=====o======================================================o===== "Twelfth Night" by Mary Ruth Keller E-mail: mrkeller@eclipse.net =====o======================================================o===== Part II - Lights (Disclaimed in Part I) -----o----------------------------------------------------o----- Antonio: Will you stay no longer? nor will you not that I go with you? Sebastian: By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly over me: the malignancy of my fate might perhaps dis- temper yours; therefore I shall crave of you your leave that I may bear my evils alone: it were a bad recompense for your love, to lay any of them on you. Twelfth Night; Or, What You Will -----o-----------------------------------------------------o----- Annapolis, Maryland Thursday, November 28, 1996 6:11 pm "If you two think you can behave yourselves, I have some calls to make." Margaret smiled at her daughter and surrogate son from her seat in the leather chair by the window. Mulder was sprawled opposite her on the couch; Scully had pulled the afghan over herself on the matching two-seater. He sat up as Margaret stood and headed for the coat hooks by the door. "It's okay, Mrs. Scully. You and Scully did most of the cooking. I'll clean." "Thank you, dear. Oh, Dana, Mrs. Richards would love a visit with you?" Scully feigned sleep. Her partner smirked. The older woman crossed the hall to gently stroke her daughter's hair. "Actually, Fox, I've cleaned up after bigger Sunday dinners, and you're both as worn out as after that Mexican business. Why don't you take after my truant girl and rest as well?" Brimming with mischief, he grinned. "No problem, I'll get her up to help." Unwilling to wait for Mulder's worst, Scully opened one eye. "Say hi to Mrs. Richards for me, Mom." With that, Margaret left, and her daughter pushed the wool cover away. "Okay, Robin Goodfellow, let's get started." They worked quietly, Mulder observing to himself that having shared so many meals at their respective apartments, some chores proceeded almost automatically. "Scully?" "Hum?" "We need to talk." He passed her the wet turkey platter. She began wiping it down. "So, talk." He shook his head. She cocked her head. "We'll go for a walk ourselves, okay?" --o-0-o-- The Pomeranian trotted eagerly ahead of them, straining at the leash. The path took them along a lazy creek, where the only signs of their passage were bent blades of browned winter grass. "I'm worried, Scully." "Oh?" "Now that my mother has found her family..." "She won't come back to you?" He studied the ground as they walked further. They halted, confronted by a narrow drainage ditch. Jumping over it easily, Mulder reached back to accept the squirming ball of fur Scully passed him. She tried to gauge the depth of the depression, considering whether to step in or leap, and sighed. He gently dropped the dog, who immediately buried his nose in the cattails and mud as his mistress backed up two steps, and at a jog, hurtled herself over. As Mulder steadied her afterward, Scully could tell from his eyes that fear over his mother's loss struck deeply under his careful nonchalance. He thrust his hands in his pockets, pushing at the bottom seams with his fingers. "I wouldn't blame her. All I remind her of is a missing daughter and a man who did nothing to help her own relatives." Angry at his repeated self-loathing, Scully remained in front of him. "Mulder! You have to stop hating yourself for your parent's mistakes! You were a child when Sam was taken, just a little boy." She set her jaw. "It doesn't matter whether your sister was taken by aliens, or twelve men in black suits. There were forces at work so much more powerful than one skinny, overprotective big brother that you didn't have the chance." She shook him by the elbow. "We know that now, more clearly than we ever have." He snorted, but refused to raise his gaze to meet her eyes. "Beside, even if you are one of the most irritating men I know, you're one of the gentlest as well. If I have to compliment you until you turn as red as those beets we had for dinner to get you to quit, I will." Turning to catch the end of the leash, Scully dragged the protesting canine out of the tall weeds. "Listen to me. You are the staunchest friend I could ever want. Even at the beginning, when you thought I was a spy, you never treated me like a stupid woman who couldn't understand your theories, just one who wouldn't agree with you. You..." He stepped away from her, his hands over his face. "Enough, Scully! I get the point." He dropped his hands and looked her in the eye. "And thanks. I just want her to come back, and I don't know how to reach her. It's *worse* than Sam, almost." She raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?" She glanced back at the Pomeranian, who was digging at an empty rabbit's burrow. He scuffed the grass with his boot. "With Sam, I have some idea who is responsible for her disappearance, and I believe if I look hard enough and long enough, I'll find her. But my Mom is alive and fine, just out of reach, like a reflection. Everyone else can step through the Looking Glass, except me. I'm locked out. What?" His partner was smiling at him. "I'm glad to hear you talking about this, Mulder. You seem to want to connect with her, when three months ago, you wanted nothing more than to run away." She chewed her lip momentarily. "We'd better get back. Mom should be home by now, and she'll worry, even though we're together." But Margaret was not there when they returned, so the partners settled on the long sofa, watching the football games. Wrapped in the afghan's warmth again, Scully's weariness soon set her nodding. Watching her struggle, Mulder gradually lowered the volume until he was following the game in silence. One sharp drop of the head, one deep breath, so he knew his partner's fatigue had won. --o-0-o-- Annapolis, Maryland Thursday, 11:17 pm Margaret turned the key in the lock quietly. Through the glass in the door, she had seen her two children asleep, and wanted to leave them in peace. Using the left arm of the sofa as a pillow, her daughter had curled up in a ball. Her tall partner's chin was on his chest, the hand with the remote having fallen onto the cushions, the other resting limply across her swathed ankles. His stumpy tail wagging as she slipped in, the Pomeranian gazed up at her, but she wasn't stealthy enough. The partners jerked. Mulder leapt to his feet, reaching for the gun he normally wore on his hip by instinct. Chagrined when he touched bare cloth and realized whom he would have injured had it been present, he blinked rapidly and sunk back onto the couch. "Sorry, Mrs. Scully." She returned to the chair, patting her lap for the dog, who jumped up and spun around before settling down. "I'm sorry too, Fox. Caroline was worried that you would get in over your heads." Scully pulled the afghan back over her shoulders, leaning forward to engage her mother's attention. "What does she know, Mom?" The older woman shook her head. "She never really said that much, just that it was highly classified at the time. I think she missed not being able to work in the fifteen years she waited for you, Fox." Mulder rubbed his eyes, recalling the earlier conversation. "I know. I just want her to be safe, that's all." Tucking the dog under her arm, Margaret slid forward out of the chair, bending down to speak with them on eye level. "You both should get more sleep. Speaking as a mother hen, I could have run model trains down the lines in your faces at dinner. Don't argue, Fox. I have a warm comfortable bed for you upstairs, and I expect to find you in it tomorrow morning, late, not down here. So, shoo, both of you." She chased them upstairs, waving Mulder towards Melissa's room. Scully's room was next door on the left, sharing a bathroom, and after Margaret retired, he knocked on the adjoining door. Scully twisted the knob so the paneled hardwood would swing on its hinges, then returned to her duffel bag, lying at the foot of the bed. After she picked a pair of jeans off the steamer trunk to give him space to sit next to her, she resumed her unpacking. Mulder watched her work for a moment before he queried, "You've prepared your Mom for the guys?" She smiled. "Mulder, my Mother somehow managed to raise two boys, Mel, and your truly. She already knows Byers from the spring. I don't think the three of them will fluster her too much. I'm glad we had this day, just the three of us, but they could have come for dinner, you know." He shook his head. "The Gunmen don't celebrate today, except with 'Wild Turkey' and 'Famous Grouse.'" As Scully remembered opening her door to an inebriated Frohike during Mulder's disappearance almost a year and a half earlier, she giggled. Frowning, her partner continued, "They refuse to recognize government mandated holidays, especially Republican ones." She sat at the head of the bed, covering her mouth with the red sweater she was transferring at the moment, her shoulders shaking. "What?" "Do they refuse to use pennies and five dollar bills as well?" He regarded her solemnly. "They do?" She started laughing outright. "This is rich, Mulder. And here I thought you were paranoid." "Scully!" For rhetorical effect, he placed his hand on his chest. "This is a matter of principle, not paranoia." She flopped over on her back, propped up by the pillows, peals of hilarity resonating in the small room. Margaret thrust open the painted door from the hall. "Fox Mulder, what are you doing to my...Oh." He had turned to face the older woman, a cherubic look of innocence glowing from his features. Scully sat up, rolling her eyes. "It's okay, Mom. Mulder was just filling me in on the Lone Gunmen's reservations about Republican holidays." The older woman walked off, shaking her head. When he heard the latch of her door engage, he leaned towards her. "I know what will keep me in bed, late, Scully, or should I say, *who*." She zipped the empty bag shut and carried it to the closet. As she returned to the bed, she prepared and discarded several comebacks, finally settling on the one she thought would be most effective. She bent over until they were nose to nose, her hands on her hips, letting him anticipate her response. "I do too, Mulder, but I know how much you hate needles." He grimaced. "So, a good strong cup of hawthorn tea for you, coming right up." She wiggled a small white packet under his nose. He began to back out of the room. "Enough. You and Susan have to finish that paper soon, so you'll stop picking up all those herbal remedies from her. I've never drunk so much strange stuff with you in the past four and a half years as I have this last month." "Good night, Mulder." His response was delivered to the oak. "Good night, Scully." --o-0-o-- Flat #2 Walford, London Thursday, 11:30 pm Phoebe shifted her weight in the bed, adjusting her shoulders in Eric's arms. He lifted the hand resting on his stomach and kissed the palm. "Glad to be home from the USA?" Her head slid back and forth on his bare chest, her pale face contrasting with his dark, rich tones. "Home to you and wonderful, foggy, wet London. Massachusetts is a miserable place. Nothing is green and it's so cold and windy." He turned his head to focus on her. "Oh, I wondered why a simple meeting would take three weeks." She squeezed his chest with her free arm. "It was all a background check. I missed my flight at National that first day, so I hopped a shuttle to Boston and made my way to Chilmark. I wanted to review the local records on Caroline Mulder. What I found took me back to DC, and I had to use all the power of Scotland Yard to get access to some fifty year old files. The British Embassy tried to block me with a story about National Security, but I eventually worked around them, too." He rolled out from under her and propped himself up on one elbow. "You went by his house?" She settled on her back, running her hand along his arm. "I couldn't. It had been blown up under mysterious circumstances in September, as was his Father's place. He'd irritated the hell out of some bigshot, no doubt." She sat up, pulling the down comforter over her legs. "He wants me to find Caroline for him. She knows things from the Second World War, Eric. She worked on a highly classified project for the US government then, that I can't tell you about." He held up his hand. "Then don't, Luv. Did I tell you I may have a buyer for 'Artist and Muse'?" Her shoulders slumped. "No, Sweet, let's not start this tonight." "But Eric, I'll buy it from you. It means so much to me." He shook his head. "When we get married, I'll paint you a better one as a gift." "Who is this buyer, anyway? I'll call him and offer to double the price if he'll sell it to me." He brightened. "Would you, Phoebe? That would make it so much more valuable. Have to know how to play the game. He wasn't at the show, in fact he came by just three days ago, so he wouldn't know you were connected with me." She closed her hand over his. "Eric! I don't want you to sell it. Who is he, anyway?" He frowned. "No one I've ever met before. He said he was from America, but he had a slight upper class accent. He was very protective of his hands and kept having his assistant open doors for him. He said he wanted it for his office in New York." He lifted a card off the bedside table. "Here, this is his name." Phoebe took the paper and slipped it in her case. "I'll check him out tomorrow. I have a meeting with CI Williams to lay out an itinerary for tracking Caroline." She slid over to him, not wanting to tell him so soon, but not wanting to hold anything back, either. "I'll be gone much of the time between now and Christmas, Eric. She's probably in Vienna, or was. That's where she was born and grew up, and she had family there, too." "But you'll stop by periodically to see how my next masterpiece is coming along?" She pulled him down on top of her. "As often as I can, my Heart. Count on it." He stroked her face. "I will, I will." --o-0-o-- J. Edgar Hoover Building Washington, DC Friday November 29, 1996 7:30 am "Enter." Walter Skinner rose slowly as the old man crossed the carpet to the chairs in front of his desk. The AD's first instinct was to whip out his gun, but he slapped it down. The next impulse was to hide the coaster that he knew would be appropriated for an ashtray, but the one time he had done that, the man had used the floor. The accumulated ash and butts had saturated the rug with their noxious stench so thoroughly he had been forced to replace it at his own expense. He settled for glowering at the grey-suited figure, as he waited for the inevitable lecture. "I thought you were told to warn Mulder and Scully off the Sharpsburg problem." The hand with the burning weed waved. "For their own good, of course." Skinner leaned forward, deepening his voice well below its usual bass timbre. "They were. Thanks to the inefficiency of the People's own, I have a pair of walking zombies for agents. They've driven, in essence, from DC to San Francisco and back, twice, chasing a killer who may or may not exist. They haven't had the time or opportunity to interfere in your internal problems." The lined face exhaled a curling plume of grey smoke. "Are you sure about that, Walter? I have evidence of illegal access to private surveillance and secret documents by known associates of your *zombies*. Just because they didn't do the dirty work, doesn't mean they weren't the instigators behind it all, and won't get them off the hook when the time comes for heads to roll." Skinner stood and leaned over the desk, whispering to contain his rage, "And what about you? I still have a phone number on my speed dial that rings New Mexico." The stream was directed in his face. "Don't scare me with stories of old men. All we have to do is arrange for a little accident and you won't be able to place that call. Or didn't you think about that, Walter? As long as Assistant Director Skinner is alive and well, so are your bothersome agents. But without you..." He shrugged, as Skinner gritted his teeth, refusing to give the shadowy figure the pleasure of a cough. The Assistant Director's voice was hoarse when he replied, "No, you don't get it. It's not just the FBI you have to coerce anymore. If something were to happen to me, the Senate would get involved, and not the Senate you had bought and paid for, either. The People's Representatives may not be able to pass a budget, but they know what makes for great television. To expose a multi- decade clandestine operation that had an unlimited expense account would be a spectacle like none before." He leaned back and took a deep breath of the relatively cleaner air behind his desk, watching the coldness settle behind the eyes of his adversary. "Let them come, Walter. We have been saving the secrets for many, many years. Let the American People know who had been on their side all this time, and who has kept the world 'Safe for Democracy'." Skinner growled. "Then why haven't you gone public already?" The old man stood. "Just keep Mulder and Scully out of something that isn't their business, and the status quo stays right the way it is. Good day, *Assistant* Director Skinner." He vanished through the side door. Walter Skinner ran his hands over his bald head. He punched the call button for Gloria, replacing the receiver before the first ring. She was at her son's, visiting her first grandchild. He found the latest travel request for the X-files agents on her desk, stamped 'CANCELLED'. Instead, they had submitted leave slips for the today and Monday. Whatever this homeless case was, it was far more effort than it was worth. If he had known of anything else to keep them occupied, he would have pulled them three weeks ago and reassigned them. --o-0-o-- Annapolis, MD Friday, 10:30 am "Hey, wake up, Luke Skywalker, they're he-re!" Scully bounced the mattress, jostling her partner and smiling at his groan. Her mother had shaken her gently less than an hour before, barely giving her time to shower and dress before the Gunmen had banged on the front door. The three were downstairs with Margaret, who had rejected repeated requests for her daughter's hand from Frohike before Scully had escaped upstairs. Mulder whacked at her with a pillow before rolling back over. "Don't want to get up. My head hurts." She tugged the covers off. "You have to get up, Zeppo. Groucho, Harpo, and Chico are downstairs. They can't start the show without you." No response. "Mulder! Frohike is downstairs with my Mother. Think about it! You have to save me from having him for a stepfather!" He twitched, finally awake. "What, no coffee? I bring you coffee. I'll bet you haven't drawn my bath either." Mulder rolled over, pulling himself up and forcing both eyes open. "What time is it, Scully?" She regarded him levelly and responded, eliciting a look of confusion from her partner. "I haven't slept this long since February. They're here already?" She nodded, lifting a mug off the end table and holding it out to him. He smirked, drank it down in one long draught, and gave it back. "Two more and I may be human." She leaned over him. "Downstairs." Before she turned to leave, she rested her hand on his shoulder. "You okay, Mulder? You usually only sleep four hours a night and catnap in meetings." He frowned. "I guess so. All the travel must have been tougher than I thought." He pushed himself to his feet. "I'll grab a quick shower and get down there. If Frohike marries your mother, I'd be his surrogate son, too." "Then he could take your videotapes, claiming it was for your own good." She ducked, avoiding the pillow, swung for real. "Yeah, right. See you in a bit." The bathroom door closed. --o-0-o-- The Victorian mansion was crisscrossed with wires and cables when the tall agent, showered and shaved, finally picked his way to the first floor. Margaret Scully's face alternated between expressing horror at the tapping and banging, and delight at the antics she was witnessing. Her daughter was bent over a computer, running various detection algorithms and arguing with Langly over triangulation locations. Frohike was standing on tiptoe on a rickety wooden ladder, waving an antenna over the fireplace. Byers was inside the flue, calling out microwave frequencies, waiting for a response from Scully, either "Clear!" or "Up!" or "Down!". Margaret turned to him. "Good morning, Fox." The Gunmen echoed her, ribbing him with an emphasis on the forbidden name. Scully jumped. "Go back, Byers, back to 937.67 MHz. That's right. Now watch this, Langly." She typed a command, the screen blanked, and a full-scale plot of a steep spike materialized. "There's one in there, all right. It's been transmitting on this frequency using an encoded pulsed signal." She glanced up at Mulder, who was standing over them. He walked over to the fireplace. "Byers, can you tell if it is audio only, or is there a video detector present?" The normally precisely placed hair and beard were smudged with dust as he ducked under the mantlepiece. "No video signal, Mulder. Just this." He held out a tiny microphone to Langly. The blond Gunman inspected it closely under a hand lens. "Oh! These are new! When we get back to the office, I'll take this apart under a microscope." Scully turned to her Mother, who had covered her mouth with both hands, and hugged her. "Don't worry, Mom. We'll find the others." Mulder stood beside them. "Do you have any idea when these could have been installed? When was the last time you left here for more than a just a few hours?" Margaret shook her head before responding. "I haven't, Fox. Just a trip to Potomac Mills at Labor Day before you and Dana got back from Mexico. Could they have done this then?" Rubbing her Mother's back, Scully stared at her partner. "We don't know, Mom. I need to talk to Mulder, outside." The agents left Margaret and the Gunmen, slipping as far away from the house as they could. "Scully, there could be more. We have to keep on searching." Still concerned about wiretaps, she leaned close to him. "I know. That couldn't have been in place before we returned. Mom didn't see anyone strange, and the dog would have raised an alarm." "Okay, so they've been waiting and installing one or two at a time when she steps out for groceries." He ran his hand through his hair. "What does my Mother know that is so important?" --o-0-o-- Flat #2 Walford, London Friday, 6:30 pm "That my girl?" Eric put down the brush and palette when he heard the key in the lock. The heavy mahogany banged against the stops, then he heard the thump of something heavy hitting the floor. "Phoebe?" He ran into the main room, not seeing her at first. A soft whimper had him crossing the space to close the door. "Oh, Luv, what did they do to you?" She was sprawled out on the rug, her coat torn down the back. "Eric? Are you here?" He threw the deadbolt latch and knelt beside her. As he turned her over, he saw bruises darkening on her face, and blood on her hands. "Eric?" He held her close, crooning to her. "I'm here, Sweet, what happened? Who did this to you?" Struggling to sit up, she lifted a hand to his shoulder. "Don't know." Not wanting to leave her, he stroked her hair. "Where's you case?" "They took it, Eric. It has something to do with that man who wants to buy 'Artist and Muse'. It was empty, except for a photo of him I wanted you to identify for me, and I was attacked in the car park by three men." She swallowed, shaking her head. "I got one of them in the face, but the other two were too strong, and they took it." He picked her up, carried her into the bedroom, and laid her gently on the comforter. "We'll talk about it in a little bit, Luv. Do you want me to take you to Hospital?" She sat up on the bed. "No, I'll be all right. I just ache and I think I sprained my wrist struggling to hold on to the briefcase." He gingerly began to undress her. "Are you sure? All this blood came from somewhere." She nodded, trying to smile. "You should see the other guy." He slipped off her blouse, and began rubbing her swollen arm. "I should call the Yard, have them come out here to take a statement, right, Luv?" She shook her head. "This would only get buried. I think I know why this guy is so important, and how he connects with Caroline, but I need to find her and talk to her. I have to know what she knows. Her life may depend on it." Fully undressed, she slipped under the covers, letting herself be pampered for the rest of the evening. --o-0-o-- Annapolis, MD Sunday, December 1, 1996 10:45 am Langly dropped a box on the kitchen table. "That's it, guys, that's the last of them." Once they realized every room, including the bathrooms, had probably been tapped, the Gunmen and the Agents had worked round the clock to locate them all. The wiretap microphones were each lying on cotton in individually capped cylinders, lined up in a small container. The box was open on the kitchen table, while six heads bent over the fourteen cylinders. Mulder scanned the Gunmen's faces. "Can you tell us when they were planted in the house?" Langly pulled an electronics catalog out of one of the bags, flipped it open, and tapped a photograph of a chip. "All within the past month or so, G-man. The components are that new, *really*. I've seen them advertised in trade magazines, but not as parts of complete systems. Whoever is interested in these lovely quarters won't do with anything less than the finest. Your Shadow friends, perhaps?" Scully shrugged. "Or the art dealers. They have the money to buy the technology and the expertise to build it." She pushed her hair behind her ear. "But I don't understand why they are so interested in my Mom's house. Mrs. Mulder can only have known about what she worked on before she married her husband, and we know all that. Further, thanks to the net, *everyone* knows all that." "Do we, Scully?" Mulder stared down at her. "I'm beginning to think my Mom knows much more than she will ever be willing to tell, but unless we get some information from her, it may kill her, and Max." Margaret excused herself abruptly, so her daughter followed. Mulder turned to the Gunmen. "Thanks, guys. I think Mrs. Scully will sleep better tonight." Frohike stepped up to the tall agent. "We're splitting, Mulder. We want to get back before the traffic gets too bad, and we'll dissect these monsters for you. Besides, we wouldn't want to keep you from the delectable Agent Dana and her equally wonderful mother for too long." He doffed his cap to the two Scully women on the sofa as they passed through the hall. "My offer still stands, Mrs. Scully." Margaret rose and thanked them, rubbing her face as she waved. After they left, Mulder sat on the left end of the couch. "Mrs. Scully? Do you think you can talk about this?" He touched her arm. "We weren't planning on leaving tonight, you know." Margaret looked from one worried face to the other. "So you will stay through tomorrow?" She watched them nod. "Okay, I think I'd like to have a little quiet. It's hard to think that people have been in and out while you were away for such a short period of time as a trip to the corner market, and managed to put your most private moments on tape. Excuse me, dears." She returned to the kitchen, where they heard water running into a tea kettle. He sagged against the back of the sofa as a deep, hoarse cough escaped him. Scully cautioned, "Mulder, you've been hacking like that since last night. There's no telling what we might have been exposed to in those shelters, and with as little sleep as we've had these past few weeks, both our immune systems are probably suppressed." He waved his hand at her. "I'll be okay, Scully. It's probably just the dust from crawling around in the rafters. Besides, if I come down with something, you and Sue will use me as a guinea pig for one of your cures." He looked over. "What is odd is the placement of the bugs. It's as if someone had to have plans for this place, to know exactly where the taps could be installed for maximum concealment with the minimum amount of work. We didn't have to drill into any plaster, but without all the twenty-first century gear, we never would have detected them by visual inspection alone." In spite of his objections, his partner felt his forehead, finding his temperature normal. "Mulder, the layout of the house would be easy to obtain. My father had the back extended for the modern kitchen about ten years ago. The city planning commission required detailed blueprints of the entire structure before it would approve changes to an historic home." "Right. Those plans are a matter of public record. So anyone could come in and take a look, even make copies, and no one would be the wiser." He yawned. "You'll probably think I'm ill for real, Scully, but I don't want to get back to work so soon. We can't investigate the homeless case without travel funds, and I couldn't face a week of paperwork if I had to." Scully stretched her arms over her head, her sweater gaping at the waist. "I know how you feel. We've slept all of four hours since Friday morning, but at least I think the house has been swept clean. We could call in to take a few more days off. The Bureau is encouraging Agents to take leave, we have the time, and it would help my Mom to have someone here until she gets over the shock." She stood and walked over to sit by him on the arm of the sofa. "Besides, you were waiting to buy new fish until we got back anyway." He grinned. "Yeah, Scully, the old ones took a look at that pink alligator of your brother's and went belly up. So, how early do we get up to call Skinner?" It was her turn to look mischievous. "We don't. We use the voice mail, so we don't have to argue with him, and call now, before we feel guilty and change our minds." --o-0-o-- Podowitz Residence Vienna, Austria Monday, December 2, 1996 8:47 am "Guten Morgen." As the door opened, Phoebe started at the family resemblance. "Mister Isaac Podhowitz?" White hair fell over his face, so he shoved it aside impatiently. "Yes, and you are?" She held up her ID. "Inspector Phoebe Green, Scotland Yard. I'd like to ask you a few questions, if I may." She saw the old fear pass over his eyes, a distant memory of a dark time, so she wanted to apologize. "Please, Sir. I'm a friend of your nephew's from Oxford, and I need to find your sister, soon." He stepped back, gesturing her in. She followed him towards his sitting room, observing the family photos on the walls, some being daguerreotypes from the mid Nineteenth Century. He turned, aware of her interest. "How much do you know about my family, Inspector Green?" She smiled. "Well, Mulder never said much at University, but I've been reading. You survived Dachau, Sir, and brought your uncle back to this house that was originally his. It had been used as a barracks during the war, am I right?" He closed his eyes. "By *them*, yes, my dear. Daniel buried all these treasures to keep them safe before he escaped, after we were taken." He focused on her. "But you didn't come here to listen to an old man's memories. How can I help my sister?" She started again. When Isaac lowered himself into an overstuffed chair, Phoebe took the sofa. "I think she may know something about the War, Sir, and suddenly it's become very significant to the wrong people. Has anyone else asked about her besides myself?" He shook his head, so she continued, "This is very important, Sir. Have you seen anyone waiting around the house, anyone just watching?" The shadow passed again, and Phoebe cringed inside. "Sir, I don't mean to..." "Recall old nightmares? You haven't, my dear. But they never go away. One can be in a park on Midsummer's Day, hearing the chattering of tree finches, and suddenly, it is as if one was still there." He shook himself, banishing the images to the back of his mind. "No, I haven't." "Also, Sir, do you know where she was going next?" He considered her question. "I think, yes, I'm sure of it, Paris. She wanted to visit the Louvre again. Our parents took us, when we were small, and I am too old to travel much. But Caroline was always the adventurer. I'm glad she can still do these things." He raised an eyebrow. "You look extremely uncomfortable, Inspector. May I get you some tea or coffee?" She shook her head. "No, Sir, thank you. It's just that...well, you look and act so much like what I think Mulder would at your age, that I almost expect him to appear." He laughed, the hair slipping in his eyes again. "Family is a wonderful thing. I would love to visit with this nephew I've never met. He was a good scholar at Oxford, Caroline tells me. Took a First?" She nodded. "He has a mind like a steel trap and picks up on things faster than a cat. We were close for a while." "Forgive an old man's impertinence, my dear, but you didn't part on the best of terms, did you?" Her mind wandered back to the circumstances surrounding the end of their relationship. "No, Sir, we didn't. I hurt him very badly, I'm afraid, through extreme foolishness." He stood. "Are you certain about the tea? We old folks do love company." She got to her feet, resigned. "No, Mister Podhowitz, as much as I'd love to chat, I have to find your sister." He escorted her to the door, patting her shoulder before opening it. "You should be more careful, Inspector Green. I can deduce from your limp that you've had an unfortunate encounter with stalkers yourself not too long ago." Her jaw dropped. "Thank you, Sir, I will be. I have someone worrying about me back in London, and if anything happened, well..." "He'd come after you with all the speed love allows. Good day, my dear." --o-0-o-- Annapolis, Maryland Monday 11:45 pm Margaret Scully sat up with a jerk. The Pomeranian, excited and yipping, was padding around on the bed. She smiled, hearing the sound of quiet conversation float up the stairs. As she slipped into her robe and opened the door, she saw her daughter, bobbing down the stairs, her latest nonfiction tome in hand. Scully turned back when she heard her mother's door creak. "Oh, sorry, Mom. Mulder was having trouble sleeping upstairs, so he woke me," she explained, rolling her eyes, "to come watch the Sci-Fi channel with him. You want to see 'The Beginning of the End?' or 'Mothra' with us?" Margaret shook her head. "I'd like some tea, though." The women descended together, the Pomeranian bumping down ahead of them. Margaret patted Mulder's shoulder, having heard him coughing from across the hall. Scully settled on the two-seater again, pushing her partner in the back gently, and turned the table lamp on. He tipped his head to speak with Margaret as she stood behind him. "Don't worry about the microwave, I have some popcorn going in there." Margaret smiled as the popping slowed and he was on his feet, walking beside her into the kitchen. Standing in the semi- darkness, she felt him touch her arm, with that glancing, hesitant contact he used to catch someone's attention. Margaret forced herself to wait, to let him take the initiative. "Mrs. Scully?" "Yes, Fox?" He stepped closer. "Thanks for asking me here for Thanksgiving. I've really, well, for my Mom, I..." She grasped his wrist, then hugged him. As usual, he withdrew into his confused boy-self as she held him, slowly returning the embrace, almost as if he expected a reprimand to follow. Margaret's heart went out to him. "Thank you for coming, Fox. You and Dana are such good company..." Her eyes were drawn to lights moving in the woods behind the house. "That's strange. The Harrises are in Pennsylvania this weekend. Who would be out there at this time of night?" It was not a self-effacing boy, but the FBI agent, who called urgently for his partner. The two bounded up the stairs, only to return seconds later, shod and armed, pulling their jackets on. Mulder grasped Margaret's arm again, but the contact was authoritative, commanding. "Stay inside, Mrs. Scully, and keep the doors locked until we give the all clear, okay?" Then they were out the door. The agents separated immediately, each moving towards the closest of the lights to their left and right. Scully slipped into the open bed of her mother's pick-up truck, crouching under the level of the sides, waiting. As the footfalls halted by the truck, she pointed her gun at the light. "Federal Agent, freeze!" She heard a gunshot and ducked, then pointed the weapon out again, directly into another government issue barrel. A similar command sounded in the dark. "Federal Agent, so let's see some ID!" Scully shook her head, holding her gun level and cocked, uncertain as to the gender of the agent at the back end of the weapon. "I'll show you mine at the same time I see yours." The other gun rotated slowly until it pointed at the ground, and an arm in black lowered it to the floor of the truck bed as Scully holstered her own. A round camouflaged face moved forward into the dim light, a U.S. Customs photo badge beside it. Scully was displaying her own ID, so the two women (the bulges under the close fitting black sweater were obvious) extended their hands, introducing themselves as Agent Scully and Agent Collins. Scully checked back over her shoulder in the direction of the gunfire and sighed. "I take it my partner is out there tracking your partner?" Collins grinned. "A guy?" Scully nodded. "Let's go pick up the pieces, shall we?" The women crept together towards the other source of illumination, each rolling their eyes when they saw the flashlight lying on the ground. The FBI agent noticed her counterpart's identical action and smiled. "You have the opportunity to patch him up often?" "Every chance he gets." "Doctor?" Collins shrugged. "Mom was a nurse. I practiced some as a kid, more since becoming an agent. You?" "Pathologist." "He has a weak stomach, right?" "Mm-hum." As they moved along, following a trail of broken and flattened grass, Scully felt the need to defend her partner. "Make no mistake, Mulder's a good friend." "Same here." "Bright, well-educated..." "Mm-hum." "Thoughtful, great insights..." "Yeah." Scully pointed. "There!" The male agents were wrestling on the frozen ground, so the women spoke to their partners in remarkably parallel phrases. "Mulder/ Lomas, stop, they're Customs/ FBI." The men pushed each other apart, reaching for their guns again. The women passed a 'you must be kidding' look between them. "Mulder/ Lomas, where is your ID?" The weapons lowered. "In my room/ Lost." Mulder sat back down, rubbing his jaw where the Customs Agent had landed a firm punch, and Scully crawled over to him, probing it. "Ow!" He doubled over, hacking. She shook her head. "Keep that up, Mulder, and you'll break something." She could hear Collins fussing about this being the third badge Lomas had lost in a night fight this year. "Agent Collins?" "Yes, Agent Scully?" "My mother's house is right here. Do you want to call yourselves in from there?" "Sure." Mulder shivered as she helped him stand. "Why is Customs interested in your Mother's house?" Lomas responded. "Stolen Art." Scully snorted in surprise. "Not unless there's a black market in first grade finger paintings." The Customs agents stared back. "We have information that a stolen Jan Steen would appear here in a few days." Now it was the FBI agents' turn to stare at each other. --o-0-o-- Margaret Scully sat at the kitchen counter, watching her daughter, enjoying the consummately professional side of Dana she rarely saw. The four agents were drinking coffee and exchanging information, colleague to colleague. She knew, finally knew, that this was what made Dana happiest, not that it was second best because no one had asked her to marry him, nor because she would never have children, but because she found it challenging and exhilarating. Mulder too, had been different, the energy focused, directed, in his hunter mode, as Dana called it. But at present, the hunter was expounding one of his government conspiracy theories to the male agent. The woman from Customs was whispering in her daughter's ear. "Is he always like this?" "Wait until he starts on the aliens." "We don't have all night!" Nodding, Scully touched her partner's arm. "Mulder, stop." He paused, then launched into the rest of his sentence. She gripped his arm firmly. "Mulder," she growled. He snapped his mouth shut, sharing one silent look of exasperation with his Customs counterpart. Lomas turned to Collins, who was combing through her perfectly curled pageboy with her fingers. He grinned. "I could come to like these two, the red-head especially." Lomas pointed at Mulder. "You want Steve Reeves here?" The women groaned. Mulder leaned towards Collins, his eyes alight with mischief. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Peel." Scully pushed aside the thought of expanding the bruise on his chin. "So it was Scotland Yard who tipped you off?" Collins nodded. "Inspector McCombs was contacted by Israeli intelligence last month, and he contacted Lomas. We've been tracking the Steen since then." Pouring himself more coffee, Mulder responded as he refilled the mug Scully had slid in front of him. "It belonged to Max Lowenberg before it was donated to the museum. I had access to some surveillance photos of it as it was removed from a bank vault in Sharpsburg. Where did it go after that?" The Customs agents glanced at each other. Lomas queried. "How did you know about it?" Scully sipped the coffee. "We were told not to look into it, so we had a group of outside experts perform a preliminary investigation, and they found the photos." Mulder set the coffee pot on the trivet. He felt these two were trustworthy, despite his usual paranoia. "I have them upstairs. I'll be right back." Scully shifted in her chair to address her mother. "Mom, you don't have to stay up with us, you know. I'm afraid we'll only be talking shop for the next few hours." Lomas rose from his seat and extended his hand towards the older woman. "We have even less time than that to take advantage of your hospitality, unfortunately. When Mulder returns, we'll have to leave to rejoin the rest of the search team. There is another group sweeping a wooded area two miles north of here." He turned as he heard Mulder bounding down the stairs. Mulder held out the pages. "Here." The four agents discussed the Gunmen's findings, Collins jotting the addresses of the three suspects in her notebook before they left. "This will save us weeks of legwork, Thanks." She shook Scully's hand. "Good luck with him." "Same to you." Margaret took the opportunity to wish them goodnight. Her partner was wired. "So, Scully, there is something important happening in Sharpsburg after all." He was bouncing around the room. She reached out to steady him, knowing that once the adrenaline wore off he would feel the full brunt of his symptoms. "Mulder! Sit." He rolled his eyes, sinking down on the sofa sulkily. Scully flew up the stairs, reappearing with three pillows and two blankets. She dropped one pillow on the two-seater, and stacked two pillows on the end of the sofa. Mulder studied the inviting bolsters. He slid against them, allowing himself the forbidden pleasure of dependency as she adjusted the cushions and tucked the blankets in around him. Finished, she settled down herself. "Mulder?" He lifted his head off the sofa back to focus in her general direction, suddenly feeling achy and stiff. "Hum?" "You sure you don't need anything?" He smirked. "You forgot my good night kiss, Mom." Scully tossed her head. "See you in the morning, partner." She cast the room into darkness with a click. --o-0-o-- Annapolis, MD Tuesday, December 3, 1996 7:45 am Mulder put the remote down. He had been channel surfing, and a name on the local Baltimore news had caught his attention. Having found the long sofa almost as comfortable as his futon on previous visits, he had slept soundly, awakening once to check that Scully was still close by on the two-seater. Increasing the volume, he reached over to shake her by shoulder. The announcer continued. "Doctor Nora Samuelson was found strangled in her office late last night. A senior physician at the Johns Hopkins Hospital, she was working with the homeless to test anti-hallucinogenic drugs for their rehabilitation. We now take you to the scene." Mulder listened carefully, remembering Nora from Chiapas, and from Susan Miles' discussions. Scully awoke slowly after his touch, thinking she could check on her partner while he slept. She knew he was concealing his illness, and wanted to respect his privacy, but her medical judgement warned her that he had to be monitored. "Mulder? You're up?" He pointed to the television screen. "Scully, check this out." Absorbing the new information, she sat upright. "Poor Sue. I'll have to call her. When did this happen?" After he filled her in, he paused. "I'm afraid our homeless case just assumed new visibility." She chewed her lip while she listened to him theorize. "It's seems we may have an escalating serial killer on our hands after all, not just random disappearances, despite the lack of data from BS." Scully stood behind her partner and rested both forearms on the sofa back, touching his shoulder to draw his attention to her. "Mulder, when we get back to the Bureau, I want you to stop by the infirmary and have a TB test done." He frowned. "What? I thought that was wiped out years ago." She shrugged, trying to keep the conversation low-key. "No, unfortunately, it wasn't. A new drug-resistant strain is working through the immigrant population, and you may have been exposed to it in one of the shelters." He pursed his lips. "Scully, I don't need you to play doctor with me constantly. I *can* take care of myself, you know." She ducked her head to conceal her grin. "No playing doctor? Or did I just appropriate one of your best lines?" He groaned, and the cough he was suppressing shook its way out of him. "Okay, just to please you, I'll go. But, if I'm exposed, shouldn't you be showing symptoms as well?" She shrugged. "Well, maybe ... unless ..." "I know we've more or less abandoned the idea, but you are the right age and race ..." Syncing with her thoughts, he stood up, excited. "Yes, I see. I may have inadvertently become a test subject. How can we find out?" Scully considered. "Let's go visit Susan. She has the facilities to test for anything strange in your blood or tissue." He grimaced. "You'll get to stick needles in me yet, Doctor Scully." The protest was delivered to his partner's back as she headed up the stairs to shower and change. --o-0-o-- William Donald Schaeffer Youth House Baltimore, MD Tuesday 8:30 am "Johnny, would you stop washing dishes and come sit down, please?" Elizabeth Williams patted the blond boy's shoulder. He dried his hands before he followed the diminutive white-haired woman. "What is it, Miss Williams?" She hated to tell him, so she softened the blow with praise first. "You've adjusted well to living with the other boys here, and you keep your room clean better than all the rest. How do you like school?" He grinned. "School is great! I got through three chapters in the trigonometry book yesterday. I like working at my own pace and not waiting for the others. But what's wrong, Miss Williams?" He had correctly read the concern on her face. "I'm sorry to have to give you such bad news, but something happened to Doctor Samuelson last night." He shrank into the chair, his eyes wide. "She's dead, isn't she?" Elizabeth nodded. "Unfortunately, yes." The quiet confidence slipped out of the boy like air out of a balloon. "How did it happen? Did she hurt?" Elizabeth blanched, incapable of answering the boy. "She did, didn't she?" He started rocking in his seat, sobbing into his fists. He let his new friend hold him for a while, she being unable to find words to comfort him for his loss. --o-0-o-- The Johns Hopkins Hospital Baltimore, MD Tuesday 10:30 am "Sue, I'm so sorry." The classmates embraced while Mulder looked on. Susan Miles sighed. "Nora was a good friend. She had been a nurse originally, then had worked her way through Medical School. Do you have any idea who might have done this terrible thing?" The partners exchanged a glance before the tall agent replied. "We may, Sue. My condolences as well...Hump!" The woman had pulled him into a tight hug like Margaret's. Scully smirked behind her hand. Doctor Miles released him as he began to cough, listening to the hoarse bark with her clinician's ears. "This sounds familiar, Dana. Mulder, have a seat and roll up your sleeve." He gritted his teeth. Wax paper crinkled, then Susan pressed a tiny rectangular prism into the Agent's arm. He stared at the parallel rows of dots. "That's the TB test?" The blonde doctor reached into a deep drawer. "Yes. Come back in two days if the marks haven't faded. Now I'd like to get a throat culture. Open wide." As Mulder complied reluctantly, Scully's curiosity drove her to ask, "Sue, you said this sounds familiar. Where have you seen it before? In the shelters?" Preparing a hypo to draw blood, she nodded. "It's most common in the DC shelters, but cases are showing up to the North as more homeless come in from the cold." "What is it?" Mulder's squeak as the steel tip approached his tourniquet-enclosed arm amused both doctors. Susan rubbed his arm above the point of entry to distract him. "The virus is new. I would describe it as an advanced retrovirus that masquerades as TB unless one checks carefully, hence the blood and tissue samples." The needle withdrawn, Mulder resumed his investigator mode. "How advanced?" He glanced at his partner. "Do you recognize the DNA?" Sue regarded him. "Is it like AIDS, you mean? No." Both agents shook their heads. Mulder was excited, but the deep breath he intended to use for speech was expelled in a fit of furious coughing. Scully laid her hand on his arm. "No, I'm sure Mulder is thinking about..." "Aliens." They spoke simultaneously. Sue chuckled. "Sorry, the DNA has all been cataloged, just rearranged. You've heard of designer drugs?" She watched both nod, then she continued, "Well, this is a specifically targeted virus. In a healthy person, it basically knocks you out for a week. First the cough, then three days of fever and nausea before finally abating." She transferred Mulder's blood to a test tube and scribbled on a label. "You won't feel like getting out of bed for two days after that." Since Mulder was hacking again, Scully took up the questioning. "You said specifically targeted. How do you mean?" Sue poured a vial of green liquid into a specimen cup and handed it to Mulder. "Well, it seems to almost exclusively affect men his age, rather than women or children or the elderly. We think it may be triggered by male hormones, but we aren't sure of the mechanism." Scully considered this for a moment. "Male hormones?" she prompted. Sue waved at the untouched cup in Mulder's hand. "That's one of the Chiapas drugs. I'll send you home with a week's supply. Oh, it's safe, very much so. And although it won't touch the virus, it will keep you from picking up anything else. You see, I know you two. You'll be investigating Nora's death since it relates to your case, regardless of how bad you feel, and this provides a modicum of protection, so drink up." He drained the cup and let out a grunt of genuine surprise. "Either I'm becoming inured to these herbal flavors, or this actually doesn't taste too bad." Scully smiled. "It's women's medicine, Mulder, remember? Mothers have to get it inside their kids, so it can't taste horrible." Doctor Miles turned to her. "Dana, monitor him. As I said before, you'll both be out there working your tails off to catch whoever did this, but he will feel pretty rotten for a few days." --o-0-o-- Louvre Museum Paris, France Wednesday, December 4, 1996 10:17 am Phoebe stepped back into the niche, waiting for a young couple to pass. She had spotted Max and Caroline Lowenberg walking arm-in-arm, two galleries ahead. But she had also identified a well-dressed man one room ahead of her carefully observing the pair, avoiding bright lights, but never losing visual contact. He looked like he was European, not like an American. If she had to guess, she would pick Bavarian. The short hair was as blonde as a Scandinavian's but his features were too heavy-set, and he lacked the height of a well-fed Norwegian or Swede his age. So that only left the south-western region of Germany, bordering the old Austro-Hungarian Empire as the man's likely origin. The Inspector found herself clenching her fists, thinking of the fear in Isaac Podhowitz's eyes. Then, there was an overarching menace, quickly identified, easily targeted. Now Europe was fragmenting along lines supposedly long-forgotten, like the Bosnia mess, and Phoebe feared the little drama she was observing was no exception. She would watch and follow, keeping her CI informed, but not take action, not yet. If two representatives of official or quasi-secret organizations were tracking this gracious pair, there might be more she should be alert for. --o-0-o-- It looked to all the world like Max Lowenberg was the doting codger, escorting his new wife for his golden years on a belated honeymoon. But could their shadows have overheard the words he whispered in his bride's ear, they would have comported themselves with greater caution. "Well, Caroline dear, how do you like being the object of so much international attention?" She smiled up at him. "After years of seclusion in Massachusetts, wonderful! Oh, I know I should be petrified. I'm probably inviting misfortune by saying so, but since we've left Chilmark, the travel and intrigue have given me new life." She squeezed his arm. "As have you, my dear." She rested her chin in the hollow of his upper arm, checking over his shoulder with one eye. "And one of the three is familiar, anyway." He raised an eyebrow, wondering what the war years had been like for her. "How would you know one of those spies?" She tittered, then pulled on his sleeve, so Max bent to let her whisper in his ear. "From one of Fox's Oxford photos. *That* so-called spy by the Rembrandt is a woman." Using the glass plate over a delicate watercolor as a reflector, Max caught a clear image of the Inspector. Caroline continued. "She's the one great love of my son's life who crushed him like a blown eggshell, Phoebe Green. She works for Scotland Yard, and of the three, she may actually be on our side, or could at least be brought over." Chuckling, Max straightened, delighted with his wife's nimble mind. "I'm glad I have you tucked under my arm, Caroline. I don't think I could keep up with you if I didn't. Why do you think we might be able to trust her?" She stood on tip-toe to spare her husband's back. "She's the only one who openly approached Isaac, Max. The rest skulked in corners, thinking they were being clever." He kissed her cheek. "Yes, dearest, there are advantages to old age. Everyone assumes one is either senile or witless once the hair fades to silver, not that one might have years of experience to use for one's own protection. So, shall we give our entourage a scare, and take a few random trips on the Subway, before we ride to the top of the Eiffel Tower?" --o-0-o-- Apartment 42 Arlington, VA Thursday, December 5, 1996 5:47 pm Scully could hear the hacking from the elevator. She knocked, but barely recognized his pleasant tenor under the heavy croak. "That you, Scully? It's open." Now she knew the depth of her paranoid partner's illness so quickly turned the knob. He was flat on his back in his usual place, bundled in her down comforter and the Maya blanket that she had brought over from Apartment Five. The combination was the only thing either of them owned that was heavy enough to give him some comfort from the chills that set him shivering, as he was now. In the darkness of the previous night, not even the thick wraps had helped. As she had several times when he had been grieving for his Mother, she had gathered him in her arms until he had fallen into a fitful sleep. Propelled by the flushed face and too-bright eyes, Scully hurried over to him, placing her bags at the end of the futon. She sat on the coffee table, checking his temperature with a digital thermometer, relieved it was down to 101 degrees. "I won't ask how you are, Mulder. I can see for myself." His eyes flickered, then he replied through clenched teeth, "This is hell, Scully. I've had less severe cases of the flu after a week of exams at Oxford." She reached for his glass beside her, refilling it from the spring water she had purchased on the way over. After his tap water had been laced with an hallucinogen in April of the previous year, neither of them wanted to risk adding further complications to his illness. Sliding one hand behind his head, she held the glass to his lips while he drank, grateful for her presence. "How high did the fever go today?" He grunted, so she moved the tumbler, now drained of its contents, away. "103 degrees before I broke down and took some ibuprofen. You need to go get more of that green stuff from Susan. It helped the most." Scully set the empty glass back on the coffee table. "I won't have to, Mulder. She should be here within the hour. She called me, saying she had Nora's case notes for us to examine, if you feel up to it, and that she wanted to check you out for herself." Mulder tried to push himself into a sitting position to give her space on the futon, but he was struck by a wave of nausea and fell back, defeated. "I won't be the best host tonight, Scully, but it will be good to have some company..." Startled, she shifted from the low table to the futon, covering the bright cheeks with her hands. "Oh, Mulder, if you needed me here, why did you push me out the door this morning? The interviews could have waited." He unswaddled an arm to grasp her wrist. "Because you have to find who killed Nora Samuelson. It may be related to this homeless case, and the sooner we get it wrapped up, the better, as far as I'm concerned. There are real X-Files out there that this is keeping us from and..." She shook her head, hearing his voice switch from his hoarse croak to a broken whisper. "No more, Mulder. Save yourself for Susan when she gets here." Smoothing his hair off his forehead, she felt his elevated temperature with her fingertips, and frowned. --o-0-o-- Apartment 42 Thursday, 8:13 pm "Dana?" After opening the door, Scully took the stack of notes from her collaborator. Susan attempted to peer over the agent's shoulder. "How is he?" Scully frowned. "Not good. This virus of yours is a real terror. Between the fever and chills, he's been miserable for most of last night, and I presume, today while I was working on the case. He finally dropped off about thirty minutes ago, so be quiet." Susan closed the door gently, then followed the diminutive woman into the living room, where she examined Mulder, and whistled softly. "He's got it bad. It's like the homeless men I've seen too many of. Their bodies are stressed from exposure, just like his is, and this virus plain knocks them flat." Scully sorted the documents into two piles. "I always know how sick he is by how hard he fights me when I try to take care of him, and he's meekly accepted all my aid for a full day now. These are all of Nora's case notes?" Susan nodded. "I've even brought over the recent folders in her apartment, if you think that would help. You expect she knew her attacker?" The red-haired agent checked her partner before replying, "Yes. There was no sign of forcible entry, according to the Baltimore City police I spoke with, so Nora must have let him or her in willingly. She had few contacts in the area outside of you, a few other doctors at the Hospital, and all these homeless." Susan frowned. "You don't suspect anyone at Hopkins, do you?" Scully shook her head. "I've already interviewed your colleagues, and each one has an alibi. So that only leaves a patient." The two stacks were evenly high now. Scully handed the top folder off the left pile to Susan and sat on the floor by the futon, giving her friend the chair. "Look for anyone with a history of violence and mental illness, or just strange behavior and mental illness." Susan smiled. "Well, the mental illness and violence part clears your partner for sure. Although his sometimes strange theories don't." Both doctors jumped as the man they thought was sleeping whispered, "Good to have you here too, Sue." --o-0-o-- Photographic Lab J. Edgar Hoover Building Friday, December 6, 1996 4:38 pm Smiling at the approaching figure, 'Ace' pushed herself away from the keyboard. "Well, they found them all, just as you thought they would. If Mister Smokestack had listened to you, he still would be pulling down information, with video feeds, not just audio, right now." 'Charlie' poked at his black glasses that were forever sliding off his sweaty, puffy face. "He wanted the latest and greatest, with maximum retrieval potential, so you gave it your best shot." 'Ace' frowned. The young agent sat beside her, thrilled to have these stolen moments alone together. 'Ace' held up a glass and aluminum cylinder. "Yeah, but if I had more time, we could have used these. Oh, and he knows about the bugs in his place. He brought them over a week ago and wanted me to ID them for him. Who had the orders to wiretap him, anyway?" Shrugging, 'Charlie' took the tube from her hand, brushing her fingers with his own. "We'll be meeting soon, and I'm sure that will be one point of discussion. So these Gunmen guys know their stuff?" 'Ace''s brunette curls bobbed. "As does Scully, apparently. They're up on all the latest hardware and software, but as Margaret describes them, they act like the Keystone cops. One of them has a long-standing thing for Scully." He returned the CCD. "Don't you feel funny, spying on one of your Mother's neighbors?" 'Ace' shook her head. "It's all for a good cause, anyway. If Mulder and Scully learn too much, they might stop the experiments and tests before they are finished, and then how will we ever be ready?" She placed the cylinder back in the foam hollowed out for it and turned to him. "So, you want to go to a movie or something, Drew?" He smiled at her pet name for him. "Sorry, no can do. I have to transcribe Luther's latest tape from Europe tonight so *he* will have it in the morning. I wish Luther would do his own work, but he claims he's 'too old' to know how to use a keyboard. Did 'Finn' get his paintings away in time?" She nodded. "He'd moved them to his place in Penn three days before the Customs agents started bumbling around in the woods. I wish he hadn't asked me to hide them in the basement of the ruined farmhouse. It's silly for him to waste his money on art just to impress the old guys." "Oh, he's not wasting his money, don't worry." "You don't mean ... But that's nuts!" He sighed. "He says it's the thrill of the chase, breaking into those high security museums and making off with million dollar canvases, just to prove he can. I think he's just inviting trouble, if you ask me." He stood. "Well, gotta go. See something good for me, okay?" "Sure thing, Drew." She had already turned back to the screen when the door closed behind her. --o-0-o-- Apartment 42 Saturday December 7, 1996 7:32 pm Mulder rolled over, grimacing at the stiffness in his lower back. His hand bumped something hard, so he opened his eyes, aware he wasn't still aching all over. The hard object was covered with auburn hair, and he knew his partner had spent the last few hours (days?) by his side. The case files were spread over his coffee table and floor. Their map, mounted on a board, was propped up against his desk. Focusing on her face, he reached out to remove the glasses that were perched dangerously close to the end of her nose. After setting them on a stack of folders, he lifted her head, hoping to slip out and let her sleep. She stirred at his touch, papers sliding off her lap as she stretched. He called to her softly. "Hey." Upon hearing his normal, healthy voice, she pulled herself upright, surprised and relieved. "You sound better." He sat up and shrugged. "Yeah, well, I feel better. So what did you find out from Nora's files?" She rubbed her face and gathered the loose pages off the floor. "The only common element I could find was that several of her patients were boys in a group home." She pointed at a pile of folders at the far end of the low table. "Those patients all had a history of mental problems and were in and out of institutions." She passed him a smaller stack immediately beside it. "These are any who have had violent tendencies. Are you thirsty? You've been drinking water like a fish." Grimacing at the thought, he held up his hand. "Not right now. In fact, I think I need..." Mulder stood slowly and tested his wobbly legs on a trip to his bathroom. When he reemerged, Scully was on the sofa, entering data into her laptop. He waited until she looked up at him to ask, "How long was I out?" She smiled. "Just over three days, two actually, if you start counting from Susan's visit. You did have that homeless virus, by the way, not TB. I had to pump you full of analgesics to keep the fever from spiking too much. Mom wanted to come relieve me, but we really don't know how this virus works, and she doesn't need to get sick." He sat next to her. "I remember Susan's visit, but not much else." He touched her shoulder. "Thanks for being here, Scully." --o-0-o-- Apartment 42 Saturday, 11:16 pm Sitting in the chair, Mulder lifted his eyes from the file on his lap and grinned. "Scully?" His partner was asleep again, her head slumped against the back of the sofa. He was awake, despite a pervasive lethargy, and could only guess how little rest she had permitted herself during his illness. Mulder rose from the chair to walk to the futon, avoiding the open folders on the floor. He slid her gently to the center of the couch, guiding her head to the pillow, and pulled the blankets over her. Through it all, Scully remained deeply asleep, which concerned him, since any prolonged physical contact usually brought her to full alertness. Resuming his seat, Mulder adjusted his glasses. He wanted to review the doctor's files and see if there was anything other than the group home that linked Nora Samuelson's death to their case, before he dragged her up to Baltimore in the morning. --o-0-o-- Apartment 42 Sunday, December 8, 1996 10:36 am Warmed by the winter sun that shone in on her, Scully opened her eyes to her partner's amused face. "I didn't know I was such a difficult patient, Scully." She yawned. "Ran me ragged, Mulder. Have you found anything?" He opened one of Nora's folders. "Just this. One of her patients was experiencing a bad reaction to her latest drug, TP-101. He was seeing things, so I think we should go talk to him." After sitting up, she tapped the name at the top of the first page. "Yes, John Towser, I remember the file. His mother must have told him some whopping bedtime stories, because all of his hallucinations read like Joseph Campbell." She walked down the hall, stopping by his linen closet for a clean towel. "Let me shower and change before we go, Mulder." Surprised, Mulder glanced over at her. "Just don't use all the hot water, okay?" They grinned at the familiar argument. As she disappeared into the bathroom, Mulder was suddenly aware of how long *he* had remained unwashed, so headed for his bedroom to find a clean shirt of his own. --o-0-o-- William Donald Schaeffer Boy's Home Baltimore, MD Sunday, 1:10 pm "John Towser?" Johnny opened the door to his room and gasped. The man was leaner then when he passed him the five dollar bill, but he still had that nice lady with him. The tall man showed his respect by stepping aside and guiding her into the room with a gentle hand on her back, and by the smile they exchanged as she passed. His Aunt Sarah would have approved, since she had taught him such manners as well. The woman spoke in calm, even tones, "I'm Dana Scully, and this is my partner, Mulder. We work for the FBI..." The boy's eyes glowed in excitement. "G-men, like Elliot Ness on TV?" Their shared laughter was relaxing. He hopped on the bed, crossing his legs under him. The room was sparsely equipped with a twin bed, a six drawer dresser, and a beaten-up wooden chair from a discarded dining room set. The woman sat on it, and the man stood to her left, his hands in his pockets. After a cough, Mulder quipped to his partner. "But hardly untouchable, right, Scully?" She waved her hand at his remark, and focused on Johnny. "Yes, we are agents with the FBI. We'd like your help finding out who killed Nora Samuelson." A brief shadow passed over the boy's face before he replied, "Sure, Doctor Samuelson was my friend. What can I do? Do you want me to work undercover with you?" Mulder chuckled before he took up the examination. "We wish all the people we interviewed were that willing to help, but no, we just want you to answer a few questions. When was the last time you saw Doctor Samuelson?" Johnny considered his response before offering, "I saw her Friday at around 4:30 pm." He leaned towards them. "She dropped me off for dinner after she finished my tests. I had to help with the vegetables that night." They glanced at each other, then the woman continued, "I'm a medical doctor, John. It would help me if you remembered what kind of tests she performed. Did she take any blood or tissue samples?" "Both. She said I was special, that the medicine wasn't working on me, and I could help her find out why, but now she's dead. Can I help you find out why?" They smiled at him, then Mulder took a deep breath. "But you don't remember her mentioning that she was planning on meeting with anyone?" The boy shook his head. "She only said she would work up my samples immediately." When man coughed again, the lady doctor looked up, concerned, then turned to John. "John, have you had a cold or flu recently, or do you know if any of the boys here at the home have been sick?" Johnny's eyes widened. "No, Ma'am, I haven't been sick, but Carl was sick for four days last week, and they almost took him to the hospital." Mulder lifted his hands out of his pockets, and took a step forward. "Where is Carl now?" "Oh, he's in the laundry room. It's his turn to fold sheets, but he doesn't do a very good job of it. He thinks if he messes up, he won't have to handle the laundry any more. But, he's never been on the street, so he doesn't know it's better to have a few chores and a roof over your head, than to sleep in the rain and have men beat you for your clothes, or worse." He withdrew into himself as they watched. Mulder rested a hand on his shoulder. "You're right, John. It is better. You've been a great deal of help to us." The eagerness re-emerged slowly, then he walked them to the basement door, chattering happily. Johnny knew they didn't remember him, but his Aunt Sarah would have labeled them 'good people'. He waved as they descended the stairs, then sauntered off to the kitchen.