=====o=====================================================o=====

"Sins of the Fathers" by Mary Ruth Keller

E-mail: mrkeller@eclipse.net

=====o=====================================================o=====

Part IV - Reset (Disclaimed in Part I)

-----o----------------------o-----

"If we can do this, 
 Cupid is no longer an archer:
 his glory shall be ours,
 for we are the only ----gods."

        Much Ado About Nothing 

-----o----------------------o-----

Sky Harbor International Airport
Phoenix, Arizona
Tuesday March 5, 1996
10:00 pm

"Next please." Janice Stewart took the credit card offered. "And
what is your destination today, Sir?" 

The man before her seemed familiar with the routine. "La Guardia
Airport, New York City." 

Janice tapped several keys. "And how many are in your party?" 

She heard an impatient sigh. "Two." 

The brunette behind the counter adjusted her glasses. <Or was that
relief?> "And will that be coach, business, or first class?"

There was a catch in the tenor as the man spoke. "First class."

"Business." 

Janice looked up. It was the first time the petite auburn-haired
woman had spoken. The ticket agent could see why, as she surveyed
finely chiseled classical features drained of any color. <Poor
woman must have the flu, and bad.> Janice winced at the burned
patches she saw on the woman's jeans. <Not the flu. Accident.>
Then she lifted her head further to take in the man accompanying
her. He too, had burns, and deep, haunted hazel eyes. <Time to
step outside the box, Jan. Help your fellow human being.> 

"Sir, I see you have several thousand frequent flier miles on a
second account. Let me transfer those to this card. Then you can
both fly first class for the price of business." The overwhelming
gratitude that poured out of those same haunted eyes were all the
payment she needed. She transferred miles from her own account to
one Fox Mulder, for a pair of non-stop first-class tickets for
himself and Doctor Dana Scully. <Must be one of those couples
where she keeps her own name.> The tickets emerged from the
printer. 

"Check-in and seat assignment at the next booth, please." She
placed the two tickets in one folder and handed it to him. "Thank
you for flying Delta Airlines. Enjoy your flight." She couldn't
tell these two to 'Have a nice day.' "Next please." She watched
out the corner of her eye as the pair walked slowly to the gate
area. He had a cast on his left leg, and she was acting as his
guide and strength. Or was her arm wrapped around his waist for
comfort while he was her support? <It was difficult to say.>

                            --o-0-o--

Mulder let out a frustrated puff of air as the strap for the
laptop carrying pack slid off the shelf of the overhead
compartment, narrowly missing his ear. Twisting the zippered cloth
satchel by ninety degrees, he stretched his free hand blindly
towards his partner, expecting her to place the second laptop case
in it. When she did not, he glanced down at her. <Oh, Scully, why
didn't you tell me?> 

Her eyes pinched shut tightly, Scully had crossed her arms over
her abdomen, the thin bag forgotten on her lap. 

Mulder's hand hovered over her shoulder, then he called softly, "I
think you're right, you know." 

The change was instantaneous. As her eyes snapped open, her small,
hunched shoulders immediately squared and flattened. "Right?" She
tipped her head back to meet his downward gaze. 

Lifting the computer off her lap, Mulder answered, "About
D'Amato's office. The safe he mentioned must be in New York City,
as you thought." 

The creases in her forehead smoothed. "Oh, did the Gunmen have
anything new?" 

After he closed the overhead compartment, he slid one leg past her
knees, hopping slightly to reach his seat. "Just that the family
didn't really begin to expand its empire geographically until
after the Korean War. So, if the notes are from 1945, they might
well be somewhere in the original D'Amato office building." 

Scully forced a tiny grin. "Another batch of secrets hidden in a
basement." She blanched, the pain slanting her face into a
porcelain mask.

Suddenly overwhelmed, Mulder stared down as he buckled his
seatbelt. "Yeah." When he could speak clearly, he eyed her
carefully. "Langly's working on enhancing the images from the
surveillance CCD that we downloaded to them, in case we missed
anything. Frohike's double-checking on the P.O. boxes they set up
for us." When Scully shivered, Mulder bent towards her
instinctively. "Byers liked your suggestion that we mail multiple
back-ups of the conversation using regular and registered mail, as
well as storing it on every hard drive we had." He tipped his head
forward. "He thinks you're finally paranoid enough to fit in with
the rest of us." 

Scully glanced over at his eyes, which were grey with worry. "I
guess I should be flattered." 

Slightly relieved, Mulder shifted against the thick cushions. "Get
some rest, Scully. We'll see if this is the real thing or some
gigantic hoax when we reach La Guardia, but that's hours yet." 

She clenched her fists, then forced herself to relax. "We can't
let this opportunity go by, Mulder. We've lost too much already."

The dark-haired agent slipped his hand over one of hers,
surprised, as always, by the differences in color and size. "We
won't. Not now. Not anymore." 

                            --o-0-o--

Had they known the plans of the smoking man in the dark room, they
would not have pushed themselves so hard. 

His old friend Tony had hidden the documents so well that even the
old spy was not aware of what was in them. He would save his
people the time and expense by letting them find the papers for
him. The battle would be joined again, but on his terms, not
theirs, and he was preparing a new strategy that would keep them
busy until he was ready to strike back.

                            --o-0-o--

"Scully?" 

She lifted her head off the seat. <Just let me sleep.> "Yes, are
we there yet?" 

"No." 

<Then why?> 

He slipped his arm around her back. "How long has it been?" 

<He knows.> She sat up and opened her eyes. 

All deep concern and fear, he was staring down at her as he
released her to settle in the wide seat. 

"I'm not sure. I've hurt so much since the attack, I didn't always
know the difference between the ribs and well, down there." One
corner of her mouth turned up slightly. "Yes, Mulder, you heard me
say that. The Great Doctor Dana Scully, like most other
physicians, is her own worst patient. I didn't want to think I was
bleeding down there, so I didn't, not really until yesterday."  

"And having to drag me out of the Palazzo only made it worse." 

She patted his shoulder. "I wasn't going to leave you. I had to
get us both, and the computer, out of there. I'm just glad you
were able to finish the job, or it wouldn't have mattered." 

"And I just want to thank you, for staying with this, again. But,
Scully, I need to know." 

"Need to know what?" 

"How bad is it? How long do you think you have?" 

She smiled at him. "You mean how long before you get to set me on
a satin pillow and tell me to stay put while you take all the
risks yourself?" 

"I'd have put you there after you were returned, you know that,
but I know you wouldn't stay. No, I know you want to see this
through. You wouldn't be the Great Doctor Dana Scully if you
didn't. I just need to know that by doing so, you won't hurt
yourself worse, and," he told her, looking down as she rested her
hand on his arm, "I don't want to spend the rest of my life
visiting a lonely grave either." <In my case, it wouldn't be so
long.> 

"Mulder, I..."

"No. I really mean it, Scully, how bad do you think the bleeding
is? How long do you think you have before you have to stop? That
determines how much we try to do in New York, and when. *No*
*overestimates*, either. We're on the edge here as it is, you and
I. Neither of us can get through this without the other." 

She nodded. "Oh, I know that. <I've been trying to tell you that
since New Mexico.> It's just hard for me to be specific. If I knew
the bleeding was just from the surgery, I would give you a
standard medical textbook estimate, but sometimes I think
something else is wrong." 

The look on his face showed his horror at her words. 

She arched both eyebrows. "I think, think, I'll be fine for the
next few days, if I can get some rest tonight. After that, I'll
need to check into a clinic or hospital for some tests, so plan on
New York. After that, we'll see how rough it is."  

He nodded, letting her settle back down on his shoulder to sleep.

                            --o-0-o--

Somewhere over the Mid-West
Wednesday, March 6, 1996
2:00 am

Sarah Rogers wheeled the drink cart up to the first row of
business class. She was curious, so she pushed the corner of the
first class curtain aside, just enough to peek. <Ah, that was the
couple the other flight attendants were talking about in the back
galley.> The man was immensely handsome, in a boyish way, but what
had made Deedee flush with infatuation was his tenderness. <Yes,
tenderness. Deedee was right about that.> 

The man had tucked his lover's <Wife's? Girlfriend's? I hope not>
head on his arm and curled around her back, turning the adjacent
reclining seats into a makeshift bed. Most men, when in public,
would not have been willing to risk so open a display of
affection. She wondered what had forged so strong a bond between
them.

Sarah was convinced she had seen them before. Then she inhaled
sharply, recalling the face on the latest Newsweek about the
Scandal at the FBI. It was that Agent accused of dealing drugs,
and that woman must be his partner.   

<Back to work, Sarah. No, wait. He's waking up.> The man stirred,
then lifted his head to check the woman, brushing a lock of hair
off her face. He tucked her arm back under the blanket, and pulled
her closer before settling back to sleep himself. 

No. The reports must be wrong. Such a pair would not be so gentle,
so comfortable with each other. Whatever had happened, and the
aroma of smoke was detectable, even five feet away, had happened
to them, not by them. She wished them well, and turned to begin
serving drinks.

                            --o-0-o--

Central Park
Manhattan Island
Wednesday, 8:00 am 

The agents stood at the intersection written on the chip. While
Guiliano D'Amato would never meet them there, the partners wanted
to examine the location for possible clues to the safe's
whereabouts. 

As Mulder looked over the green expanse, Scully checked the street
for an ambush. "It's the right time. See anything, Mulder?" 

A glint of sunlight off the foot of a park bench caught his eye,
so he nodded. As they passed through a hedge row, she saw it too.
As they bent over it, the object became identifiable: a key. He
knelt to attempt to pick it up, but it was wedged under the metal.
Scully passed him his pocketknife, which he used to work the key
free. The letters RJM were inscribed on one side. 

He held it out to her. "Think this would fit a safe?" 

She took it and turned it over several times in her hand. "Not a
modern safe, but my grandfather had one similar to this for a safe
of his father's. It would make sense, if the documents had not
been moved, but since D'Amato was so careful about revealing the
location, you would expect he would have locked the papers in a
vault." 

He was kneeling again. "There's something more here, Scully." He
wiggled out a small scrap of paper, with the words "M. The key.
L." in tiny letters on one side. On the other, was the
combination. Mulder realized the note must be from Lucia, that
D'Amato must have instructed her to leave the key and combination
here before coming to the Palazzo. He must also have intended to
leave the Agents to privately examine the papers, while he would
draw everyone's attention to the gala party out west. 

Mulder stood. <Not today.> "So where is this downtown office of
his?" 

Scully pointed to a skyscraper some five blocks away. 

                            --o-0-o--

Guiliano D'Amato's Office
Wednesday 8:30 am

The guard at the front desk had asked to see 'it'. When Mulder had
shown him the chip, key, and paper, not knowing which 'it' the man
meant, the uniformed attendant had immediately taken them to the
Penthouse Office. 

"I'll be right outside, if you need anything." He unlocked the
door. 

Mulder held it open for Scully, touching her lightly on the back
as she passed him. 

She lifted one corner of her mouth at the familiar gesture. <Been
a while, Mulder.> She gasped at the finery when the lights
flickered on and the drapes slid open, just as they were
programmed to do.  

Then they both saw the antique Mantuan safe with the letters RJM
inscribed and gilded on the door. After a verifying exchange of
glances, they moved around the marble table, the ornate scrollwork
chairs, and the Venetian "desk" to reach the safe. Mulder motioned
towards the drapes. Scully spotted the control panel under the
table, and toggled the switch. Once the view from the outside
world was blocked, he opened the safe. 

It was all there. 

If he hadn't been sitting on the floor already, his knees would
have buckled. "We got it!" He removed the notebooks, creating two
stacks of documents on the left side of the table. 

Scully slipped the Gunman's laptop out of its carrying case to
patch the CCD directly into the RF receiver card with a video
cable. This she did not want to broadcast to the smoking man in
the dark room.  

The system had a snapshot mode, to record a single frame with a
tap on the Enter key. The work became almost hypnotic for them.
Put a notebook on the table, snap the front, open, then snap the
front and back of every page. Move the binder aside, open another.
Thunk, tap, flip, tap, flip, tap, tap, flip, until the two stacks
on the left dwindled to nothing, and four hours had passed. 

Scully sank into one of the delicately carved chairs. She had
stood the entire time, holding the CCD about a foot above the page
so the paper filled the field of view. She ached all over, but,
this time, she didn't really feel the pain. 

Her partner was in ecstasy, sitting, wide-eyed, at the desk. It
was as if all the joy missing from the lonely and silent
Christmases and birthdays of his life had been poured back into
him in the past four hours.  

"This is *it*! This is *it*!" he said in wonder, as the receipts,
manifests, and photographs passed before his eyes. When he saw the
image of the silver cylinder, he knew, *knew*, everything he had
ever read was true. 

But now she had to bring him down to earth, to remind him of the
demons on their tail. "Mulder, I think we should talk about..." 

He still was in another world. 

She stood and walked around to him, resting her hand on his
shoulder. 

He noticed her, finally. Rising, he grasped both her shoulders,
nearly lifting her off the floor. "Scully, did you see? Now do you
believe?" His eyes were glowing, the hazel irises contracted down
until the pupils were almost pin-points. 

"Mulder, I know what I think I saw." She frowned. "But I know this
for a fact. If we don't get out of here soon, none of this will
see the light of day again." 

He released her. <She's right.> 

Scully sighed. "Also, we need to make a decision here." When he
raised an eyebrow at her, she continued as she waved her hand at
the haphazard stack of binders, "Should we leave these behind, or
take them with us?"

The choice was agonizing. If they took the papers, they would be
Scully's tangible proof that could be tested for authenticity. But
if they took them, they would be hunted for the rest of their
lives by the shadow government. Would the images alone be enough
given the technical capabilities available to animators and
hoaxers today?  

Mulder the Believer and Scully the Skeptic reached the same
conclusion. They had to have both the images and the documents. 

                            --o-0-o--

Penn Station
Baltimore, MD
Wednesday 8:30 pm

It had been another frantic afternoon of work. After sending the
images to the Gunmen, the partners had carted the notebooks down
to the building's mail room. Mulder packed the boxes with two
binders each as Scully kept track of which was which on the
computer. They had taken Amtrak out of New York, using every stop
to mail one or two of the boxes to the locations used earlier for
the copies of D'Amato's conversation. 

She slumped back against the oak bench, waiting for the boarding
call. "That's the last one. We'll have to move them out to safe
deposit boxes later." 

He sank down beside her, then leaned into her shoulder. He wanted
to tell her again, how much her work meant to him, but words were
beyond him at the moment, so he lifted her hand off her jeans,
enclosing it between his two. "Scully, I..." 

A small cry of surprise and empathy escaped her when she saw his
eyes glistening. 

The station-master piped on a small whistle. "All aboard!" 

She jumped, but the interruption had focused her partner. 

He released her fingers. "...think we'd better get to our train." 

As they descended the stairs to the platform, Dana Scully smiled
to herself. <And to think, G-man, your tape collection is legend
at the CIA.> 

                            --o-0-o--

Office of the Lone Gunmen
Alexandria, VA
Wednesday 10:30 pm

Frohike reached the door at the second knock. "Guys! They're
back!" He held the door for the partners. 

Mulder, once again, shepherded Scully through the door first. As
Langly and Byers stepped out of the back room, the tall agent
smirked. "Moving to the 'burbs? Middle age creeping up on you?" 

The office was actually in a two story house not far off the
George Washington Parkway.  

Langly grinned. "Had to, G-man. Bad karma to stay in a place once
you've been hacked." He took the PC from Scully. "You guys okay?" 

She nodded. "How do the images look?" She watched three faces
light with glee. <How did you find these characters, Mulder?> 

"Man, oh man, Doc! That D'Amato guy knew what he had! Where are
the notebooks?" 

Mulder beamed back at them. "Hidden in several states and
municipalities, courtesy of the U.S. Snail. Which brings up
something else." He looked over at Scully, who was leaning against
a desk. "We want to get the images out on the Net." 

She pushed off the support, nodded, and continued. "Remember, as
good as these data look, we still don't have the contents
verified." 

The Gunmen rolled their eyes and groaned. 

She held up her hand. "No, hear me out. Mulder and I want to do
this for two reasons. First, like the Dead Sea Scrolls and the
Scientology tapes, these documents should be available to
everyone. Let all the experts, both amateur and professional, have
a shot at them, so if the contents are fraudulent, then we will
know." 

Mulder took up the justification again. "Second, our security. We
don't have the FBI to protect us anymore. If we were to hoard
these, they could kill us, and the information is safe again. But
put these out there, and we, personally, are no more danger to the
men in the shadows than we ever were. So guys, want to add a
section to your homepage?"  

                            --o-0-o--

Lone Gunmen's Office
Thursday March 7, 1996
3:00 am

Computers still confounded Mulder, so he had been forced to watch
as Scully and the Gunmen sorted and reformatted the data into
indexed chunks for users to access. But it was done. His partner
had just crossed her arms on a desk to rest her head for a moment. 

Leaning into her body, he rubbed her shoulder. 

She turned her head and wrinkled her nose at him. "I think some of
us could use a shower." 

He grinned back at her. "Want to do the planet a favor?" 

"Mulder! Go!" She gave him the Look. 

The blonde Gunman walked in from their lab. "Doc, we have two, you
know, and two hot water heaters. Take all the time you want." 

"Thanks, Langly. I'll remember you in my will." 

Mulder sent a parting jibe back over his shoulder. "Yeah, you'll
get the Red Menace." 

                            --o-0-o--

Washington, D. C.
Thursday 3:30 am

The young agent punched in the old man's home phone number. The
strategy the smoking man had devised was superseded by the
information he had to deliver.  

"Yes?" 

He knew no other way than to say it directly. "Sir, the contents
of the D'Amato notebooks have been posted on the Internet." 

"So, our errant knight chooses to hide himself in the public eye?
We shall oblige. In the next three hours, you will need to..."

                            --o-0-o--

Lone Gunman's Office
Thursday 7:30 am

Fox Mulder had slept on the couch in the Gunman's living room. So
had Dana Scully, but not, however, the same sofa. These were
bachelors, after all, so the living room featured two mismatched
sectionals and a two-seater. 

After a brief discussion with Frohike during which he offered
Scully *his* bed, as well as certain other manly services, the
tall agent had felt obliged to come to his exhausted partner's
rescue. <Or was I really rescuing Frohike from a certain
red-headed doctor who could relieve him of those same manly
services with a well-placed blow in self defense?> Not a thought
to contemplate on four hours sleep. What he was contemplating, as
he lay watching CNN, was his future, or more precisely, his lack
thereof. 

He felt certain these documents would hold up as evidence of a
human conspiracy of silence concerning alien activities during and
after the Second World War. But they would do nothing to help him
find his sister. Or who had abducted his partner. Or... The list
went on. 

Scully had been right, last year. They needed the resources of the
FBI to pursue their respective quests. But, they were suspended,
and only turning themselves in would propel the investigations
forward. That, however, was a decision they had to make together,
this time, not she or he for both of them.  
He glanced at his partner, studying the pale, drained face he had
seen by his shoulder these past few days, never arguing, even when
what they were doing would shatter her world view. <Or would it?>
He needed to know. He slipped off his sofa and sat on the floor by
her head. 

Mulder touched her hand. "Scully? Are you awake?" 

She slipped forward until her head was on his shoulder, her hair
falling loosely over his bare arm. 

<Well, this was nice, but, I still have to know.> He slid his arm
under her shoulders, then lifted her enough to let him settle on
the sofa with her head on his lap.  

She flipped over, snuggling against the warmth of another body. 

<Even better>. But still, not exactly what he was after. <Store
this Kodak moment, G-man. You'll need it next time you wake up
screaming about Duane Barry taking her.> He shook her shoulder.
"Scully, we need to talk." 

She sat up. <That did it.> "Mulder, why are you up so soon?" She
grabbed his hand, flexing his index finger. "Let me guess, I prick
this and out oozes black caffeinated goo, right?" 

His hazel eyes glittered. "No, that's decaf." He held up his other
hand. "This is espresso." 

She punched his shoulder, a little more forcefully than if the
gesture were meant as a joke. "Off. I want to sleep at least
another sixteen hours." 
 
"I need to talk about our suspensions." 

Instantly focused, she twisted her legs around, crossed them, and
waited. "What are you thinking?" 

He shifted to face her. "That you were right last spring, that we
need the resources of the FBI to find out about all the things
that have happened to us these past years. This new evidence isn't
enough for me..." 

She was smiling, now, her big, wonderful smile that melted him.
"You want more evidence, Agent Mulder? More concrete proof?" She
looked up at the ceiling. "Thank you, Sir, you heard me. Miracles
do happen." 

"Scully! Stop!" He frowned. "I'm *trying* to be serious here."  

She held up her hand. "Okay, Mulder, sorry. I couldn't resist. I
don't have a clue as to what to do about our suspensions. Part of
me is afraid that if we come in, we'll never be heard from again.
Part of me agrees with you." After pulling her knees up to her
chin, she rubbed her calves. "And part of me is too tired to think
straight, so I'm no good right now for decisions, especially ones
like these." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "My Mom doesn't know
if I'm alive or dead." 

Mulder felt for her. <Oh, Scully.> He rested his arm on the back
of the sofa to reach her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I wish it were safe
to tell our mothers. But I'm sure they're being watched right
now." 

She nodded, convinced he was right. "Let's give it one more day.
I'm beginning to feel better. Maybe then I'll be ready or maybe
we'll know more." 

"Sure." He rubbed her arm. Now was not the time to discuss world
views. 

A voice spoke from the doorway. "Make it a threesome?" Scully
threw her pillow at Frohike. 

                            --o-0-o--
 
Annapolis, MD
Thursday 8:00 am

Margaret Scully had spent most of the past week scanning the
newspapers and TV for any information about her daughter and Fox.
She thought she had seen them in one early still photograph from
the explosion of the Palazzo De Medici. They had been running away
from the house, together, so they were still alive. But, CNN had
never shown that particular photograph again, once the video
cameras reached the scene. She was checking the latest when the
words "Breaking News" scrolled across the screen.

"We have new information on the Drug Scandal at the FBI. Early
this morning, the agency issued a statement that, and we quote,
'There is no evidence of illegal activity at the Federal Bureau of
Investigation.' Earlier indications that the inquiry would be
widened to include the CIA have proven false. The reports of drug
activity involving the three original agents and the mysterious
X-files have been shown, according to our sources, to have been
falsified by a disgruntled former employee at the Bureau. This
agent had been partnered with Fox Mulder, the supposed ringleader,
at one time, but they had failed to work out. The unnamed agent is
believed to have planted evidence in Mulder's home, and paid to
have him beaten, for revenge. All charges against the three agents
have been dropped, and the FBI considers the matter closed. In
other news..."

She muted the TV as the doorbell rang. Through the frosted glass,
she saw the rounded head of Walter Skinner. <He must have been
told earlier.> 

When he was inside, he spoke quietly to her. "Margaret, do you
know where they are?" 

"No. But you could have asked me that over the phone. Who do you
think is behind this?"

"I have a suspicion, but I can't really say. If they try to
contact you now, please get word to me somehow. I don't think this
is all over, yet."  

"Walter, what do you know?" 

He shook his head.

                            --o-0-o--

Lone Gunmen's Office
Thursday 12:00 pm

Mulder watched the same broadcast, having settled on CNN to avoid
the endless infomercials otherwise running. He and Scully had
spent the morning with their heads together, formulating a plan to
retrieve the notebooks. Langly was reserving seats on a series of
flights under assumed names. Byers had contacted banks close to
the locations of the P.O. boxes to purchase safe deposit boxes.
Frohike was arranging a series of car rentals. The agents would
rendezvous in Boston, New York, and finally Rockville, where the
notebook containing the information on the silver cylinder awaited
them.  

"You okay with this, Scully?" He studied her face across the
kitchen table.  

"This should work. Let's get some lunch. The first flight leaves
at 2:00." 

                            --o-0-o--

Post Office
Rockville, MD
Saturday March 9, 1996
10:00 am

She was racing the clock now. The line at the post office had been
long, and she was behind. <Should have factored in the DC Saturday
rush, Dana.> They had intentionally left the notebooks close to
Washington until last. In an area with so many working couples,
most places of business either adjusted to their customer's
schedules or lost revenue, and local banks and certain post
offices were no exception. 

Scully was leaving the building when she saw them up the street,
three black cars, filled with men in long dark trench coats. <How
do they know about this one?> She ran to her rental and sped off
to meet Mulder. <I have to lose them, and fast.> 

                            --o-0-o--

Rockville, MD
Saturday 11:45 am

Mulder was waiting in his rented Taurus two blocks from the bank,
which closed in fifteen minutes. He heard tires squeal, then his
partner's rental car came into view on his left. 

She pulled alongside of him, not getting out of her vehicle. "I
being tailed. I've lost them, but I'll need to keep them away from
you." She crawled across the seat and handed him the package. 

He placed it on the seat beside him. When he looked up, she was
doubled over again. "Scully! You okay?" <No, G-man, she's not
okay.> 

But, as he expected, she nodded and slipped back behind the wheel. 

"Meet you back at the Gunmen's?" 

She nodded again. "Good luck." 

They both sped off.

                            --o-0-o--

Scully saw them when she was about ten blocks west of the bank. so
she floored the accelerator, pulling them along behind her. <All
three, good.> She turned left, heading south. If she led them in a
straight line, they would realize she was leading them away from
Mulder and the notebooks. She turned right at a stop sign, cutting
off two cars.

She carefully avoided the main thoroughfares, where the police
would be. <Wait a minute, Dana, you know Alexandria like the back
of your hand, but Rockville might as well be Bangkok. You almost
lost the way back to Mulder three times this morning. Where are
you?> She couldn't afford to stop, even if she was lost. But the
men behind her sensed her hesitation, and closed in, thinking she
was about to meet Mulder. 

She veered into an alley on the left. It opened onto a parking
lot, where several cars loomed ahead. Scully spun the steering
wheel to the right, but she was moving too fast. The car flipped
over several times, before coming to rest upside down. But even
though she was safe, she knew they were right behind her. She
released the latch on the seatbelt and crawled out through the
broken driver's side window. 

The deep pain struck again. <Not now!> The men were out of the
cars and shooting at her rental, which exploded as she dove behind
a low wall. Their view of her escape had been blocked by the
now-burning vehicle, but she couldn't be sure they had broken off
pursuit. She ran around one of the buildings flanking the parking
lot and saw a familiar brown rectangular pillar with the white M
at the top on each side. She had somehow reached the Rockville
Metro station, and would be safe among the tourists and
vacationers. 

                            --o-0-o--

First Maryland Bank
Rockville, MD
Saturday 12:15 pm

Mulder signed the form for the deposit box in his and Scully's
names. He followed the woman teller to the back room, where she
left him with the open container. He nodded, thanking her, and she
left. He placed the notebooks in the lidded drawer, closed and
locked it, emerging a minute or so after she did. 

Smiling, she waved him out the door, standing in the entrance to
lock it after him. As he walked to his car, she punched in a
number. "He was here." 

                            --o-0-o--

Red Line
Washington Metrorail System
Saturday 12:55 pm

Scully sank into a seat as the train slid along the now
underground rails. She had not been followed into the system.
Doubling over, she wrapped her arms around her abdomen. <Not
again!> She had to get back to the Gunmen. <Concentrate, Dana, how
many stops left to Gallery Place? Four.>  

When she forced herself to stand and pace in the car, the pain
eased somewhat. Scully knew she would have to be hospitalized very
soon, or it would be too late. <I've run us out of time, Mulder.>
At Gallery Place, she called the Gunmen's Office from one of the
new phones on the platform, and the Gunman she least wished would
answer, did.

"Frohike, this is Scully."

"Babe! Where are you?" 

"I'm at Gallery Place, and I need someone to pick me up at the
south entrance at Huntington."

"Sure, Dana." Click. 

If the men in black had somehow caught Mulder, she needed her
Mother at the hospital with her. As she boarded the Yellow line
south to Huntington, she was working on a plan to get her mother
into DC without using the phones for contact.

                            --o-0-o--

Lone Gunmen's Office
Saturday 2:00 pm

Scully staggered through the front door to collapse on the nearest
sofa. 

Having heard someone enter, Byers came out of the large, back room
office. "Agent Scully, are you feeling all right?" 

"Is Mulder back yet?" 

"No. What's wrong?" 

"You don't want to know. But I do need you to do something for me.
Go to my Mom's house and bring her to Arlington Hospital." She
handed him a slip of paper, on which were written the words 'Was
he ever proud of me? Starbuck.' "This is proof you know me and
aren't trying to kidnap her. Show it to her and she will come with
you. Go, Now!" 

Byers nodded. 

As he left, Scully pushed herself up off the sofa. She walked to
the kitchen where she punched Doctor Anderson's home phone number
into the wall-mounted phone there.

                            -o-0-o--

Lone Gunmen's Office
Saturday 2:30 pm

When Mulder pulled up to Langly, the blond Gunman was standing at
the street, waving frantically. "It's the Doc, G-man. Frohike is
with her. She's collapsed, but won't let us take her to the
hospital until you get here." 

Mulder pulled the passenger door open, then the two men ran into
the house. "Scully!" 

She was curled in a ball on the sofa. 

Frohike was at her head, afraid to touch her. 

Mulder knelt by her. "How bad is it?" 

She looked up at him. "Is it safe?" 

He nodded. 

She groaned through gritted teeth.  "It's bad. I already sent
Byers for my Mom. Take me to Arlington Hospital. Dr. Anderson is
waiting." 

He picked her up. <She's too light!> 

"Your leg, Mulder." 

"Forget my leg, we're going." Once in the car and underway, he
asked her, "Why Anderson, Scully? Isn't it his fault you're like
this?" He looked down at her. 

She had lain down on the seat with her head against his thigh.  

"If it were a faulty procedure, I would have bled to death the
first day. No, I think something else is causing this. Since he
did the original surgery, he will know if there have been
changes." 

He kept one hand on her shoulder for the rest of the drive.

                            --o-0-o--

Arlington Hospital
Saturday 3:30

Walter Skinner walked through the glass doors of the emergency
room, looking for Mulder. He spotted the tall agent slouched in a
chair by the window, staring out moodily. To someone who did not
know him, he would seem absent-minded and detached, but the AD
knew better. Dana Scully's condition must be serious, so serious,
in fact, that he was able to walk up to his agent and stand close
without Mulder noticing him. "Agent Mulder?" 

The dark-haired man shrugged. <Him again.> 

"How is Agent Scully doing?" 

Mulder finally looked up at his superior. "She's been in there for
an hour. A nurse told me they had to give her one and a half units
of blood before they could operate. I don't know any more." He
turned back to the glass. 

Skinner sat in the chair on the other side of the window, hoping
to draw Mulder's attention. 

Abruptly, the agent faced his superior. "Sir, why are you here?"  

"I told Margaret Scully to contact me if either of you tried to
reach her. She called before she left Annapolis. We need to talk,
Agent Mulder."  

"Not now!" Mulder muttered as he pulled himself to his feet and
stalked away.  

Skinner called after him. "They're giving you the X-files back,
with no strings. You have them where you want them. Whatever you
two found and put on the Net scared them. They're watching,
waiting, testing." He stood. "But, I have strings, Agent Mulder. I
have been told to keep you two under closer surveillance, even
spend time in the field with you, or lose my position. I won't be
able to shield you from them, then, you know." 

The tall agent spun around and stared his boss in the eye. "Who,
Sir, them, or *him*? We're all puppets to *him*, aren't we?" He
began pacing. "He just flicks his cigarette, and we all dance to
his tune. He decides, we, die." Mulder sank back into a chair, his
head in his hands. Staring at the floor, he continued in a
whisper, "My father, Melissa Scully, Guiliano D'Amato, with all
his wealth and good intentions," he chewed his lip, then continued
in a pained whisper, "Scully." 

"Agent Mulder! Listen to me!" 

Mulder leapt to his feet, full of fury.  "No Sir, I won't! Agent
Scully is dying!" He shivered, then, exhausted, his rage folded
into nothingness, and he collapsed on the chair. "She was bleeding
to death inside, but she wouldn't stop, not until the information
we had was safe."  

"Sound like anyone I know?" 

Mulder shook his head, heedless of the other man. "They're more
powerful than she is, than I am." He choked on a sob, then turned
away from his boss. "I don't want to search alone anymore, Sir." 

Walter Skinner touched Mulder's shoulder. <What can I say to him?
For all I know, he may be right.> He sat beside the younger man,
each lost in his own thoughts. 

                            --o-0-o--

Arlington Hospital
Saturday 4:15 pm

Margaret Scully entered the waiting room at the same time as Dr.
Anderson, so she steeled herself for the worst. <Dana sent for me.
Fox and Walter are here. It must be bad.> 

The two agents walked over to the doctor. 

Doctor Anderson was removing his gloves as he spoke with Margaret.
"Mrs. Scully, it was touch and go there for a while, but she's out
of the woods. She's lost a lot of blood, and her recent weight
drop has left her weakened, but with time and rest, she will
recover." 

"What was it?" 

Mulder touched Margaret's arm, offering support as she faced the
doctor. 

The surgeon sighed and rubbed his face. "We found a foreign object
working out of her abdominal wall." 

Mulder stepped back as if he had been struck. 

Margaret gasped, then covered her mouth with her hand. 

"It must have been disturbed by the beating. During the original
surgery, we were so concerned with getting the damaged tissue out
of her to prevent infection, we didn't catch it. I've never seen
anything like it." 

Margaret's eyes were burning now, boring holes in the doctor's
face. <Another implant! When?> "How long had it been inside my
daughter? Two years?" 

He shook his head. "No, more like six months. I don't think it was
there from the time of the abduction, if that's what you mean,
Mrs. Scully. I know it was later than that." He looked from one
stunned face to another. "You mean she didn't tell you?" 

Now it was Mulder's turn. "Tell us what?" 

Mother and partner exchanges bewildered glances.  

"That she had been suffering from abdominal cramping for the past
six months. She had initially attributed it to work-related
stress."  

Mulder rubbed his face. <Wonder why.> 

Anderson continued. "But as the pain grew worse, she began coming
in for tests. She was very concerned about cancer, which is odd,
for such a young woman. Is there a problem with cancer in either
your or your husband's family's past, Mrs. Scully?"  

"Breast cancer took my mother-in-law at 56, but other than that,
no." 

The doctor shook his head. "Well, she must know something I don't,
then. However, I think between the two surgeries, we should have
cleared these problems up. Mr. Skinner?" 

Walter Skinner nodded. 

"Expect her back in about a month, no sooner, not after what she's
been through." The physician eyed the dark-haired agent. "You
could use some rest yourself, Mr. Mulder." 

The three smiled in response. Each of them knew how poorly Mulder
adjusted to forced inactivity. 

Margaret laughed. "I think between Fox and myself, she'll rest
this time, doctor."  

"Very well. She's in recovery now. I'll be in touch."

                            --o-0-o--

Arlington Hospital
Room 413
Saturday 8:00 pm

Dana Scully coughed once, then stirred. 

Margaret Scully leaned forward to call to her daughter. "Honey?"

"Mom? Mom, are you here?" Scully opened her eyes. 

Her mother was bending over her, and her partner was watching from
the foot of the bed.  

Margaret took her hand. "You sent a limousine service, dear. A
most pleasant young man." 

The partners smiled at her description of Byers. 

Margaret smoothed the hair off her daughter's forehead. "How do
you feel?" 

"Like I've had the Battle of the Little Big Horn fought on my
stomach. What was it?" 

Mulder gripped the rail at the foot of the bed. "An implant,
Scully." 

Both women looked over at him. 

"They took out an implant from about six months ago. I talked to
the OR tech once you were out of recovery. It was corroded so it
probably didn't work."  

Margaret gasped. "Fox, please!" 

Scully shook her head. "No. Mom. I think he's right. It would not
have been stress, not like this. Do you still have it, Mulder?" 

He lifted a capped tube out of his pocket.  "Right here. When we
get back, *we'll* have the lab look it over, right, *partner*?" 

Margaret saw the silent exchange pass between the two. They *had*
worked through their differences, just as Byers had told her.
"Well, Dana, now that you're back with us, I'm afraid I have to go
home. Just before your Mr. Byers arrived, Bill Jr. called. He
should be arriving with the children in two hours. Take care of my
daughter, Fox." 

Mulder nodded to Margaret as she left, then walked around to sit
on the bed by his partner. "Why didn't you tell us, Scully?" 

She looked up, surprised. "We weren't working so well together, in
case you've forgotten, and Mom was still pretty upset about Mel. I
thought I could handle it on my own. I am a doctor, you know." 

He reached out to her. 

Scully held herself still as he slid towards her and slowly folded
his arms around her. Suddenly feeling overwhelmed, she rubbed his
ribs and relaxed in his hold, pressing her cheek against his
shoulder.

His relief and sorrow intermingled in a shaky whisper, "And you
are also your own worst patient, I think you told me not too long
ago, Doctor Scully." He rubbed her bare, knobby spine. <No special
privileges for you this time.> 

They let silence settle over them. 

Still groggy, she rested there until he begged in her ear,
"Please, don't keep something like this from me, ever."  

Scully nodded against his arm. "I don't remember any lost time or
any vivid dreams of floating. I don't know when this would have
happened." 

Stifling his own tears, he shushed her. "It did, and we'll deal
with it, but later, as a team." He held her up to look in her
face. "We have the X-Files back. No strings. We're alive, somehow,
and free to do our work." 

She slipped back onto the pillows. "They'll keep coming, won't
they?" 

He nodded. "You and I, though, we'll be ready."

                            --o-0-o--

Apartment 5
Saturday May 11, 1996
10:00 am

The Pomeranian was barking at the door. Dana Scully came out of
the bedroom to open it, hopping on one foot as she tied the laces
of a white walking shoe. She had just finished her morning run and
shower. 

Since March, she had placed herself on a strict low-fat diet <No
more double pepperoni, Mulder.> and aerobic exercise with weight
training to retain bone mass. She wanted to avoid taking estrogen
as long as possible. She was, as her partner exulted in reminding
her, buff. The strength felt good after the pain of the fall and
winter, and she never wanted to be that drained again. "Just a
minute!" She unlocked the door. 

"Spare some water for a dying man, Scully?" Mulder had been out
jogging and was sweaty after an eight mile run. 

"Mulder, I thought you would be in Chilmark this weekend. It is
Mother's Day tomorrow, you know." 

He followed her into the kitchen, where she filled a tumbler with
water from the tap and handed it to him, then he sat at the
kitchen table to drink. After he drained the glass, he pushed it
around the table with his finger at the base. "She canceled. I had
reservations at one of her favorite places in Boston, but she
called this morning to say she would be too busy to see me." His
sad eyes fixed on hers. 

She wanted to reach for his shoulder, but waited. <What is it with
his family?> 

"I'm trying. You and your Mom keep telling me what a great lady
she is, but she doesn't want to spend any time with me. Why will
she spend hours with your Mom and not with her own son? Is she
afraid of me?" 

Scully pulled out the kitchen chair across from him to sit. "I
don't know. I'm glad our mothers get along, now that they're both
alone most of the time. But, whenever she and my Mom visit, all
she wants to do is talk about you. Mom calls me before she arrives
to get updates so she'll be properly primed with details. It's
like she's really worried about you but can't talk about it. Give
her time, Mulder, February was a bad for both of them." 

Mulder glared at the floor. "Hey! Don't eat my leg!" 

The Pomeranian was licking the sweat off Mulder's left calf. 

He huffed. "Bruckman was right, he *is* a monster, a salt-sucking
vampire, as a matter of fact." 

She bent down to save her partner from the fearsome beast. "Hey,
Wonder Boy, lets go sit on our pillow, okay?" She tucked the dog
under her arm. 

Mulder followed his partner and a wagging red tail into the living
room. <Wonder Boy now, is it?> "You're spoiling him, Scully. He
has his own bed, baskets of toys, and his own window seat. No dog
should have it so good." 

She smiled up at him, silently thanking him again for letting her
lean on him during her recovery. <Jealous?> "Well, partner,
sometimes it's nice to be spoiled." 

He met her eyes. <Anytime.> 

The phone buzzed from her coffeetable. "Oh, let me get that." She
put the receiver to her ear. "Scully. Yes, this is she. You're at
Georgetown? Okay, sure, we'll see you at one then." 

He queried for the caller's name with a silent "Who?".

Shrugging, she terminated the call. "That was a Professor Edward
Cooper. He teaches History at Texas A&M, World War Two history,
Mulder. He's here for a conference and wants to talk to us about
the D'Amato papers. Need a lift home so you can shower and
change?"  

"Read my mind, partner."

                            --o-0-o--

Georgetown University
Saturday 12:45 pm

Edward Cooper glanced up at the approaching pair. The petite agent
was good looking, for a woman. <But her tall partner.> Such a man
was wasted on them. Graceful hands. Tall, slender body. Great
legs. <Dream on, Edward. A short, overweight, and bald professor
in his sixties doesn't have a prayer.> He rose to shake their
hands. "Thank you for coming, Mr. Mulder, Dr. Scully. Have a
seat." 

They were meeting in the outdoor dining area of a small cafe close
to campus. 

Professor Cooper focused on Mulder. "Let me be blunt. Do you have
the original documents of the images posted on the Web?" 

The agents exchanged a glance, then Mulder nodded. 

The historian sighed. "Good. I needed to hear that. Have you made
any effort to have them authenticated?" 

Another exchange, but this time the woman spoke. "Yes, we have had
some of the documents tested. The paper, inks, and binders are all
of the right age. The chemicals used in the photographs are
consistent with those common at the end of the war, right down to
the substitutions used to compensate for shortages." 

Now Mulder took up the story. "For security reasons, we have
separated the documents into several groups, kept in different
locations that only Scully and I know about. We have had to move
some of the papers from their original sites, when threatened with
discovery." 

Cooper ran his hand over the bulge of his middle. "Thank you. I
suspected as much. I'm glad you put these images on the Web. But
you should have put them in a more conspicuous place, not in the
Lone Gunmen's site. People don't take them too seriously, you
know." 

Yet a third exchange, with smiles. 

Cooper continued. "I asked you to come here, not to my office down
south, because the research I needed them for is unfunded, in fact
scorned by my superiors." 

The male Agent nodded. "We're familiar with your problem, Sir." 

"But, with those documents, I think I now know the answer to an
important historical question. Specifically, why the German rocket
work was suspended." 

Now Scully frowned. "I thought those rockets were shown to be
useless against Great Britain due to guidance and control
problems."

"Precisely. Other researchers had always assumed the Germans
intended, as did we, to use their weapons against the enemy. But I
believe they never meant to do so at all." 

Not believing his ears, Mulder shook his head.  

Cooper paused. "I'm sorry, let me start at the beginning. The work
with the rockets was conducted under strict security. Some of what
I am about to tell you has only recently come to light, with the
end of the Soviet Union. However, the broad outlines of the story
were well known to most of the Allied commanders."  

Mulder glanced as his partner before he muttered, "Why does that
not surprise me?" 

Cooper frowned at the comment before he continued, "The German
engineers were well aware of the problems with their rockets, and
reported these facts, in great detail, to their superiors. They
recommended that the work either be funded and staffed at much
higher levels, or abandoned." 

Mulder looked quizzical. "The development continued almost to the
end of the war, if I recall my history correctly." 

"Yes, Mr. Mulder. But the Fuhrer had different ideas for these new
weapons. His favorite composer, as you know, was Richard Wagner.
He had his Ring Cycle staged several times for the benefit of the
leadership and their families. The part he liked best was the last
opera, Gotterdammerung, where the home of the Gods is destroyed in
a glorious conflagration. He saw himself as the successor to those
ancient beings." 

Mulder's lip curled in disgust. "A megalomaniacal monster." 

Scully touched his arm, reassuring him about something.

Cooper noted the interaction, but chose to ignore it. "Indeed. But
Hitler was given to great fits of depression, and in one of those
fits, he wrote a letter, detailing the final conflagration he saw
as the fitting end for a leader of his stature." 

The partners exchanged amused looks, before Scully indicated with
a wave to the professor that he should continue.  

"He wanted to wait, should the end come, until his enemies were
all around him, then he would rain death and destruction down on
their heads from the sky. Most scholars believed this letter was
treated as the babbling of a deranged man should be. However, new
evidence has come from the former Soviet Union in the form of
interviews with engineers on the V-3 project. The interviews,
conducted shortly after the fall of Berlin, reveal that for some
time, Hitler pushed the rocket research with this goal in mind."  

"The V-3 project, Sir?" Mulder asked.

"Yes, it was to be a larger version of the V-2, that would have
carried enough firepower to, with one hit, destroy several city
blocks. The project got as far as testing a prototype, before work
was halted. Some historians believe the prototype failed, and was
exploded over the Black Forest. Other scholars believe the
pressing costs of a war on several fronts forced Hitler's hand,
and he had to abandon the idea once and for all." 

The dark-haired agent leaned forward. "But you don't?" 

The professor shook his head. 

Mulder looked over at his partner, who had been silent during the
later part of the exchange. "Scully, any thoughts?" 

She frowned. "Just one. *If* Hitler really intended to do this,
and if the allies really knew about it, then why not use the mass
self destruction plan as more evidence of Hitler's insanity? Why
didn't this come out at Nuremburg?" 

Cooper eyed the red-haired woman. <This one is smart.> "That's
what your papers have told me. In the interviews with the
engineers, they keep referring to a hit of some kind. In fact,
they say it over and over: ein Schlage, ein Schlage. They then, to
a man, terminate the interviews. I had always believed that they
meant that the rocket hit the ground, and remained there,
unexploded." 

Scully clasped her hands in her lap. "That was common with these
early tests, as I recall."

Doctor Cooper leaned forward. "When I initially saw your
documents, I thought that conclusion was confirmed. You see, your
manifests indicate that the remains of the V-3 prototype were
secretly removed from the Black Forest shortly after the war,
through this "Mafia" backdoor. But, as I read the papers more
carefully, I understood that what they were trying to cover up was
that it hit something else while in the stratosphere, or something
intercepted it." 

Mulder nodded. "And, Doctor Cooper, none of the Allied or Axis
forces had anything that could reach those altitudes, that we know
of." 

"Exactly, the Prototype struck an unknown object while in the
atmosphere. The two objects fell to the earth together, and the
Allies retrieved *both* objects from the Black Forest, Agents
Mulder and Scully." His voice dropped to a whisper. 

The two agents leaned forward.

Cooper was thrilled to have this excuse to move closer to the tall
agent. "Your silver cylinder was what the V-3 collided with. The
technology contained within would have been priceless. Whoever
controlled it could, if they understood it, have had an
overwhelming advantage in the developing Cold War. That is the
truth your adversaries are trying so hard to protect. I only wish
the object still existed, since there is much we could probably
still learn from it, but I'm sure it has long since been
destroyed." 

                            --o-0-o--

Intersection of Wisconsin Avenue and Grace Street
Georgetown, Washington DC 
Saturday 2:30 pm

"Why do you want me to stop here, Mulder?" 

The tall agent walked to Scully's door and opened it with a
flourish. "Feel like a stroll today, Ma'am?" 

She smiled broadly in response. "Yes, that would be wonderful." 

He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. 

Her lips twitched at the gesture. "You always surprise me." 

His forehead crinkling, he began moving forward. "Why?" 

She looked up at him. "I would have expected you would have been
gloating all the way home about a fellow believer, one who
interpreted the data as you would." 

He glanced down at her. "Yes, I guess I would normally have.
Besides, his is only the first interpretation we've heard.
Although it makes a lot of sense. But, today, no." He listened to
the rustling at their feet as they shuffled through the old
decayed leaves from the previous winter. "I thought of the water
running along the Canal, about how peaceful it is. It reminds me
of something." 

They had reached a small bridge, so they climbed the steps,
crossed, and walked down to the C&O canal towpath. The gravel of
the towpath crunched as they walked in silence, side by side. Her
hand had slipped out of his arm as she tried to keep up on the
uneven ground, so they walked close to each other, occasionally
brushing arms or shoulders, and exchanging quick glances. 

Mulder took a deep breath. The water, the warmth, the freedom he
felt here. Yes, he was beginning to remember that other life in
Montana he saw in the dream. <Vision? Memory?> That life where
money meant nothing, and the woman who made him laugh. He looked
down at his partner, who had turned up her face to catch the
warmth of the sun. He reached over to squeeze her shoulder, ever
so lightly, then dropped his hand to his side. 

She checked his face. 

He looked happy. 

She wasn't worried. 

                        --o-FINIS-o--

                     SINS OF THE FATHERS
                              
-----o--------------------------o-----

"If we shadows have offended,
 Think but this, and all is mended,
 That you have but slumber'd here, 
 While these visions did appear."

       A Midsummer-Night's Dream

-----o--------------------------o-----

=====o=====================================================o=====

"Sins of the Fathers" originally released to ATXC: 2/17/96

Corrected and revised for POV shifts 
with some content changes: 6/15-16/97

Second revision: 4/26/98-5/6/98

=====o=====================================================o=====