was arguably the most stable of all of them, though she knew it was pointless. Byers was at a conference or something—she had been told but had blocked it out after a few minutes of babble. And Langly, the most insane of the group but at least not the one who had the hots for her, had taken on a very strong hatred for telephones in recent weeks, so she knew there was no chance of getting the Ramones-obsessed hacker on the line.
That left Frohicke, the troll who was like an eager puppy that was so ugly it was cute.
"Lone Gunmen Newspaper Group," Frohicke answered cheerfully.
"It's me. Have you seen or spoken to Mulder in the last eighteen hours or so?" Scully asked.
"Ahh, the delectable Agent Scully. How are you today?" Frohicke asked. Had they been talking in person he wouldn't have dared use that tone, but over the phone it seemed that verbal leering was fair game.
"I'm pissed off, Frohicke, so tell me if you've seen or spoken to Mulder in the last eighteen hours before I send some government types over to your place to raid you guys," Scully snapped.
Frohicke quieted, knowing she would never send anyone to raid them but that she was angry enough to do physical damage to him if he didn't get his head out of his ass and answer her question. "He came by last night. Late. Left a sealed envelope for you. Didn't say anything other than to give it to you personally. He seemed… out of it."
Scully swore aloud, something she had trained herself not to do after growing up as a sailor's daughter and learning the less than pure language of the Navy before the age of eight. "Did you open it?" she asked.
"No. Should I have?"
"You're the paranoid ones," Scully replied.
Frohicke grumbled something unintelligible, probably something about having good reason to be paranoid, then he said, "You gonna come by and pick it up or not?"
"I'm in Los Angeles. Be a bit of a trip to pick it up right now," Scully said. She was hesitant to do it, but knew it was probably the only way that she would find out where Mulder had gotten himself to. "Open it, Frohicke. If it's a letter, scan it and e-mail it to me. If it's anything else, tell me what it is and FedEx it to my hotel."
She could hear the tearing and unfolding of paper and then Frohicke's voice came back on the line. "It's a letter. I'll scan it and e-mail it now."
"Good. But send me the original, too. It's not a rush thing, I just want to see the papers for myself," Scully said. "I'll send you the address once I get checked in."
"I'll be waiting," Frohicke said before clicking off the line.
Scully drove a little more aggressively until she finally made it to the hotel that she had made reservations at. It was near the water, about ten blocks up from the beach—Scully couldn't remember which one—and was more expensive than she should have charged but it was only five minutes away from Sydney Bristow's home which made the convenience of the place a big selling point. So did the air conditioned rooms and the fact that, being part of a big chain of hotels, she was practically guaranteed a solid eight hours sleep on a bed that wasn't sagging from overuse or rank from sex like the motels Mulder usually found that rented by the month, week, day, hour, or portion there-of.
She adamantly refused to think of how different it would be to sleep in a room them had the scent of sex that she and Mulder brought on.
After getting the files safely into her hotel room, Scully plugged her computer into her cell phone and pulled up her e-mail. As promised there was a message from Frohicke waiting for her.
Opening the file, Scully settled in to read her partner's words.
Scully,
I know you're pissed at me for not telling you my plans before leaving, but you've forgiven me before and I'm hoping you'll continue that trend. If you can't, I'll understand, though.
When I got back to the office tonight you had left, which I had expected, but what I hadn't expected was to find someone else in the office waiting for me.
It was your brother, Charlie.
He doesn't know that I'm telling you he came to me so if you confront him, leave me out of it. I already have Bill plotting my death; I don't need your other brother joining his ranks.
Anyway, he was there to ask me for some help. On an X-File. At least, it looks like an X-File. I realize we were working on the Dullahans and that the death of Lauren Reed is top priority, but Charlie promised this wouldn't take long and I hope to be back before Skinner calls you on the carpet for not installing some kind of tracking device in me like the microchip you had put in that ugly little rat of yours that you called a dog.
The case your brother brought to me is simple, with very little likelihood that I'll get shot at, which is why I thought it best to let you opt out on this one. I won't bore you with the details here, but I'll be in New York for two days or so. I'll call you with my information as soon as I get settled.
And, since I know you've already read this, Frohicke, you still owe me the hundred that you bet on the Knicks last week.
Mulder
Scully read it a second time, trying to see if there was a code or if it was just a straightforward letter.
She figured the latter, but with Mulder she could never tell for sure.
Resisting the urge to call her brother and remind him that, despite the fact that he was about a foot taller and probably had about a hundred pounds on her, she was still his big sister and could kick his ass just like when they were kids if she wanted to, Scully made sure everything was locked up and went to take a shower, hoping to wash away the old-lady smell that she got from being stuck between two women on their way to a bingo tournament who talked over her little red head the entire flight while she tried to sleep in hopes of avoiding jet lag.
After her shower Scully got into one of her favourite suits, a simple black suit with a slightly shorter skirt, making her legs look longer, a soft green silk shell that set off her hair into a mass of fire, and her highest pair of size six pumps. The files were safely locked in the bathroom and her laptop was in her shoulder-strapped briefcase along with the summary of all the files that Skinner had given her to read when she got a chance. Her cell phone was in the briefcase as well, along with her wallet and anything she would usually carry in a purse, if she had carried a purse anywhere since joining the FBI. Usually she just stuck things in her pockets if she was going out, cell phone, ID, money, all things that fit into jeans quite easily. An ankle holster could be hidden as well. With this suit, though, the skirt would reveal the ankle holster and a shoulder holster was too bulky for the clean lines of the jacket so Scully went for the belt clip and her spare was in her briefcase along with everything else.
The number Skinner had supplied her with was a work number, but she assumed—and hoped—that Sydney would be home, but, as it was Saturday and the government was notorious for giving it's hardest workers longer hours to make up for the people who just sat around, she wasn't holding out much hope. Judging by Sydney's file she couldn't make herself sit around if she tried. Plus the files didn't disclose if any missions were planned, as any kind of trail would jeopardize the mission, so Scully didn't even know if Sydney Bristow was in the country, let alone at home.
There were two cars parked out front, both dark sedans. A puppy was playing in the front yard; small and round and adorably roly-poly, chasing after a bug in the grass and pouncing like a lioness on her prey. A woman was sitting on the steps, beautiful even in a pair of loose pants and a tank top, her dark hair pulled in a messy ponytail, her hands wrapped around a coffee mug.
"Special Agent Dana Scully, I presume," the woman said with a wry smile before motioning Scully through the gate. "Don't worry about Herman. He's playful, but the worst he'll do is lick your face before stealing your dinner."
"Herman?" Scully asked as she cautiously opened the gate and slipped inside, closing it quickly, remembering far too many chases after QueeQueg when he got out of the small fenced in area behind her building.
Sydney shrugged. "Lit major. When Vaughn brought him home he reminded me of Melville."
"Moby Dick was my favourite book growing up. My dad used to read it to me every night. At least, when he was home," Scully said with a soft smile, remembering the nights when she lay in bed and her father's baritone voice swept her away to the world of the Pequod. It was moments like this one that she missed Ahab more than ever. She missed being Starbuck. She missed being a kid, where everything can be made better by a hug from daddy and a kiss from mommy.
"Never been a big fan of the ocean, but I can see where a Navy Brat like yourself would find the appeal," Sydney said. "Can I get you some coffee, Agent Scully?"
"No, I'm fine, thank you. How do you know who I am?"
"Same way you know who I am, only I went about it the legal way, without violating about fifteen laws and getting a State Senator and an Assistant Director, as well as several low level grunts at the SoCal FBI Field Office involved. Your AD called me last night to say that you and your partner, Agent Mulder, would be coming by today. I have friends at the FBI; they gave me access to the mainframe. I read your file. Impressive work. I found some of your cases little incredible, though, seen as you've read my record, I don't doubt you can say the same about me, right?"
Scully nodded. She hated it when her only advantage was taken away from her.
"I was told your partner would be accompanying you."
"He's currently on another assignment, but should be joining me in a few days, should this investigation last that long," Scully said, her excuse sounding valid even with her lack of viable knowledge about what her partner was really up to.
"You know, to be honest, I've been eager to meet him," Sydney continued, leading Scully into the house.
"That's not a normal reaction to Agent Mulder," Scully said.
"So I'm told, but I'm not talking in a professional sense. Your partner and mine grew up together," Sydney said, emptying her cup into the sink. Scully saw that it had just been water with a few ice cubes. "I mean, I read your partner's file as well, and it was every bit as impressive as yours, but Vaughn rarely talks about his childhood and I have to admit I was hoping for an insider's perspective on Vaughn."
"Vaughn. That would be Michael Vaughn, correct?" Scully asked.
"Yes," Sydney nodded. "Now, I told your AD this, and I'm sure he passed the message along to you, but in case he didn't or in case you just don't care or believe that I'd follow through on my threat, I'm gonna make something clear to you. You are investigating the death of Lauren Reed, a woman who was deep inside a terrorist organization called the Covenant. That's fine. Investigate that to your heart's content. But my life, and the lives of the people I love, will not become another one of your X-Files, understood? I deal with enough of this crap everyday, I do not need it from outside sources as well."
"Understood," Scully nodded. She knew it was better to play the game than to fight it. For the moment. "Now, tell me about Lauren Reed."
What did you think? I've decided that the chapters are going to go back and forth, Scully and Sydney. They're both really strong women who have been through hell several times and I enjoy writing them.
