Chapter 17

Frohike closed his eyes, rubbing the heels of his palms into them. The few hours of stolen sleep had done little to beat back his exhaustion. What he wouldn't give for about twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep in his own bed.

"I'm going to track down Alex Krycek!"

Agent Doggett's sudden determined growl pulled Frohike's attention back to the discussion at hand. He glanced around the room, seeing the intensity on everyone's faces. They seemed no closer to agreement than when they started.

"Do you really think you'd be able to find him?" Jimmy asked. He was still sitting on the edge of the autopsy table. "He's gotta be with that Fletcher guy and the professor, wherever they're hiding."

Byers just shook his head. "I firmly believe we need to wait until we hear from them," he said, trying to be the voice of reason. "We don't want to take a chance of them hurting or killing Professor Langly and if we actively search for him, they may do just that."

Frohike thought he saw Yves flinch at this statement. Throughout the discussion, he'd noticed that she watched and listened, but made no suggestions nor offered any opinions. He didn't trust her silence and swore he'd keep an eye on that situation.

He shifted in his chair causing a bolt of pain to shoot up his leg. He gritted his teeth until it subsided. Dammit! He was beginning to feel like an invalid with this bum leg. He strongly suspected the trip down the stairs from Jimmy's apartment had ripped out a few of the stitches. He had no intention of saying anything about it, especially to Dana. She had warned him to stay off his feet to give the wound time to heal. It would just make her worry.

At the thought of the red headed doctor, Mel glanced apprehensively at the door to the hallway willing it to open. She had been gone far too long. If she didn't return in the next three minutes, he was going to go look for her.

To his relief, the door did open at that moment. Dana stepped inside holding the door for the man behind her.

"Mulder?" Frohike said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Where the hell have you been?" Mulder demanded.

Byers, Doggett, and Jimmy stopped talking and, along with Yves, turned to stare at the newcomer.

"Mr. Mulder, please," Dr. Scully said standing in front of him, reaching out to him. "You're not thinking straight. You need to calm down and carefully consider what you're saying."

"What's the problem here?" Frohike asked Dana as he rose laboriously from his chair.

"It's all your fault," Mulder declared shaking off Scully's restraining hand. "You couldn't make a phone call, a simple phone call, to let us know where you were!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Frohike said. This behavior was so unlike the Mulder he knew. The man was usually slow to anger and, on most occasions, shook it off quickly.

"I'm talking about Maggie," Mulder said sweeping his arm out in a wide arch causing Dana to move away from him. "When I couldn't find you, I went to Maggie's place to ask if she'd seen you." He moved closer to Frohike as he ranted. "She got worried too and went out to your office hoping you'd be there. Someone got to her: one of your sleazy clients no doubt." He stopped in front of Frohike, towering over him.

"She's hurt?" Frohike asked instantly concerned. "Where is she? Did you take her to the hospital?"

"She's here!"

"What the hell did you bring her here for?" Frohike shouted, not quite matching Mulder's volume.

The look of incredulity of Mulder's face quickly turned to one of rage. "How can you be so goddamn thick?" He grabbed the front of Frohike's jacket. "She's dead and it's all your fault!" Mulder shoved Frohike backwards. He staggered, barely catching himself on the edge of the counter.

Doggett moved quickly to get behind Mulder. The FBI agent grabbed him from under his armpits, locking his hands behind the police officer's head. "Wha…" Mulder squawked in surprise as he was pulled off balance when Doggett backed him away from Frohike.

"You crossed the line there, Buddy," Doggett said right in his ear. "You need to go somewhere and calm down." He released Mulder, spinning him around and, with a strong grip on his upper arm, led him out the door.

Frohike felt everyone's eyes on him. He pushed himself away from the counter not even registering the pain in his leg.

Dana moved toward him. "Mel…"

"No!" he said, his voice a rough whisper. He stepped away from her. It wasn't true. He wouldn't accept it. "No," he said again louder as if denying it would make it a lie but the sympathy in Dana's eyes told him otherwise. He turned his back on her. He couldn't accept her pity. He didn't want it nor did he deserve it. "Where is she?" he finally asked.

"She's still in the admittance bay," said Dana softly "Do you want me to take you to her?"

"No," he said. "I need do this alone."

Agent Doggett opened the first unlocked door he found and pushed Mulder inside. He stepped through the door himself, closing it behind him as other man whirled around, his face tense and angry at the rough treatment.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Mulder growled, shoving his hand inside his coat to retrieve his badge. Mulder went on without waiting for a reply. "I'm a police officer." Belatedly, he remembered he'd been stripped of his shield and his status when he'd been suspended. The reminder of the loss fueled the turbulent anger and grief inside him. He withdrew his hand and glared at the other man who stood in front of the door like a prison guard, watching him calmly. "Who are you?" he asked again, sounding almost defensive.

Not taking his eyes from Mulder, the man slipped his hand inside his tailored sport coat, withdrawing a slim wallet. "Special Agent John Doggett, FBI," he answered in that infuriatingly calm voice. "You want to tell me why you attacked Mr. Frohike?"

Realizing his own leather jacket still hung askew, Mulder shrugged it into place. "It's between me and him." He had meant for the words to come out dripping with scorn but instead it sounded broken and pained to his own ears. He turned from Agent Doggett, unable to handle the man's intent gaze. He stalked toward a dark, wooden desk, needing to put distance between himself and the agent.

"Want to talk about it?"

Mulder froze at the words. Somehow he knew the man wasn't talking about his altercation with Frohike. He released his pent up breath, focusing on a report on top of a stack of files but the words were blurred, indecipherable.

"There's nothing to talk about," Mulder mumbled, fresh pain lancing through his chest. How could he have been so stupid, losing all those years? It had taken him so long to realize how much Maggie had meant to him and now….

He took a shuddering breath and said, "She's dead."

He swept the offending report off the stack and watched as papers glided over the desk. The mess he made was so…insufficient. He slammed his closed fist on the wood, the sound reverberating through the room. The pain was the only thing that felt real tonight. "Goddamn Frohike!" he shouted, spinning. "It's his fault!"

Doggett watched Mulder stride toward him, his face contorted in grief and rage. He wondered if he would be able to keep the distraught man from leaving the room and pounding the private detective to a bloody pulp.

Doggett stood his ground, refusing to let Mulder past him. Fortunately, Mulder didn't try. Perhaps it was because of his status as an FBI agent. "How is Mr. Frohike responsible when he wasn't even around?"

"She was at his office looking for him!" Mulder ranted. "Someone attacked her and left her there. If I hadn't gone looking for her, she'd still be lying there…all alone. Who knows how long it would have taken Frohike to sober up enough to go back to his office." He glared at Doggett, challenging him. "I'm going to kick Frohike's ass," Mulder asserted, "then I'm going to hunt down Maggie's killer."

"From what I know of Mr. Frohike, he could use a good ass kicking," Doggett said, hoping to ease some of the tension in the room. "But it won't solve…Wait a minute," Doggett interrupted himself. "You found the victim in Mr. Frohike's office?"

"Her name is…was Maggie," Mulder corrected but his instincts flared at the question. He studied Doggett. For the first time since he'd found Maggie, his mind wasn't clouded with grief or rage. "Just what did Frohike stumble into that involves the FBI?"

Doggett moved aside so he was no longer blocking the door. "It's a long story," he said, "but if you want to help find Maggie's killer, we need to talk."

The walk down the hallway seemed interminably long giving Frohike time to think of all the clients he'd brought to this place. Finally, he understood how it felt: the hope beyond reason that there had been some ridiculous mistake, that the person who lay dead just down this hallway was a stranger.

But he couldn't even allow himself the luxury of that delusion. Mulder had been far too upset to be wrong. And Mulder had known Maggie for a lot longer than Frohike had.

He paused with his hand on one of the double doors, steeling himself for what he'd find inside. Taking a deep breath, he pushed it open and went in.

She was lying in the center of the room, a shroud covering most of her body leaving only her face exposed. She looked so young, so free of the usual worries of everyday life, but death had that impact on a body.

Frohike slowly approached the gurney.

He stood for a few moments staring down at her, letting the reality of her death sink in.

"Oh, Maggie," he said finally, reaching out to touch her hair and gently tucking a blond strand behind one ear. "You didn't deserve this." The words caught in his throat, which ached from unshed tears. "I would have done anything to keep this from happening to you."

He pulled the sheet back a little farther to take her cold hand in his. He held it to his chest over his heart wishing he could restore its warmth and life with his own.

"You didn't deserve this," he repeated. Images of her flashed through his mind: the way she'd look up at him over her reading glasses, how her blond hair never seemed to stay out of her face no matter how often she tied it back, the way she said 'thank you' with her soft southern accent that always made you feel like you'd truly done something wonderful for her.

A sob caught in his throat but he spoke to her again wanting to let her know even now, in death, how much she'd meant to him.

"You saved my life, did you know that?" He touched her cheek with his free hand not wanting to think about the spots of blood he saw there. "Without your help, I never could have found my way back from the dark hole my life had become." His tears slipped unnoticed down his cheeks.

"I always wondered why you stayed with me when you could have worked anywhere for a lot more money than I could ever hope to pay you." He sighed.

"I should have encouraged you to look for something better…something safer but I was selfish. I left you in that crappy office to deal with people that you had no business being alone with."

He touched her face again being careful not to smudge her makeup. She seldom wore more than lipstick. When he had taken her hand, he noticed she was wearing a fancy blue dress. She must have been planning on going out for the evening when Mulder contacted her.

"I'm so sorry, Maggie," he said, his words coming out as barely more than a whisper. "I owe you so much and I always thought that some day I'd be able to repay you." Frohike gently tucked Maggie's hand back under the sheet. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe his face.

"Mulder was right," he continued after a moment. "This is all my fault. I should have called you and let you know that everything was okay."

"It's not your fault," Byers said from behind Frohike. "How could you have known this would happen?"

Frohike turned to glare at this man who had tormented him for so long, wondering how much he'd heard.

"Back off, Byers," he said. The flash of anger in his eyes would have been enough to drive away a less determined man.

Byers took a step closer to him. "You need to let us help you. No one should have to try to deal with what you're going through alone."

"What would you know?" growled Frohike.

"Unfortunately, I do know." Byers paused wondering how much of his own tragedy he should share. Other than Carla, he had never told another living soul about Susanne. With Carla, it was like an emotional cleansing, a renewal of life for him. And now it seemed right to share it with Frohike even though, until just recently, he had despised the man.

"Five years ago, my fiancée was murdered," said Byers. "She was shot and left for dead for the few dollars in her purse. I learned later that she died alone in some godforsaken dark alley." Byers stopped, the horrifying images his words conjured shook him and he needed time to gather himself.

"I thought I'd never forgive myself," he said after a moment, his voice husky with emotion. "I just knew there had to be something I could have done to protect her. It took a while but I finally channeled the energy I was using for self-flagellation into something constructive."

Frohike remained silent, his eyes never leaving Maggie's face. Byers moved closer and closer to him as he talked hoping the other man was listening.

"We need you, Melvin," Byers insisted. "Maggie was a good woman and her death is a horrible tragedy." Byers put a hand on Frohike's shoulder. "Don't dishonor her by giving up now."

Frohike turned his head slightly in Byers' direction but didn't pull away. "You knew Maggie?" he asked.

"I talked to her on the phone when I'd call your office to arrange times you had to testify," said Byers removing his hand. He came around to stand next to Frohike and looked down on Maggie's face. "She was always gracious and professional. Her voice was so soothing. No matter how much you infuriated me, talking to her would improve my mood." He shifted his gaze to Frohike. "It's why I usually left messages instead of asking to talk to you."

"She had that affect on people," Frohike agreed.

"Do you have any idea who could have done this to her?" Byers asked.

Getting used to the idea of Maggie's was death had been enough to occupy Frohike's mind. But now this question needed to be considered. "I have to talk to Mulder," he said, "but I do have some strong suspicions."

Mulder's mind raced as he and Doggett strode down the hall toward the admittance bay. The information Doggett had revealed in the ME's office was something out of a spy novel, a work of fiction but after a barrage of questions which the agent patiently answered, the officer was finally convinced. Now Mulder had one more question: a question only Frohike could answer.

The ME, Dr. Scully, was outside the admittance bay ostensibly reviewing some paperwork on a clipboard but Mulder didn't miss the quick, anxious glance she cast toward the door before turning her attention to him and Doggett. She straightened to her full stature, which wasn't much more than five feet, and composed her expression to one that combined sympathy and wariness.

Mulder wasn't about to accept any more placating sympathy but, considering his attack on Frohike, he understood and accepted the caution he saw in her eyes.

"Officer Mulder…" she started.

"I'm just going to talk to Frohike," Mulder said. The ME raised one eyebrow in a challenging manner. This made Mulder realize he would not want to come up against her in a serious discussion unless he was well versed in the subject manner.

He nodded toward the FBI agent. "Agent Doggett explained to me what's been going on."

Scully studied him for a moment longer then stepped aside, joining Doggett by the wall. Mulder started to enter the admittance bay but turned and looked at Scully's calm expression that didn't quite hide her concern for Frohike. In the short time he'd known Dr. Scully, Mulder understood Mel's attraction to the ME. "He's a tough nut," Mulder told her. "He'll come around."

Without waiting to see her reaction, Mulder pushed the door open, his gut tightening at the now familiar sight of Maggie lying on the gurney. He crossed the room to take the place next to Frohike to stand vigil over a woman they both loved, barely noticing the District Attorney silently leave the room.

Mulder broke the silence first. "Someone needs to let her family know."

"I'll make sure they're informed," Frohike said.

There was another extended silence and then Mulder said, "I don't know what I'm going to do without her."

"I know, Buddy." Frohike said. "I feel the same way."

No you don't, Mulder thought, flicking a glance at his friend. Before he could say anything Frohike continued, "What I can't figure out is why she was all dressed up. She never mentioned…"

The words spilled from Mulder before he could stop them. "We were going out to dinner. We had a long talk and…" He faltered unable to continue.

"She was giving you a second chance," Frohike correctly surmised, glancing sidelong at the younger man. Maggie and Mulder had struggled through so much heartache and just when it looked as if they worked through the last of the barriers…

Sometimes life kicked you in the teeth and stood back laughing while you choked on your own blood.

But another thought dragged Frohike's attention back to the room and his secretary. "If you two were going out to dinner, why was she at the office alone?" There was no judgment in his voice. It was a simple question but Mulder still flinched.

"She was worried about you so we split up to look for you. I went to your house while she went to the office. We were going to go to the restaurant from there but…" He closed his eyes against the vision of her cooling, lifeless body lying on the floor behind Frohike's desk. When he spoke again, his voice was gruff. "I need to know if her death is linked to whatever this is that you're involved in."

"I believe it is." Frohike remembered Jimmy's message from Fletcher. It was obvious that he wanted Frohike to find Maggie's body at his office.

A murderous look flashed across Mulder's face. "Then I'm a part of this."

Jimmy felt as if he had gone a round with Joe Louis and, from his colorful reflection in the stainless steel tray he had scooped up off the table, he looked it. Gingerly, he touched a particularly nasty looking cut on his cheek. He should probably clean it, make sure it didn't get infected. Dr. Scully must have something lying around that he could put on it.

Thinking about the doctor made him wonder what was happening in the admittance bay. He would have gone with the others but he hadn't known Maggie and didn't want to intrude on Frohike's grief.

But, he thought guiltily, being alone in the autopsy room unnerved him. Well, he wasn't entirely alone. Yves was near but she didn't seem inclined toward conversation. When everyone else headed down the hall, Yves had taken up a position at the entrance of the room. She remained leaning against the doorframe, her gaze toward the corridor, her thoughts elsewhere.

Jimmy sighed, set the tray down next to him and decided to find some ointment for his cut. At least it would give him something to do and hopefully settle his restlessness. He slid off the cold, metal autopsy table and inhaled sharply when his ribs aching protested the movement.

"I thought Dr. Scully told you to refrain from unnecessary movement."

Jimmy glanced up, surprised to see Yves striding toward him. Apparently, she didn't miss a thing. He gestured at his face. "I was going to get something to put on my cuts."

"Sit," Yves ordered. She waited until he did so then went over to a bank of cabinets that filled one wall of the room. Rummaging inside them, she found a clear bottle and several cotton balls. She returned, dropped all but one cotton ball next to him then twisted off the cap.

"What is that?" Jimmy asked, eyeing the bottle curiously.

"Rubbing alcohol." Yves pressed the cotton ball to the edge and slowly tipped the bottle. "It should disinfect those cuts nicely."

"I can – OW!" he protested, pulling away.

Yves shook her head in exasperation. "I barely touched you."

"It stings," he defended himself. He didn't miss the sarcastic "Men!" that she muttered under her breath. When she touched the damp cotton ball to his cheek again, Jimmy held resolutely still, refusing to flinch despite the burn of alcohol on the deep cut.

Thankfully, the other cuts weren't as bad and didn't hurt as much. She didn't speak, just concentrated on cleaning his wounds. He didn't mind the silence though since it gave him a chance to watch her.

He had never met a woman like her. He'd seen beautiful women before but her strength and courage set her apart from the others. Jimmy also had to admit he envied her a bit, too. How did she remain so calm and cool while he felt as if his doubts and fears had become a second layer of skin?

Maybe it was something they taught secret agents?

"Stupid."

That one word jarred Jimmy from his thoughts. "What? Who…?"

Yves indicated his face with the cotton ball. "Why, after everything that happened would you and the Professor even consider taking off without informing me?"

"I…" Jimmy swallowed the lump that stuck in his throat caused by her obvious anger. "I wanted to tell you but the Professor convinced me not to."

He would have left it at that but Yves arched an eyebrow and waited for him to explain further. "He told me how much you've done for him and that he wanted to do something to repay you. And the only thing he could do was help your country by cracking the Enigma. To do that, he needed his notes."

"You honestly believe that's why he did it?" Scorn dripped from her words.

"You don't?" he asked.

"The professor wanted his notes and so he regaled you with a distressing tale of woe to convince you to do something utterly stupid."

"What we did was dumb," Jimmy admitted after a moment. He wouldn't apologize for his part though, because if he did, he'd also be apologizing for the reason he did it. He met her intense gaze and said softly, "I still believe his reasons for doing it."

She seemed perplexed by this admission. "You're a fool," she finally said, breaking eye contact and returning to her task.

An uneasy silence settled between them and, wanting to break the tension, Jimmy said ruefully. "I guess tackling that guy wasn't such a good idea."

Yves paused to stare at him in disbelief. "You tackled a hired thug? What in God's name possessed you to do that?"

Her tone put him on the defensive. "I was trying to give the Professor time to get away. It worked too. He escaped even when Fletcher made a lame attempt to stop him. Only…"

"Fletcher had Krycek in the hall as a precaution," Yves finished.

"Yeah." Jimmy felt his face heat in embarrassment. "I guess that explains why Fletcher just looked amused."

Yves tossed the cotton ball in the trash then took another, dampening it. "This is good news, Mr. Bond."

"What's good news? And please, call me Jimmy."

She considered him for a moment. "Jimmy," she acquiesced. A pleased smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. She ignored it, continuing to cleanse a cut above his eye as she talked. "Your beating was driven as much by ego as emotion…"

"He was furious," Jimmy said, subdued. He remembered after the beating how the man had crouched down next to him and whispered, "You're lucky the man only paid me to mark you up."

He winced again but not from the alcohol on his raw skin.

"Which suggests to me Fletcher hired a local talent. Not a professional." Yves continued. "He won't want someone he can't trust in on the exchange thus I'm confident we'll only have to contend with Fletcher and Krycek."

Jimmy nodded as another silence fell between them and Yves continued to clean his cuts.

Fishing around for another subject, Jimmy asked, "So, how did you get into the spy business?" Yves arched an eyebrow at him as if debating the sincerity of the question. "I mean it's not like you answer an ad in the classifieds or anything."

Yves chuckled. "No, it's nothing that random. I was recruited because of my father."

"You're father? But I thought your mom cut off all ties with your dad. How…"

"Leave it alone, Jimmy," Yves interrupted, her voice tight.

Jimmy stared at her a second, startled by the vehemence behind her words, then nodded. He tried another tack. "I bet they trained you to fight so you didn't end up looking like a box of Crayola crayons."

"Actually," she said, giving Jimmy a sly smile. "I was trained to duck."

Jimmy chuckled. "Ow!" he exclaimed, pressing a finger to his spit lip. He was relieved to see it hadn't started bleeding again. "It's weird," he said, "but that Fletcher guy actually looked uncomfortable when that thug was beating me up."

Yves pursed her lips into a frown. "Morris Fletcher is inherently a conman. He normally prefers a more subtle method of achieving his goals." That was until she played his game, exploited his weakness and won.

Her reference of methods and achieving goals reminded Jimmy of something he had been thinking a lot about. "Yves? That night when you thought I had the pictures of you and the Professor –" he swallowed hard and continued. He didn't want to know the answer but a part of him needed to know. "Would you have…if I had the pictures…how far would you have gone to get them back?"

Yves met his gaze, her expression giving nothing away. Then slowly, precisely, she dropped the cotton ball in the trash and capped the alcohol, giving the top a decisive twist before setting it down on the counter.

"I would have done whatever I needed to get them back," she said in a matter of fact tone.

She could tell by his expression that she had managed to shock him with that vague insinuation. As she watched him, she noted that, while he struggled with her statement, there was no judgment in his eyes.

He was so unlike other men, yet he readily believed that insinuation. The slight disappointment she felt bothered her and she quickly brushed it aside.

Jimmy stared at Yves, struggling to understand her. He had been raised to believe that intimacy between two people was something special and should be cherished. What kind of woman used sex as a means to an end? He didn't understand it but he had never been in her position. While he figured it was easier for a man, a part of him wondered if he had the courage to do whatever it took to get the job done, no matter the personal cost.

She moved closer to him, reaching out to him. He was so lost in his train of thought it didn't register. At least not right away.

He grabbed her wrist before she could insert a needle into his arm.

"What are you doing?" He demanded, his heart thumping in his chest like a bass drum. What was in that syringe?

"I'm doing what I need to do to save the Professor," Yves said calmly then added, "It's just a mild sedative, Jimmy. You'll wake up in an hour with nothing more than a headache."

"Just a mild…" He gaped at her in horrified disbelief. "You just expect me to let you inject me with that? You can't be serious! I don't…" he paused, eyes growing wide. "You're going to meet Fletcher by yourself!" With his stunned pronouncement, his grip on her wrist loosened.

All she had to do was shake him off and inject him.

"Why?"

"Why?" she repeated, taking in his numerous cuts, bruises and deepening black eye. He watched her intently as she reached up with her free hand and gently touched a cut along his cheek, not really surprised he let her.

It was odd, this desire for him to understand.

"Because innocent people have been hurt," she said her voice heavy with regret.

"You've been hurt too, Yves," Jimmy reminded her. "You don't have to do this alone."

Yves thought about how he had followed her as she ran back toward the beach house and the bomb they all knew was about to explode. She remembered at the time wondering whether he was completely daft or very brave. She now knew he was the latter and it was the kind of bravery that made a person act regardless of the consequences to himself.

She thought of Maggie whose only motivation was worry over Frohike's safety. And now she was lying in the morgue. Her resolve hardened. "The Professor is my responsibility," she murmured.

"Let me help you," Jimmy insisted. "I want to help you.

"I know." She smiled up at him, earning a sweetly earnest smile in return. She drew her hand from his, saying, "But this is between no one but Fletcher and me."

"Think again, Sugar."

Startled, Yves palmed the needle and turned but not before she saw the disappointment in Jimmy's face. Frohike stood at the door, his face grim. Behind him stood Agent Doggett, Byers, Mulder and Dr. Scully.

Frohike entered the room. "This thing involves all of us and I have every intention of making sure Fletcher and Agent Krycek," he said the name with deep contempt, "pay for what they did. If you don't like it…that's just too damn bad."