=====o======================================================o===== "Twelfth Night" by Mary Ruth Keller E-mail: mrkeller@eclipse.net =====o======================================================o===== Part IV - Kings' Day (Disclaimed in Part I) -----o-----------------------------------------------------o----- Sebastian: If you will not undo what you have done, that is, kill him whom you have recovered, desire it not. Fare ye well at once: my bosom is full of kindness, and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, that upon the least occasion more mine eyes will tell tales of me. Twelfth Night; Or, What You Will Benedick: Ha! 'Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner;' there's a double meaning in that. Much Ado About Nothing -----o-----------------------------------------------------o----- Apartment 42 Arlington, Virginia Tuesday, December 31, 1996 8:02 pm "Mulder! No!" Running over, she attempted to pull one arm away, but the adrenaline and testosterone had knotted Mulder's muscles into steel cables. "You're killing him, Mulder, let go! He's unarmed, and he wants to give you some answers!" The old man could only whisper, but his words added fuel to the raging fire he saw in the agent's eyes. "Go ahead, Mister Mulder, I haven't slept well in months. I get visitors in the night, faces I never thought to see again. For months. If I die now, I'll never have another nightmare." He was dangerously purple. Her partner's eyes had turned dark, all the years of anger and grief pouring into his long fingers. "He killed my Father and your sister, Scully, and tried to kill my Mother. He had Sam kidnaped and you too." Scully continued to tug on her partner's arm. "You're just doing their dirty work for them!" But Fox Mulder was beyond reason. "Now, pay!" He squeezed one final time, cutting off his old nemesis' windpipe. In desperation, Scully realized that she had only one weapon that would keep her partner from a death sentence. She delivered a quick chop to his bruised ribs, and the searing pain dropped him like a stone. The old man sank to his knees, gasping for air. Mulder groaned, holding his side. "Why, Scully, why? He was responsible for all of it." Leaning over her partner, she reached to help him to his feet. "We don't know that, but if you were to kill him, your career at the FBI would be finished. Skinner couldn't prevent the filing of murder charges against you. Your enemies would pour out of the woodwork, taking the opportunity to turn your trial into a lynching party." The old spy pulled himself up along the wall. "She's right, you know. She always had more sense than you, always." Mulder used her outstretched arms to bring him to his feet. But his hatred still controlled him, demanding an outlet, so he slung her into one of the mission chairs. "You're his spy, aren't you? His little spy, sent to worm your way into my trust!" Scully glared up at her partner. Her disbelief lasted long enough for him to drag her up and shake her before her protective instincts took over. The old man used the distraction to leave, the front door hanging open behind him. Twisting her arms free, Scully backed away, still attempting to reason with her partner. "Mulder, I'm not his spy and I never was. Blevins assigned me to assess the validity of your work, he didn't. I'm your *partner*, not an observer, not a spy, and I *thought* your friend." Mulder's rage swelled. "I don't need friends! I don't need a partner, and I don't need you!" His long arms extended, he charged her. She deflected him, sending him sprawling on the sofa as she, pressing one hand against her bruised abdomen, scrambled towards the front room and escape. But, pumped full of endorphins, he shot off the sofa, crossing the room in two leaping steps. Catching her by the hair, he yanked her head back and spun her around. "You always belonged to them, didn't you?" They were nose to nose, their arguments at Comity appearing, like an eerie portent, in her mind. "Never to me!" Scully sagged in Mulder's hands, using gravity to force him to release her, but he pushed her down on the floor, straddling her and pinning her arms up over her head. "Never to me! Never ... to ... me!" Her head reeling from its sharp contact with Mulder's oak floor, Scully thrashed, her mind and body remembering Phaster's insane face hovering over her. "Mulder! Let me go!" Twisting, she struggled to pull her knees into a position where she could throw her partner off her without injuring him further. But as quickly as she moved, Mulder countered, grinding his pelvis into her stomach as he pinned her shoulders to the floor with his knees. "I leave you alone with him for a few minutes, and you turn against me, like they all do. Were you going to tell him where all the papers were, Scully, were you?" She clenched her jaw, then shouted, "Never. How could you, after what we've been through, how could you even *think* such a thing?" Forcing the image of Tooms from her thoughts, she lowered her voice. "Mulder, when have I ever given you cause to believe I would betray you?" Mulder's grip on Scully's wrists was bruisingly tight, his teeth bared within a hair's breadth of her nose. "You're good, Scully, I have to give you that." He shook her. "Get the paranoid idiot to trust you, was that your little game?" She could feel his rage ebbing, so she whispered, "It's no game; it never was. This is as much about my life now as it is about yours. You're hurt, you're not thinking clearly. Let me up, please." Her plea set his head spinning, but the fury still drove him. "I forgot, Spooky never thinks, does he? He just feels. Well, maybe that's your problem, Doctor Scully, you don't *feel* anything." Pushing one knee down on her arm, he transferred his full weight to it as he twisted until he was lying fully on top of her. The slight whimper of protest she failed to suppress drove him to lock her flailing legs between his. Pressing his chest down on hers, he growled, "Can you feel this?" Scully resumed fighting, attempting to shift off the body on top of her by rocking her hips. "Mulder! Let go!" As his ribs heaved from the struggle, the added pressure snapped one of the weakened bones. When the pain penetrated through to his brain, his thinking mind reasserted itself. Horror rushed in to replace his anger. Mulder released Scully, sitting down beside her, lifting her shoulders off the floor to wrap his arms around them. "I'm sorry, Scully, I'm so sorry, please forgive me, please." He was pressing her against his chest as fiercely as he had sought to pin her to the floor just moments earlier. She was shaking, terrified of the emotions the past few minutes had unleashed in him. "It's okay, Mulder, you're okay." She tightened her arm around the unbruised side of his body, probing the damaged ribs gently with her left hand. As one bone moved under her fingers, Mulder grunted helplessly, breaking down, weeping in her neck. "What have I done? Please forgive me. Please don't leave me." She reached up to stroke his hair. "I won't, Mulder, never. It's okay. I'm here and I'm staying. It's okay. We'll find your sister, we will, together." She shushed and rubbed until the tears stopped, but her shaking did not. He released her, holding her trembling hands in his to focus on them. "You were never my enemy, never, Scully. I should know better." He raised his eyes to hers. "I'm sorry my rage drove me to do this. You've never given me cause to doubt your loyalty, ever. You should never have been my target." Willing her own tears away, she rested her forehead on his shoulder. "Let's go to my place, my supplies are there and the air is cleaner." Standing, he lifted her to her feet, telling himself the pain in his side was a just penance for what he had been about to do. "Did I hurt you?" She gathered her thoughts before meeting his haunted eyes. "No, you didn't. I'll be fine, after I get some rest, but you were right at the Gunmen's on Election Day. We have a whole new set of enemies to worry about." After cracking a few of his windows, he picked up the bags and walked, deep in thought, beside her to her car with one hand wrapped tightly around her waist. --o-0-o-- Along Glebe Road Arlandria, Virginia Tuesday, 6:38 pm Dana Scully gripped the steering wheel, forcing herself to concentrate on the road, not allowing her mind to drift back to the events in Mulder's apartment. He, on the other hand, was obsessing over them, cursing himself in his head for almost destroying the one person he completely trusted. After passing over the shallow creek known as Four Mile Run, they were stopped by a red light. Scully glanced over at the mask his face had become, then reached out to cover one clenched fist with her hand. Choking back a sob, he opened his hand and grasped her fingers in one swift motion, turning his head towards her for the first time since they entered the car. Mulder's eyes were even more deeply shadowed than she had seen when he had been grieving for his mother. She lifted one corner of her mouth, silently offering her forgiveness in the balm of a quip. "I should warn you, Mulder, when we reach my apartment, I'm throwing you in the bathtub. I know bachelors like yourself only shower to maintain a minimum level of social acceptability, but ten days is too long for anyone to tolerate, even my normally accepting self." He lifted the corners of his lips in a brief grin, then watched as, heartened, she responded with one of her own. "Thank you, Scully, but I only have these sweats from the hospital." Arching an eyebrow, she jerked her head towards the back seat. "No, I had a whole bag packed for you that never made it inside your apartment. Doctor Scully will tolerate no excuses from her patients." When the light changed, the driver of the car behind them hit his horn, so she rolled forward. Mulder checked back over his shoulder. "And apparently, neither will he." The lawyer in the Jaguar behind them, impatient to reach a Congressman's party, had begun celebrating as he waited for his date to finish dressing at her apartment. Now, he was late, the Honda in front of him accelerating too slowly for his pleasure. So, muttering about women drivers, he pressed the horn and jerked his sleek sedan to the left, forcing an oncoming small Datsun and the offending blue four door up on the curb. As the red-haired driver slammed on the brakes, narrowly missing a woman exiting a Laundromat with two bulging canvas bags, he snarled to his date and roared away. Mulder leapt out of the car to check with the woman, who had dropped her bags by the passenger side of the Honda, before he attempted to cross the street to the Datsun. But the Hispanic driver sped away as well. When Mulder turned, he could tell that his partner had reached the breaking point. He saw her head slumped on the steering wheel, her shoulders shaking, and he heard her gasping as she wrestled with her emotions. He returned to the car, opening the driver's door to speak to Scully. But the woman with ravens-black hair touched his hand, calling his attention away. "If you need a witness, it was the Jag that started everything. Your friend here had to scramble not to hit me." Mulder nodded, kneeling again. She reached in her handbag for a slip of paper that she left on the dashboard. "Call me, okay? My E-mail address and phone numbers are all there. Thank you!" Her parting remark was delivered to his partner. Mulder reached over to hold Scully's shoulder, but she left her head down on the steering wheel. He glanced quickly at the business card before shoving it in his pocket: Ana Badb Morgan, Consultant. He wondered whether the single N was an affectation before dismissing her as another political type the DC area seemed to attract. All distractions aside, he focused on the shaking woman before him. "Scully, it's okay. You did the right thing. You're okay, no one was hurt." He kept attempting to reassure her, rubbing his hand around the point of her shoulder in circles, but the events of the past few days had overwhelmed even her nerves. Finally, he could think of nothing better to help her. "Come on, Scully, step out of there, breathe a little fresh air." After unbuckling her lap belt, he guided her out of the car, staying close while she leaned against the door. Since he had nearly killed her, Mulder expected Scully to move as far away from him as possible, but instead found that she was huddling against his side. As he watched, she began reassembling her composure, piece by laborious piece, the tremors stilling, her face clearing. By the time the Arlington police car pulled up behind the Honda, she was standing clear of him, her cool, professional self once again. Astonished once more by her iron will, he grasped her shoulder before he turned to the uniformed officer. --o-0-o-- Apartment 5 Alexandria, Virginia Tuesday, 7:45 pm The message light on the answering machine was blinking in the darkness when the partners, still subdued by the evening's events, arrived. After displaying their FBI badges, Mulder had recited the Jag's license number, but it was a night when such incidents were common, so the police had taken their statements and sent them on their way. Mulder rested his fingers by the clear, raised message button. "Scully? Should I check that? She shrugged as she headed for the kitchen with their congealed food. Mulder tapped once, setting the tape within spinning. Margaret Scully's voice sounded from the speaker. "Honey, it's Mom, and I have another letter here. I'm driving over to DC tomorrow, and I wondered if you were at your place or still in Baltimore. Call me. Bye." Her daughter had walked up to stand beside him and listen. As Mulder edged closer to her, Scully lifted the receiver from its cradle and touched the third speed dial button. She could hear laughter in the background when Margaret answered on the second ring. "Mom, it's me. I'm home and Mulder woke up this afternoon, so he's here too." "Good, honey, I was worried. He's okay?" "Yes, he's fine, Mom. We're both just tired from the case, that's all." She glanced up at his troubled eyes. "Sleeping outside in the cold for nearly two weeks would wear down anyone." He settled his healthy side against her shoulder, grateful for her acceptance of his flaws and weaknesses. "You sound so, well, strange, dear. Are you really all right?" "Oh, we were run off the road by some self-important idiot in a Jag, but no one was hurt, Mom." When he rested his hand against her back, she leaned into it, hoping the gesture would be another reminder of her forgiveness. "You're smart to be off the streets until tomorrow. Who's over?" "Just a few of the neighbors, Dana. After that misfortune, you two should stay where you are for the night. I'll see you tomorrow, and give Fox my love." "Sure, Mom, bye." She hung up the phone before relaying her Mother's parting words to her partner. Mulder's shoulders dropped. "Scully, I..." She was shaking her head emphatically as she faced him. "No, Mulder, we won't dwell on this anymore. You were angrier than I've seen you in a long time, but we're both all right, so it's over and done." Closing his eyes, he dropped his chin to his chest before tilting his head at her. "If you say so. But I didn't hurt you, really?" She arched one brow. "No, just my pride. I should have knocked you out cold with that blow." She shrugged, her eyes bright. "Just must be hard to keep a good man down." Her humor finally reaching through his fear, he smiled. "Or a good woman. Although," he joked, glancing down as he touched his side, "once these are healed, if you should need help with your self-defense practice, I would consider it remiss of me, as an employee of the Federal Bureau of Investigations, and purely as your partner, of course, not to volunteer." She growled, then turned her expression back into a jest. "Oh? Well then, I'll have to hone the blades on my bat'telh to a fine edge before we start." Taking his silence as victory, Scully turned, aiming for her bedroom, returning with tape and gauze. He grimaced at her approach, but she hit him with the Look, and after showering he dutifully submitted to her probing and bandaging. --o-0-o-- Apartment 5 Alexandria, Virginia Wednesday, January 1, 1997 2:23 am "Where are you taking me? Where am I?" Mulder lifted his head off the back of the living room chair. Scully was stretched out on the sofa in full REM sleep, experiencing what he feared was an abduction nightmare. Over his objections, she had insisted he stay the night so she could monitor his head injury, and now he was glad he had. A strangled moan escaped her as she began curling into a ball, shaking. "Why are you doing this? No, not another needle! It's too big!" He moved to sit in the space on the sofa by her head, discovering, once again, how close to the surface of his psyche all his old emotions regarding her abduction were. But, he willed himself to wait, to listen for clues as to who or why, since her hypnosis sessions revealed nothing. "No, don't cut me, please! I'm a doctor, what do you want to know?" She fell silent, but the shaking continued until finally the tears she worked so hard to suppress earlier this evening began to flow. "Mulder, where are you? Help me!" Heedless of the pain, he lifted her off the sofa, turning her so her head rested on his chest, encircling her crossed arms with his own. "I'm here, Scully, you're safe with me." He stroked her hair, pushing it off her face, wiping away the tears with his fingers. He knew she needed for this struggle to be over, as did he, since they had no idea what was coming next, only that they had to stand strong and prepared together. That had been her message to him earlier, and he fervently hoped she was right. Gradually she felt his presence and forced herself to awaken. "Mulder?" Her voice was quiet, not frantic. As the tightly clenched muscles relaxed, she inhaled deeply and opened her eyes. "I was on a table, under a bright light, but it was so cold." He continued to wait in silence, supporting her with one arm, holding her face with the other hand, and ignoring the shooting pains cramping his side. Her hands dropped to her stomach and she poked it gently. "It's not swollen up like a balloon." She met his eyes. "It was, then, you know. They wanted to check something, and I could feel a needle in my back." Her hand slipped around behind her, touching the location of the implant from the second abduction. In agony from the rib, Mulder shifted his weight, bringing a leg up to help steady her and take the pressure off his muscles. When she felt him shudder, she was instantly herself again, turning around on the sofa and reaching for his arm. He gritted his teeth. "No, I'll be fine. You were talking about your abduction. Go on." Scully had his shirt pushed up, the bandages off, to examine the bruises, probe the bone beneath. "It's gone, all gone. I can't remember now. What did I say?" Wincing, he lifted her fingers away, attempting to smooth the gauze back in place. "Nothing that made any sense. You were talking as if they were performing surgery on you, but you were awake and in terrible pain. I had to do something to help you." He ran one hand down her back, resting it finally where she had. "It scared me, hearing you cry out like that after all this time." Sitting up, she rubbed her face. "We're both exhausted, mentally and physically. If we could disappear to an island resort for a few weeks - " She paused. " - we might begin to recover, but we have too much to lose here." She looked back at him. "I didn't strike out at you, did I?" He bit his lip. "No, not this time. Can I get you anything, some water or herbal tea?" As she adjusted the bandages, she considered. "I'm too tired. I want to sleep without nightmares." Dropping her hand to his knee, she sent him a silent request. He nodded. She settled down, resting her head on a throw pillow she moved against his thigh. They had often done this in the months she had taken to recover from her surgeries. After covering her with the Maya blanket, he turned on the television to numb his own fears. "That warm enough?" Her answer was a sleepy mumble. --o-0-o-- Apartment 5 Wednesday, 7:12 am "Dana, Fox, are you both all right?" As Mulder lifted his hand off her shoulder to rub his face, Scully threw back the covering. She had heard Margaret's key turned in the lock, but was only halfway to the door when the older Scully opened it. Margaret called to them both. "Dana? Fox?" The red-haired woman held out her arms, accepting the excited ball of fur. "Fuzzy!" Chastened by his actions, Mulder hung back, but Margaret would have none of it and walked forward to greet him. "Fox, dear." He gasped as her arms pressed against his ribs and bit his lip. Margaret released him when he flinched. "She told me where she is." His eyes snapped to full alertness. "My Mom? Where?" Margaret took the chair by the door, noticing the dirty plates and balled up blanket. "In Vienna, Fox, she and Max are at your Uncle's. Here." She handed him the blue pages, minus the last, which contained Caroline's special request. For her friend, she would use all her maternal wiles on these two. As he read, Scully carried the plates to the kitchen sink. "How was the drive, Mom?" The dog's toenails clicked on the wooden floor behind the Agent. The ransacking had ruined her carpet, so during one of their extended field trips, the landlord had removed it and refinished the floor underneath at Scully's expense. Margaret circled the room, saddened by the missing photos and souvenirs. "Not bad, considering." Refolding the pages, Mulder slipped the letter back into its envelope. "She sounds so happy." The upbeat sentence emerged from a grim face. "She'll write me directly now, she says." Correctly divining his mood, Margaret walked over to touch his shoulder. "Don't worry, Fox, you're her son and she won't abandon you." When he glanced up at her, she could see his customary self-torture beginning. "Did you ring in the New Year with Dana?" He shook his head. "We must be aging, Mrs. Scully. Once we sat down to turn on Times Square, the next sound we heard was not the countdown, but you knocking on the door." Scully reentered her living room, one hand idly stroking the Pomeranian, now under her arm. Margaret commented, "Oh, then this should be a good year." Mulder frowned as his partner set the dog on the floor and replaced the blanket on the back of the sofa. "What?" As her Mother resumed her seat, Scully explained. "It's a Scottish custom, Mulder. If a woman is the first one to cross the threshold of a home after the stroke of midnight, then the house will suffer misfortune. But Mom handed me Wee Willie here, so we'll have good luck throughout the year." Margaret smiled at the 'we'. Mulder rubbed behind the ears of the Pomeranian, who had jumped into Scully's lap. "I shudder to think that the Red Menace controls my Fate, Scully. Does this mean I owe him a walk?" "Yes!" the women answered simultaneously, so, after a quick stop in the bathroom, he complied, grumbling good-naturedly. As the door closed, Margaret slipped the last page of the letter from her purse to pass it to her daughter. Scully read the few lines before she returned the paper, nodding. "I think we can be there, Mom. We're both so beaten down from this homeless investigation that several days in Annapolis could be considered sick leave, rather than vacation. Director Skinner *has* offered us administrative leave for the rest of the holiday season." Margaret moved to the sofa, resting her hand on her daughter's knee. "I know, Dana. You both look like you've had neither a good night's rest nor a full meal in weeks." She smiled. "Although Fox does look better clean-shaven. Some men, including your Father, can never grow a beard, no matter how many times they try." Scully frowned. "Ahab had a beard? When?" Margaret walked across the room to gaze out the window at the first few cowled and bundled joggers passing on the sidewalk. "On every extended shore leave before you kids came along. Even after two months, his was as scraggly as Fox's." She gave her oblivious daughter what she hoped was a significant stare. When Scully caught on, the implication set her fuming. "Mo-om, No! Not that again! Mulder and I are *not* considering a romantic 'relationship'. I don't want it, he doesn't want it, and the Bureau *certainly* doesn't want it." She rose. "We're under constant scrutiny by certain people who would be *delighted* to use it against us if we fell prey to..." She shook her head, the tumbled auburn hair falling over her face. "Just let it drop, okay? Last fall was absolute hell for both of us, and things are clicking again now. The X-Files, for once, have significant outside support, not just bad publicity." Margaret held up her hands. "It's all right, dear. You were right, I shouldn't have brought it up." She turned back to the window, watching Mulder trot along behind the dog, his arm fully extended by the little canine straining at the leash. "Fox is bringing the dog back, dear. I'll ask him about Epiphany, if you like." Scully nodded. "Thanks, Mom, I need to hit the restroom." Margaret puzzled over her daughter's reaction to her hints as she opened the door for her surrogate son and the Pomeranian. "Fox, you look tired." He shrugged. Once they settled on the sofa, the dog jumped into the older woman's lap, almost as soon as Mulder unclipped the braided rope to coil it on the coffeetable. With a look of resignation on her face, Scully took the chair upon her return. "Maybe you should keep him, Mom, he spends most of the time at your house anyway, and after what happened to the apartment, I wouldn't want anything to happen to him, too." Margaret stroked the long fur, considering. "Only if you wouldn't miss him too much. He is a dear little thing, and so loves to sleep on the bed at night. Are you sure?" Scully nodded. "I'm sure, Mom. Besides, I'll see him at least once a month anyway, so it's not like he's really leaving." Margaret cleared her throat. "Fox?" Mulder had leaned back on the sofa during the discussion. "Yes, Mrs. Scully?" "Since you and Dana missed Christmas altogether, I'd like to invite you to Annapolis from whenever you'd like to get there through at least January Sixth." Mulder rubbed his face. He wanted to take her up on the offer, and Margaret Scully was his second closest woman friend, but he was uncomfortable presuming on her hospitality so soon after the events of yesterday. He checked his partner, who was smiling encouragement from across the room at him. "Scully, if we head in to the Bureau tomorrow and Friday, I think we can start on some of the paperwork that's been piling up." Dana Scully nodded. "Sure, you're the Section Head. As long as you take it easy and we don't go crawling through the sewers after mutants, you should be all right." Mulder cocked his head at her. Margaret Scully was grinning like a cat when he turned to her. He smirked. "Okay, Mrs. Scully, we'll be there from Friday night through Tuesday." Margaret rose. "Thank you, both of you. I need to visit some friends in Springfield, the Richardsons, Dana, you remember, from Norfolk?" Scully frowned. "No, I don't, but Ahab was working out of there mostly when I was in college." Margaret leaned over to kiss her child on the cheek. "Yes, of course, that's right. So you never had the chance to meet their boy Craig? He's about your age and ..." Scully pursed her lips to growl. "Mo-om!" Margaret left. When the latch clicked behind his partner's mother, Mulder turned to Scully. "Well, what's her hurry? I've never heard her push you about men before." She sighed. "Since my biological clock has run down for good, I really don't know, Mulder." She moved to the sofa. "I think that was all about one man, unfortunately." He shifted to relieve the pressure on his side. "Oh. Me. Do you suppose that was all our mothers talked about when they were together?" His partner rolled her eyes. "By the way, how is your Mother?" He smiled, but his face was shrouded. "She sounds happy, Scully, here." He passed her the envelope, somberly watching her read. "I've lost her, haven't I? I'll never see her again." She moved closer to him, knowing anything she said would be lost on him in his present mood, so she waited beside him in silence. They were both beginning to drowse when the phone rang, and jumped. Scully reached for the unit. "Scully." A pause. "Good Morning, Byers." Mulder was focused and listening. "The microphones?" He stood up over her. "Really? Thanks. We'll be right over." --o-0-o-- Lone Gunmen's Office Alexandria, Virginia Wednesday, 9:15 am "Hey, guys, Happy New Year's." Byers held the door, puzzled, as Scully stepped back to wave Mulder in first. Langly's long hair hung over the arm of one of the sofas, his horn-rimmed glasses askew as he snored. Scully bent over him, tickling his nose with the fringe on her wool scarf. "Hump? What?" The blond Gunman lurched to his feet, adjusting the frames on his face. "Oh, hey Doc." Rubbing his nose, he apologized, "Too much bubbly last night." Frohike emerged from the office, flinging his arms open wide when he saw them. "Mulder, lovely Dana! A hug for the New Year?" For their separate reasons, each responded negatively. Langly walked into the office, focused on the wiretaps. "Byers and I worked up the microphones, G-man." Mulder followed the sound of his muffled voice, Scully close on his heels, but as far away as possible from Frohike. Langly glanced up when the four joined him. "Yeah, whoever built these is one sharp operator. When I began tracing the circuit layout, man oh man, was I surprised!" He powered up their network analyzer, several RF signal generators, and four high frequency oscilloscopes, all showing the wear and tear of purchase from government surplus. One of the microphones lay on the workbench, microprobe leads running from it to the test equipment. "You see, each microphone had its own ID code that was broadcast along with the signal." Mulder shrugged. "So?" Byers dropped a photograph of Margaret Scully's home on the workbench, tapping the dark green of the trees behind the barns. "So, the thing I kept wondering about was this. Your mother, Scully, never reported any surveillance vehicles in the area, right?" She nodded. "All the microphones run off batteries, so they are either of limited life, or they don't have to transmit too far." Scully's finger circled the satellite dish in front of the chimney. "It would be easy if the signals only had to reach here." Langly smiled. "You got it, Doc. I'll bet if you go check the electronics attached to the receiver antenna on the roof, you'll discover they've been replaced with circuitry that allows the mikes to broadcast directly on the Ku band signal." Mulder ran his hand through his hair. "So she should hold out for cable?" Scully tucked her hair behind her ear. "Not necessarily, Mulder, the satellite dish made it easy for them, but they could, with minor modifications, have used a radio antenna, if the home had one, or even the cable lines themselves." Langly pushed a photo enlargement of the microcircuit in front of them. "Since each mike is individually ID'ed and time coded, they could monitor where and when conversations were occurring. With a satellite uplink, they could pull down the data from the other side of the world, if they wanted." Frohike leaned over the workbench. "These guys are good, Mulder. We'll have to change our surveillance and detection schemes ourselves to keep ahead of them. But, I have something on that guy you saw in the picture with Max." He dropped several more glossies on the table in front of them. "He's a high society type, just as I suspected. His offices in Manhattan are, or were, outfitted to the hilt with Old Masters, China, crystal, you name it. Back when, he actually assisted Max with some of his recovery work, and he's been big into art ever since. Last trip he took out of the country, in fact, was to London to meet with an artist named Eric Conners." Mulder frowned. "What do you mean, were?" The Gunmen looked at each other, then Frohike explained quietly, "The office building was destroyed in a pipe bomb explosion last month. They pulled several of bodies out, people with power and influence, Mulder. We think it was your Shadow Committee that bought the farm." The agents were stunned, Scully touching her partner's shoulder. "Mulder, who would have done this? *He* mentioned he no longer had any power or a position, so it wasn't *him*." The Gunmen exchanged puzzled glances. Mulder was pacing, angry. "Why didn't Skinner tell us? This rezeros everything, can't he see? The MJ tape, the papers, the medals, all of it means nothing. You said Max is involved with these men? What has my Mother done?" Scully blocked his path, so he waited, frustrated, while she offered, "It may not be what you think, Mulder. Remember, he was pulling art out at the same time the Mafia conduit was open. It may well be that our elegant Shadow was spying on Max so they could track what he found out, not that he was working with them." Byers settled into a computer chair. "She's probably right, Mulder." The agents turned to him, puzzled. The bearded Gunman continued. "All contact between the two of them ended shortly after Max finished in Germany and began collecting on his own. Your guy basically disappeared, popping up occasionally at art shows and the like." Frohike waved his hands over his head. "There's another connection here, Mulder. That Eric Conners guy is living with an old friend of yours." Mulder groaned. "Don't tell me." "Oh, yes, Phoebe Green." The agent's eyes narrowed. "So she is working for them after all. Find out everything you can on the Inspector's live-in." He turned to Scully. "Tomorrow I make a phone call across the Atlantic so Phoebe and I can have a real talk." "I think so, Mulder. Despite her protestations, she always had it in for you, even this time when she was all innocent and aggrieved helpfulness." Frohike stood behind her, his eyes twinkling. "Ooh, hiss, spit, lovely Dana. Can I watch?" Throwing her arms up in frustration, Scully headed out to the car. Mulder grinned as he followed her out, tossing his thanks over his shoulder. --o-0-o-- Police Station Sharpsburg, Pennsylvania Friday, January 3, 1997 8:39 am Richard McCooms ushered Max and Phoebe forward. "Agent Collins, Agent Lomas, this is Max Lowenberg and Inspector Phoebe Green." Huddled in the bare office of a Captain on leave, the four exchanged handshakes. McCooms continued, "The duplicate is finished, so we can begin our sting operation as soon as our field agents are in place." The svelte woman from Customs smiled at the white-haired man. "I've read the records of your efforts at the war's end, Mister Lowenberg. You've saved so much that would otherwise have been carted off to the Hermitage or lost." He shrugged as he sat down on the front of the desk. "Such beauty was never meant to be locked away. But, I couldn't work fast enough to save it all. Some of the pieces disappeared right out of the warehouses on the docks in Bremen and I never could discover what happened to those." Lomas rose from one of the two chairs in front of the desk. "Your copyist is no hack himself. I've peeked at the canvas, and if it weren't that I knew it was a forgery, well, I'd put down the money myself." Phoebe smiled. "Eric would be delighted to hear you say that. He's not much for the human figure, but it is wonderful. So, how many are going in and when?" Lomas began describing their plan. When he finished, Max pointed to the desk phone. "Think I can make a call?" When Collins nodded, he punched in his Miami home phone number. As he waited, he glanced at Phoebe. "Would you like to ring Eric while we have the time?" She shook her head. "His mother doesn't have a phone in Kingston." Max smiled and lifted the speaker to his mouth. "Caroline? How was the flight?" --o-0-o-- Second Floor J. Edgar Hoover Building Friday, 8:18 am "Well, Mulder, what do you think?" The X-Files agents were marking out space in the adjoining offices they would be occupying in a month or so. Mulder was slouched against one of his two windows, watching his partner through their shared door. "It looks so big, Scully." She passed into his office, smiling. "The ten million filing cabinets will fill it up quickly, but if you like, I'll switch with you." Hers was not a corner office, so had only one, smaller window. He smirked at her hidden agenda. "No, I think I'll adjust. We'll be in and out of each other's offices so much anyway it won't matter." He scuffed the carpet with his foot, pushing the deep salt and pepper pile down. Scully closed the distance between them. "But?" He looked up at her. "Krycek. I keep thinking about Krycek. I don't want to go through that again. How do I know I'll be able to trust two other agents, let alone a secretary?" Crossing her arms and facing him, she leaned on the wall. "We get to pick them out; they don't. Skinner has already arranged for that, *and* we don't have to take any of them if we don't like them, secretary included." She lifted one eyebrow. "Although with the promotions, we will be handling more paperwork." She poked his chest once to emphasize the point. "And I do mean *we*, *partner*." He bent over her. "But, you're so much better at it than I am!" Vacillating between mirth and frustration, she leaned into his face. "So, *you* need the practice." Grinning, he straightened, storing this new ammunition away for future badinage. "C'mon, slavedriver, lunch should be over by now in foggy London." --o-0-o-- Basement J. Edgar Hoover Building Friday, 12:47 pm "Mulder, that's the fifth time you've tried her flat number today. If Eric Conners was working out of the place, at all, he would have answered by now." Mulder sighed as he replaced the receiver. "Scully, sometimes I think I'm being given some kind of runaround. The Yard says Phoebe is in Vienna, and Isaac says she's in London." She crossed her arms over the open drawer of the file cabinet to rest her chin on them. "You've spoken with your Uncle?" Leaning back, Mulder propped both feet up on the desk, interlacing his fingers behind his head. "Yeah. He's delighted every time I phone, and it takes a good half hour each time to disentangle myself from him. Something's up." He checked her expression, as serene as a sleeping tabby's. She checked her watch. "We have that meeting with Skinner in ten minutes." She restuffed the drawer and slammed it shut. "I'll be glad to move upstairs, actually." He cocked his head at her while he was pushing down his sleeves and slipping on his jacket. "Why, just so you can straighten all this stuff up?" She tucked a notepad under her arm as they left the basement to wait for the elevator. "No, Mulder, I'm dreading that. Up there, we'll only be one flight of stairs away from Skinner's office, and we won't have to run so far when he calls these meetings." When the doors opened, he touched her shoulder, guiding her in. --o-0-o-- Kingston, Jamaica Friday, 12:57 pm Eric Conners and his mother had their bare feet propped up on the railing of their restored Victorian home, brightly painted in six shades of green and white. They waved reflexively as a carload of tourists passed, camera shutters clicking at the Painted Lady and its owners on a maroon deacon's bench. Viola Conners, rounded by middle age and four children, flapped the front of her cotton blouse. "So, you truly love this girl from Oxford, this Scotland Yard Inspector, Eric?" "Yes, Mamo, I do." "And she does not think herself too good for you?" "No, Mamo, she doesn't. She's so very happy now that we're together. She loves to sit and watch me paint." His mother stopped fanning herself to sip from a tall glass of iced tea. "But that won't carry you two for your whole lives. She's told you already she broke hearts before she met you. Why should she change now? Let her go, Eric, this is no good." He shook his head. "Just spend time with her, Mamo, you will see." Viola dropped her feet from the railing, setting the folds of her pantsuit flowing. "And she's felt your temper?" He closed his eyes. "Once, Mamo, and she forgave me immediately." "Then perhaps all will go well, Eric. I'll need to meet her, as you say. Once I read her soul, I will know." --o-0-o-- Office of the Assistant Director Friday, 1:01 pm "Agents." Walter Skinner gestured to the seats across from him. "I brought you in here to show you this police report we received this morning." He leaned over his desk, handing a folder to Scully. "The Reston police consider the photos in there highly confidential. I'd like you both to take a look at the contents, please." Turning his back on them, he slipped his hands in his pockets and stared at the browned grass through the Venetian blinds. The top cover of the folder slid down the arm of Scully's chair, and she gasped at the visage in the forensic photo staring blankly up at her. As she passed the print to her partner, Skinner turned to observe his agents' faces. Mulder gave the image a quick glance, dropped the papers in his lap, and hid his head in his hands. Scully scanned the report, noting that the cause of death was a single gunshot wound to the temple, made with a 9 mm round at close range. The autopsy also indicated bruising on the neck prior to death. She spoke her partner's name softly, running her finger under a line in the report. Skinner leaned on his chair. "So, do we talk, people?" They jumped. He sat, glowering at Mulder, who was ashen and unable to meet his eyes. "Agent Scully?" She shook her head. Skinner stood again, clearing his throat. "Well, I don't know about you two, but I could use some lunch. I'll take you both out to celebrate your promotions?" As her partner slumped further in his chair, Scully shot their boss a look of gratitude as she dropped the collected documents on Skinner's desk. "No," Mulder choked out. "Yes," Scully hissed in response, rising to leave, fixing her partner with one of those withering glares Skinner had been happy never to have received. "We'll just get our coats, Sir, and meet you back here." --o-0-o-- Chadwicks, Georgetown Washington, DC Friday, 1:37 pm The lunch crowd was dispersing, so the three had their pick of seats, choosing a booth in the back that had no direct view from the outside. Skinner fixed his eyes on the tall man. "What isn't in the report is that the Reston crime lab was able to lift fingerprints off the man's collar, Agent Mulder. They were sent here for analysis, which is how I was made aware of this matter in the first place." Settling back, he crossed his arms. "I've stuck my neck out for you, and I don't intend to feel cold steel on it. So talk, both of you." Mulder gave his partner the most pitiful lost child look he could muster. She dipped her head once, then turned to their boss. "The man was in Mulder's apartment on Tuesday evening when we both arrived. I was bringing Agent Mulder home from the hospital, Sir. An argument ensued, but he left Mulder's apartment under his own power, and rather precipitately." Nodding, Skinner turned to Mulder. "Is this true?" His barely audible response was delivered to the table. "Yes." The Assistant Director curled both hands around his coffee mug. "Look, Mulder, if you attacked this guy, I can't say I fault you at all. There have been times I've wanted to shoot him myself, but now is the wrong time to hide things from me. Is there anything else?" The silence was deafening. Scully touched her partner's hand before she replied, "Agent Mulder and I quarreled about the visit afterward, Sir." The Assistant Director noted the gesture of support. Mulder raised his head, focusing on a burned-out light in the ceiling. "He wasn't the only one I ... struck, Sir." Finally understanding the guilt and the fear, Skinner nodded. "Very well. I'll tell forensics to release our findings ..." Two horrified faces stared. "What?" "... that Agent Mulder had met with the man prior to his death, but has no knowledge of the man's whereabouts after...?" He looked from one to the other. Mulder shrugged, finally speaking in his normal voice. "Six thirty in the evening on the Thirty-first." He jerked his head towards his partner. "Agent Scully drove me to her apartment afterward, Sir. He'd been waiting for some time. My place *smelled*." Skinner nodded. "We were forced off the road by a lawyer in a Jag on Glebe Road, where the Arlington Police stopped by to take our statements around seven." Skinner took off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I'll relay that to the Reston police as well, since the estimated time of death was between 6:45 and 7:15 pm on the Thirty first. The body was discovered around eight. I guess your lawyer in the Jag did you a real favor, Mulder." The younger man stared at the approaching waitress. "I was their best lead." Skinner sighed. "Their only, as a matter of fact." Scully sipped her mineral water. "Sometimes there is justice, isn't there?" --o-0-o-- Basement Friday, 3:45 pm "Scully?" She looked up from her field notes, but left her hands on the keyboard. "Hum?" "Traffic will probably be heavy about an hour from now, wouldn't you say?" She frowned, pressing her glasses back up on the bridge of her nose. "Maybe coming into the city, Mulder, but this place ... has ... been ... des ..." Her hands flew as she saved the document and exited the word processor while he watched. "Really heavy, Mulder. If we don't shake a leg, it will take three hours to reach Annapolis to research that other case." "I would think so." He rose, pulling his own coat off the coat rack, slipping it on, and helping his partner with hers. "Besides, we had all those calls to Europe to make, and with the time lag, we had to be here about, oh, six?" They grinned as they collected their bags and exited, Mulder locking the door. --o-0-o-- Residence Sharpsburg, Pennsylvania Friday, 4:03 pm Lindhauer studied the faces of the two across the room from him. "I see, Mister Lowenberg. Thank you for acting as my intermediary in all this. You understand we will need to authenticate the painting before I pay you?" Max nodded. He and Phoebe were waiting on a delicate settee, surrounded by paintings and sculptures. Their owner, an intense young man with fine blond hair, rose from a facing sofa to walk over to Eric's copy, admiring the work. "I'm sorry the museum in Haifa has fallen on hard times, but I must say, I won't be too heartbroken to acquire a piece of such significance. You and your associate have shown excellent judgement to bring it to the US and not to Japan where the Nineteenth Century works are less popular." They nodded as the man faced them. "Let me keep this for a day or two, so my experts can X-ray the canvas, sample the paints, and perform the usual verification tests. I know you wouldn't try to cheat me, would you?" Max laughed, Phoebe finding herself envious of the old man's aplomb. "The Museum has no reason to pass off a fraud, Mister Lindhauer. This is only the first piece that will be let go to cover debts, and if it were to come out that we were selling fakes ..." He shrugged. Lindhauer smirked. "As I said, I'll contact you in a day or two. Let me show you the way out, so you can take your manuscripts to the University. I'd be perfectly willing to purchase those as well, but, as you say, they *are* for posterity." --o-0-o-- The pair slid into the Fiat, Max at the wheel. "Now all we have to do is wait. Once they call back and offer money, Customs can sweep in, looking for the missing pieces they suspect he has, and maybe he can be put away for good." Phoebe smiled at Max as they drove away. "You're good at this, you know." After nearly pulling out into an oncoming truck at a light, the Inspector had gladly yielded him the wheel on the way to the house. He glanced over as he steered the Toyota onto the main road. "I did have practice during the years after the War, since covert operations were sometimes the only way to free up the art that had made its way down to Bolivia. I hope Caroline is settling in with no problems. Given what has already happened, I hate leaving her alone down in Miami this long." Phoebe nodded. "She can take care of herself, Mister Lowenberg. Now I know which parent Mulder inherited his resolve from." After accelerating into the middle lane, Max settled back into a comfortable driving position. "May I ask you something, Phoebe?" She glanced quickly at a passing road sign before responding to his unspoken question. "I don't know how to describe Mulder to you, Mister Lowenberg. That is what you're thinking about, isn't it?" A nod. "He was very quiet at University." "That's interesting, Phoebe. His mother mentioned the same thing." "He's very introspective, Max. Oh, he has the strangest sense of humor, part flirting and part probing analysis. Sometimes he comes across as very shallow, but that's just because he thinks deeply about a few things and ignores the rest of the world." "So he has a few passionate interests?" Phoebe smiled at the white-haired driver, remembering their sensual explorations in his tiny Scholar's room. "Yes, I would say he has passion, all right." --o-0-o-- Elevator Arlington Apartment Building Friday 4:37 pm "Still no fish, Mulder?" Leaning against the far wall, Scully lifted her duffel bag strap over her shoulder. Mulder pressed the L on the control panel, pushing at his garment bag on the floor with his foot. "No time. I meant to go last night, but, well, ..." He punched the pause button, then shot her an unfathomable look. "Mulder, what are you doing?" He was digging in the front pocket of his bag, and for a fleeting instant, she shivered. He caught her discomfort out of the corner of his eye. "Afraid of elevators, Scully?" She was staring at the door in the ceiling. "A little, especially when they stop between floors like this." He tipped his head to catch her eye. She pursed her lips. "Yes, I know the safety mechanisms to prevent free-fall were perfected over a century ago, but..." Tapping her foot, she stared at the access door again, jumping when he took her arm and opened her hand, turning the palm up. "Mulder! Oh." He had tentatively placed a silver box tied with a red ribbon in it, and was staring at the carpet, his own hands shoved in his pockets. "But I haven't bought you anything." He lifted an eyebrow at her, waiting. Dropping to her knees, she set her bag down to rest the box on top of it. Once opened, she stared at the contents in silence, overwhelmed, finally managing a soft "Oh." Anxious, he knelt beside her, bending down to check her face. "Don't you like it?" She lifted the delicate China dog out of its padded box, turning it in her palm, smiling at the cocked ears. "He's so ... sweet. Thank you, Mulder." "He doesn't need to be walked or fed, and you do have a bare curio cabinet to fill." The words tumbled out in a rush. "But I didn't want to give you that in front of your Mother and hurt her feelings." Chewing her lip, she nestled the figurine back in its packaging, slipping the gift inside a sweater. "You're right. Do you mind if we stop by my place on the way out so it isn't even an issue?" A quick grin, then Mulder was standing by the controls. "Yeah, sure." Hoisting her bag again, she moved across the elevator car to him. "Thank you." He released the car to move, and as they continued downward, glanced at the hand she had tucked under his arm. Wrestling with the sorrow and gratitude he felt, he touched her fingers and whispered, "You're welcome." "Besides, I had to pay you back for that divine alligator." --o-0-o-- Annapolis, Maryland Saturday, January 4, 1997 2:15 am "Stop it! That hurts!" Mulder jolted awake, hearing words from his sleeping partner's lips that chilled him, from a time he hoped she would never revisit. But, just as on New Year's Eve when she had awakened after crying out about her abductions, she was reliving those horrors now. They had been watching the AFC wildcard game from Los Angeles, when she had moved from the sofa to the two-seater to rest, knowing that he could not use Melissa's bed tonight. Mulder slipped off the couch to reach for her, sliding her head onto his shoulder, one arm wrapped around her back, the other gently stroking her face. If he could awaken her slowly, she might remember something further about her abductions. His stubborn insistence that her abductors were aliens had been part of the rift that had formed between them the previous year. Now, as she shivered and whimpered, any arguments about who paled against the pain he desperately wanted to soothe away. Scully swatted at nothingness. "No! No!" The cries woke Margaret Scully, who flew to her daughter's bedroom. She could hear Mulder crooning to her. "Fox? What's wrong?" She descended the stairs two at a time. Scully was cradled in Mulder's arms, as she begged unseen persons not to hurt her. "Mulder, help me!" Margaret could see her daughter's words cleave him, struggling with his own torments, to his very soul as he tightened his hold on her. Distraught, he looked up. "She's not awake, Mrs. Scully. She's still trapped in the dream, and it's hard to bring her out of it. I've tried to listen to her when this happens until I can't take any more, but all I hear are disjoint phrases and calls for help." Nodding her understanding, Margaret began stroking her daughter's hair, whispering meaningless words of comfort. Between them, Scully slowly shook off the dream images, releasing her grip on Mulder's neck. Still soothing her, he lowered her back to the cushions, until she grasped her Mother's hand. "Mom?" she queried. "Is that you?" "Yes, Dana, I'm here," Margaret replied, before she looked up at the tall agent, now seated as close to her as he could manage on the end of the sofa. He was pale and shaken, sweat beading above lips firmly pressed together, concentrating on driving the pain far out of his mind as long as Scully needed his support. Finally, Scully sat up and spoke to her partner. "Thank you, Mulder. I'm sorry if I hurt you." He shrugged. Margaret moved between them, resting a hand on each shoulder. "How long have the dreams been bothering you again, Dana?" The nightmares had come often in the months following her return, but had gradually dropped away to infrequent to never, as far as Margaret knew. Scully frowned. Her partner answered. "Since New Year's Eve, Mrs. Scully." He extended his hand to clasp Margaret's, but Mulder spoke directly to his partner. "I know you didn't want your Mom to know, but there are more violent images coming out during your sleep." "Mulder, I can't remember the contents of any of the dreams at all." He rubbed his eyes, then shifted his weight onto the cushions. "You never have, Scully, but now you're starting to be aware of them after you awaken, unlike a year ago. I think you were given an hypnotic suggestion to suppress the memories of your abduction at the end of whatever was done to you. But, with the stress we've both been under, I think that block is beginning to break down." Margaret sat by Mulder. "This couldn't be related to her second abduction?" He lifted his hands in an 'I don't know' gesture, his eyes bleak and anxious. "Why would someone want her to forget, Fox?" After arranging the afghan over herself, Scully leaned forward. "I'm a doctor, Mom. If I remembered the details of the procedure, it might be a clue as to who abducted me and why." Mulder rubbed the ache in his side. "Or, Scully, it was to keep you from identifying whoever was involved. You started to recall when you were at the Leper Colony, but my actions kept you from continuing that process." Margaret gasped, then looked from one to the other. "Dana, what is Fox talking about? You were at a Leper Colony?" Scully lifted an eyebrow at him. "Mom, we've seen things no one was ever meant to have seen, and you don't need to hear them, so forget we said anything." "But you're my daughter and you've almost died twice because of these ... things." "No, Mom, it's better that you don't know." Mulder faced Margaret, taking one of her hands in his. "Mrs. Scully, this may be related to whoever bugged the house, and those men would kill for the least significant reasons imaginable. The less you know, the safer you are. They took Sam, killed my Father and Melissa to protect themselves, and drove my Mother into hiding in Europe. I don't want anything to happen to you as well, so please, forget what we've said." Margaret Scully's gentle face darkened with every one of the partners' words. She shuddered, her eyes focused on the neighbor's porch light, visible out the front window. "Is this related to your disappearance in February?" Mulder put an arm around her shoulders. "No more questions, please, Mrs. Scully. When it's safe to tell you, we will." Tired of carrying on alone, Margaret began to sob. Her daughter slipped over to hold her, while Mulder kept her hand in his. --o-0-o-- Sharpsburg, Pennsylvania Saturday, 1:15 pm At the knock, Lindhauer looked away from his new acquisition to the door. "Yes?" 'Andrew' entered, grim but relieved. "We've tracked him down." The sallow-faced man was led in, his black hair hanging off his forehead, and he confronted his one-time proteges. "What is the meaning of this? You've killed off nearly everyone else, so why come after me? I'm powerless without the rest of the Committee. Do you know what this destablization will do to the balance of power?" Lindhauer snarled in the old man's face. "Now you're concerned about that? It's a little late, wouldn't you say? Just days ago, you and the others were sipping tea and congratulating yourself that it's 1973 all over again. Well, someone had to do something, so we did it; we took charge. We're cleaning up the remaining loose ends so the other powers will understand that we're still in charge." "But we had plans! If you had asked any of us before you took these rash actions, we would have told you of them. But now you and your accomplices are on your own, and I hope you're ready for what's coming." Lindhauer paced the room, the precise steps of his long, thin legs revealing his impatience with his former mentor. "What, the visitors from the stars? Don't you see, you've been waiting for the wrong enemy." He spun on his heel, his eyes intense. "We'll be ready for them, as well as tracking down the others who are running loose on the planet. But we'll be leaner, quicker than you ever were, because we have new technology at our disposal you know nothing about." He turned his back on the old man. "It will be quick and painless, never fear. You taught us that." As he was led out, the old man spotted Eric's canvas and called over his shoulder, "Enjoy your counterfeit art!" Lindhauer crossed the room in three strides to glare down his long nose. "What? What did you say?" The man jerked his head towards the painting. "That's a fake. You weren't planning on buying it, were you?" Lindhauer was astonished. "But it checks out. The X-rays, the canvas, the paints, and the technique are all correct." The old man laughed. "So much for your technology. I trained myself by eye at the end of the war, when we were stealing paintings out from under the noses of the Allies for our own collections. One sometimes has only a few seconds to recognize the look and feel of an original, and that one doesn't have it. Le Artiste didn't paint like that, but I know who does from the slightly bolder strokes, and I have, or had, some of his pieces." Enraged, the blond man shook his old mentor by the shoulders. "Who?" "Eric Conners. He's from Jamaica originally, but he resides in London now." Releasing his captive, Lindhauer waved his long, thin arm, copying a gesture he had seen so many times before, then turned to 'Andrew'. "We need to set some examples. Send two men for Max Lowenberg and two for Conners. Find them and finish them!" His ice-blue eyes hardening, Lindhauer punched the wall by the canvas as 'Andrew' left. --o-0-o-- Annapolis, Maryland Sunday, January 5, 1997 8:33 am "Dibs! I was here first!" Knocking off the stubble as he held the razor under the tap, Mulder smirked at his partner's grumbling. "You decent?" The mischievous grin migrated to one corner of his mouth. "No." "Mulder!" He turned the knob to disengage the lock. She poked her head in. "Feel like talking?" He nodded, tilting his chin to shave his neck as Scully entered to lean against the sink and watch him. Saturday had been a quiet day at the Scully home while Margaret worked through her fears, at times approaching the partners for gentle reassurances. They, too, had used the day for recovery, walking the dog or picking up groceries for the Epiphany supper. Margaret had left the Christmas decorations up, but none of them had been prepared for false cheer or forced gaiety, so had packed Scully's gifts in the trunk, unopened. "How's your Mom, Scully?" "Better. Thanksgiving and my nightmares scared her." She reached over to flick off a dab of shaving cream on his shoulder. "She still believes in the government, you know." "Yeah, well, I'd like to believe too. Perhaps the Shadows are beginning to destroy themselves, and people like your Mom will never need to have their sense of security challenged. If your father and mine are somewhere together right now, I hope Captain Scully is giving him the third degree about having to defend all the things he did." He frowned. "As for your Mom, I'm sorry she's been caught up in all this. She doesn't deserve what's she's going through." Swishing the razor in the accumulated water a final time, Mulder reached for a towel. Scully shifted her weight to her other leg. "But you do, Mulder?" They exchanged a glance. She crossed her arms, staring at her feet. "She asked us to go to Mass today." He closed his eyes, rubbing his face with the towel. "I know she needs it, Scully, you go. I can't." "Can't, or won't?" He opened the door back to his room, and she walked through ahead of him, taking a seat on the bed while he surveyed the clothes in the closet. "Can't, Scully. I've never been very religious, as you know, at least not in the Christian sense. My Father tried to interest me in an Episcopalian youth group once, but my Mom wouldn't stand for it." She crossed through the bathroom for her medical supplies, returning with tape and bandages. "So they argued over which religion you would be raised in?" He rolled his eyes, but submitted to her ministrations. "No angry discussions, really. My parents fought with long silences. They could go for days without speaking, then my Dad would leave on one of his trips, and my Mom would disappear in her room." He held his arm over his head, watching her tape the padding to his side. Scully looked up, shocked at his casual acceptance of his broken family. "Was this before or after Sam's disappearance?" "Both. While Sam was still with me, I'd take care of her, get her to school or wherever, fix meals and stuff." She concentrated on smoothing the tape over his skin without adding to her partner's discomfort. He shrugged. "Afterwards, I just took care of myself. Mom was depressed most of the time, so I usually fixed the meals and carried them to her in her room." He closed his eyes. "She'd talk to me some, then. Just little stuff, like she was a hostess or something, but still. When I stayed with Dad, well, I never did anything right, so, eventually I stopped trying." She picked the black canvas shirt he had selected off the foot of the bed, holding it open for him to slide his arms in. "Mulder, did he?" She rested her hands on his waist as Mulder buttoned the shirt, supporting his upper body to relieve his cramping muscles. Gritting his teeth, he was surprised to find he was fighting off tears. "Yeah, he did, Scully. The lines on my back?" She mentally traced the faint scars she had just seen. "He was never very good at controlling his anger, and with the alcohol ... I never did anything right." He turned to her, his eyes penitent. "That's why ..." He swallowed. She grasped his forearm. "Mulder, I know you're worried that because you were abused, that what happened the day you came home means you can become abusive yourself, but you won't. I've been around you long enough to know that." She squeezed his elbows. "You're *you*, Fox Mulder, not *him*, William Mulder, okay?" He tried to show his gratitude, but all he could manage was a hesitant grin under haunted eyes, then he turned away to tuck the shirt in and compose himself. Crossing the room, Scully reached for the hooks on the inside of the closet door, and paused, struck by the irony in her next question. "Do you want the black belt or the brown one?" He coughed once, forcing a glimmer of humor in his tone. "The one with the flying pigs." She tossed a playful glare over her shoulder. Her response brought out the trickster in her partner. "This house could use some levity, Scully." "I always knew you believed in the impossible, Mulder." "Nah. Just the infinitely improbable. Best way to see the universe." The grin faded. "My Mom tried to convince me to study for a Bar Mitzvah, but Sam had just been taken, and I couldn't see why I should learn anything about a God who let little girls suffer." He walked over to the window, looking out at the woods where they had encountered the Customs Agents. "God does let little girls suffer, and it's okay with him, you know." Rolling the garish belt around her hand, Scully thought back to all the pictures she saw growing up, of the Madonna and the Infant Jesus and of Christ and the children. He spoke quietly. "Jephthah's daughter." Surprised at her lack of knowledge in this subject, Mulder walked across the room to her. "You know, the Hebrew general who promised God that if he won some battle, he would sacrifice the first thing that greeted him on his return home?" She was horrified. "Mulder, no." He nodded, waving the arm on his healthy side as he paced. "Yeah, it was. She runs out to him, all smiles, and he swallows hard, but after two months of her lamenting the fact she'll never marry, or..." He shrugged. "God didn't stop it with angels or rams or anything, so it must have been okay with him." His eyes blazed, but his voice dropped to a whisper. "I don't need a God like that. So, I chose to go without religion, Scully. I wanted to seek my own truth, and I did. Although ..." He held the buckle and waited while she threaded the belt through the loops in the back of his black jeans, brushing her hand as the other end was placed in his grip. "Do you remember the abduction at Lake Okobogee we investigated, oh, three years ago?" "The little boy who thought he was receiving information through his television? I listened to the tapes of your hypnotic regressions for the first time at the end of that case." He lifted both eyebrows. "Well, that case brought back all my fears and guilt, so I needed somewhere, anywhere, to go to feel secure. I couldn't talk to my parents, and I didn't know you very well then, so, I drove around aimlessly, finally stopping at some Lutheran Church, I think, with beautiful stained glass windows. I don't know how long I was there, but I felt so lost and alone." Scully reached up to pat down an errant lock of hair, remembering Lucy Householder. "You always torture yourself every time you think you have someone like Sam." His face darkened, their old disagreements wounding him afresh. Scully wondered if she had offended him, so she kept stroking his hair in apology. Understanding her concern, he gently grasped her outstretched arm, lowering it to her side, and sliding his hand past hers as he released her wrist. "Not recently. Your father showed her to me, remember? He said you'll help me find her, and I believe him." She decided to avoid heated discourse for the present, offering her sympathy instead. "My father would have worried about you like that had he still lived, Mulder. He and Mom never argued in front of us kids, in fact, they rarely quarreled at all, that we children saw. But, you were saying?" Before shaving, Mulder has wrestled into his black running shoes, so he opened the door, letting her out first. "Anyway, I never did the Bar Mitzvah, much to my Mom's regret. My Dad couldn't have cared less what I did, and for a long time, I would call him Jephthah behind his back." They were descending the stairs, where she stopped him with a touch on his arm. "Never to his face?" He grew distant, and a little afraid. "Only once. Never again." Hearing them enter the kitchen, Margaret Scully caught her daughter's eye. Dana Scully shook her head. Margaret sighed, leaving quietly out the back as the agents set about making their breakfast. Mulder watched her go. "Think she'll be angry with me?" As she dropped two English muffins into the toaster, Scully checked out the window, hearing her Mother back out of the driveway. "Mom? No. We've had our own discussions, she and I, since the Kryder case, and I've come to agree more with you than with her, Mulder. Saints and miracles only go so far, but we humans have to make the world a better place through our own actions." "Before we destroy it completely." His eyes flashed. "Enough, Scully, we're supposed to be relaxing, not pondering infinitude." She welcomed his sudden shift with a toss of her head. "You're right, Mulder, let the Bureau pay us to dissect and analyze the incomprehensible." --o-0-o-- Airport Kingston, Jamaica Sunday, 9:18 am Eric lifted Phoebe off her feet as she entered the terminal. "Sweet, you're here! Did you get him?" They kissed passionately before she responded, "No, my Heart, we didn't. He wouldn't bite on your painting. He returned it to Max with a written apology and wished us well, mentioning a temporary cash flow problem. So, I have some time to spend with you in the sun." They walked through the flat building, arms around each other. Eric rubbed her shoulder. "Ah, you'll think of something else. My girl always does." She nuzzled his neck. "Eric, I'm sorry, I'm a little nervous about meeting your family. I don't want them to think I'm too British or better than they are." "Oh, Luv, don't worry. My Mamo will like you once she meets you, you'll see. Just be your sweet self and everything will be fine. Besides, once we're married, you're family, and they have to keep you." They exited into the bright sunshine. --o-0-o-- Annapolis, Maryland Sunday, 2:43 pm Margaret slid the lamb back in the oven to roast, slamming the door as she did so, hoping the bang would mask the squeaking spring on the screen door. Her dear Captain had brought the recipes for this dinner back from the Theapopolis', the family of a fellow captain in the Greek Navy he had befriended on one of his Med cruises. Every year since, she would prepare them from the stained, wrinkled cards, but for two years, Bill had not been at the head of the table to praise her efforts. She turned to her guests. "He's in the living room with Dana. Just be careful around him. He broke a rib on his last case and it's still very tender." --o-0-o-- Mulder shifted on the sofa, adjusting the pillows behind his back before he poked the thick stack of pages in his partner's book. "You always go for this deep reading, Scully?" "Research, Mulder, I've been thinking..." "I know, the grinding and clanking keeps me up at night." She crinkled her nose at the smirk on his face. "I should learn something more about ..." A pair of hands slid over her partner's eyes, and his own flew up to lift them away. "Hello, Fox." He pulled himself onto his knees to see who had walked up behind him. "Mom!" He was on his feet, practically leaping over the sofa to reach her. "Mom, you're here! How?" They held each other, Caroline carefully dropping her arm below the padding she could feel through his shirt. "I've taken out some insurance with an old friend." --o-0-o-- Max had remained in the kitchen, hanging back to give his wife and her son these first minutes alone together. Margaret nodded her approval as her daughter entered the kitchen. "This is just for them, right now." Scully extended her hand in greeting to the older man. "Hello again, Mister Lowenberg. I know we've never met formally, but Mulder pointed you out to me quickly in Mexico." Max rose from his seat at the kitchen table as they clasped each other's palms. "Yes, Caroline has told me how close you and Fox are." Scully shook her head. "He prefers Mulder." Observing Margaret's nod, Max filed a mental note. "Oh? Thank you. I must confess, never having raised any children of my own, I'm approaching this with some trepidation. What else can you tell me about my stepson so I won't alienate him immediately?" The Scully women smiled at each other, then Margaret filled a tea kettle. Scully took a chair opposite the still-handsome face. "Don't push. Let him come to you." Joining them, Margaret stood behind Scully, placing her hands on her daughter's shoulders for a moment. "He's the most, well, troubled person I know. I think he practically raised himself as a boy, so any attempt to smother him absolutely paralyzes him." "Caroline was very unhappy in Massachusetts herself." He shrugged. "Given the times, she felt trapped and wasn't there, mentally, for many years." Scully leaned back to check down the hall, relieved to hear laughter coming from the living room. "After he read her letters to Mom, Mulder did a good job of convincing himself she was never coming back, you know." Max lifted an eyebrow. "We never intended just to desert him. I'm not entirely convinced it's safe to return even now, but Caroline was ready, so we came." As Scully opened her book to reposition the bookmark, her Mother dropped spoonsful of loose Darjeeling in a strainer. "I'm glad you did, Max." She pivoted to face him. "It is all right if I call you Max?" She watched him nod. "He needs a father, and since you've never been one before, you won't have any preconceived ideas about parenting." She smiled. "Fox is like no one I have ever met, so you two should be able to work it out." Scully nodded. "Just be careful around the subject of his sister, Samantha. Mulder's convinced she was abducted by aliens when he was twelve and she was eight. Or not, depending on his moods." Max held up both hands. "Very well. Like most people, he's extremely complex, once you get to know him. I hope to have that opportunity." Dana Scully found herself liking Caroline's second husband, and wishing both men well. "Yes, I've worked with him for almost five years now, and I'm still finding new things out about him." Max leaned over the table. "That never stops happening, you know. Thea and I celebrated thirty anniversaries together, but she could still pull the wool over my eyes whenever she wanted." --o-0-o-- Caroline Lowenberg stroked her son's pale face. "Fox, you look so worn. I'm glad you're here with Margaret for a while." He took her hands. "How long will you be able to stay, Mom?" She could read the quiet longing in his eyes. "It's difficult to say, Son." He looked down at their joined hands. "Oh." She squeezed his fingers gently. "I've bought myself a little breathing space with some well-placed letters, but until that Ancient Chimney makes his next move ... What dear?" His eyes were focused, laser tight. "Who?" Caroline rose, suddenly afraid, and walked to the window. "Just someone I know that I never should have mentioned." He stood beside her, his hunter instincts on full alert. "Mom, who is he? This Ancient Chimney?" She was retreating again, just when she was about to tell him something, but he refused to let her go. "Did he work with Dad? Does he smoke almost continuously? Mom? Does he?" He had turned her to hold both of her shoulders and keep her from looking away. "Yes, dear, he does." Mulder hugged her, overcome. "Mom, he's dead. He can't hurt you anymore." She pushed him away, seeking the truth in his eyes. "What?" "He was murdered New Year's Eve. I have the police report and photos. Scully!" He raced to the kitchen doorway, breathless. "Scully, ..., oh." All his excitement quickly suppressed, Mulder froze, extending his hand. "Thank you, Sir." Max walked over to shake it solemnly. "You're welcome, Mulder. She's very special to me as well." The younger man waited, almost as if seeking a dismissal. Max sought to ease Mulder's tension by turning to his partner. "Doctor Scully, thank you for your advice." Scully walked over to the two men. "Yes, Mulder?" Max thought to himself that his stepson resembled nothing, at this moment, more than a terrapin cautiously poking his head out of his shell. "I told you, Scully." "Told me what, Mulder?" "My Mom knows more than she is letting on about Dad." He glanced over at his stepfather. "Sorry, Sir." Max shook his head. "That's no problem, but please, don't call me Sir again, I'm just Max. It makes me feel like I'm a bully giving orders." Scully watched a troop of emotions cross her partner's face, from astonishment to gratitude to relief, dissolving into pure surprise. "Okay, Si-Max." The two men thought, together, that this stepfather/stepson business might not be so tough after all. Mulder focused on his partner. "She knew him, Scully." "Oh, *him*, him, you mean." She touched his arm. "Do you think the house is still secure?" He considered her question, Max watching his face clear as he reached a conclusion. The younger man turned to his partner's mother. "Mrs. Scully, do you mind if we take a trip downtown for a while?" As Caroline made her way back down the hall, Margaret walked over to join the three. "Why, no." She understood immediately that they were leaving to protect her, and she allowed herself a slight smile as her daughter took her partner aside. "Separate cars, Mulder?" He nodded before returning to the Lowenbergs to arrange a meeting place. --o-0-o-- Grant's Tavern Annapolis, Maryland Sunday, 3:53 pm They had met at this restored Colonial inn, its walls covered with flotsam and jetsam from two to three centuries earlier. A crackling fire burned in the nearly empty front room where they sat at a small wooden table in the corner, sipping hot chocolate and mulled spiced cider. Fox Mulder sat back, astonished. His Mother had indeed worked with his Father, and to an extent he never imagined, at least until the end of the war. Once she saw the forensics photos, the stories all tumbled out, one after the other. His father, and several of the shadowy faces he had come to fear from the group picture taken outside the mine in West Virginia, had all been part of a deeply covert operation established at the start of the war. They had moved in and out of the Axis countries, almost with impunity, sabotaging rail lines, stealing Nazi government secrets, planting false information to aid the Allies. "But, Mom, how could you have done all this? It was so, so dangerous and women weren't allowed to fly planes in combat then." Caroline nodded. "I wasn't a pilot, Fox, and I am Austrian. For many of the missions I was disguised as a man." She dropped her voice and continued, "It was easy for me then because my health was good, unlike later, after Sam, and I was needed, badly. I taught German and Italian to the others, including my Mystery Man here. Because your grandparents took us on so many trips to Germany and France, and with my good memory, I could move the group in and out of places those monsters never expected." She smiled. "It's so much easier now with the surveillance from space, that you two probably don't know how much the war effort depended on people, not machines." Dana Scully laughed, but quickly covered her mouth to stop herself, then she commented, "Mulder, when she does that, she sounds just like you." Max nodded. "But you never found them, did you?" Shaking her head, Caroline leaned forward to explain. "I originally agreed to go back because I wanted to find my parents, but I was never anywhere near the Camps, any of them." She tapped the photo. "I think, even then, he and your Father were answering to a group other than our own. Oh, they pretended that this was all they knew, but neither of them could hide everything all the time, but the coded messages I saw was gibberish even to me." Scully frowned. "Mrs. Lowenberg, why did you stop? Even now I can see how much you loved it." Caroline sighed. "I had no choice, Dana. Just like all the WAC's and WAV'S, the women in our office were fired, en masse, in 1946. They had no further use for me, once the European theatre closed down, and I still didn't have my citizenship yet. No time." She closed her eyes, preparing for the inevitable next question from her son. Mulder shifted on the chair. "Mom, did Dad ever tell you what he was doing after the war?" Caroline gasped. "No, Fox, I just assumed it was covert operations against the Soviets, using the techniques we had perfected during the War. It wasn't until *you* started poking around asking questions that I began to worry about anything else. I knew not to pry at the time, as much as I was dying to know. Why, Son, what was he doing?" Mulder looked to his partner. Scully shrugged. He closed his eyes and prepared himself, clasping his hands together in his lap under the linen. "Mom, he was sneaking Nazi doctors who worked in the camps out." He swallowed and stared at the candle flickering by the carnation. "They were setting up a similar program in the US." The explosion he expected from his stepfather never came, so he raised his eyes to meet theirs, only to see that Caroline was holding her husband's hand on the table. Max was pale as a sheet. "Do you mean my adopted country ..." He choked out. "All those faces, all that death, and they did it again over here?" Scully nodded and, her voice deep with sympathy, replied, "Yes, Sir, and from what Mulder and I saw, the experiments continue to this day." Caroline shot her son a look of pure disgust. He crumpled into himself. As his chin dropped to his chest, he felt a small hand slip over his knuckles. "I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't know. I thought I was chasing evidence of alien-human contact, and I may have found some, I can't be sure, but there was ... this, too." Caroline rubbed her husband's back. "Would you like some fresh air, Max?" He sighed. "No, dear, I'll be fine. I always wondered why I had so much assistance, and now I understand." He inhaled. "There's something you should know about me as well, Caroline." The agents focused on him. But his wife shook her head. "Max, I don't want to." Mulder began to fidget in his chair. The Lowenbergs immediately assumed he was in pain, both asking him about his rib. But Scully knew her partner better than that. "Mrs. Lowenberg, what happened to Samantha?" Mulder froze, and Caroline's face turned ashen. Her voice, when she finally spoke, sounded as if it came from a deep well. "They took her, Dana. Those evil, vile creatures took her. I'm sure of that, now." Ignoring her partner's anxious stare, Scully persisted. "*Who* took her, Mrs. Lowenberg?" Caroline studied at the fire for a few moments before she answered, "Fox, please understand, after your Father asked me if I had a favorite, he said nothing more about it for months. I didn't realize, until it was too late, just how serious matters were. Then, one night, he demanded I come away from the house with him. When he attempted to drag me out, physically, then I knew something was wrong, because we hadn't spoken in days. I ran to Sam's room, but she was with you." Mulder's mouth drew out into a tight line. "Mom, you weren't supposed to know about that." Max frowned at them both. Caroline's face lit. "Oh, Fox, I knew. You two were such angels together." Her husband touched her arm. "What are you talking about?" Caroline turned to him. "Samantha never slept well, unless she was with her brother. Bill didn't approve, but the poor child had such horrifying dreams. Fox was the only one she really wanted near when she woke up." Scully stored this new information away. Caroline reached over to grasp her son's shoulder, both of which were hunched over until they almost touched the table. "She was tucked under your arm, sleeping like a lamb when I entered your room. But these, these men were there, one standing over each of you, so I began shouting for Bill to get his gun. I could do nothing else, Fox, and they, they ... left, I think." She rubbed her temples. Max put an arm around her shoulders. "Caroline, ..." She patted his oversized hand, still resting on the linen. "No, Max, I'm fine. It's just so strange, after all that time, I still can't remember exactly what happened that night, just that later, I woke up in my own bed, and both of you were still asleep and safe." "Mom, do you recall anything about these men?" "Well, they were both quite ... large, yes, that was it, large. It was so strange, I thought at the time, that such big burly men were sent to steal a child, either of you." Mulder frowned. Caroline continued, "You see, because I hadn't made a choice, your Father must have, but not until afterwards did I know he had chosen Sam." She paused. "I always loved you, Fox, but she was so special." Scully could tell her partner was struggling with his grief. Caroline explained to Max. "I was forty-four when I had her, and it was so difficult. I couldn't get out of bed for months afterward without bleeding. Bill hired nurses to take care of us while he was away, but even after I healed, I could fall ill at the least thing. I hated that, being so weak after all I had survived." She turned back to her son. "You were both such good children; you never complained, and I know it was hard." Mulder felt Scully grip his hand, the touch anchoring him as his sorrow overwhelmed him. When he could speak, his voice was deep and rough. "Mom, I never knew. You were just, never there, and Sam, Sam needed someone." Leaning over the table, Caroline smoothed his hair. "I could never tell you, never until now, because I felt her absence every day myself. You see, she was my favorite, and you spent so much time with her, I think your Father had them take her later to spite us both." Max was horrified. "Caroline, you can't be serious. No one could be that cruel." Mulder nodded. "But he did, Max. He did it also to save me." Now it was Caroline's turn to look shocked. "Scully and I found records that indicated I was to have been taken rather than Sam." Leaning away from her partner, Scully frowned, curious. "Mrs. Lowenberg, you said you saw men in the children's room, just men, no lights?" "I think they were men, Dana, but I remember that they seemed to be more than just men, that they could change if I stared at them or looked out of the corner of my eye." Caroline shrugged. "But I don't recall any lights." Mulder chewed his lip, distant and thoughtful. "But if this is what you recollect, then how?" "Did they eventually take her?" She stretched her arm towards her son, and they clasped hands. "Oh, dear, I tried to protect you two after that. Your father knew what I could do from the war, so they never came as long as one of us was with you." Mulder frowned. "But you were next door, playing cards with the Galbraiths when she was taken." Caroline looked stunned. "Was I? I honestly don't remember. All that seems to be in my memory is that several months later, he tried to make me leave the house. But I refused, and I think, no, I'm very sure, that your Father, no, I don't know *how* I was persuaded to leave with him that second time." She leaned back in her seat. "At first, I didn't want to leave, then I thought you two might be all right, then, we may have fought, ..." She shuddered. "I left you two to play cards with the neighbors? That would have been so silly! Are you certain, Fox?" Max rubbed her shoulder with the arm he had kept around her. "He drugged you, didn't he?" Understanding dawned. "Yes, dear, that must have been it. Otherwise, I couldn't have left." She dropped Mulder's hand and brought hers to her temple. "But why isn't my memory clearer? I should be able to recall the details. I can see the maps we drew up to cross from Belgium into Germany in my mind, plain as day, but I don't remember that night at all! This is so important!" Mulder leaned over and hugged her. "It's okay, Mom, we'll find out what happened to her." --o-0-o-- Scully Home Annapolis, Maryland Sunday, 8:47 pm Mulder sniffed the aroma of the smoke issuing from Max's pipe. "That's not ..." Mulder and Scully had cleaned up after dinner, as at Thanksgiving. Now the auburn-haired woman was walking the Pomeranian while Margaret and Caroline 'caught up', leaving the nervous agent with his stepfather on the enclosed porch. Max smiled at the younger man. "Tobacco? Oh, dear boy, I *do* want to live another twenty years at least. No, it's a blend of clove, coriander and several other aromatic spices." His grey eyes twinkled. "It's a bad habit left over from my days as a lawyer." He turned the pipe in the air. "I never used tobacco, even then, but one always appears more erudite when gesturing with one of these, at least to clients. Now, I just use a pipe as an occasion to collect my thoughts." Mulder rotated in the chair to face him, easing the pressure off his rib. "Max, you don't have to call me Mulder if it makes you uncomfortable. My Mom and Mrs. Scully have ..." Max sighed. "Mulder, I'm *certainly* not using your middle name, and I know your first is *reserved*. Besides, you're not to blame for what your father did, either to his wife or his children." The younger man stood to look out through the glass at the dark woods. "But I *am* responsible, Max. I was there and I should have saved her." He felt the older man's hand land lightly on his shoulder. "You were a twelve year old boy, Mulder, not Sir Galahad. If they could immobilize a woman like your mother, they could stop you." He snorted. "Yeah, I guess." Max leaned against the window, drawing deeply on the pipe. "But you don't have to search alone, you know." Mulder pushed his forehead against the glass. "It's my problem; Mom is too old." They watched Scully carrying the dog, picking crumbling leaves out of his fur and fussing at him. As always, the little canine wiggled happily at the attention, ignoring the words. Max paced the room, steeling himself to make this offer. "Mulder, please sit." The agent walked over and eased himself down. The white-haired senior spoke without turning. "I am not a poor man, and I had thought to leave a legacy behind me in art. But, the events of the past few days have proven to be a revelation, and I would like to help my wife find her daughter. I never knew until today, that Sam was her favorite." Mulder grinned. "Sam was one in a million." Now Max stood in front of Mulder. "I know you have looked among the groups of abductees for clues, but have you considered the organizations who specialize in finding persons lost through war or political kidnaping? On a certain level, this is what has happened to her, even if there were elements involved you don't completely understand. Due to my participation in the Six Day War, I have powerful friends who could help you. Have you pursued the idea that she may no longer be in this country?" He watched Mulder's eyes widen. "I thought not." Scully stepped into the porch to smile a greeting at the two, who nodded back. Max remembered her original advice. "Just think about it, please. We'll speak of this again tomorrow, if you like." As he left, she took the chair next to him. "Mulder?" He glanced quickly at her. "He wants to help me find Sam, Scully." She leaned over to rest her hand on the arm of his chair. "Max isn't the only one, you know." Mulder remembered Captain Scully's words: 'A friend to help you make peace with your past.' --o-0-o-- Annapolis, Maryland Monday, January 6, 1997 7:45 am "Dana?" Scully opened her eyes at the concern in her Mother's voice. "Mom? Was I dreaming again?" She glanced around the room. "Where's Mulder?" Margaret straightened. "That's why I was waking you, dear. He's gone." She threw the covers back, reaching for the jeans she had draped over the foot of the bed. "When, Mom? We were talking last night, in here, about Max and he seemed to accept him. He's agreed to attend the Wedding Ceremony, as Max and his Mother asked." Margaret followed her daughter. Scully crossed through the bathroom to her partner's room. "He's jogging, Mom, even though he shouldn't be." She knew his habits. The rumpled sweats shoved in the bottom of the closet where his shoes had been, were all the clues she had needed. "He's worried about Miami and wants to clear his head." "But dear, he seemed pleased at the offer last night, and with that rib, he shouldn't be running." Scully shrugged, knowing he would not want her to pursue him. Given all they had been through, fearing the Shadows that could still be tracking them, however, she refused to leave him alone for too long, and reentered her room to finish dressing. Margaret recalled the previous night. --o-0-o-- (Sunday, 9:01 pm) "Well, Caroline, do you think we should rescue Max from Mulder before he starts arguing about the existence of extraterrestrials with him?" His mother looked up as the front door opened and a rush of cold air entered with Scully and the Pomeranian. "Yes, they should be to one of his two favorite subjects by now." Scully unclipped the dog, who ran between the two older women, wagging his tail when Caroline rubbed his head. "That's okay, Mom. I'll go check on them. I could see into the porch, and Mulder was wearing his Sam face. You'll be setting the cake out?" There was one Epiphany memorial that remained, and this year, the ancient concept behind their ritual resonated for Margaret more than it usually did. Max entered the living room just after Scully left it, thoughtful. --o-0-o-- (Sunday, 9:18 pm) Margaret passed a slice of cake to Mulder. "Now, this isn't sweet, so I've substituted a red jelly bean for the actual bean that should be used." Mulder accepted his piece of the torte from Margaret, admiring the black swirls as round poppy seeds spilled out onto his plate. "We won't be needing drug tests for those promotions, will we, Scully?" The partners smiled at the thought. Dana tore off a chunk with her fingers. There would be no more, since by tradition, the cake was cut evenly into one piece for each person that would partake. "I hope not, Mulder. This quantity of opiates will show up in those super-sensitive tests for a least a month. But for this, it's worth a few extra days of exercise." It was Max who exclaimed next, "Hah! I must be blessed this year." As he showed off the red ellipsoid before popping it in his mouth, his wife chuckled. "Be glad we're not pagans, dear. You would be King and we would have to obey any and all of your commands, but for tomorrow only, then, I'm afraid we could all exclaim with Alice's Queen of Hearts:" "Off with his head!" Five voices called out the familiar line. Margaret thrilled at the laughter in the house, but she found herself missing her absent loved ones. Mulder was staring at the crumbs on his plate, then at the remnants of the beech log on the fire. As she had for the entirety of their visit, his partner's mother was carefully stoking the embers, and he realized she must have been keeping it alight since before their arrival on Friday. Mulder connected the flames in his vision with the fire on the hearth. "Actually, paganism has much to recommend itself." He shrugged. "It works as well as any other religion, sometimes." Max lifted his wine glass, sipping his mulled cider quietly as he considered his next words. "Very well, Mulder, then I shall claim my ancient privileges as King of the Bean, and demand that all of you accompany Caroline and myself to Miami for a week." He took his wife's hand. "I've asked Rabbi Meyer to marry us properly at my Temple before this next Sabbath, and we would both love it if you three could be there." He studied their faces, seeing the pleasure his words brought to Margaret, and the trepidation to the agents. "If you can, that is. I certainly don't want to lose my head." Mulder glanced at his partner's face, remembering his thoughts as he sat on her bed Midwinter's morning, and leaned forward. --o-0-o-- Annapolis, Maryland Monday, 8:07 am Scully's words brought her mother out of her reverie. "Did Mister Red Fuzz wake you earlier?" "Around six fifteen, dear. Why, you don't think he's been gone that long, do you?" Dana shrugged. "Mom, with Mulder, it's hard to say. He may be running his heart out, or he may have found a quiet place to think. Let me have a moment, and I'll go look for him. How is Mrs. Lowenberg taking this?" "She's almost as worried as you are, Dana, in fact, it's all Max can do to keep her from looking herself. She keeps talking about having broken some oath she took. What on earth happened to that family, dear? Or can't you tell me again?" As she closed the bathroom door, Scully shook her head. --o-0-o-- Annapolis, Maryland Monday, 8:32 am Mulder staggered over to a chestnut tree that the cinder path branched around to rest his back against it. He had awakened in the night, restless, leaving to work his worries out in the cold. But he felt each step jarring his side, so the exercise had turned into self-flagellation. The light was beginning to creep onto the shaded jogging trail. As he looked around, Mulder realized he had no idea where he was, other than that the path paralleled a four lane road. He should have awakened his partner, or left a note, but he had ground himself into a state of disgust at his weaknesses. When he drew a deep breath, the cold dry air set him coughing. He took a few steps, then accelerated into a trot, attempting to settle into the rhythm that dulled his fears. His father had been a hero once, during the War when he had worked side by side with the Viennese woman he would eventually marry, but he had been a villain, a spy, at the same time. "Mulder!" He stopped, finding he was relieved that Scully had tracked him down. When she walked over, one glance at her face told him it was worse than he thought; she was worried, not angry, taking his arm and pulling it around her shoulders. "Let's get you back inside, before you come down with pneumonia or something terrible that will keep me from a week in the sun." He was pushed in the car before he could protest. She climbed behind the wheel. "Mulder, I don't think I need to remind you about your rib. It looks like you've given yourself quite enough of a beating for one day." Gasping on the passenger side, Mulder settled into the seat. "Scully, I just needed to think." She regarded him carefully, flipping from Doctor mode to partner mode, before settling firmly in the frame of mind he was appreciating more with each week, the friend and confidante he needed. "I know, but your Mother was worried, and given the blows to your thick skull, so was I." She turned the engine over. "With your injuries, most men would be incapacitated, but I know you, Mulder, you recover faster if you can be active. I'm glad you've agreed to come to Miami. Do you think you'll be all right with the Temple service?" He studied his hands as they drove along. "I really can't say, Scully." --o-0-o-- Miami, Florida Tuesday, January 7, 1997 10:38 am "I haven't been in a house with so much light in years." Caroline Lowenberg was escorting her guests around her husband's spacious home. It was by no means a mansion, in the sense that the Palazzo De Medici had been. But, for three Northerners like Margaret and Dana Scully, and Caroline's son, used as they were to the small rooms of a Victorian home that had to insulate against the cold, the floor to ceiling windows and skylights were stunning. Caroline had shown Margaret and Dana their bedrooms sharing a walk-out deck, and now the four of them stood in front of a closed white door. Dana Scully caught the slight twitch of her lips before Caroline spoke, realizing again which parent her partner inherited many of his quirks from. The white-haired woman opened the door with a flourish. "And Fox, this is your room." The space contained neither a bed nor a dresser, but was the entertainment center for the home. In front of a long white sofa with deep cushions was a projection television with surround sound, and along the walls were shelves containing Max's video and laser disk collection. Caroline and Dana smirked as they followed Mulder into the room. Margaret brought up the rear, the Pomeranian tucked under her arm. Giddy with delight, Mulder was checking the films. "Hey, Scully, check this out! "The Fly" in CAV!" Chuckling, Caroline took her husband's arm as he entered the room. "Fox, I think you'll find you and Max share many common interests." The white head nodded. "I have two extra Fiats in the garage, so no one needs to feel stranded here. The keys are on the hooks by the garage door, in case you need them." Margaret was astonished. "Max, but you were by yourself for so long! Why did you keep up such a large place?" He smiled. "Before Thea passed on, members of the Firm would come down and vacation with us, so it was convenient to have the extra rooms and cars. After Thea, well ..." He grew reflective. "It was easier to keep than to sell. Now it's something of a blessing, since I can share my hospitality with all of you." Margaret and Dana nodded to each other, then the older woman spoke. "Thank you, Max, Dana and I have always wanted to visit the Boardwalk." After leaving the dog in Margaret's room, Max escorted them to the garage. "Now, you two be careful to do the speed limit exactly for a mile or so to either side. The speeding fines are far too high in this city." They nodded as they slid into one of the automobiles. Max waved them off, heading for his bedroom to call the Jenkins, now that they were all safe. He had much to tell Benjamin, and he wanted to give Caroline and Fox some private time. --o-0-o-- "Fox, dear?" Caroline placed a hand on her son's arm as he surveyed the collection. He glanced down at her. "Mom?" She tugged him gently to the sofa, where they sat together. "I'm glad we could spend this time with each other, Fox. I've never had the chance to tell you how proud I am of you, with all you've done over the years." He stared down at his interlaced fingers, red from pressing into his knuckles. "I haven't found her, Mom. Sam's still out there somewhere and I haven't found her yet." Caroline disentangled one of his hands, holding it tightly between hers. "You will, Fox. Your Father made them promise not to hurt her, ever. They told us she'll lead a normal, happy life, but just not remember what happened when she was eight or younger." He found his shoulders shaking and fought to keep his voice steady. "Why didn't you tell me this after the Samantha clone came back, or right after Dad died? Why did you let me think it was aliens all this time?" Caroline's face clouded. "Your Father only told me she was safe and happy just before he died. The men who did this are gone now, Fox. They can't kill you for knowing, which they would have last year." He whispered. "I wouldn't want to live, Mom." Caroline shook her head. "Never say that, Fox. I did for many, many years, and I missed out on most of your life because of it. As for the aliens, well, dear, I don't know what to say." She regarded his for a long pause. "Son?" He lifted his eyes to hers. "I think you are right about them though." She watched his face snap into focus. He began to rise, needing to pace to relieve his tension, but she held his hand firmly. "What?" "Now, Son, please, never repeat what I'm about to tell you." He leaned forward. "When you were running after those papers of yours, I went to *him* and begged for your life. He said the human race must be ready for some new invader, worse than the Soviets. I think he was talking about aliens, but he never said explicitly. He promised not to kill you if I never told you, but he's dead now, so I can." She paused, breathing deeply to keep give herself time to check her emotions. "Oh, Fox, you were always such a good child. It was never your fault, and I hated not being able to tell you that, but Bill said that was the way it had to be." Caroline's reserves broke down. Mother and Son held each other, weeping. --o-0-o-- Kingston, Jamaica Thursday, January 9, 1997 2:01 pm As the Spanish moss swayed in the breeze, Phoebe and Eric stood before his assembled friends and relatives in the family's live oak grove. The minister was reading the benediction for their union. Eric caught his Mother's disapproving glare out of the corner of his eye as he turned to kiss his wife. He felt his wife's arm tighten around his shoulders. Phoebe had been wary since her arrival. She wanted to please her future mother-in-law, certainly, but she was concerned about the abrupt end to their sting operation. For the past three days, she thought she had caught glimpses of figures hiding in the shadows, and she expected further unpleasantness. Now, looking over her shoulder, Phoebe caught a glint of light reflecting off metal. She reacted instinctively, tripping Eric to throw him to the ground, where he struck his head on one of the paving stones in the pathway. "Everyone down!" Phoebe reached for her weapon, then froze. She heard an explosion, and the line where the brilliant blue of the sky met the lush green of the mountains began to blur. --o-0-o-- Temple Hillel Miami, Florida Thursday, 6:30 pm Caroline Lowenberg and her husband stood in the front of the airy building, Rabbi Meyer speaking over them. They had reached the end of the Wedding Ceremony, one in which she had become unwilling to ask her increasingly agitated son to take any significant part. When she heard the crisp crack of glass, wrapped in linen, she scanned for a glimpse of his dark hair, which should have been obvious among the grey heads behind them. As she had feared, her only child was nowhere in sight. Caroline could see Dana Scully's auburn hair bobbing as she leaned first to the left, then to the right, searching for him from her seat by her Mother. Finally, the agent rotated to sit facing the front, wearing a look of relief. She had spotted her partner in the back, slumped down on one far corner seat. Scully leaned forward one more time, observing another familiar head. The elegant white hair looked slightly ragged for once, and she wondered if he was on the run as the Smoking Man had been, and whether there were assassins in the building with them. As soon as the service finished, she would make her way back to her partner to warn him, if she could reach him in his present mental state. --o-0-o-- Lowenberg Home Miami, Florida Thursday, 8:37 pm The celebration on the Lowenberg grounds was in full swing. Scattered in small groups throughout the gardens and fountains were most of the members of the Temple and a few old associates and partners from Max's Firm. Scully had realized, to her dismay, that she and her Mother were the only friends Mulder and his Mother had at the festivities. Max was dancing with Dana Scully after several turns with Caroline and Margaret. The white-haired man felt he must retire a debt of gratitude to the slight woman in his arms. "I'd like to thank you for your help with Mulder." She smiled up at her partner's gracious stepfather. "Just be good to him, Mister Lowenberg. He comes around eventually if he feels safe. It took more than three years for us to be this comfortable around each other, but I still expect him to run off at a moment's notice." Max nodded to Benjamin Jenkins and Caroline as they passed them before replying. "He's like many of the Camp survivors, and very much like his Uncle Isaac, all so easily, well, spooked, that one ends up on tiptoe around them half the time. They'll never really recover from their traumas." She nodded, spotting her partner pacing the edge of the dance area, warily keeping as much distance as he could between himself and Miriam Jenkins, who was tracking him persistently, another young woman in tow. Max followed her gaze. "You haven't had a chance to tell him about my old friend?" She shook her head. "He's been so wired since the Temple service I've let him alone, since usually that's the wisest course until he's ready to hear something." When the music ended, Max offered Scully his arm, guiding her to intercept Mulder. Scully continued. "Although he's been better of late, I don't push him when he's in certain moods." Max understood many things about his stepson's partner and their close friendship that eluded even his observant wife. He admired this sensible young woman, who had chosen a short-sleeved, burgundy shirtdress with a full-length circle skirt for this reception, not some low-cut, form-fitting gown. He leaned down to speak with her. "Leopards don't change their spots. But, Dana, he may listen to you long enough to escape Miriam, since that's the third girl from Temple she's chased him with. As far as my old associate, well, I'm calling the police, just in case; I still have a few friends on the Force who can be discrete." She squeezed his arm as they approached Mulder together. "Scully!" He hurried over to them, bending down to whisper to his red-haired partner, just as Max had. "Save me, Scully, that woman's driving me insane." Her hands on her hips, she stood back, wondering what price she could extract for her act of mercy. "Oh, Mulder, I don't know, you look delicious in that tux you borrowed from Mister Lowenberg. I don't see how those poor deprived things can resist you." He stared down at her, totally confounded by her reluctance, before he grabbed her arm, still whispering. "Scully! Don't you understand? I'm being pursued here!" He gritted his teeth. "Help me!" The frustration in his quiet growl was almost too much for even her self-control, but Max winked at her over his shoulder as he left, and she found a little more resolve. "Well, Mulder, you know what the Bureau would say." "Scul-ly! We're at a wedding. I'm dying here!" He took her hand as the music began to steer her deliberately to the center of the crowd, where he tucked her up against him. As they swayed and rotated slowly, Scully settled under his arm as she had under his tall stepfather's, reflecting on how strange she felt. She had not attended many social functions in high school or college, concentrating on her studies instead. This enforced closeness, hemmed in by others, seemed otherworldly, and so unlike their frequent brief physical contacts. But, despite the depth of her interdependent bond with Mulder and the range of emotions he evoked in her, from rage to frustration to sympathy to deep concern to genuine affection, the venereal ones were simply not among them. Fox Mulder flattened his hand against his partner's back, calming his nerves. Miriam Jenkins was on the other side of the dance floor, wearing a look of resigned defeat, so he was safe from her wiles. Then he understood. His friend and partner was teasing him, sparring playfully as they usually did in a moment of security. He looked down at her head, resting just below his shoulder. They'd come so far in their years together, past the uneasy working alliance, past the moment of absolute trust, to this deep friendship that had sustained him when he thought his mother was lost. He owed her his life and sanity many times over. He knew he would again, before they found Sam and the truth behind those aliens he and his mother had suspicions about, as well as the strange cases they investigated. It felt good to realize it was a they and not a he. Feeling his shoulders relax, Scully glanced up at him, knowing that she could tell him, finally. "Mulder?" "Hum?" "We have a problem." She stepped back, stood still, and took his arm to begin threading their way through the swaying couples to the edge of the crowd. Once they reached a circular tile fountain in the back of the house she turned, tugging his shoulder to bring his head down where she could whisper her observations to him. Mulder stepped up on the fountain to survey the crowd. "What? He's here, Scully? Where?" Max Lowenberg was, indeed, not a poor man, and the home he and Thea had shared overlooked the Atlantic Ocean. But, the Spanish style house with its red fluted tiles and stucco walls belonged to Max and Caroline now, from the curved driveway to the huge pool surrounded by a slate deck. "Looking for someone, young man?" They spun around. His linen collar was frayed slightly, the hair askew. "Oh, they will find me, never fear. It's only a matter of time in this business, so it's best to spend your money while you can, because no one retires from the Committee." Scully thought to herself. The old man turned to Scully. "The Committee has suffered a coup, you see. It has happened before in its long history, and it will happen again. You would be well advised to take care of each other now. They are much more ruthless than we ever were, and capricious as well. We, at least, did nothing without a good reason." Mulder stepped off the tiles onto the grass. "Who's after you? More old men?" "Actually, they are closer to your age, and you were even at the FBI Academy with some of them, Mister Mulder. Did my Washington Associate not tell you?" He watched the partners' faces blanch. "Obviously not. That's too bad, because he knew most of them better than I did. I'm only here to pay my respects to two old friends, while I still can." He turned, facing the couple who were both the hosts and objects of this celebration, and paused, not looking back. "Lay your fears to rest about your stepfather, Mister Mulder; he's as honest a fellow as you'll ever find. Lord knows, I could never tempt him with money or power." He waved his hand at the house. "He earned all this through his own hard work." As Mulder looked down at his partner, she raised an eyebrow at him. They slipped into the crowd, checking for suspicious behavior in any of the guests, Scully keeping within earshot of the white- haired man, hearing him greet Caroline and Max. Mulder circled the grounds. After catching a glimpse of a black steel rod, the agent crept up behind the crouching figure. "Federal Agent! Hands in the air!" The dark shape spun, firing his rifle to cover his escape. But Mulder was quicker, leaping on his back, and shoving the gun away. As the two wrestled on the ground, Mulder heard running feet. "Okay, Mulder, you've messed with the Group for the last time. The old guys would never give you what you deserved, but we will." After he was wrenched upright, he felt cold metal on his neck. Mulder heard a weapon cock, then the explosion, but he felt nothing, and found himself remembering that the brain had no pain receptors. Then a body fell, and the other black shape sprang away. "Mulder! You okay?" He reached up to touch his neck, expecting blood, but feeling nothing but unbroken skin, then his partner's small fingers probing the same area. "You're all right, you know." He looked down at the man who had threatened him, dropping one hand to his partner's shoulder. Scully pointed the assassin's rifle at the ground, shrugging. "It was the only gun I could find. We should throw something over the body before the guests reach us." "He's probably gone by now, isn't he?" "Well, he may live for another few days, but he's right. We will have to be more careful in the future." Scully looked up at him. They turned when they heard footsteps. Mulder's stepfather joined them. "I've told the others to wait. What happened here, Mulder?" Max parted the spiky branches, nodded, and faced them. "I expected as much when Dana told me he had appeared. Are you both all right?" Walking towards the house, Scully waved a hand. Mulder replied. "Yes, we are. I'm sorry, Max, I mean, about everything." The older man grasped his shoulder, wanting to heal this non-existent breach his stepson felt. "There's nothing for you to be sorry about, Mulder. I've already told you, you're not responsible for your Father, and you must stop blaming yourself." He took Mulder by both shoulders. "I saw much that was evil and horrible in the Camp, but I also saw acts of incredible kindness and heroism. I've kept my sanity by thinking about those, and striving to bring some good out of all that evil. Take my advice, and do the same." The younger man stared at his feet. "You should take my Mom away from here, you know. She's probably the only one left who knows what went on back then." They parted when Scully returned. She shook out the white muslin over the body. "The police are already here, Mister Lowenberg. An off-duty Captain was knocking on the door when I entered." "Good, if it's Jerry, he'll be able to keep this quiet. I presume that's the way you two want it?" The agents nodded. --o-0-o-- As he stood on the beach, the old man lit another cigarette. It felt odd to be out of the grey suit, but one had to blend in to survive. He had come to pay his respects, not as his old colleague was, in an obvious manner that would get him killed, but the only way he could, now that he was dead. The police report and photos had been incredibly easy to fake, and the officers the Committee still owned had been more than willing to do him one final favor. He snorted. He had used the well-timed appearance at Mulder's apartment and the surgically altered body of the vagrant to complete the ruse. He shrugged. When he learned she was still alive, he released her from their pact, in his own mind, at least. He also understood the members of the new Group better than the other old men, and hoped to be able to rein them in once Caroline's son charged after them, as he knew he eventually would. --o-0-o-- Hospital Kingston, Jamaica Thursday, 9:37 pm "Mamo, are you here?" Eric opened his eyes, wincing at the bright light. His mother shushed him, but he persisted. "Where's Phoebe?" Her silent face frightened him. "Don't tell me, please, Mamo?" She shook her head and pulled aside the curtain separating him from the next patient. Phoebe lay on the bed, a respirator tube down her throat. Eric swayed as he sat up. "What happened, Mamo?" "They were assassins, dearo. Your girl pushed you to the ground and stood over you like a tigress until one of them shot her in the back." He padded to her bed, touching her face. "Mamo, will she live?" The old woman nodded. "It was hard to tell that night. The doctors kept fighting for her life, but she's out of danger now." She took her son's hand. "You have a concussion, Eric, you should rest now." He dropped it and clutched his wife's instead. "Mamo, you said in the back. Is she? His Mother shrugged. "It's fifty-fifty, Eric, only the next week or so will tell." "Did they catch the men who did this?" "Yes, but they were bailed out almost immediately upon their arrest. They've vanished, Eric." His Mother stroked Phoebe's forehead. "I've looked into her soul, dearo, and I think I like what I see there." --o-0-o-- Miami Beach Saturday, January 11, 1997 10:45 am "Hey, babe, you waiting for someone?" Dana Scully ignored the intrusion, having repaired to the public portions of the beach to catch some sun without her partner, his family, or her Mother. The Lowenbergs had left for their other home in Santorini late last night, after Max had convinced his wife it was still unsafe for either of them to remain in America for any length of time. Mulder had concurred, reluctantly, releasing her after promises to keep in touch via phone or E-mail, whichever was easier for them. Following their departure, he had awakened into one of his introspective moods, and Scully had found him sitting by the pool this morning. At least he knew he had not been abandoned, since Max had extended a standing invitation for any of them to visit the ruins on the island whenever they had the free time. Margaret was beginning to drive Scully crazy. She had been dropping hints about her partner since New Year's and finally, early this morning, she forcefully brought the subject up to her daughter. --o-0-o-- "Dana, you must have some feelings for him. You spend nearly all your free time together." Scully lifted the Pomeranian out of a canvas bag, filling it with lotion and a beach towel Mulder had purchased at the airport, before the little dog could wedge himself in again. The image on the towel of a neon orange dolphin, grinning and leaping towards a departing turquoise rocket, had been too much for him to resist. "Yes, Mom, I do. But it's not what you think." She sighed. "You see, Mulder's a good friend and all, but, we're *partners*. He needs other friends too, and I'm hoping that by finding his Mom as approachable as she is now, he won't be so dependent on you and me. We're to the stage where we're extremely comfortable with each other, and it's nice to have someone like him around, but..." "Well, dear, I'm happy to hear you're so comfortable with each other, and he's nice to be around. Now that your career is going so well, why not work a little on your personal life?" Scully shook her head, refusing to let her Mother irritate her. "With Mulder? Mom, the Bureau's an old boy's club. A woman who sleeps with her partner gets called all sorts of things I won't repeat to you, and has absolutely zero chance of career advancement." Margaret waved her hand at the objection. "Oh, dear, it's the Nineties. Office romances are nothing new." Scully frowned. "Mo-om, this is the FBI, not some radio station in Cincinnati." She slung the bag over her shoulder. But her Mother would not defer the conversation to some later date. "Is there something the matter with Fox?" Scully dropped her shoulders, taking several deep breaths before she turned to respond. "Mom, you're reading this all wrong. A law enforcement partnership is different from a regular working relationship. We have to be close so we can function as one when the situation calls for it, but not so close that we can't operate independently when we need to. I really can't tell you everything; we may have to disappear at any moment because of what we know." Margaret touched her daughter's hair, not focusing on her words. "Then is it you, dear, because of what your body has been through? Aren't you interested in men at all?" Scully rolled her eyes. "No! Of course I'm interested in men, and if the situation were right, well..." She shrugged. "It might even be right with Mulder, one day, but not now. Can't you see?" Margaret sighed. "No, dear, I really don't. Fox thinks..." Scully's lower jaw jutted. "I'm taking a walk, Mom. Please, don't bring any of this up with him. He has enough to deal with on his own, without someone he respects and admires, like yourself, adding to his problems." As she left, Margaret shook her head, wondering if her daughter would ever find the happiness she had known with Bill Scully. She watched through the window as Dana stopped to touch her partner's shoulder, and he reached up idly to cover her hand with his. --o-0-o-- "More pushing, Scully?" She looked down. "How did you know?" He squinted up at her. "It's your 'I have to leave before I kill.' expression that's a dead giveaway. You've worn it often enough when walking away from me after one of our arguments, and you and your Mom disagree about one thing only, or so it seems." He sighed. "I can't help but be flattered that she thinks so highly of me, but if she's made you this angry, then enough is enough. I guess I can't ask you if you want some company on the beach." "Oh, you're not so down?" He nodded. "I'm not all alone, and I like it, although it will take some getting used to. Max and my Mom want to be available, but not so close that they're in my face." He winced as he shifted on the lounge. "It will be good to get to know my Mom, since I never knew her, really, or my Dad. Maybe when I bring Sam back we can almost be a family." He dropped his hand from hers as her eyes drifted down to his side, the bulge of cotton obvious under the wet spot on the T-shirt. She pointedly ignored the row of three enlarged grey heads, one covering its catlike eyes, one his hidden ears, and the third a slit of a mouth. "How does it feel today?" "Better. I tried swimming this morning, but the muscles pulled too much." The quicksilver flashed. "I'll have to avoid more of the James Bond thing until this heals." She raised one eyebrow. "What, the wrestling with dangerous assassins on the lavish estate, or the bedding of the luscious blonde alien after you're done?" Grinning, Mulder rose to stand over her. "I'll never tell. Go knock'em dead, G-woman." --o-0-o-- And that, apparently, was what had happened. The obnoxious buzzing refused to be silent, so Scully opened one eye. The voice belonged to a well-developed man with red curls. He had twin depressions on either side of his nose, so she knew he wore glasses for most or all of the day. They chatted for a few minutes, discovering that he too, was from the DC area. "Oh, FBI Agent?" He tapped his chest. "Senatorial Aide. We have the next two weeks off, so I thought, hey, why not. We'll be working hard enough when we get back. Justice Committee, you know." "Who's the Senator?" The red curls danced in the sun. "Randall, the new Republican from Texas. We have some major operations to dismantle this term." He shrugged. "Maybe we'll come do an inspection of the Hoover Building sometime. Where are you?" Scully chuckled. "Oh, nowhere you'll see on a tour, that's for sure. We're stuck in the basement for now." "You say you're here with your Mom?" She nodded. "Think you could slip out for a drink or something tonight?" She studied him. "Sure. Where should I meet you?" "How about right here, say around six?" "Great. Six it is." She stood up, shaking out the towel, making sure she was downwind of ... Doug. --o-0-o-- Saturday, 5:31 pm "But Scully, what do you know about this guy? After everything we've been through, you can't just go around with strange men at all hours of the night. You heard what *he* said yesterday." She pinned her hair up, catching her partner's peeved expression over her shoulder in the mirror. She had packed a saffron-colored sleeveless silk blouse and a mid-calf scarlet cotton skirt in case she had to dress more formally than shorts or less formally than the Service and Reception had been. He crossed his arms. "Scully, are you hearing any of this?" She studied him, lounging in his T-shirt and shorts. Her skin was faintly pink, which was better than deathly winter white, and her leather sandals would pass for appropriate footwear this evening. She regarded her reflection one final time and shrugged. "Scully?" He had slipped from petulance to genuine concern. "It's just a drink." She walked over to the bed and bent down to see his face, holding out a slip of paper. "Mulder, take this card he gave me and check him out with the Gunmen if you like. Max's machine is in his room, and it's running '95, just like at work. If you find anything on him that makes you the least uncomfortable, call me, okay?" He nodded, swallowing as he stood. She straightened, slipping her cel phone in her handbag. "If you must know, I'd rather be spending the evening with you and Mom, but she won't quit on a certain subject. I hope that by doing this, she'll understand that we aren't ..." He sighed. "Okay, I'll do that." He stepped back to offer her the door first. She paused, brushing his chest with her shoulder, and smiling up at him. "Wait up for me?" He was wearing one of his unfathomable looks, and his voice, when he replied, was deeper than normal. "You'll have to leap over the furrow I'll track in the carpet when you come home. Before midnight, right, Scully?" She nodded. "It should be well before midnight, Mulder. One of the good things about vacationing with people at least twice my age is that I'm finally catching up on all the sleep I've missed over the past two months. I'd like to keep this unbroken string of eight hours a night going." --o-0-o-- Saturday, 7:31 pm "You are a sorry specimen of the male animal, Mulder." He frowned at his reflection in the mirror as he talked on the phone in Max's bedroom. "Frohike, she's my partner and more than capable of taking care of herself, as you well know." "Exactly, so why are you having us run the records on this guy?" "I have a bad feeling about this, that's all. So, what did you find?" "Well, Captain Solo, you might want to prepare to eat crow, since he looks to be squeaky clean. Straight out of Economics from UT at Austin, Phi Beta Kappa, Baptist preacher for a Father." "Ooh, now I'm worried, Frohike. Those Baptist preacher's kids can be wild men, or so I've heard. I'd better get the bail money ready." "What, for you?" He growled. "No, for Scully. After she drop-kicks him into the Atlantic, I'll have to spring her before Daddy shows up and damns her to Hell for eternity." He heard mumbling in the background. "What?" The next voice was Langly's. "Bad news, G-man. He's not what we initially thought he is; oh, the life story's right, but he's also one of these right-wing militia dudes on the weekends. Byers just cross-referenced the face from the driver's license to our database on fringe types and he has some real shadowy connections we've tracked through the years. Seems this Randall character he works for is one of theirs, not one of yours. You can reach her?" "Thanks, guys." Mulder hung up the phone, running for the stairs. --o-0-o-- Club Key Largo Miami, Florida Saturday, 7:37 pm "Excuse me, I need to answer this call." Dana Scully finished her mineral water and slipped away from the table, taking the phone and conversation into the women's room. "Scully." "Scully, it's me. I'm on my way to the car. Where are you?" "Club Key Largo. It's on Rickenbaker, about a mile north of the house. What's up?" "Your Celt isn't all sweetness and light. The Gunmen have connected him to fringe groups that might have been involved in Oklahoma City. Also, that Senator Randall is a real troublemaker. When I heard Langly say his name, I remembered Skinner and Matheson had their heads together about him." "You had a bad feeling about this, right? Oh!" "Scully? Scully? You there?" He heard the phone clatter to the floor and the call terminate, flooring the gas pedal as his heart raced. --o-0-o-- Doug McConnell glanced down at the unconscious woman in the seat beside him. Having 'Ace' stationed in that bathroom made this almost too easy. He checked his rear-view mirror. Slowing just enough for the other automobile to catch up, he moved into the right-most lane. They proceeded down the highway for several miles, bumper to bumper, and Mulder smelled a trap. As the cars thinned, he noticed a second, then a third vehicle joining the group, but lagging back a length or two, sometimes allowing a car to slip in between them briefly. They were being set up for a drive-by shooting, one that would pass unnoticed in Miami, perhaps with a small obituary in the Herald and the Post in DC. He began scanning the surroundings, looking for a way to even the odds. As Dana Scully's eyelids fluttered, Doug considered another blow to the head, but they remained closed. For this to work, they needed a limp body that Mulder would have to stop and drag into his car. But she was as motionless as when he carried her out of the bar, apologizing to the Concierge for his drunken date as he held the door. The prearranged intersection looming ahead, Doug opened the door with the button in the driver's side controls, and shoved the red-haired woman out, watching her roll across the ground until she was fifteen feet from the edge of the road. As expected, the Fiat pulled alongside, and in the rear-view mirror, he saw Mulder's head disappear. "Scully!" Mulder reached for the driver's side door, but he heard a click as the passenger door latch was released. "Mulder, move! It's a set-up!" His partner was crawling into the car. When she was mostly inside, he grabbed her under the arm and took off, just before the other cars reached his bumper. Scully twisted around to slam her door shut, shouting the location of the closest speed trap. Accelerating as he turned at a cross alley, he nodded, so within minutes, they heard the wail of a police siren. At the sound, the other vehicles turned off, breaking to the left and right. Digging in his pockets, Mulder pulled out his FBI ID as the car slowed to a stop. He winced at the fresh scrapes he saw on her arms and legs as a uniformed officer tapped on the window. --o-0-o-- Third Precinct Station Miami, Florida Saturday, 8:57 pm Scully held herself still on the wobbly pine chair, one hand locked around a split up the front left leg. "Look, Sergeant Simmons, we appreciate your efforts on our behalf, but you'll never catch these guys. They'll skitter back into the darkness and make another attempt when we're in DC or on a case." The slender African-American lifted his hands from the keyboard and leaned back. "Agent Scully, you were almost killed out there." He waved his hand in the air. "Besides, this guy is a member of a white supremacist militia group we've been tracking for months now. Agent Mulder's information is the best evidence we have to date. Are you sure you don't want to press charges when we grab him?" As Scully slid the chair against the side of the desk for support, she glanced over at her partner, who had moved to an unoccupied desk where he could phone her Mother in privacy. She had heard him whispering heatedly, but now he was nodding in silence. She rubbed her wrist, hoping it was just a sprain. "No, there really is more to this than you should know." She looped her hair behind her ear, having lost the pins sometime during the evening's events. Mulder rejoined them. She could read his frustration in the twist of his lips as she continued. "I think we should go. Don't get sidetracked by what happened here. If you can ever come up with anything else, let us know; we want these guys out of circulation as well." Her partner wrote their numbers on the police report. "Use this one for the Bureau, and if you want to contact us after hours, there are our cel phones. You finished here, Scully?" At her nod, they shook the officer's hand before leaving. --o-0-o-- "We need to talk." The noises of the city stilled as he touched the window controls. She rubbed her left shoulder as she rotated her arm, checking the damage. "You're concerned about the D'Amato documents?" Mulder nodded. "They're our best insurance, now that the Shadow governments are sparring with each other, but Max had a good thought when we were discussing Samantha. I think we should move the notebooks out of the country, Scully. If this new group of Shadows would try a stunt like this, then they would think nothing of staging waves of bank robberies to pull them out if they wanted them." "And I'm afraid, Mulder, that our friends in the Senate aren't as powerful as they lead us to believe, if Randall and his aides are on the other side. Right now, the only records of the locations of the notebooks are in both of our heads, and encrypted on my laptop. We'll have to move them stealthily to where, Switzerland?" He shrugged. "Yeah, probably." He touched her hand, carefully avoiding a bruise. "You want to stop by a hospital?" She shook her head. "The road rash? I've had worse when I was learning to blade." He lifted an eyebrow. "Maybe not, but outside of my wrist, the rest is minor. I'd like a long soak though, to work out these aches." She shifted in the seat and reclined the back, deep in thought. --o-0-o-- Mulder checked over his shoulder when he heard Scully walk up behind him. "Feeling better?" Nodding, Scully settled in the cushions of the leather sofa, turning over the left hems-length of her shorts twice to move the material away from the cuts. She had been stiff enough from the tumbling and rolling that she had willingly let Mulder support her when they returned to the house, resting her shoulder against him, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist. Margaret had met them at the door, walking behind until they reached the bathroom, where she had taken over. Dana's blouse and shirt were ruined, and her mother had used the opportunity to make a great fuss at the scrapes. When Scully could take no more of it, she sent Margaret outside into the hallway. Mulder had stationed himself there, pacing and fretting, while the Pomeranian watched, head tilted, woofing softly at the confusion. "I told Mom to get some rest, that everything was fine." She focused on the screen, where a giant white balloon was bounding after a man in a black suit and sneakers on a beach. "Oh, Mulder, don't watch this. You'll be a basket case for days." He smirked. "Too late, Scully. It's a marathon; they've just finished 'Once Upon A Time', and this is 'Fallout'. We can't stop before the end, you know." She shifted until her scrapes were out of contact with the couch. Scully nodded off while Patrick McGoohan was speaking to an assembly of black and white faces. Mulder lowered the volume, waiting until she stirred and touched her hand. "Hey, you hungry?" Murmuring her agreement, she followed him into the kitchen. --o-0-o-- "Well, Mulder, you were right; I shouldn't have considered this guy." She poked at the remaining piece of broccoli with her fork. They were seated at the breakfast bar, Mulder munching on a roast beef sandwich, Scully diligently working her way through tossed salad leftover from the dinner she had missed. She broke a crouton into several fragments with her fork. "Going out with a man who talks to me on the beach. That's not me, and I should know that a guy who would approach me like that would have some other agenda on his mind. Even as kids, Mel was always the attractive one." Frowning, he dropped the bread on his plate and ducked down to see her face. "Scully! Enough. You're not ugly, you know, and I wish you'd stop talking about yourself like that. In fact, I had expected half the male population of the Bureau to beat a path to the basement years ago." She shrugged as Mulder walked over to the refrigerator, carrying his empty glass. He held up the pitcher of lemonade and she nodded, so he refilled hers as well. When he returned, he swiveled on the stool seat to face her. "I'm sorry your Mom has been riding you about finding a guy. Mine dropped a hint or two as well over the past few days, but her problems with Dad kept her from being more insistent, I think." Spearing a cherry tomato, she stared at the ice cubes swirling in her glass. "Maybe this vacation wasn't such a good idea after all." Walking around the bar to face her, he lifted her chin with his finger. "I'd never say that. I've spent most of my life alone, and I'm tired of it. When you were taken, I nearly lost my mind. When you almost died in March, I knew I couldn't go on searching on without you searching alongside me. I don't want to go back to being just partners and only seeing you when I'm suffocating in a tie." As his hand fell to the table, she crinkled her nose. "I like spending time together outside of work. If we were two male agents, no one would give it a second thought. In fact, we could spend weekends fishing together and be congratulated on our bonding efforts. I think it gives us insights into each other's psyches that we can't pick up while sparring over a case, or filling out expense reports. Actually, I'm glad to have had the chance to meet your Mother for real. She is as wonderful a woman as Mom said, and if she were my age right now, ..." He grinned back. "If Mom were your age, I'd have no trouble hiring her as our next X-Files agent. If Sam has half her guts, she's probably made a good life for herself, wherever she is." His partner had sobered, remembering their conversation in the car. "But, this business with the D'Amato papers has us almost living together, which may be too much too soon." She looked up at him. "Don't misunderstand me, you're the closest thing I have to a best friend, as 'Valley Girl' as that sounds. There are times when I couldn't sleep if you weren't either on my sofa or a phone call away. However, it's good to have space and time to ourselves." He shook his head. She touched his arm. "I know, but you never had three noisy, pesky siblings who wouldn't give you a quiet minute to read or study." Scully shrugged, gripping his wrist to soften her words. "I'm sorry, considering what you've suffered since Sam was taken it probably sounds callous, but Mel used to drive me crazy with all her boyfriend talk when she was in high school." He stared out the dark windows, wondering how he would have reacted had Sam reached the age when she became infatuated with boys. "Don't get me wrong, I don't want to go back to just partners, not at all. In fact, I like where we are right now. It's nice to have a friend to spend time with, watching videos or just sitting around, a guy you trust enough that if you fall asleep at his place, you won't wake up to an octopus..." He held up his hands. "Scully, I'm no saint; I haven't taken a vow or anything." She smiled at the image of her lanky partner in a tonsure, robe, and sandals. "I'm no nun, Mulder." She watched his eyes sparkle. "But, we know where we stand with each other, right?" He grinned. "So if somehow I find a woman foolish enough to take a liking to yours truly?" She shrugged. "I'd give her a thorough physical and background check first. I read through your X-File on Kristen Kilar, you know. And if someone should, for reasons other than revenge for the Shadows, ask out your short, dumpy partner with the odd hair and eyes?" He sobered. "I'd chaperon. I don't want you to get hurt again, Scully." Scully lifted one corner of her mouth. She focused on his eyes, clear and still sparkling, casting about in her mind for a way to bring the discussion to a close before it turned too personal. "I think Sam missed out on a great big brother, Mulder." He studied her face, letting himself reminisce. She thought she saw the slightest hint of regret before it was replaced by a desire for closure as well. He leaned over the counter, touching her hand. "I guess that nails it, doesn't it? We have a mutually exclusive partnership between two friends who drive each other insane occasionally?" She shook her head. "I don't know what to say. I couldn't explain us to Susan back in December after the virus, and I can't explain us now." Checking his watch, his face lit. "Do you realize that in fifteen minutes, the Godzilla marathon is starting? Care to join me?" They set the dishes in the sink, before walking back to the entertainment room. She glanced up at him. "Any cockroaches in these?" "Nope." He tipped his head at her. "Flying turtles though." "Any sewer-dwelling mutants?" Mulder held up his hand. "The mutants have an island all to themselves." "Any fluid-sucking bugs to wrap us in cocoons for later consumption?" He shook his head. "Only pudgy kids in funny shorts." "Any secret agents running for their lives?" "Just Raymond Burr speaking bad Japanese." "Okay, partner, it's a date." She took his proffered arm. --o-0-o-- "Hey, Scully, wake up, this is the good part!" She lifted her head to focus on the screen. Balsa wood cars were tumbling, end over end, along the streets of a miniature Tokyo. She rolled her eyes and dropped her head back onto his chest. "Mulder, these go down better with robots." He grinned. "Yeah, the MST Movie was too short." He waited until she was asleep again before he slid the arm that lay along the back of the sofa over her side to hold her shoulder. Mulder grew somber. --FINIS-- TWELFTH NIGHT -----o-----------------------------------------------------o----- Clown: Why, 'some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrown upon them.' I was one, sir, in this interlude; one Sir Topas, sir; but that's all one. 'By the Lord, fool, I am not mad.' But do you remember? 'Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascal? and you smile not, he's gagged:' and thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges. Twelfth Night; Or, What You Will -----o-----------------------------------------------------o----- =====o=====================================================o===== Author's Notes: I had several objectives when writing this story. First, I was challenged by a comment on the A.T.X-F forum that Mulder and Scully at Mom Scully's for Thanksgiving wouldn't make an interesting X-File. So, I began planning a story using the Celtic myths and legends surrounding the end of the year, from Samhuinn to Twelfth Night, and there are many good spooky things to fear! My basic references were Robert Graves' "The White Goddess" and James Frazer's "The Golden Bough", should you wish to look something up. I'd read them both years ago (for fun, not for a class or anything), and it was a pleasure revisiting all the tree oghams and king rituals. In fact, as I was writing this, I found myself wrapping more and more Celtic myth directly into the storyline itself, not just the X-File. Then, Mulder's closing statement for "Paperclip": "It's about Fate." started happening automatically. The Feill Fionnain ritual Sam is performing when Mulder has his Grail vision is from "Scottish Witchcraft: The History and Magik of the Picts" by Raymond Buckland. Also, the plot of Shakespeare's "Twelfth Night; Or, What You Will" about a brother and sister separated by misfortune, and the staunch friend who helps the brother find her, fits the Sam storyline so perfectly the whole play could be considered prologue. (Not that this story is anything other than several orders of magnitude out of the Bard's league, BTW.) Second, I have striven valiantly to finally reunite Caroline and Fox Mulder, and I had to take quite a long detour to do it. I found myself bringing in Phoebe Green, and developing Max's and Caroline's characters extensively. Apologies to any UK readers about Phoebe. I've tried to substitute British English when I was aware of the idioms, but I'm afraid I don't have enough of a command of the various "flavours" of our common tongue to be completely authentic. Third, I wanted to write yet another story with Mulder and Scully as close friends and colleagues, since that's the way I like'em. I'm sorry friendship has come to be perceived as meaningless or as a phase these days. It used to mean so much more. Loads of folks to thank, and if I've forgotten anyone, mea culpa and apologies in advance: Sheryl Martin for her kind words on "Xibalba" and encouraging me to write more. Jennifer Lyon also had compliments for me, but her message never made it to my server, so thank you, too. Robert Griffiths suggested Walford for Eric and Phoebe's flat (nod to Eastenders, I was looking for something a starving artist could afford). Fritz Wonnacott made a tape of "Fire" for me, so I could see Phoebe Green in action. Kathryn Atkins made copies of the Trilogy and "Pusher" for me as well, and I think I may have worn the tape out already. I have had many long, enlightening discussions with Antony Ferrucci about religion and life in general. Adina Ringler has lifted my spirits many times with her words of encouragement, as have all those folks who write me to say they like my stories. Finally, I never could have finished a year-ending story when it was 89 degrees outside in April, had it not been for the Windham Hill CDS "A Winter's Solstice" and "A Winter's Solstice II", and many of the CDS of Celtic music on the Maggie's Music label. As I read through the last section, I realized this was more of a Mulder-centered story than my other two were, but as always, I like to seek a balance between FM & DS, since they are a team. Teamwork was the thing I enjoyed most about the Mulder-Scully interactions of the earlier seasons, but it has been missing for most of the later ones, IMHO. The episode "Fire" that is Phoebe Green's one and with luck, only, appearance on the X-files is also DD's one and only appearance in a tuxedo. Now, I don't know about you other ladies, but I thought he looked FINE, so I wanted to come up with some excuse to put FM in one here. (I mean fine as in excellent, as in "You look fine, Jack." from the original Batman movie with Keaton and Nicholson.) You didn't think I'd let Phoebe totally off the hook for messing with our G-man's mind, did you? The bit about Scully feeling strange while dancing with Mulder is not just a dig at the TV Guide photos, but arises from an incident about eight years ago in my own life. The group I worked in at the time socialized together quite a lot, and after one Section party, several of us went out dancing, including my then boss. As pleasant and helpful a superior as he was, I could never have hoped for, but slow dancing with him felt just plain weird, so I decided to incorporate my reactions into Scully's thinking. As usual, comments and constructive criticisms are appreciated, and if you just want to write to say you loved it, well, who am I to question such good judgement? Originally released to ATXC beginning: 5/8/96 Corrected and revised: 6/18-20/97 Second revision: 5/12-19/98 Third revision (minor): 1/17-18/99 =====o======================================================o===== End - Twelfth Night - Kings' Day