Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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Part IV - Reset

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

Much Ado About Nothing

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

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

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

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

She heard an impatient sigh. "Two."

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

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

"Business."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Scully?"

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

"No."

Then why?

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

He knows. She straightened, then opened her eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

"Need to know what?"

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

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

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

"Mulder, I..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The man was tucking a pillow under his sleeping lover's Wife's? Girlfriend's? I hope not head, which had been turned toward him. DeeDee had seen them earlier, with their faces close together, speaking so softly she could not overhear them. Then, as Sarah watched, he draped one blanket over her lap, a second over her chest, making certain it was secured behind her shoulders. Finished, he shifted as close to her as the seat allowed, setting his arm against her covered one, pushing her hair back off her forehead, rubbing his thumb against her cheek for a moment or two. Most men, when in public, would not have been so carefully attentive. She wondered what had forged so strong a bond between them.

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

Back to work, Sarah. No, wait. The woman’s hand had flopped, supine, onto the man’s knee. He took a deep breath, then lifted his head to check the woman, brushing that stubborn lock of hair behind her ear. He tucked her arm back under the blanket, then shifted to face her before settling back to sleep himself.

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

Central Park
Manhattan Island
Wednesday, 8:00 am

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scully pointed to a skyscraper some five blocks away.

Guiliano D'Amato's Office
Manhattan, New York
Wednesday, 8:30 am

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

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

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

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

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

It was all there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He still was in another world.

She stood to walk around to him, resting her hand on his arm.

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

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

He released her. She's right.

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

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

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

Penn Station
Baltimore, MD
Wednesday, 8:30 pm

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

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

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

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

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

She jumped, but the interruption had focused her partner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Gunmen rolled their eyes, groaning in unison.

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

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

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

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

Leaning into her body, he rubbed her shoulder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Washington, D. C.
Thursday, 3:30 am

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

"Yes?"

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

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

Lone Gunman's Office
Alexandria, VA
Thursday, 7:30 am

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I need to talk about our suspensions."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Annapolis, MD
Thursday, 8:00 am

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Walter, what do you know?"

He shook his head.

Lone Gunmen's Office
Thursday, 12:00 pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rockville, MD
Saturday, 11:45 am

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

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

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

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

"Meet you back at the Gunmen's?"

She nodded again. "Good luck."

They both sped off.

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

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

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

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

First Maryland Bank
Rockville, MD
Saturday, 12:15 pm

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

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

Red Line
Washington Metrorail System
Saturday, 12:55 pm

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

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

"Frohike, this is Scully."

"Babe! Where are you?"

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

"Sure, Dana." Click.

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

Lone Gunmen's Office
Alexandria, VA
Saturday, 2:00 pm

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

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

"Is Mulder back yet?"

"No. What's wrong?"

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

Byers nodded.

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

Lone Gunmen's Office
Alexandria, VA
Saturday, 2:30 pm

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

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

She was curled in a ball on the sofa.

Frohike was at her head, afraid to touch her.

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

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

He nodded.

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

He picked her up. She's too light!

"Your leg, Mulder."

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

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

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

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

Arlington Hospital
Arlington, VA
Saturday, 3:30

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

The dark-haired man shrugged. Him again.

"How is Agent Scully doing?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Agent Mulder! Listen to me!"

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

"Sound like anyone I know?"

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

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

Arlington Hospital
Arlington, VA
Saturday, 4:15 pm

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

The two agents walked over to the doctor.

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

"What was it?"

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

After a sigh, the surgeon rubbed his face. "We found a foreign object working out of her abdominal wall. What little was left of her uterus was shredded in the process, so we had to remove the remaining tissue as well."

Mulder stepped back as if he had been struck.

Margaret gasped, then covered her mouth with her hand.

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

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

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

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

Mother and partner exchanges bewildered glances.

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

Mulder rubbed his face. Wonder why.

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

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

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

Walter Skinner nodded.

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

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

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

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

Arlington Hospital
Room 413
Saturday 8:00 pm

Dana Scully coughed once, then stirred.

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

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

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

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

The partners smiled at her description of Byers.

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

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

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

Both women looked over at him.

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

Margaret gasped. "Fox, please!"

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

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

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

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

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

He reached out to her.

Scully held herself still as he slid towards her, then slowly folded his arms around her. Suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the events of the past few days, she clutched his ribs as she relaxed in his hold, pressing her cheek against his shoulder.

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

They let silence settle over them.

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

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

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

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

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

Apartment 5
Alexandria, VA
Saturday, May 11, 1996
10:00 am

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

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

"Spare some water for a dying man, Scully?" Mulder was drenched in sweat after finishing an eight mile run.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He met her eyes. Anytime.

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

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

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

"Read my mind, partner."

Georgetown University
Saturday 12:45 pm

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

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

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

The agents exchanged a glance, then Mulder nodded.

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

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

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

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

Yet a third exchange, with smiles.

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

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

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

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

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

Not believing his ears, Mulder shook his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scully touched his arm, reassuring him about something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The professor shook his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The two agents leaned forward.

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

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

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

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

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

He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She checked his face.

He looked happy.

She wasn't worried.

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

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

A Midsummer-Night's Dream

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