Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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

Part I - Reconciliation and Deconstruction

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

"Oui, dat de tongues of de mans is be full of deceits."

Henry V

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

Washington, D. C.
February 2, 1996
Friday 9:45 pm

A knock rang through the silent, shrouded office.

"Yes?"

"I have the files you requested, Sir." The young man's voice quavered slightly on the last word.

Good, mused the office's occupant as he puffed his ever-present cigarette. I like to keep them on their toes. Don't have to do much to them anymore, my reputation seems to speak for me. "Well, bring them in."

The door opened, just enough to admit the stocky agent, but no further.

The additional light was sufficient to make the older man behind the desk blink rapidly. "These are all the data on our problem?" He accepted the thick folder.

The younger man blanched. "Well, no sir. Some of the information is still coming down from the archive. It was microfiched last year." He had heard stories about his superior; his time in service went back to World War II, back when there had been a "real" enemy to fight. He had heard he was ruthless, cunning, that he had more "information" on major world leaders than had J. Edgar Hoover himself. He would stop at nothing to put the world right, as he saw it.

"Very well." The light at the tip of a Morley flared briefly, then bobbed up and down. "Bring the other material to me when it is ready." The cigarette, now in the hand, waved briefly toward the door.

Assuming he was dismissed, the agent turned to go.

But the old man had more instructions. "Oh, kill the hall lights when you leave. I need some quiet to think."

"Yes, Sir." There was a click as the latch engaged, then shortly the sliver of light under the door vanished.

The old man rose slowly, walking to stand by the window. It was time to plan his next move. How much information to release, how much to conceal. He had to trim his strategies to the temperaments of the players he wished to engage. He smiled to himself, a brief, joyless grimace that no longer reached his eyes.

He had never thought, given the events of a few months ago, to be in the advantage now. Bill Mulder's boy had been brought low by his own weaknesses, just as his father had. For Bill, it had been alcohol, slowly destroying him, consuming the restless mind until only a shell remained. It had almost been a mercy, how fate had forced him to order the termination of his old friend. Otherwise he would have told what he knew to his equally bright, but uncontrollable young son.

The boy was brilliant, no doubt about it. In fact, he himself had hoped to use Fox Mulder when he had come back from Oxford, looking to distinguish himself tracking down serial killers, but then Mulder had found those X-Files in the basement. Then too, he had recovered the memories surrounding the loss of his sister, setting him off on his own quest for the "Truth."

Special Agent Doctor Dana Scully was brought in to be an unwitting spy in his office, being told only she was to "report" on his actions. He knew he had to use an innocent, since Mulder could have ferreted out a plant in a few weeks. But, all had not developed according to his plan. Instead, the agents had bonded in the first two years of their partnership, even roping in Walter Skinner. The old man shook his head, lit a new cigarette, then sat again.

But, it had all collapsed. Mulder's paranoia and weakness for women (silly man, leaving those tapes in his desk), and Scully's stubbornness and grief over her sister (Krycek's error, not a flaw in "his" plan), had wedged the partners apart. It was time to eliminate Bill Mulder's boy as a player in the game. For his old friend's sake, he would not terminate the young man, but would discredit his voice, letting his various vices reduce him to insignificance. Dana Scully would still be useful, not as an actor, but as a subject.

He coughed, almost in reflex, then turned to his desk. Tapping a small switch illuminated the thick folder with a faint glow. The plan that was forming in his mind would solve the problem developing with the son of yet another friend from the old days. Antonio D'Amato had been of boundless assistance at the end of the war. After all these years, he could still hear in that accented English, "Mussolini is a pig! He wants to ruin the homeland for his boundless ambition! He makes all Italians into cardboard villains!"

But Tony had more going for him than hatred of Il Duce. He had connections on both sides of the Atlantic, attachments both legal and illegal. While Tony had been ashamed of the less than honest way his father had begun the family's fortune, he had not hesitated to exploit every avenue available when the time had come to liberate certain materials and expertise from the Axis countries. "America is a wonderful country. A man who is nothing, less than dirt, can come here and make a new life for himself and his family. Anything I can do to help my new home will be a pleasure."

The old man smiled, genuinely this time. The memory of the face behind the voice recalled good times, long gone. As the expression faded, he congratulated himself on his cleverness. The Mafia connection had been all that was necessary to shield the Committee's actions from prying eyes. J. Edgar and the Mob had an understanding. They didn't expose his Vice, and he wouldn't explore theirs.

Well, Tony, The old man thought to the voice in his head. You should be proud of your boy. He turned out well. Good family, good businessman. So squeaky clean he could qualify for sainthood. He patronized the arts, just like the famous Tuscan for whom you had named him. But, Guiliano had not been content with that. He had been using his family's money to fight the War on Drugs, mostly working with the government. Only, when the wheels of bureaucracy ground too slowly for his taste, he took matters into his own hands. After his father's recent death, the old man suspected Guiliano had learned about a past that he should never have known existed. Just like Special Agent Fox Mulder. Yes, it would be interesting to set up the game, then watch the players as they made their moves.

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Tuesday February 6, 1996
7:00 am

Shivering as she crossed from the door to her desk, Dana Scully sensed just how cold the room had become overnight. The heat had failed in the huge office building yesterday afternoon, but with the Budget nightmare, repairs had been delayed until August, probably. As was typical with the Washington area, a huge mass of Arctic air had moved in during the night, dropping temperatures into the 20's, with forecasts of snow/ sleet/ freezing rain later in the week. The temperature in the basement office she shared with Mulder hovered in the low fifties. Only it was, for once, warmer than the upper portions of the building, since the ground provided some insulation. She hit the power button on the side of her computer monitor, then walked around to pull out her chair and sit. A yellow post-it note was stuck to the seat. Oh, no. It's come to this, she thought as she lifted off the paper and scanned the familiar handwriting.

Scully,

Took another shot at the report on the Comity case after you left. I'll be in late this morning. My mother called me last night. She wants me to meet with some lawyer in Rosslyn about my father's estate. Appointment's at 10:00 am. What a life, right? Don't freeze your fingers off before I get back.

Mulder

P.S. The report is on my machine, under c:\wp\reports\unfinished\xf3013.wp

Scully sighed. Well, at least his sense of humor was coming back. He had tried to use a word processor, but until she looked at it, she wouldn't know how bad the report was. Given her partner's recent moods, she would have to tread very carefully with the text itself. She crossed the room to Mulder's desk, noticing that he had left his machine on. All night! I keep warning him about that. She downloaded the file to a 3.5" floppy, then turned the computer off before returning to her own desk.

The week since returning from New Hampshire had been uncomfortably quiet for them both. The partnership she thought had been the one solid thing she could count on through all the insanity she had seen these past four years was foundering. Neither of them had a clue as to how to resolve their differences. They had different views on nearly every case they had worked on, but they had always respected each other's opinions. They had different approaches to nearly every problem, but they had, until now, always managed to turn these weaknesses into strengths.

As she accessed the file to bring it into the word processor, she noted the time: 6:37 am. Mulder, what are you doing to yourself? Hope the lawyer in Rosslyn doesn't want to grill you on some 1955 tax return, or I'll be bailing your butt out of jail.

She usually came in around eight when they were in DC, but today she had come in early to finish up some autopsy reports for the Violent Crimes Section. As best the guys in VC could tell, these were more drug-related killings; however, they were not gang-related. The VC section was baffled about the connections between the victims. These dead dealers had been several steps up and down on the distribution hierarchy, but there were no obvious links between any of them. Even though they were scum personified, justice should be done. I don't want justice. I want some answers. Scully frowned. Why had that thought occurred to her just then? Oh well, Mulder, let's see what you've written now. She clicked on the OK button and began to read.

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Tuesday, 11:00 am

Fox Mulder reached for the elevator button, punching the worn letter D repeatedly. It won't get here any sooner if you do that, Mulder. He smiled, thinking the words in Dana Scully's voice. Yeah, Scully, but by the time I'm done punching, the elevator is usually here, so it gives the *perception* of making the elevator speed up. Sure enough, the doors opened, so Mulder entered, slapping the B button at the bottom of the panel as soon as he was inside. Why, he wondered as he leaned against the wall, do I only seem to have pleasant conversations with my partner in my head recently?

Hearing the doors of the elevator roll apart, Scully looked up from the screen to the entrance to their shared office. As Mulder passed through, she noted the slouch in his shoulders, the deep circles under his eyes. How long had he not been sleeping? The answer came almost immediately. Most of his adult life.

She found herself inhaling quickly before she queried, "Mulder?"

He barely glanced in her direction. "Hum, Scully?"

"How did it go at the lawyers today?"

Squaring his shoulders as he crossed to his desk, he sat, heavily, before replying, "Oh, okay. There was some question about the title of the house in Chilmark. The land it sits on belonged to the local Episcopal Church back about 200 years ago. It was sold for a farm around the time of the Civil War, then re-sold to the family who built the present house around 50 years later. However, the original transfer was lost in the courthouse fire of 1919, and the Church wanted to follow up on a copy of the title in their records. Since it was all legalese, I tuned out about 10 minutes after the meeting started."

Scully shook her head sympathetically. "I know how you feel. When we went through my father's will, it took several months to determine who actually controlled a small inheritance left to him by his grandmother."

Mulder examined his partner for the first time since entering the room. That wasn't too bad. Now the hard part. "Scully, have you read my report on the Comity case yet?" He was surprised that his partner's face lightened. Perhaps this day would turn out to be better than I thought it would.

Scully turned up one corner of her mouth slightly while handing a copy to him. "If I didn't know better, I would have thought you had had it ghost written. Not only was it not skewed into 60 different fonts with variable margins and formats, but I think I can go along with most of what you wrote."

Mulder paused, then reached to take the papers from her. She almost smiled. He watched her shiver as she settled back into the chair. "The heat's still off?" he asked, not yet fully aware of the inside temperature. "Well, if it stays this cold for too much longer, I'll talk to Skinner about letting us work somewhere else."

Scully lifted that up-curved corner of her mouth. "You mean out of our famous Basement Office? Exposing the X-Files to the light of day? Such Extreme Possibilities, Mulder." Since her wool pantsuit only kept out so much of the cold, she slipped back into the coat she had earlier draped over the chair.

A brief exhalation, then the tall agent propped his feet on his desk as he began to read.

Scully turned to her keyboard to open one of the autopsy reports she had come in finish.

Silence settled over the room, disturbed only by soft clicks as Scully's hands moved over the keys, or an occasional swish as Mulder turned pages in the report.

Basement
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Tuesday, 3:30 pm

Scully leaned back from the keyboard, having sent the last of her reports to the VC Section across the internal FBI net.

When the network lines had been installed in the building, Mulder had insisted one of their computers stay off-line. "Trust No One. Remember, Scully, if you can get out, *they* can get in." His Macintosh had remained isolated from the rest of the building, another relict piece of flotsam on his desk.

She looked over at her partner. He had shifted in his seat and was scribbling on the paper in the report. Focusing on his face, she was relieved to see that he wasn't frowning at what she had changed. One of her early drafts had him storming out of the room, not to return until the following morning. Inhaling deeply, he dropped his feet to the floor, but, as he began to speak to her, the phone rang.

She quickly reached for it. "Scully."

Mulder watched her frown as she listened to the caller.

She responded to the message with a nod. "Okay, I'll pass that along to Agent Mulder. Thank you, Sir."

Mulder caught a slight flush to her cheeks. Must be Skinner.

As she replaced the hand piece, she turned to her partner. "We've officially been relieved for the day. It seems the FBI is forced, by some government regulation, to send us all home if the building drops to the sub-Arctic temperatures we poor helpless agents," she told him, emphasizing her disgust with a quick roll of her eyes, "have somehow endured for the past day or so. Skinner also says it'll be two days before the repair crew can be paid to work on the HVAC. Since they are contract support, they've all gone home already. Politics!"

Mulder nodded, picked up the report, then stood. "I'd like to speak with you about your changes, if I could. Would you like to stop for a late lunch on your way home, or could we talk at my place, or yours, or whatever?" He winced as he spoke 'whatever'.

Why is he being so polite? Scully asked herself. The answer appeared, unbidden and unwanted. He's afraid you'll start chewing his head off again. She decided to meet his graciousness with some gentle humor, since *not* yelling at each other was beginning to feel good. "Your place? I know, you just want me to study those alien life forms in your vegetable bin." She lifted her eyebrows and grinned, almost fully smiling at him, to try to keep him at ease.

He smirked back. "Nope, they've been banished. Last time the guys came over, Byers took one sniff of my bathroom and left. Said they wouldn't come back until I majorly sterilized the joint. I got desperate. I hired a cleaning service. Did you know that my bedroom carpet is actually green, not grey?"

Scully didn't know whether to laugh or groan. If his bathroom was so bad it had gotten to the three confirmed bachelors who were the Lone Gunmen, I'm *really* glad I haven't been by recently. "Sure. Your place is fine, just let me assemble some notes, first. If we are going to be out of the office for at least two days, maybe we can finish the rest of this paperwork." She opened her briefcase to begin organizing files and disks.

"Ugh. Paperwork." Mulder paused for a moment, then turned to his desk to collect some folders himself.

Theodore Roosevelt Bridge
Arlington, VA
Tuesday, 4:00 pm

Mulder glanced in his rear view mirror to look for Scully's car. Mulder, what have you gotten yourself into now? Do you think you can spend an entire day with Dana Scully without arguing about something until one of you storms out of the room? Shaking his head, he reminisced as he attempted to determine how the partnership had stumbled so badly.

He had returned from New Mexico, full of determination to uncover the Truth about the Thinker's tape, his father's murder, and Melissa Scully's subsequent death. Scully had said she wanted answers for her sister, but she seemed so focused on the X-Files she had allowed herself no time to grieve. She had to deal with it, somehow, and with the guilt she seemed to feel every day. Survivor's guilt. Now, *that* was something with which he was very familiar. He had lost Sam, then his father, and effectively his mother as well. He didn't want to lose Dana Scully.

He glanced behind him again, finally spotting her auburn hair back about two cars and over a lane. He had time to look since DC rush hour traffic had snarled, leaving long lines of tired commuters idling in a packed mass. There was an accident on I-66 up ahead, or so WMAL had reported. He had punched off the radio long ago during another report on the mess in Bosnia. He didn't want to deal with listening to it.

Is that my problem, I'm so used to torturing myself I can't deal with anyone's pain but my own? Am I running away from my partner just when she needs someone to listen to her but doesn't know how to ask? Isn't that what she was really saying to me when we fought over Kevin Kryder? He crossed his arms over the steering wheel to slump his head down for a second.

Dana Scully scanned the crawling traffic. Somehow she had pulled even with him so she had a good view of that familiar "tortured Mulder" look. How could he get so wrapped up in himself, so quickly? If he looks over here, I'll try to smile. She snorted. Why am I always supposed to be the one with the cool head? Why can't I depend on him for once? She needed to talk to her partner and closest friend about her problems, but it was tough when he was part of the problem.

Deal with it, Dana. You have to deal with it. Don't be selfish. How would you feel if you had been drugged, gone to find your father dying of a gunshot wound, and had nearly died yourself in a burning boxcar? You wouldn't have much emotional resilience to help someone else right about then, now would you? You'd run away to try to find someone else to lean on, too. A sharp blap interrupted her reverie. The traffic had cleared out in front of her, leaving an angry line of people behind her Honda. She accelerated to the exit.

Apartment 42
Arlington, VA
Tuesday, 5:45 pm

Special Agents Mulder and Scully stood in the living room of his apartment, juggling briefcases, laptop computers, and carry-out Chinese food.

Mulder crinkled his nose at his diminutive partner. "Eew, Scully, Tofu. How can you eat that stuff?"

As she bent to place the notes and computer on his coffee table, she lifted an eyebrow at him. He's right. The fishtank is cleaner than I ever remember it. The place even smells good. "Recent research has indicated that soybeans contain significant quantities of cancer-fighting anti-oxidants, Mulder."

He stopped walking toward the kitchen. Cancer. All those women abductees with cancer. He didn't want to deal with that either. Well, Fox William Mulder, grow up. She needs somebody to support her. "But you're okay, aren't you? Your last Bureau physical..."

She looked up, surprised to find him standing over her, worried. "Yes, I am. But with all the things that have happened lately, I feel like being careful. Even if I hadn't found out about those MUFON women, I still have a family history to be worried about. Breast cancer took my grandmother at fifty-six." Don't worry! Don't start brooding! She lifted both eyebrows now. Don't snap at him. Try to keep things light. "I have to see this miracle in your bathroom. The facilities at work were colder than, well, you know what."

It worked. His dark mood lifted. "Okay. I'll get the food set out. See you in a bit."

Dinner had helped. The ease with which their day had begun continued into the evening. One of the cable stations showed Star Trek at six, so by mutual agreement, they had settled back for a break before beginning work, only to discover the episode was "Spock's Brain."

"Eeewww!" they had chorused at the teaser when they both realized what they were in for.

Mulder turned to his partner. "Care for some fun at Gene Roddenberry's expense?"

She cocked her head. "Sure, is it MSTie time?"

Sully assumed the role of Tom Servo and Mulder became Crow T. Robot. They joked, did their best (or worst) William Shatner impersonations, and threw silly song lyrics back and forth during the commercials. They had begun watching the show sitting at either end of the futon, but by the end, were shoulder to shoulder, laughing.

As the Enterprise warped off the screen and the final credits rolled, Scully tapped the mute button on the remote. "Mulder, I need to talk to you about what happened at Comity last week."

He turned to her. This is payback, G-man. Deal with it.

She arched both eyebrows. "I'm sorry I was such a, well, a bitch, while we were there. You've been through so much in the past few months." She shifted on the futon, suddenly, pulling her knees up to her chin to wrap her arms around them. "We've both lost people we love deeply, and I haven't always been there for you, or I've tried to hang on to you too hard at the wrong time."

Mulder's face softened as she spoke. "Scully, I..."

Her face set. "No, Mulder, please let me finish."

Mulder's eyes narrowed. She's angry. He braced himself. No, not angry. She's forcing herself not to cry in front of you. He realized, then, how far they had fallen away from each other. She had trusted him to support her when she had been overwhelmed by her experiences with Phaster, captive as she had been of the inhuman horrors of a serial killer. Not caring that she wept in his arms in the middle of a criminal investigation, she had granted herself a moment of release, so unlike her usual behavior, but so essential after her torment. Here, in the relative seclusion of his apartment, after all they had been through together, she was denying her grief once more, keeping a crushing grip on emotions she desperately needed to confront to heal. Or was that what she was preparing to do now?

Scully clenched her fists. "I want our partnership to work, Mulder. I *need* our partnership to work. I need to look the bastards in the eye that killed Mel, and your father, and kidnapped Sam, as the secrets they have tried to keep hidden all these years finally come out. I need for there to be final, incontrovertible proof that we have the Truth. I want to see you there, too, not go visit your lonely grave for the rest of my life. I may not see everything the way you see it, or believe all the things you believe, but I want to get to the Truth, just as much as you do. Can you understand that? Can you?" Her eyes, that were somehow both green and blue, locked with his hazel ones, hers blazing her determination to connect.

He stood to walk to the window. He thought back over the time of her abduction, how his own emotions ruled him, how he had sought to lay all his fears aside when she had been returned. But they had built up inside of him, little cracks appearing after the case with Sammon Roque in Florida, until their encounter with Lucy Householder. His feelings for that lost woman had set his fears overflowing, raging out of control, venting at the only target available, his partner. He bit his lower lip. It's not right to do that to her, you know that. She has her own pain.

She watched him, her body shaking with the intensity of her emotions. Say something, Mulder, *anything*. *Say* *anything*. Yell, cry, call me stupid, short, ugly, fat, *anything.* I've poured my heart out to you, so don't turn off to me now!

He rested his head on the window for a moment, then turned, crossed the space to where she was sitting, knelt beside her, and wrapped her face in his hands. "Dana, I'm sorry too. I need to lean on you, to bounce my ideas off you, to know that you are there to cover my back when all hell breaks loose, but I haven't been fair to you. You needed someone these past few months, and I haven't been there. Please, I want to start over. Deal?" He looked at her like a lost child.

The tears she had tried to stop slid down one cheek, then the other. She slipped to the edge of the sofa to encircle his head tightly with her arms. "Deal, Agent Mulder."

He pulled her into a gentle embrace, rocking her pliant torso back and forth. When has she lost so much weight? He rubbed her back, not particularly wanting to release her just yet. When you weren't watching out for your partner, that's when.

Neither of them heard the heavy footsteps approach the door, but they both heard the crack it made as it split in two.

"Well, what the fuck have we here?" The question came from one of the biggest men either of them had ever had the misfortune to encounter.

Dana Scully stood quickly, wondering if she had time to reach for her briefcase and gun tucked beside the futon.

Mulder positioned himself between Scully and the intruder, then he gasped as the giant stepped forward, and five other men, equally large, lined up to either side of him. Had the bounty hunter returned, with clones, or was this some new menace to haunt my nightmares?

"Think we have the right place, Joe?" The speaker appeared to be Hispanic, dark curly hair, with olive skin.

"Looks like what the boss said to expect. Tall, skinny guy, and this must be that short, red-haired bimbo of his." The behemoth speaking was blond, with a crew cut, wearing a skin-tight muscle shirt. The giant to his left looked enough like "Joe" to be his twin.

The two agents grimaced, then Mulder spoke, forcefully. "We're Federal Agents. I'm Mulder and this is Scully. What is the meaning of this?"

The six men snickered among themselves.

Scully, now standing beside Mulder, glanced at her partner, who looked down at her with an "I have no idea what's happening here, but be ready." expression on his face.

The one called 'Joe' replied, "Yeah, yeah, right. And I'm one of the Hoggettes. We *know* who the hell you are, *Agent* Mulder, and we've come to deliver a warning."

The six men swarmed across the room, three grabbing Mulder, and two Scully.

She quickly sized up their attackers. No guns, or if they had guns, with all the tight clothing and rippling muscles, she didn't particularly want to think about where they were hiding them. Go for the knees, Dana. Even the biggest have weaknesses. She twisted out of the grasp of the man on her left, then struck out at her other captor.

Mulder, now slammed against the wall on the far side of the room, attempted to break free as well.

Think Dana, next move. She heard a slight choking sound as she tried to go for her briefcase. Good, Mulder is free and he's got one of them down.

"Well, little Miss *Agent* bimbo, I'd stop right there if I were you, before we wring your sugar daddy's neck."

Scully froze, then turned to face Joe.

The giant towered over her, returning her glare. "Like I started to say, we came to deliver a fucking warning. Also to pick up some *goods*. The primo stuff you sell will be burned to keep it out of the wrong hands, but we'll leave enough behind so the police can throw your little dealing asses in jail, *if* there's any shit left to clean up."

Scully's arms were grabbed, again, and the two men held her, more firmly and further away from their bodies, than before.

"Special Agents." Joe shook his head. "What the fuck will they think of next." He turned to Mulder, who was lifted off the ground. "This is your warning, you Yuppie punk."

Scully struggled, but could only watch in horror as Mulder was pummeled, over and over, in the face and stomach, by Joe and his twin, until he was released and crumpled to the floor, moaning incoherently.

She was shouting in her frustration. "We're Federal Agents! Why are you doing this? Who do you think we are?"

Finished with Mulder, Joe, fully focused, turned his attention to her. "Look bitch, stop playing games with me. We *know* who you are, and how you earn your keep. If the Mr. Yuppie there is too damaged for you, maybe you should try out a real man. One who doesn't deal in death. The only thing we want to hear is where the crap is stashed."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Scully drew herself up to her full height, barely reaching Joe's chest. "We are Federal Agents, not drug dealers or gangsters, or whoever you think we are."

"Hey Joe, come look at this!" One of the men who had restrained the now unconscious Mulder emerged from his bedroom, holding out a pair of fur-trimmed handcuffs. "Think she'll stick to the *agent* story now?"

Scully rolled her eyes. Oh, Mulder, what have you gotten us into!

One of the others plucked a video out of Mulder's special collection. "Sex Princesses from beyond the Galaxy." As he read out the title, the six thugs laughed, passing the tapes around, glancing meaningfully at Scully.

Joe chortled, then grew serious. "Well, since she likes to play Special fucking Agent so much, use those to cuff her to the damn radiator. We have work to do." The two men holding her arms lifted her off the ground, removing any leverage she might use against them. "Reno, stay here and watch these two. If pretty boy over there begins to wake up, use a little persuasion to help him sleep again, okay?"

Reno tossed his head of long black hair before he settled on the futon. "I don't understand you, Lady. Drugs are used to exploit women for sex daily in the streets of our cities, but here you are, living with a dealer. My mother's people are Cheyenne. Once I heard the stories of how rot-gut whiskey and gin were used to addict and corrupt my ancestors, and I saw how drugs continue to ruin young people on Reservations today, I vowed I would do everything in my power to stop those who deal in human misery."

"Reno!" Joe's voice boomed from the bedroom. "No talking!"

Scully heard the dresser drawers creaking as they were pulled out and the contents dumped on the floor. Thump. Thump, bang, thump, thump. Those must be Mulder's shoes.

"Bingo!" That was a new voice. "Found it, Joe." Plastic rustled. Joe reappeared in the doorway, holding a large Ziploc bag filled with a white powder.

Scully frowned. What on earth is going on here? This must be a plant. Surely they see that.

Reno shot her a look of pure hatred. "Want to talk to us now, babe? Give us names, dates, drop locations."

She sighed. "I told you. We're Federal Agents. I don't know how that *stuff* got in Mulder's bedroom, but he didn't put it there. I didn't put it there. Agent Mulder and I are partners with the FBI. If you really think I'm lying, then look in the briefcase by the sofa. I have FBI files in there. My badge is in there. My gun, with an FBI serial number on it, is in there. If you go get Mulder's briefcase from the hall, you'll find more files, his badge, and his gun as well. The computer on the coffee table has a government property number on it. If you boot it up, you can read our case files to your heart's content."

One of the thugs lifted the laptop off the coffee table and turned it over. "Hey, Joe, she's right. There *is* a fucking government sticker on the bottom."

Scully sagged to the floor. Maybe I can convince these men I'm not their enemy. Then maybe I can reach Mulder to see how badly he was hurt.

Reno opened Scully's briefcase, saw the badge and gun, and blanched. "Joe, there are FBI files here. I think some shit is setting us up." He studied the top folder. "This autopsy report was filed by the examining pathologist, Dr. D. Scully."

Joe frowned. "Who's D. Scully?"

Reno held up Scully's badge as he pointed. "Her."

Joe took the folder Reno then held out for him. Scanning the pages, he turned to Scully. "Why do you have a report on Jamal Johnson's autopsy? He's one of the bigger dealers in this area."

The other men in the room exchanged worried glances.

Scully sighed. Why don't these guys catch on? "I performed the autopsy last week. It's not the sort of case I usually investigate, but the guy had been in the water for two days before he was found. I've seen some really strange stuff over the past two years in my regular work Great, Dana, like the X-Files are in any way regular. so I agreed to help the VC."

Joe spoke quietly to the other crew-cut blonde man and the one with black curly hair. "John, start examining the data on her computer. Alex, get Mr. GQ's briefcase. I don't like how this looks."

Reno knelt beside Scully to unlock the handcuffs. "If you are who you say you are, I'm sorry, Agent Scully. I signed up to stop crimes, not beat up Feds."

Nodding, Scully began crossing the room to Mulder, rubbing her wrist as she walked. Mulder, we need to have a serious talk about your extracurricular activities.

Joe snorted. "Hold it, doll-face. Reno, I didn't tell you to let her go. This might all be a trick. Alonzo, hold her." The African-American moved over to take Scully's recently unbound wrist and twisted it, hard, behind her back.

Scully gritted her teeth. And I almost got to Mulder's other gun. She looked down at her partner, worried. Mulder, why won't you wake up? Is this the one-blow-too-many to that thick skull of yours?

Alex looked up from the files in Mulder's briefcase. "Joe, I don't the hell understand this at all. She has autopsy reports on several dead drug dealers, but he has reports on alien abductions, psychics, kids who control lightning, mental transference, cosmic alignments, and, oh man! Sentient metallic cockroaches?"

John nodded. "Same here, Joe. She has autopsies on file, but reports on all those other things too."

Scowling, Joe stepped up to Scully, lifting her chin roughly. "Okay. Spill. What is all this stuff?"

She jerked her head away from his fingers. "I work in the X-Files Section with Agent Mulder. We investigate cases that seem to fall beyond the realm of normal experience. I know most of what you see there looks unbelievable, but it all happened, or more precisely, appeared to have happened." Good thing Mulder is out. I'd never live that last statement down.

"On the taxpayer's dime? No, bitch, I don't believe you. The autopsies, well those are real enough. But, this other stuff. It sounds like drug-induced hallucinations to me. In fact, what this looks like is an elaborate scheme to infiltrate the FBI to monitor their War on Drugs. Those, those X-Files are red herrings to give you deniability if caught. So, as I see it, we're back where we started."

He pulled himself up to his full height. "I want names, dates, and contacts."

Scully shook her head.

"No? Well, we still haven't finished our search. Reno, cuff her again. No talking, and this time I *mean* *it*, gaddammit."

The five men fanned out, opening cabinets, drawers, and closets, spilling their contents onto the floor.

Scully winced. He'll have to pay the cleaning service extra next week.

They overturned furniture, ripping open upholstery, pulling out the padding.

As one point, Scully heard the springs on the bed creak, a long tearing sound, then a slosh of water. Oh, well. So much for the clean carpet. It's not like he used it, much.

Finally, the last of the dishes were pulled down, and the destruction stopped. The five men returned.

Joe stood over Scully, furious. "Look, I've been a fair as I can be to a tripped-out bitch like you. You really had us going there with that FBI story for a while, but this is all I can take."

Her eyes widened as she steeled herself for what was coming. Alex and Alonzo picked her up as Reno undid the cuffs. The first punch to her chin caught her by surprise, but she resolved not to cry out. As the rest of the blows struck her body, she mentally took herself far away from the room, from this situation. You have to stay alive. You have to get through this. You *can* get through this.

The first thing Mulder felt was the pain. Pain in his jaw, pain in his gut, but the worst was the pain in his left side. Ribs. He thought. Not again. Then he heard a thump, followed by a soft grunt. Then another, and another. He opened his eyes, squinting against the light. Five men were standing in a circle, striking something, over and over. Scully, where are you? Oh, no, not you too. He swallowed. My gun. Get my gun. He slid his hand down his leg, trying not to make a sound.

"Reaching for this?"

Mulder felt a sharp pain in his calf. No, not my leg.

Reno lifted the small revolver out of the leg holster. "Don't think you'll be needing that for a few years, Mr. X-File."

The thumping stopped.

"Mr. GQ is back?"

Mulder watched Scully slide to the ground as the circle opened and the group moved towards him. Who are these guys? He blinked, pushing himself into a sitting position.

The one called Joe crouched over him. "Well, the *Doctor* over there couldn't tell us anything useful. Maybe you can. And don't start babbling about aliens and metallic cockroaches, asshole."

"What do you know about the X-Files?" Mulder's voice cracked. Yeah, G-Man, you've got'em on the ropes now.

Joe pulled him to his feet. "You mean your little cover-up? Lame try. We want to know who your bosses are. We want to shut your end of the operation down. Talk! Dammit!" Joe shook Mulder.

Mulder grimaced. "We're Federal Agents. If you don't believe us, call the FBI and verify our identities. Call our AD."

Joe frowned, letting Mulder sag back against the wall. "Just who the hell is your AD?"

"Walter Skinner."

Now all the men became agitated.

"Wrong! We know about him. I'm fucking tired of this." Joe turned to the others. "If we didn't have explicit orders, I'd terminate both of these assholes with their stolen FBI guns."

The men around the room nodded.

Joe picked Mulder up by the shoulders, pulling him up nose to nose. "We have a kilo of Coke we found in your bedroom. We have stolen FBI property and documents. I'm only going to say this once. Stop dealing. Go to the police and turn yourselves in. Maybe you can work something out so you won't spend the rest of your sorry life in jail. If you won't do it for yourself, do it for her." He jerked his head back over his shoulder towards Scully. "Women on drugs don't live very long, and they look like three-day-old shit, real fast."

Mulder looked over at his partner, but he couldn't tell whether she was still breathing. Joe lowered Mulder's feet to the floor. When his leg buckled under him, he closed his eyes, trying to block out the pain. He felt something land on top of him and a sharp thump on his jaw. His head snapped back against the wall, then he felt nothing more.

Dana Scully rested in a dark place. She knew something was terribly wrong with her. A lancing pain brought her back to reality as she was carried across the room by rough hands. She felt herself falling. Help us. She thought into the darkness. Someone please help us.

Out in the darkness, someone heard.

Annapolis, MD
Tuesday, 11:00 pm

Margaret Scully jerked awake to discover her hands were shaking. Something was deeply wrong with one of her children. She slipped out of bed, not turning on the light in her haste to reach the address book she kept in the kitchen. One of her children was falling into a cold darkness. How do I know that? It must be one of the boys. One of my boys has fallen overboard and is drowning in a frozen sea. This is silly, Margaret. If one of your boys is hurt, you'll get a call. Besides, there is nothing you could do.

It couldn't be Dana. Her girl had called her just yesterday, complaining about budget cuts and no heat at work. Dana was safe in her apartment, curled up with her Pomeranian watching late- night TV. If she called, her skeptical pathologist daughter would tell her she was just feeling the after-effects of an especially vivid dream. Call Dana. Her feeling of dread centered around her younger, now only, her baby girl. It would be worth a good teasing to know she was okay.

She dialed her answering machine. Four rings, before she heard, "You have reached the residence of ..." Margaret killed the call, then dialed the cellular phone number. Please pick up, Honey. The phone rang, it was answered, and she heard, "The number you have reached is not in service." No! I dialed it right. A repeat call met with the same response. She hung up.

Now what? She would try Fox. She heard her daughter say, "Call him Mulder, Mom." He would understand. He would tell her that yes, Dana had changed the cell phone number, that yes, she was okay. She flipped the pages to M, dialed the answering machine. The phone rang, ten, twenty times, but no answer. His cell phone was out of service, too.

Now she was really worried. She paced the kitchen floor, telephone in hand. Dana would have told her if she were out of town on a case, in fact, most of the time she kept her dog for her. There was no one else to turn to. Wait, yes, Dana's boss, Walter Skinner, who had helped her keep in touch with Dana when Mel was in the hospital. Listen to yourself, Margaret. Are you really thinking of calling a man you barely know in the middle of the night because of a dream?

She replaced the receiver, then poured herself a glass of chilled water. She took a few deep breaths, drinking slowly. The feeling of dread was not receding, even though the image of falling was. Call Skinner. She rehearsed several statements in her head before she picked up the phone, flipped the pages to S, then punched in the number.

Two rings and the call was answered. "Skinner."

Margaret let out the breath she had been holding. So loudly? Now he'll think this is an obscene call. "Mr. Skinner, this is Margaret Scully, Dana Scully's mother."

"Yes, Ma'am. How may I help you?"

"I've been trying to call Dana and I can't seem to reach either her or Fox. Are they out of town?" That sounded reasonably sane.

"No, Ma'am, they aren't. They should both be at home. Have you tried their cell phone numbers?"

"Yes, I get messages that both phones are out of service. Fox's answering machine doesn't pick up either." She paused, uncertain now.

"Well, Ma'am, let me try to reach them. I haven't spoken to either of them since I sent them home this afternoon. Given Agent Mulder's habits, I'm glad you called. I'll inform you as soon as I know anything." Click.

Margaret hung up the phone. Wait, he had said. Wait. As a Navy wife, she had years of practice waiting.

Apartment 5
Alexandria, VA
Tuesday, 11:30 pm

The keys clattered to the floor. An old man in his undershirt and trousers bent down, but the bald one who had introduced himself as Walter Skinner was quicker. They had both pounded on the oak until the Pomeranian could have developed back spasms from all his scratching and barking at the other side in response. As the door swung open, a red ball of fur shot out into the hall to streak to the entrance of the apartment building.

"Looks like he hasn't been outside all day." The landlord trotted after him. "I'll see he gets some water and care. Doctor Scully adores him."

Skinner nodded as he entered the living room, then quickly scanned the kitchen and bedroom. All three were neat, tastefully decorated, and, from the full kitchen trash can, he knew they had not been prepared for a planned absence by their occupant.

On the way out, he saw the red light blinking on the answering machine. The message was just silence and the call disconnecting. Margaret Scully. Lifting his cell phone out of his jacket, he dialed both of Mulder's numbers, with no response. There was something wrong, he knew that now. What crazy lead have you dragged your partner off on?

He looked up at Dana Scully's apartment building one last time before he climbed into his car to drive away. He could see a short, fuzzy tail waving happily as the landlord carried the dog back through the entrance. One errant child saved. He hoped it would be as easy with the other two, but somehow he was afraid not.

Outside Apartment 42
Arlington, VA
Tuesday 11:55 pm

Walter Skinner began running. As soon the elevator doors had opened, he could see two pieces of thick oak, one lying in the hallway, one hanging crazily off the bottom hinge. Agent Mulder, if you've injured yourself and your partner on some new monster hunt, I'll boot your posterior to Seattle and back, before assigning you permanently to Tour Guide Detail. He grabbed the door frame to spin himself into Mulder's front room.

The place looked like a cyclone had hit it. Passing into the living room, something crunched under his left foot. Ah, the cell phone. Not Mulder's, Scully's. Then he saw them both, crumpled into a heap to the right of the doorway. 911. Now. Having witnessed it often enough in Vietnam, he knew that neither was dead, but both looked badly injured.

As Skinner approached while relaying his location to the dispatcher, Dana Scully's head lifted off the floor. "Sir? Is that you?"

Kneeling, Skinner gently grasped her shoulder. "Agent Scully, can you tell me what happened here?"

She frowned, framing her answer carefully, as she always did in his presence. "I'm not sure, Sir. Agent Mulder and I were working on the files we brought here when we were attacked. They appeared to be anti-drug vigilantes. They kept lecturing us on the evils we were doing, telling us to turn ourselves in. They seemed to think you were involved, too." She swallowed, then grimaced as she sat up. "Why are you here, Sir?"

"Your mother called me. She had been trying to reach you, but your phones were dead."

Scully turned to check her partner, who had lifted an hand to rub his jaw, but kept both eyes firmly closed.

Skinner addressed him more sharply in an attempt to keep him focused on the here and now. "Agent Mulder!"

"Yes, Sir?" One hazel eye fixed on his AD's face, then sought out his partner. "Scully, what did they do to you?" He pulled himself up until he was sitting with his back to the wall, then curled his arm around her shoulders.

She had turned deathly pale, wrapping both arms around her stomach. "This feels wrong. This shouldn't be happening to me." Scully slumped against the arm behind her. "I shouldn't be bleeding like this."

The two men locked eyes over her head.

Fox Mulder was seeing one of his worst nightmares played out before him.

Walter Skinner, too, was recalling a time and feelings he thought were long gone. Where are those chop---, the sirens, where are the ambulances? He brought himself up short. He could hear a keening wail in the distance. "I'll go outside to guide them in, Agent Mulder. Keep her still." Skinner was out the door, opting for the stairs. The light over the elevator shone out of the L and he wanted to keep it there.

Arlington Hospital
Wednesday February 7, 1996
1:30 am

Margaret Scully stepped into the Waiting Room outside of Emergency Surgery. Ah, the bald head. It must be him. She walked toward the benches by the window. "Mr. Skinner?"

He rose from the seat, then turned back to meet her in the center of the room. "Agent Scully is still in there, I'm afraid. The last nurse I talked to said they were trying to find the source of the internal bleeding." As Margaret breathed in sharply, the Assistant Director took off his glasses to rub his eyes. "I'm sorry, Ma'am. Let me start at the beginning of what I know. Agents Scully and Mulder were assaulted by a group of vigilantes earlier this evening. I'm not sure why, outside of mistaken identity, but they were both badly beaten."

While walking over to a chair along the wall closest to the surgery doors, she nodded. "Please, call me Margaret. Ma'am makes me feel like your den mother."

"Thank you. Call me Walter, then. I'm not everyone's AD."

"How is Fox?"

Given the gravity of the situation, Skinner clenched his jaw to keep from smiling at his thought, Is she the only one I know who calls him that and lives? He responded evenly, "Concussion, four broken left ribs, broken left tibia. Lots of soft tissue damage. He'll live, but he won't be jogging for a while."

"You said Dana was still in surgery?"

"Yes. Two broken right ribs. She was bleeding internally in the lower abdomen. I don't know more than that. Please, sit down. Can I get you something while we wait?"

"No, I'm fine. Thank you, though." Margaret sat, then turned as the doors swung open.

While he focused on the older woman's face, a tall, slender doctor in scrubs removed his surgical mask. The unconscious gesture revealed a salt and pepper mustache under wire-rimmed glasses. "Are you Margaret Scully?"

She stood again, fearing the worst. "Yes, I am. How is my daughter?"

"I'm Doctor Anderson. Doctor Scully is in the recovery room. You should be able to see her shortly. Mrs. Scully, to the best of your knowledge, has your daughter ever suffered from endometriosis?"

"No. Why?"

"Well, the cause of the internal bleeding was extreme damage to her uterus. I've never seen anything like it. I know she was only assaulted externally, but the injuries have the appearance of, well..., of some strange botched surgery. There was very little we could do. We removed all the damaged tissue, which was 95% of the organ." He paused, not wanting to say what came next. "Mrs. Scully, I'm sorry, but your daughter will never be able to have children of her own."

Shuddering inside, Margaret thought back to the dark days of Dana's abduction. Ever since her daughter's return, she had been afraid that there would never be an end to the health problems her strange disappearance and prolonged coma had caused.

"Doctor Anderson, will my daughter be all right otherwise?"

"Yes, she should recover from her other injuries as quickly as a woman of her age and in good health would."

"Paging Doctor Anderson. Doctor Anderson to Wing D, please," a nasal voice intoned over the intercom system.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Scully. That's for one of my other patients. The nurse at the recovery room desk will know where your daughter is." He squeezed her hand gently before turning to run to the elevator.

Walter Skinner reappeared by her side. "Recovery is on the third floor, Margaret. Agent Mulder is already in a private room on the fifth." He guided her by a light touch on her elbow to a pair of open doors, but did not enter with her.

"Walter?" She looked over in surprise.

"I'm not one of Agent Mulder's favorite people, so I'll leave him to you. Nor am I family. And only family will be allowed up there this time of night. Tell Agent Scully her landlord is taking care of her dog." He turned.

"Please." She touched his shoulder. "Thank you for everything. I know my daughter is grateful. I'm sure Fox is too, in his own strange way."

Skinner softened his expression into a near-smile for her. Like mother, like daughter, he thought as the doors closed. These Scully women all had nerves of steel and hearts of gold.

Arlington Hospital
Room 521
Friday, February 9, 1996
11:20 am

Mulder opened his eyes to a blank institutional wall. He was lying on his right side, and his head rang. Hospital. He rubbed his face with both hands, wincing as the muscles cramped over the broken ribs. I should just rent a room here.

"Fox? How do you feel?" Someone smoothed the hair off his forehead.

"Mom?" He rolled on his back gingerly. "Mrs. Scully, is that you?"

Margaret laughed. "Mom will do just fine, Fox."

"Where's Scully?" He sat up too quickly, generating more cramps and nausea.

"Right here, sleepyhead." Dana Scully teased from the other bed. "Two days of rest have done wonders for the dark circles under yours eyes, partner."

Mulder looked from daughter to mother.

Both nodded at his unasked question.

Margaret smiled. "Yes, Fox. It has been two days. You really are quite a sleeping beauty when you want to be. How did you make all your exams at Oxford?"

"Oh, that." He grinned. "I just never slept. Middle English is perfectly comprehensible after staring at it for 48 straight hours. I even got visits from old Herr Doktor Sigmund after a week with no sleep."

"Did you meet any good English ghosts that way?" Scully was enjoying herself.

"King Henry the Eighth himself showed me all the best pubs and loveliest ladies. The original Party Animal." He sobered. "How are you, Scully?"

"Well, you have me beaten in the broken bone department, Mulder. The count is two ribs for me; four ribs, a left tibia, and a concussion for you."

He leaned over, trying not to frown at her. "But you were bleeding. You were still in surgery when they brought me up here."

She stared down at her hands before offering, "The beating exacerbated a pre-existing condition I didn't know I had. My uterus was in shreds, so they had to take it out. It's being tested for cancer, retro-viruses, even for any strange mutations to my DNA. So far, nothing."

The long dark of Scully's abduction replayed itself in Mulder's mind, but he felt a gentle squeeze on his hand, so looked up into Margaret Scully's eyes. He returned the gesture before responding, "I'm sorry, Scully."

She tossed her red hair, trying to lighten the situation. "It's okay, Mulder. One less thing to worry about should I ever have gentleman friends for visits."

"Dana!" Margaret gave her a look of mock horror.

"Mo-om!" Dana Scully stuck out her tongue.

"I know, dear, you're a grown woman and a doctor, but I'll always be your mother."

Mulder envied the comfort the two women took from each other as he tried to find some part of his body that didn't ache to rest his weight on.

Having seen two active sons and one unstoppable tomboy through their childhoods, Margaret recognized the twisting for what it was. "Fox? Should I have the nurse bring some pain-killers?"

"No, Mrs. Scully. I'll be okay."

"Mulder, don't be Mister Macho Man. Broken bones are allowed to hurt."

His sharp glance silenced Scully briefly as her mother rose to depart.

Mother and daughter exchanged an unspoken question and answer, then Margaret left the room.

He tried a glare. "I don't want to be coddled, Scully."

She stuck her tongue out at him too, which worked, lightening his mood, so he grinned back at her.

Scully shifted on the bed. "Dr. Anderson's orders. If you demand a second opinion, well, after almost four years of working with you, I'm an expert at figuring out when you're covering up something. I asked to be moved in here with you, since, as a doctor, I would *know*, partner. So you'll get them and get better whether you want to or not."

Margaret reentered the room. "Dana, they're gone."

"What?"

“Your uterine samples. NIH just called to ask when they were arriving. They left here yesterday, but were never delivered, apparently. I'm sorry, but the rest of the tissue was incinerated after the samples were taken. Honey, what is going on here? Are we ever going to know if you will be okay?"

Scully hugged herself, chewing her lower lip. "I don't know, Mom. I just don't know."

Washington, DC
Friday, 10:15 pm

A cigarette was stubbed out in the antique ash tray, another lit almost immediately. The old man leaned back in the leather chair, closed the folder, then nodded to himself. All was going as he had foreseen, except that complication with Dana Scully. Ah, well. Removing the evidence had been child's play. Let the woman have a life. The old chair creaked as he swiveled to face the window overlooking the sleeping city. Your move, Fox Mulder.