Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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

Part I - Harvest

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

Sebastian: I would not by my will have troubled you;
But, since you make your pleasure of your pains,
I will no further chide you.

Antonio: I could not stay behind you: my desire,
More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth;
And not all love to see you, though so much
As might have drawn one to a longer voyage,
But jealousy what might befall your travel,
Being skilless in these parts; which to a stranger,
Unguided and unfriended, often prove
Rough and unhospitable: my willing love,
The rather by these arguments of fear,
Set forth in your pursuit.

Twelfth Night; Or, What You Will

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

Office Building
Manhattan Island
Tuesday, October 29, 1996
10:03 am

"Gentlemen, we need to discuss two continuing challenges that confront the Organization." The white-haired man, elegant in his tailored suit, rapped the walnut armrest of the delicate Shaker original chair in which he sat. The other men in his spacious office were as composed as himself, so the idle chatter and ringing of cup against saucer ceased.

A sallow-faced, overweight colleague queried him in a dry monotone, "You speak of Mulder and Scully and their continued probes into our work?"

The white-haired man steepled his smooth fingers, nodding in response. "It seems, gentlemen, that our young adversaries have become inseparable again." He dropped his hands into his lap. "And, being of some intelligence, they have chosen to comport themselves as professionals, and not evolve to, let us say, a different plane?"

"Your assassin failed in his attempt in Mexico?"

"Sadly, yes. Additionally, we have been placed in check by certain Representatives of the People, for the present." He rose. "But, our hands are not tied, as long as our weapons are purely intimidation, until we deal with the Other Matter."

The white-haired Italian representative sipped espresso from a blue and white Delft demitasse cup. "So we should not consider a more permanent solution?"

While turning to face away from the morning sun, the elegant man shook his head. "Until we sort out the Mexican office, no. But, as I've said, intimidation remains a vital tool. Considering the difficulty Mulder has regarding threats to his partner, I say, let us use that fact for our own ends?"

The sallow-faced man offered, "Another abduction?"

"Nothing so obvious is required, since he is already unsettled from his Mother's near brush with death."

The Italian was startled. "Caroline Mulder is alive? I thought you instructed our Washington operative to terminate her?"

The elegant man sighed. "I did, and that is the second challenge I wish to address. But first, let me propose that we begin issuing subtle reminders to Scully that she is no longer an observer or subject, but a full participant in these events as they transpire. She believes herself to be secure, but we should remind her that once she enters this sphere, there is no safe harbor, either for herself, or her family."

He turned to one of the younger men who flanked the door, then waved his hand. The junior members of the Consortium, the silent associates in the corners, filed out of the room.

Facing the rest, he settled back into his armchair. "There, gentlemen, the plan is in motion. Now, to the problem of our old colleague."

"Shouldn't he be here for this? He has never failed us before." The accent was heavy and Germanic, the deep growl issuing from a balding figure in one of the dark green armchairs.

"Oh, he will be joining us shortly. You see, gentlemen, I had always suspected, but never really known, the depth of his connection to Bill and Caroline Mulder. I'm afraid he has let his ties to the dead overwhelm his usually excellent judgment and planning." They heard the outer door latch click, the slight brush of leather soles across the Berber carpets. "Ah, here he is now. That unmistakable aroma precedes him."

A grey-suited figure entered, his eyes wary. When he saw the assembled group, he nervously puffed his cigarette. "I'm here. What was it you wished to speak with me about?" He ignored the wave of an arm towards an empty chair, remaining, instead, firmly on his feet.

"Why didn't you complete your mission in Chilmark, as you were asked?"

The man took a step backwards, reaching for the door. "I most certainly *did* complete it. I stood on the hillside overlooking the house and watched it burn to the ground. What is this? A joke?"

The sallow-faced man advanced. "We would never joke about the near-death of a former colleague. Why did you wait long enough for her to escape out the back?"

He nearly dropped the Morley in fright and confusion. "But I saw her in the window, just moments before the explosion! I killed her, I tell you! Nothing could have survived."

The elegant man shifted in his seat. "So it was a ghost who penned a letter to Margaret Scully?" The white head moved from side to side. "No, old friend, you must face up to your failure, even though it appears to have been inadvertent."

The German continued, "She had help, you know." The eyes in the room turned to him. "The rest of the letter is most revealing. It seems she has enlisted the aid of a man who should be familiar to all of us, Max Lowenberg."

As the heads around the room dipped and bobbed, the elegant fingers waved. "Well known, indeed. Where are they at the present?"

The German wiped his fingers on a linen napkin he had been holding throughout the conversation. "They are in Europe, in Paris, to be precise. We are having them followed as we speak. Should they attempt to make contact we will be alerted immediately."

The cigarette waved. "Then I am free to go? This matter appears to be under control."

The balding German shook his head. "Not at all, we have another problem we need you to solve. We hope you will have greater success with this assignment. Take a seat, so we can explain it."

Flat #2
Walford, London
Tuesday, 7:30 pm

Inspector Phoebe Green dropped her case on the secretary to the left of the door inside her tiny flat. The walnut desk and a decrepit sofa pulled to the center of the floor were the only pieces of furniture in the front chamber of her four room flat. The remaining walls supported stacks of canvases, some bare, some half finished, and a very few, framed and ready for sale. She stepped out of her soggy pumps, balanced each shoe on the radiator to dry, and smiled at the dark head that appeared in the doorway. He never notices the paint on his face anymore.

"Hum, Eau du Green. Thought it wasn't supposed to rain this afternoon." The artist's broad shoulders blocked the light from the studio window as he entered the front room. "Now, a hug for the detective."

She buried herself in his arms, glad to have finally broken down and moved in with this self-taught painter from Jamaica.

He kissed the top of her head. "You're home late, Luv, but I've almost finished the big canvas for the show next week. Come and have a look." He took her hand and led her back through the doorway.

"Eric, this is wonderful!"

His impressionistic swirls suggested a bright blue summer sky above a verdant field, filled with scarlet poppies, sloping downwards to the sea.

She pointed to a blank spot in the center of the canvas. "What will you paint there?"

He tapped a photo from their short trip to Crete the previous August, showing the two of them, laughing. "Just you and me, Sweet. I've decided to title the picture 'Artist and Muse'. It's not very original, but I don't want to hear from some critic that," he struck a serious pose and intoned solemnly, "Eric Conners has no training in the Great Masters. I'll finish it tomorrow. Right now, I need to work some magic with you." As they kissed, he felt her sigh. "What's wrong, Luv? Are you tired of me already?"

She held him tighter. "No, never, Eric. You're just as wonderful as that day we were on Holiday, but I have to go to America next week, and I'm not looking forward to it."

He left one arm around her shoulder as they walked back into the kitchen. "You'll be here Sunday, won't you?"

Phoebe nodded. "Yes, I did get them to shift the meeting until Tuesday. I wouldn't miss your show for the world."

Working quietly, they fixed a quick supper of greens and black beans, reheating some roasted chicken from the previous day's meal.

After eating and cleaning up, he cuddled her again as they sat on his sofa. "Now, Phoebe, tell me what's been bothering you, if you can. All that hush-hush stuff starting to wear my girl down?"

She focused on the dark hand that dwarfed her pale one, resting one on top of the other on his thigh. He'll have to know eventually. "No, I'm going to Washington, to visit the FBI."

He kissed her ear. "Will *he* be there?"

Phoebe nodded. "It's *him* I have to talk to. I've been assigned to follow a Max Lowenberg, who happens to be *his* stepfather, and I want some background before I get started. Now, you aren't hearing any of this, but this Lowenberg guy has started asking questions about things he should keep his nose out of. I didn't want this assignment, Eric. If I never see Special Agents Fox Mulder or Dana Scully again as long as I live, that'll be fine with me." She turned to him, trailing a finger along his jaw. "Now, about that magic..."

14th Street Homeless Shelter
Northwest Washington, DC
Wednesday, October 30, 1996
6:30 pm

Johnny hopped first on his left foot, then his right, as he waited with his tray. He looked no different from any of the other homeless men standing in line, his hair caked with dirt to hide his pale curls. Shaving wasn't necessary most of the time, since the hair on his face was too light to be noticed. But, he knew from his years on the street what happened to thin blond boys who were too pretty, so he had also scuffed up his chin to look scarred.

The word on Charles Street was right. Eats were better in DC than his native Baltimore. As he had most of the past month, he would have one dinner here tonight, then tomorrow he could slip across the street and have another at the Methodist Church. Friday he would hitchhike back north, since he needed to get to the clinic to pick up his new medicine. It had made the voices go away, and for the first time in his short life, he wasn't hearing in his head about the angry Lady in the woods at Christmas.

When he was six he had asked his Aunt Sarah about Christmas, she had laughed and told him about orbits and solstices. He liked his old Aunt Sarah, the astronomer, but she was dead. She used to sneak him into the observatory late at night to show him the Crab Nebula, or if they were really lucky, a comet. She was ancient when he came to live with her at the age of three, after his parents' death, and Aunt Sarah had died when he was fifteen. Johnny had been shuttled through six foster homes in eighteen months, then, after awful Mister Johnston's house, he ran away.

But the voices had always been with him, until he found the clinic. He was sorry the voices were gone, but he was glad, too. The voices had kept him company in the foster homes, telling him stories that were better than Aunt Sarah's, about kings and trees. He needed to hear those tales in Mister Johnston's house, since they helped him forget the crying and the screaming. But they also told him Christmas would never happen, unless he believed. They never said what he had to believe, just that if he did, everything would be all right, but if he didn't, someone would have to be sacrificed. So, every Halloween, he would solemnly promise to believe, there would be a Christmas, without any sacrifices.

If he took his medicine, the voices wouldn't ask this time, and he wouldn't promise, since he knew his Aunt Sarah was right. Christmas was just a day six days before New Year's Eve. Winter and Summer were just the earth tilting back and forth on its axis, relative to the ecliptic. He'd always liked the way she said 'ecliptic'...

"You want some food, man? Hold out your tray."

He stared at the grayish mass oozing over his tray. Glop. That's all I get? He could have eaten glop in Baltimore. Well, at least at this shelter he could take a shower and pick out some clean clothes. Maybe if he begged enough tomorrow, he could take the train back on Friday and not hitchhike. People were always softies around the holidays, especially with the Election coming up. It was a time unlike most in DC, where men in grey suits and power ties usually would run into you while you were sitting down, and yell at you to get out of their way. The women, too, now that he thought about it, were just as bad. You'd think the country would fall apart if they didn't make their meeting or something. Johnny sniffed and took his tray to a long table by himself. Huh, not too shabby for glop. And a shower and clean clothes, too. Not a bad year's end, at all.

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Thursday, October 31, 1996
9:15 am

Fox Mulder sat up a little straighter as he heard the latch sliding in the door of the basement office he shared with Dana Scully. What a day for bad news, G-man. Fortunately, as he could tell by the quick, precise steps he had heard, it was his partner, not some prankster from VC on the other side.

"Morning, Mulder. Mister Fuzz passed Doctor Schutt's exam with flying colors. No heartworms, ear mites, or fleas. Anything good come down from above?"

He silently watched her slip out of her long grey overcoat. You're here, Scully. Good enough for me.

She dropped her briefcase by her desk, then placed a white paper bag on the pile of documents haphazardly stacked in front of him, and grinned. "Happy Halloween, partner."

Unrolling the top of the bag, he grinned back at her as she leaned against her desk, arms crossed. "Only one, Scully? But I thought this was for me?" He lifted out the frosted pumpkin doughnut and waved it under her nose before taking a huge bite.

Shaking her head, she grimaced at the thought of all the fat and sugar he was pumping into his system. Massive coronary at forty, Dana, just watch.

The confection finished, he held out a folder. "Sorry to ruin your morning, but this is all we have."

She took the sheaf of paper and sat, silently turning the sheets in the folder over. For someone who ran as obsessively as he did, that doughnut would probably be burned off in the next hour. Her eyes traced the name of their imminent visitor, once, then again. "Oh."

Mulder watched her face darken. She's seen the name.

She frowned over at him. "She's coming again?"

The tall agent nodded, suddenly serious. "I don't think you have to be psychic to know I'm not looking forward to this. After last time..." He rose from the chair to stare out the window behind her desk.

Scully crossed her arms. "But why Phoebe? If there was some problem with Max and your Mom, wouldn't any Inspector do? I thought you told me she never met her?"

He began pacing the length of the filing cabinets in the forward part of the office.

Shoving the folder angrily across her tiny desk, she moved around the oak box to block his path. "Do you think she's taking orders from Her Majesty's Government, or from some stalking Shadow?"

Mulder shook his head. "I can't say. I wish I knew where Max and my Mom were now." He leaned over her desk, flipped her laptop open, and typed at the c:\ prompt. As one hand moved over the keys, he tilted the screen forward to hide his words.

Scully crouched behind the desk, reading as the clicks sounded in the silent room: "Your mother has a letter."

Mulder straightened as she powered off the computer and they locked eyes. We'll visit her this weekend.

"Agent Mulder, Agent Scully?" It was Gloria, Skinner's assistant, standing in the doorway. As Scully turned, she saw a black-striped X-File folder in the hand of the slightly stooped, grey haired woman, who coughed silently before she explained, "Director Skinner had to go over to the Capitol for the Sub-Committee hearings, but he wanted you two to have this ASAP."

Mulder walked to the entrance, accepted the papers with a slight smile, then waited until he heard the elevator doors close.

As an Election-eve tactic, the Republican-controlled Senate was "reviewing" the past four years of Janet Reno's FBI, and the Drug Scandal had risen to confront them again. Walter Skinner was using his newly acquired influence to shield the X-files from the Media, for which the partners were grateful. They had spent too much time in the limelight these past months.

Mulder flipped open the folder as he walked back to his desk, Scully watching him intently. He stopped by her side and turned to face her, a questioning crease in his brow.

She was holding the white paper bag open and out in front of him. Written on the inside bottom of the bag were the characters: Q to QB4.

He raised his eyes to meet hers. No shots for the dog, this morning, partner?

The letters were a code that told him Scully had moved the notebook with the documentation of the silver cylinder to a new location.

Pensive, Mulder rested his hand on her shoulder. This elaborate game of cat and mouse between themselves and the Shadows was wearing on both of them, but she was the one with family that could still be touched. If his mother was safe in Europe with Max, then all they could take away from him was...Scully. After their discussion by the Tidal Basin earlier in the week, he knew how completely her loss would devastate him.

Still deep in thought, Mulder dropped into the creaking chair behind his desk. Perhaps that was why they spent so much time together anymore. He knew she was afraid he would be lured into a trap by some crazy story about abductees with recovered memories. He was afraid for her, period. If Scully had been taken once before without either of them being aware of it, she could be spirited off at any time.

Scully crossed the room, touching his arm to focus him back with her. "Mulder? What does Skinner want?"

Having read enough, he passed the file to her.

She studied his eyes as she accepted the creased manila folder. Quicksilver, Mulder. I'll never understand how your mind processes data so fast.

Mulder grunted his frustration. "He's found a 'safe' case for us to work on, one that will keep us out of the spotlight until after the elections."

Scully leaned back in her chair, reading about the mysterious disappearances of homeless in shelters from Norfolk to Boston. Just a few in July, but in the summer, the homeless didn't need the shelters as much then as they would later on in the year. She toted up the numbers. In August, three men missing from their beds in Baltimore. In September, five in Philadelphia, six in Baltimore, and ten here in DC.

Her eyes widened as she reviewed the count for October. "Mulder, this is terrible! Most of these people are barely able to function in society, so we throw them away, and assuage our consciences by casting a few coins in their direction on the street." She eyed him as he sat slumped in his chair, idly pushing his mouse around. "I know it doesn't look promising, but we should check this out."

He shook his head, running his fingers through his short brown hair. "If you think our usual X-files are bad, wait until we get into this. No one will see or know anything, except for a few witnesses who can't distinguish fact from fantasy. We'll chase ephemeral clues up and down the East Coast, and in the end, may, *may*, find a body or two stuffed in a dumpster." He growled his frustration and began pacing by the filing cabinets again.

Scully ran a finger down the list of homeless shelters involved. "Mulder, let's at least talk to some of the employees of the shelters here in DC, before we start running all over the country. Most of the cases seem to concentrate on this area, anyway."

Mulder, who was slouched, arms crossed, his back against the filing cabinets, looked over at his partner. "Yeah, well, it's not like we have much else to do. So, where to first, Scully?"

She lifted a map of the District out of her top right-hand drawer, and with a practiced flip of the wrist, unfolded the paper. Mulder walked back to stand behind her, watching her plot out a route through the downtown area that kept them from running afoul of all the one-way streets and variable lanes during rush hour.

She glanced up at him warily. "Oh, and we'll need to stop by Doctor Anderson's office at 3:30." She arched one eyebrow. "I missed my six months check-up when we were in Mexico, and this was the first open date. After major surgery, it's..."

Mulder reached for her longcoat. "No problem, Scully. You're more important, anyway. So, ready?"

She nodded, standing and lifting her briefcase off the desk.

14th Street Homeless Shelter
Northwest Washington, DC
Thursday, 12:30 pm

The agents followed a small man in frayed jeans and a black T-shirt into a dingy office. Given his heavy Spanish accent, Scully guessed he had recently arrived from Central America. After her time with the Maya, she was more conscious of the mixed heritage that the Hispanic population of DC shared.

By mutual agreement, Scully was leading off the questions, with Mulder observing the 'clientele', and backing her up if necessary. "So, Mister Allen, there were no witnesses to the disappearances on the night of October Fifth?"

Allen shook his head, gesturing to two folding chairs in front of his desk. Scully took the one on the right, but Mulder grimaced at the rusty frame and opted to lean against the wall instead.

Allen scratched his jet-black mustache before he replied, "No, a small church-run shelter like ourselves can't afford the staff that the CCNV can. Many of the homeless consider any monitoring of their actions spying, you know. We just track the bodies coming in and going out for meals planning. And, it was suspicious to find those three cots empty, with the belongings under them, all untouched."

The woman agent nodded. "Yes, thievery is rampant, or so I've been told. Did any of the occupants of the surrounding cots say anything to you about the disappearances, anything at all?"

Rick Allen frowned. "Just things that made no sense. We asked and got either blank stares, or that they wouldn't touch the possessions of someone who'd been 'taken', as one put it, since 'they' wouldn't be pleased when 'they' got back." He shrugged, but the agents exchanged a glance.

Mulder stepped forward, suddenly interested. "We've heard that before today. Are any of these people around, or is there a corner we could visit them at?"

"No, not yet, Agent Mulder. It's not cold enough for them to need to band together at night. The population is so transient that until the first real cold snap, we won't see them come out of the parks and settle on the steam grates."

Raising an eyebrow, Scully tipped her head up. "Mulder, may I have a word?"

He offered a single nod in response.

The agents excused themselves, slipping out of the cramped office. They found a quiet table in the corner, then, after the tall agent checked the seat for a second, they put their heads together, consulting.

Mulder touched his partner's hand. "Are you beginning to see a pattern, in all this?" He wanted to test the strength of their so recently threatened working bond.

She pursed her lips, then glanced over at a Hispanic woman with three small children at the closest table before replying. "All men, between the ages of 15 and 35, all white. Like test samples of some kind. Most homeless are non-white and non-male, like that poor family there. But why? And who?"

"We can only guess. I would speculate that it's our friends in the Shadows, needing test subjects for their experiments, like Klemper used the..." He paused, his face coloring slightly, as the implication of his words took on a meaning too close to his own life.

His partner spoke quickly, attempting to keep him focused on the present, not the past. "Yes, I think you may be right. And it would be an older Scientist, whether you realize it or not."

He lifted an eyebrow at her. "What makes you say that?"

"Younger researchers understand the importance of a broad data base for study. Older researchers tend to choose only uniform test subjects, thinking age and hormonal differences would skew their results."

Mulder studied the small family, noticing the dirty clothing and runny noses. The children in the village were so much healthier. "Or whatever it is they are testing only involves men."

Scully tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, considering. "Who are the most likely pool for soldiers?"

Mulder nodded, then rose. "Let's have some lunch, then check out the shelter on Thomas Circle. I don't think Skinner knew what he was doing when he handed us this case, Scully."

She slipped off the bench, heading back to the office to drop off a card with Allen on the way out. "Worse yet, Mulder, maybe he did."

Johnny noticed the well-dressed couple leaving the shelter and held out his hand towards the man. "Spare a dollar?"

The tall man glanced down at the auburn-haired woman, questioning. A quick dip of the head, and the trench-coated man was fumbling in his pocket. The paper he held out bore Lincoln's portrait, not Washington's.

Johnny was suitably effusive in his thanks. As he watched the man open the car door for the woman, he congratulated himself on his powers of observation. Works every time. Guys always want to impress their ladies. Now I can ride the train to Baltimore.

Affiliated Doctor's Offices
Arlington, VA
Thursday, 4:05 pm

"Well, Dana, you seem to be healing normally, and although your ovaries aren't functioning, you shouldn't need further surgery. Your program of exercise and diet seems to be working as well, so we won't be starting you on estrogen anytime soon. No more pains?"

Scully, now dressed and comfortable after the exam, was sitting across from Doctor Anderson in his private space behind the enclosed rooms. "No, Dale, no pains." She herself, being a physician, refused to slip into the doctor/patient mode of title-last name/first name. "And the tests?"

"We'll know in three days. Why are you so concerned with cancer, if I may ask?"

Wondering how much he should know, she chewed her lip. "I've been reading and interviewing women who have been through what I've endured, and I just want to be sure, that's all."

Doctor Anderson walked around to the front of his desk and half sat on it. "Dana, there are some parts of your life you don't tell me about, and given your position with the FBI, I understand. But, I am your physician, and I would like to caution you."

Straightening, Scully focused on the salt and pepper mustache, which was significantly greyer than the full head of hair. Here it comes.

"I know you and your partner are close." The tall physician waited for some reaction, but when there was none, stated, "The nurses told me who stayed with you in the hospital this March, and it wasn't your Mother. I know he's waiting for you outside as well. But should you wish ..."

Scully huffed silently. So *that* was what he was worried about. "No, Dale, it's not like that at all." She uncrossed and recrossed her legs before continuing. "Mulder and I don't feel that way about each other. We just have to stick together for, for our own protection more than anything else." She rested both feet on the floor, then rose to terminate the conversation. "I can't go into details with you, it's not safe, for you or me. But let me just tell you this. When I missed my appointment because I was in Chiapas?"

Catching the shift, he smiled. "How can I forget, Dana. It's not every day Christiane Amanpour interviews one of my patients. You were quite the star around the office."

"Well, Dale, and this is all I can say: We had narrowly escaped an assassin not three days earlier."

He crossed his arms, digesting this new information. "Okay. Just be careful." He opened the door for her. "And try not to miss the next one, or at least have a good excuse that doesn't involve the Media, all right?"

She nodded, turning up one corner of her mouth as she walked past him. That's over, now, back to work.

When Scully reentered the waiting area, her partner, studiously ignoring the three women watching him, was typing furiously on her laptop. She smiled as she observed the grandmother, mother, and daughter, noting the obvious support the elder and the girl were providing the middle-aged woman's late-life pregnancy. Poor Mulder, this must bother him. Maybe a quiet dinner will make it up.

Glancing over at the door, he was relieved that it was she, so saved the file before closing the screen. "Ready?" He slid the computer in her carrying case and rose, holding open her coat.

She slipped into the sleeves and followed him out the door. "Sorry, Mulder. At least I didn't have to wait."

He opened the car door for her, then walked around to the driver's side. Once he had negotiated out of the parking space, he turned to Scully. "You okay?"

She smiled. "Yes, I am. My tests are all perfectly normal for a woman at this stage of recovery. Oh, Doctor Anderson remembers our television debut. So, shall we try the two shelters in Northeast before we call it quits for the day?"

He shrugged his assent. "Tell me how to get there, Scully."

Edgardo's Trattoria
Alexandria, VA
Thursday, 7:30 pm

"If this place is so good, why is it empty?" Mulder opened the outer glass door for his partner, then guided her in with his hand on the small of her back.

Scully opened the inner door and held it until he passed through. She inhaled deeply, listening to the pops from the wood-fired oven. Even in the artificial light, the white tiled walls and mirrors gave the small restaurant a summery feel, and the small tables and booths were inviting. "Just smell, Mulder."

The aroma of wood smoke mixed with garlic sizzling on the grill in the back. Open bins of peppers, squash, sweet onions, and brightly colored prints on cans of olive oil overhead only enhanced the connections to Mediterranean climes.

He leaned over her shoulder. "If you wanted bonfires, Scully, I could have taken you out into the woods. I do have friends who celebrate Halloween properly, you know."

I'll bet you do, Mulder. She whispered back as the waiter approached, "I'll pass on the orgy this year, partner."

He grinned, then straightened as the outer door opened.

The woman behind him called out a light-hearted greeting. "Dana, see, I'm not late."

Mulder turned at the voice to admire the shapely blonde rakishly. "Good to see you, Sue. Scully here isn't interested in a real harvest celebration. Care to join me at midnight?"

Sue rolled her eyes before focusing on the diminutive woman in the dark trench coat. Doctor Susan Miles was a classmate of Scully's from Medical School, working presently at the Johns Hopkins Hospital. "You're right, he is incorrigible. Hello, Mulder, you *know* I have to drive back to Baltimore tonight."

The three followed the waiter to a booth across from the opening to the oven, Scully and Mulder facing Susan Miles across the table.

After ordering, Scully turned to her friend. "Well, Sue, how do the animal tests look?"

Doctor Miles sipped her Calistoga water before replying, "Good, Dana. That extract contained several new compounds with antibiotic properties. It's difficult to isolate from the dried leaves Doctor Samuelson brought back from Chiapas, but your samples of the herbal tea were all we needed to get started. The chemical structures are easily synthesized, which is also rare with many of these tropical drugs."

Mulder studied the faces of both women. "So, the witch doctors were onto something?"

Growling, Scully elbowed him lightly. "They're not witch doctors, Mulder. The women in the mountains have been testing those herbal remedies for generations. Most ethnobotanists are men, and they only talk to the male shamans, but women have to keep families going, so they have developed their own treatments. I was fortunate that they trusted me enough to let me in on their secrets."

Susan leaned over the table. "And because they did, we may have three new drugs to combat post-surgical infections, *so* *there*, Mister Halloween."

Mulder smiled at the intensity on the faces of the two doctors. Once his partner had an idea, her tenacity rivaled his own. Just one more thing I like about you, Scully. He could see the storm gathering on the brow of the red-haired woman.

Scully leaned forward. "Yes, Mulder, Western Medicine was wrong to drive the herbal practitioners into quackery, rather than test their medicines for utility. Part of the reason we have to turn to tropical areas for new ideas is that the Church burned all the European Herbalists as witches, okay?"

He raised an eyebrow, wondering how much further he could tweak his dinner companions before one or both of them decked him.

But Susan turned to her friend first. "Dana, he's just goading us, you know. If we ignore him, maybe he'll play nice."

The women grinned and launched into a long technical discussion of the anti-hallucinogens Susan was testing, pausing to elaborate the organic chemistry parts, drawing diagrams on the paper placemats as they waited. Occasionally, Scully glanced at her bewildered partner; eventually, they both looked at him and smirked.

Susan pushed her blonde curls off her cheek. "Think we should stop now, Dana?"

Scully cocked her head. Truce?

Mulder's eyebrows were drawn together in a tight frown. Truce, Scully.

Susan caught the silent interchange. "Sure looks like he's learned his lesson. Besides, I think dinner's here."

The rest of the meal passed in companionable, and considerably lighter, conversation about the upcoming elections. Clinton was favored to win a landslide victory over Dole, but there was always the odd third party candidate to consider.

Mulder, a dissident to the last, was holding out for the Libertarians to stage a come from behind victory. "Think of the possibilities, Scully. No Big Brother watching us."

She wrinkled her nose before responding. "No Big Brother, then no FBI, and no X-Files."

Susan shook her head. "All politics is local, even here in the heart of the Federal Government."

Their meal concluded, Mulder leaned across the table. "Well, Scully, we still have a few hours. All the fun starts at midnight, you know."

Doctor Miles had excused herself after leaving her share of the cost a few minutes earlier.

Scully lifted one corner of her mouth, wondering what Mulder would do if she ever called her partner's bluff. "No, Mulder, that's when all souls should be praying to the Saints in church. But I have a little friend who's probably crossing his legs by now." She figured the rest of the three-way split and dropped a few dollars on the table as Mulder mumbled and slid out of the booth.

He pulled on his trench coat, then held hers out, grasping her shoulders after she had slipped in. "You're really okay, aren't you?"

Scully swiveled around, noting the fear in his hazel eyes. "Yes, I am. You know I want to stay off estrogen to keep my breast cancer risk down."

He nodded, since this had been the subject of several discussions during her recovery.

She buttoned her coat. "My bone mass is good. I've had no menopausal symptoms of any consequence, so the low-fat diet and exercise seems to be working well. Unfortunately, the only one you'll be able to share your sausage and pepperoni with is Red Boy." She took his arm. "Thanks for being such a worry-wart, it saves the wear and tear on my Mom."

He flashed her a quick grin as they left, bracing themselves against the chilly air.

The agents had managed to find adjacent parking spaces, and were outside their vehicles, Mulder leaning over the roof of his car, watching her. "Let me follow you home, Scully."

She backed up to face him, surprised at his concern. "If you want, Mulder." She tipped her head, then slid behind the wheel, reaching for the ignition. Outside of his usual harmless flirting and jokes, her partner had been deeply courteous since Monday, when they had finally discussed her problems. I never knew you took our arguments so seriously. Chaos, Godel's Theorem, and Heisenberg. Where do you find the time? She *really* had to check on his sleeping habits. Scully followed him out of the lot, then settled back for the trip home.

Near the Ellipse
Thursday, 9:15 pm

Johnny wiggled down between two stout exposed roots of one of the oaks. A slight breeze stirred the deepening piles of browning leaves around the trunks of the tall trees. One night at a shelter was enough. The clean clothes in his bag and a quick scrub of his face would get him on the MARC train at Union Station tomorrow, no questions asked. But for tonight, he would sleep under the stars, and enjoy the outdoors, while the weather still held.

As he was drowsing, he jerked back to full alertness. There are no deer in downtown DC. Rock Creek Park, yes, but that lovely buck with his glorious antlers couldn't go unnoticed for long. Something spooked the animal, so it began springing further away. Two huge silent hounds, white with red ears, were stalking it. No, the medicine is supposed to keep you away! He shook his head and looked again. It was only a man, dressed in brown wraps like himself, slipping noiselessly through the shrubbery, looking for a comfortable place for the night.

Apartment Complex
Alexandria, VA
Thursday, 9:30 pm

Scully pulled up behind the police car, the lights from the overhead bar illuminating yellow caution tape stretched over the door to her building.

She stepped up to the two officers and held up her FBI ID. "Agent Scully. What happened?"

Lieutenant Ed Perkins, middle aged, balding and heavyset, answered, "Break-in of Apartment 5."

She glanced at Mulder, who was just walking up to her. Any extra parking was occupied by the emergency vehicles, so he had found a spot up the street.

Perkins nodded to the agent before facing Scully again. "You have any idea who lives there?"

The partners separately considered the implications of this new wrinkle before Scully held up her badge. "I do." She began to lift the police tape. "How bad is it?"

The officer followed her, then raised an eyebrow at Mulder, who had stopped behind him to extract and display his official ID as well.

Scully explained. "He's my partner at the Bureau. We were out pursuing leads from several cases."

"Long day." Perkins nodded sympathetically at the agents, then the three proceeded inside.

The Lieutenant walked on Scully's left. "It's not good. The place is pretty well ransacked. I'm glad you're home. We wouldn't know where to begin, outside of trying to lift prints. The landlord is out, and none of the neighbors saw anything." When Mulder snorted, the officer eyed him over Scully's head. "You aren't keeping any case files in your apartment, are you, Agent Scully?"

"No, Lieutenant Perkins, just personal items. I bring official materials home only for immediate work, and they never leave my possession." Scully passed through the open front door and blanched at the shambles that was once her tidy apartment.

She pulled a pair of latex gloves out of her briefcase and stepped over the mess into the bedroom, concerned about checking her valuables and the photographs of herself and her family. What few pieces of jewelry she owned were strewn over the dresser, but none were missing. The photos, however, had all been systematically defaced. Sinking onto the bed, she held a broken frame and the glossy image of Melissa and herself at her graduation, now torn almost in two.

"Scully?" Her partner's tall body blocked the lights from the police cameras as various flashes documented the carnage for the record.

She looked up, chewing her lip, then turned the paper over so he could see the damage.

He winced. "They went for destruction of personal items in the living room, too."

"All my photos and keepsakes?"

As a whimper emanated from under the bed, he dropped to his hands and knees. "Yeah, whoever they were, they weren't looking for money or electronics."

She laid the photo back on the dresser, then crouched, throwing back the spread. "Sweet Face, is that you?" She reached under to pull out a quivering mass of blond fur. The Pomeranian's round brown eyes fixed on hers as she sat back on the bed to cuddle him. "Poor thing. You were scared to death. But at least you're okay, right?"

Lieutenant Perkins stepped in, observing Scully checking his teeth and fur. "Oh, no. He was under the bed?"

After a nod, she continued her examination, stopping when the dog yipped as she massaged the left front paw.

Perkins took a step further into the bedroom. "I'm sorry, Agent Scully..."

Mulder positioned himself between them. "Is this really necessary?"

Surprised, Scully looked over. The prospect of my leaving must have bothered him even more than he's let on. "It's all right, Mulder." She tucked the dog under her arm so she could hold him as she continued checking the bedroom. Her clothing was strewn on the floor, the monitor for her PC was on its side, but none of the disks were disturbed.

Mulder took a step towards his partner, then grasped the clothing rack at the foot of her bed to keep from hovering.

Lieutenant Perkins cleared his throat, calling the agents' focus to him. "Agent Scully, is anything of value missing back here?"

She shook her head.

"Would you mind taking a look at the rest of the apartment?"

She left the bedroom, deep in thought. Mulder touched her back as she passed him, offering silent sympathy in exchange for a slight upturn of the left corner of her mouth.

Near the Ellipse
Thursday, 10:15 pm

Johnny's hand went up, above the level of the roots. "I'll be a good boy today, Aunt Sarah. I did my homework, see?" For the second time, he jumped. Why now? He thought he was twelve again, and his old Aunt Sarah was dropping him off at the Junior High. She was right here! No, she wasn't. Aunt Sarah was dead, really dead, and he had to get back to Baltimore tomorrow.

The wind picked up, blowing leaves in his face, making him shiver. Suddenly the shelter didn't seem like such a bad place after all.

Apartment 5
Alexandria, VA
Thursday, 10:55 pm

In a daze, Scully picked her way through the disaster in her living room to the kitchen, where the same purposeful pattern of destruction was evident. Her China set, an heirloom from her great-grandmother, was smashed into tiny fragments while still stacked in the cabinets. Left untouched was her everyday crockery, as were her new tumblers from Crate and Barrel, the price tags still adhering to the bases.

The sea-blue mug from Athens, that her Father had fired especially for her, with "To Starbuck at 18" lettered in gold around the body, lay in fragments in the middle of the floor. Beside it was the pink alligator toothpick holder with "Welcome to Beautiful Miami" in lurid violet letters on its stomach. A memento of Bill Jr.'s final midshipman's cruise, Mulder had supplied neon green toothpicks for it in a fit of whimsy. The sticks were strewn out in a fan pattern now, as if prepared for the old child's game. Almost unaware she was still clutching the dog, Scully sank down on one knee, attempting to gather up the pieces of the handled cup.

But her partner's gloved fingers were there first, knowing the significance of the fragments of porcelain. The mug was only in three pieces, one being the bottom and part of a side, one comprised of the handle and most of the rest of the cylinder, and a third a narrow curved shard. I can repair this for her. He wrapped the pieces in a dishtowel, and thinking of no other safe place, stashed them in her refrigerator, which remained an island of order. Mulder felt her pain deeply, having had her help while he sifted through the charred remains of the two houses that had sheltered him through his childhood.

When he turned back to her, Scully was leaning against the kitchen table, cradling, in her free hand, the pieces of the alligator, split in two down the B. "He gave this to me because he knows I hate pink. It's the most hideous thing he could find, and he gave it to me." She looked up at him, seeing the shared sorrow in his eyes, then a glint of humor.

"Well, if you hate it so much, let me have it, Scully. It'll look good in the aquarium next to the psychedelic mermaid." He lifted the pieces out of her hand to deposit them on the counter, then circled her shoulders with his arm, pulling her into him. Lowering his face until his lips were beside her ear, he spoke in tones of soft sympathy. "It's supposed to be a warning. We shouldn't think they've rolled over and played dead just because of the medals."

Her head slipped up and down against the wool in the tweed coat, scratching her nose, her reply muffled by the front flap. "I know, Mulder. For some reason, they can't harm us physically anymore, but they plan to make our lives a living hell." Hearing noises in the doorway, she pushed herself away from him.

Lieutenant Perkins entered with a clipboard, noting the worry written on both of their faces. "Agent Scully? You know who did this, don't you?" He watched them exchange glances again, then a slow nod as the tiny woman cradled her dog. "But you can't tell me?" He raised an eyebrow, waiting for the expected negative response. "Then we can only write it up as malicious mischief."

Another shrug.

"You're sure nothing valuable was taken?"

"I'm sure, Lieutenant. Thank you for your efforts. You haven't found any fingerprints outside of mine or Agent Mulder's?"

The policeman shook his head. "We get too many of these on Halloween. Someone wants to settle an old score, and figures general hooliganism is excused. Do you want a copy of the report?"

"Yes, please. We'll keep track."

The officer waited until the rest of the evidence squad had left, then turned to them both before exiting. "When you two pulled up, I thought I remembered you, and I realized a little earlier it was from CNN. I hate to see something like this happen to one of our own and go unpunished, especially after all you did, Agent Scully. If I hear anything, I'll let you know right away." He took in both of their faces a final time. "Be careful, okay?"

They smiled at each other.

Wondering what was so funny, Perkins frowned. "What?"

Scully, still amused, offered up an explanation. "That's a very familiar statement for us. Thank you." She firmly closed the door, leaning her head against it.

Mulder took her by the arm to turn her around, then placed a hand on each shoulder. "You'll be staying with me tonight, Scully. *No* *arguments*." He could read the conflicting gratitude and independence in the set of her lips and eyebrows.

"We'll need to stop by the Vet's first, Mulder. I think Fuzzy Boy broke a bone in his paw. Here." Scully handed the dog to Mulder, then headed back to throw a few extra clothes into her pre-packed duffel bag.

Gently scratching the dog behind the ears, her partner walked into the kitchen, picked a grocery sack off the floor, and began collecting pet dishes and cans of food. Feeding him Iams, now? Finished, Mulder deposited the canine and the bag on the sofa.

His partner was still in her bedroom, which sent him on a fresh round of worrying. "Scully? You ready?"

She was sitting on the bed, holding the torn picture of her sister, rocking herself.

Mulder sat beside her, sliding one hand up and down her spine. "Talk to me. Don't keep this bottled up inside." The last thing he wanted was a repeat of her silence that nearly drove her out of the X-Files and away from him.

She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to inhale and exhale until her anger and grief subsided. "I'm sorry, Mulder. This doesn't help. I just so tired of looking over my shoulder and jumping whenever we pass an alley. When will it all be over?"

Apartment 42
Arlington, VA
Friday, November 1, 1996
12:30 am

Scully glared up at her partner. The trip to his place from the Vet's had been uncomfortably quiet. "Mulder, I appreciate the offer, but I really can stay in a hotel tonight. You don't have to do this."

He pushed the door open and firmly guided her inside, his hand gripping her waist. "No, Scully, I do have to do this. If you had been at home when they trashed your place, we wouldn't be arguing in front of Mrs. Beddowes right now." Audible only in the nocturnal quiet, they heard the door across the hallway click shut. I'd be a basket case in a hospital waiting room, or somewhere worse. "The only way I'd let you stay in a hotel is if I'm there too."

He threw the dead bolt behind him.

Firmly rooted in his front room, Scully was facing into his living area, but unwilling to concede defeat.

He dropped his case by the door, and brought himself up behind her, waiting as close to her as he could stand without touching her. When she refused to advance, Mulder leaned against Scully's back for a moment. "This is what partners are for, remember?"

Scully's shoulders sagged, knowing he was right. "Okay, but just for tonight. I'll try to get my place in shape tomorrow night so we can head over to Annapolis and take a look at that letter."

He took her briefcase and set it down next to his, then relieved her of the small bag as he stepped around her. "No, my Mom's okay. You'll need more than a Friday evening to get the mess cleaned up, and you'll need more than yourself to do it." He turned back to her, his eyes intense, dropping his voice. "Still glad you didn't apply for the head medical examiner slot at Quantico?"

Embarrassed, she rubbed the back of her neck. "Oh, that. I found out yesterday that it was one of those inside track positions, where the participants were just following government regulations. The post was offered to the Assistant Head on Tuesday." She gazed into his face, hesitant. "I guess you're stuck with me."

He smiled down at her. "I think I might survive, but just barely."

Scully let Mulder lead the way into the living room, expecting that he would offer her the bed, but unwilling to presume.

He, in the meantime, had moved away from her and through the living area, but stopped when he realized she was no longer following immediately behind him.

"Mulder, I can use the futon..."

He lifted an eyebrow at her, Then where do I sleep, the floor? and carried her bag into the back room. His head appeared in the doorframe. "M'Lady, your boudoir awaits."

Scully remained in the living area.

Walking back to stand in front of her, he struggled to read her face. "You want to tell me what's on your mind?"

She pursed her lips before replying, "It's this case." Scully headed for the right corner of the futon and pressed into the soft back as she sat, exhausted in spite of the adrenaline running in her system. "Everything seems too pat, too easy."

Her partner, intrigued, perched on edge of the sofa, his left leg tucked under his right knee so he could face her as they conversed. "How do you mean? Who else would be trashing your place like that? Who else would be collecting disposable people for testing?"

Her head turned restlessly from side to side. "I don't know. It's just that after the past few months, I've started to see conspiracies everywhere. I don't want our situation to cloud my objectivity when I'm working on what may be an unrelated case."

He grinned. "But they *are* everywhere. Conspiracies, large and small, determine the choices we citizens *supposedly* have in everything from the type of toothpaste we buy to our candidates for President."

One corner of her mouth lifted, but he could see, in the fire building behind her eyes, that she was preparing a reasoned dissent. "I know, but we shouldn't overlook more mundane explanations. The disappearance of the homeless and the disaster in Apartment 5 may be totally unrelated...What?"

He was heading for his kitchen. "I'm making some of your herbal tea. This could be fun."

She followed him in, protesting, "I'm *serious*! I'm not just playing Devil's Advocate here."

His hazel eyes glittered as water filled the kettle. "Good. I thought that was my job." He turned a knob, then blue flames appeared under the copper bottom. Ah, she said this would work. Several bags of cat mint tea plopped as they hit the bottom of an open saucepan perched on a dry dish towel. Since returning from Oxford, he had never found an acceptable teapot.

As the water heated, Scully paced the length of his galley kitchen, considering the evidence she wanted to present her partner.

Delighted with their role reversal, Mulder watched her, but remained concerned that she was repressing the emotional aftershocks of the break-in. One thing at a time, G-man.

She faced him. "There's the time factor. Oh, I can accept that they would use Halloween as a cover, since the police would be too busy to take something that deliberate seriously. But I'm not sure it had anything to do with the homeless problem."

"Oh?" The whistling kettle drew his attention away momentarily until he poured the boiling water over the redolent bags.

She stood beside him, envying his ease as he leaned against the counter, fists deep in his pockets. "Skinner rushed this case to us today, remember, ASAP? But there's no real urgency here, like it couldn't have waited until next week. Yes, the disappearances have been escalating, but it's not as if yesterday all the beds in all the clinics along the East Coast mysteriously turned up empty."

Mulder considered her logic. "Or perhaps he knows something he can't tell us again, and he wanted us on this case before we were thrown for a loop." Since she was beginning to scowl at the implication of his words, he touched her shoulder. "Look, I'm not saying you'd handle this any less calmly than you are now." Smiling, he lifted an eyebrow at her. "Sometimes you're so rational I wonder if you have green blood and two hearts, despite your rounded ears."

She squared her shoulders. "Mulder, I'll be fine."

He grasped her elbow, enunciating his words carefully. "Better than anyone else, I *know* what you'll go through trying to reassemble that apartment, even with my help. It *will* wear you down, Scully, and make me overprotective in the process. We might miss something important looking out for each other."

She passed him a mug from the rack over the range. "Okay. I just hate to impose on you."

He eyed her. Impose all you want. Just don't leave me. "It's no problem, trust me."

They prepared two cups, one plain for her, and the other with a tablespoon of sugar for him.

Once they settled on the futon, he continued. "So we seem to both agree that the Shadows are behind what happened tonight, right?" He waited until her head dipped once. "If not the Shadows collecting samples, then we have to think about the homeless themselves. Full-blown serial killers don't victimize only, and in fact, prey rarely on adult white males. Behavioral Sciences has, in addition, sent over nothing that would indicate an escalating one." He fell silent, hoping the herb would help her relax.

Turning over possibilities, she sipped her tea. Finally, the mug emptied and resting on the coffee table, Scully offered an alternate hypothesis. "I'm not the psychologist - " She waved her hand. " - or the ace profiler."

He chuckled. "But?"

She leaned forward. "Couldn't it be an ex-mental patient who is still slightly unstable, came from a broken home, and may be acting out some unresolved conflict with his father?"

He nodded, then cast about for a way to bring this discussion to a close. That'll do. He set his face in a facetious leer. "I confess, fair damsel. But, now you die!"

She groaned and tried to punch him in the stomach, while the hands he had playfully aimed at her neck were diverted for his own defense to her shoulders. "Mulder!" She pushed his arms away. "I didn't mean you. But you do have a point. It doesn't have to be a mental patient, just someone unbalanced." He began to give her another mock-villain stare. "Mulder!!! Stop!" The exchange set them both laughing softly, until she began yawning.

Serious for the moment, he slipped an arm around her shoulders and guided her to the back room, not wanting to revisit the bed/futon argument.

Scully considered, as they walked, the warm consideration and courtesy he had shown her since Monday. Not gallantry. My partner is too out there to be an old-fashioned knight of the Round Table. Try something more his style. Yes, that would be right. A Jedi. The thought brought a curve to her lips. Fox Mulder, Special Agent, Jedi Knight.

Standing in the doorway, he dropped his arm and bent to see her face. "We'll get through this, okay? You're beat and so am I. So enjoy the almost clean sheets. I bought them new for my Mom, and they haven't been used since."

When she squeezed his wrist in gratitude, he backed into the hallway, and she crossed over to the bed, kicking off her shoes.

Mulder turned to leave, but stopped, his hand on the doorknob. "If you need to talk or anything, you know where I'll be, right?"

Scully was positioned at the foot of the bed, rubbing her left calf under a tan trouser leg as she chose to give him one of her devastating full smiles. "Sure, guarding me from liver-eating mutants with your lightsaber?"

The warmth in his eyes told her that her gratitude had struck home. "Barring the door with my final strength."

Apartment 42
Friday, 3:17 am

"Well, Bill, what are you waiting for?"

The spirit of William Mulder tore his spectral vision away from his sleeping son to focus on his companion. "I don't know, Captain. With the Gateway staying open for the present, we don't have to quickly make contact and rush back, and I've hurt him enough. Fox has been through so much he needs to assimilate that if I were to start invading his thoughts now, it might overload him completely."

The shade of Captain William Scully sent his sympathetic concurrence. "I understand, since I feel the same way about my Starbuck. She's trying to right so many wrongs that she may lose herself in the process. It's fortunate that they have each other, and that their enemies are still alive. Your old friend lost it almost as soon as you left him, you know."

Bill Mulder turned grim. "I don't care. The man blew up the house in Chilmark while he thought Caroline was still inside. Whatever we were to each other was over years ago, so I'm pleased she's happy with this other fellow. Since they've been alone for far too long, Max will take good care of her and give her the affection she deserves. But him? After the death and destruction he's caused, I hope all his victims eventually drop by for a visit." The phantoms passed through the locked front door and down the stairs. "Are you anxious about visiting Maggie?"

Bill Scully emitted resignation and dissent. "No, not really. Maggie is my one true love, and to see her, as I will shortly, will be a joy. But if you don't mind, I'd like to be alone with her."

The apparitions were passing over the Potomac as they communicated.

"Indeed. I need to visit Sam alone as well. There is so much I want to say to my girl, now that she is ready to listen, and considering what she does."

The specters separated, one lost in happy memories, the other in what might have been.

Back in the apartment, Fox Mulder twitched, then found himself awake and upright. "Dad? Are you here? Dad?" He slumped back on the futon, rubbing his face, the crackling of paint separating from paint telling him he was not the only mortal who had awakened.

"Mulder? You okay?" His barefoot partner padded down the hall and stood at the far end of the couch, tying her robe around herself.

"Yeah, I just had the strangest dream, that's all. I'll be fine." He ran his hand through his hair. "You need to get some rest, Scully." As she shook her head and stepped into his kitchen, Mulder dropped his feet to the floor to follow her. "Why are you up? Did you experience something strange too?"

She had set two mugs on the counter and was reaching for the sugar. "Mm-hum." She dropped a tablespoonful in one, then poured leftover tea in both. "I thought my Father was in the room with me, Mulder." The numbers 2:33 glowing in the timer window, she pressed the START button as Mulder pulled himself onto the counter. "But it must just be my anxiety about my apartment tonight, combined with the stress of everything we've been through lately. I thought the tea might help me relax again." Sighing, she crossed her arms and leaned against the counter. "It's my own fault, you know."

"Hum?" He leaned towards her, concerned that she was grieving for her lost father and sister. "No, Scully, it isn't. I've already told you, I think it's about Fate."

She faced him, unwilling to be drawn into metaphysics. "No, not that. I mean it's my fault that I'm awake. My father used to recite Irish legends every Halloween and I think my subconscious used those memories in my dreams."

He raised an eyebrow. "What legends?"

She was shocked. What do you mean, what legends? "I was remembering that he said the dead walk on this night, to visit their families and those who have done them wrong."

His mouth formed a silent O. "Yes, those legends. They aren't exclusively Irish. In fact - "

The microwave dinged and she withdrew the mugs, handing one to him. They tasted their teas, grimaced, and exchanged cups.

Mulder stared into the brown liquid while he collected his thoughts, then raised his eyes to hers. "Scully, I never really told you what happened to me while I was in the hogan on the reservation, did I?"

She drained the mug, then set it in his sink before responding. "You said you had 'gone to the Origin Place,' but more than that, no. We were too involved in staying alive to talk much then."

"Well, I thought I was visited..."

Along Eisenhower Avenue
Alexandria, Virginia
Friday, 7:48 am

"That's the last of these crummy jobs I ever want to do." The short, powerfully built man ran his hands through his red curls, before he slipped his glasses on. "I don't understand why we can't just take those two out and spare the Organization this continued headache."

The driver, blond and tanned from his recent vacation, glanced over, reminding himself to use their established aliases while on a job. "Well, they're old men, 'Andrew', and old men go soft. Although, if I were running things, I'd just shoot them one night myself. The Organization has too much at stake right now to waste resources on the FBI. Hey, 'Ace', how are the wiretaps working?"

The brunette, pale from too many hours with a computer, pulled the headphones off to smooth her hair down. "Great, 'Finn', although 'Charlie's' boss here says some really strange stuff in his sleep."

Pushing his horn-rimmed glasses back up on his nose, 'Charlie' looked up from his laptop. "Oh, really? The guy has always creeped me out, sitting in his office in the dark all day long. Every time I bring something in for him, I feel like I should check the corners for bodies or something. What did he ramble about in his sleep?"

'Ace' was inserting a new tape in the recorder. "It sounds like a full conversation and not just mumbles. If I understand him properly, he was apologizing to Mulder's father for wasting him, and reminding him he was still protecting his son."

'Finn' used the rear-view mirror to make eye contact with 'Ace'. "That news should make my boss happy, since he's been trying to get some dirt on Mister Black Lung for months now. Do you have the conversation on tape?" At her affirmation, he steered the car into the right-hand lane. "Maybe we can brown-nose some with it then, but if I can't escape these late night details, well..." He shrugged.

'Andrew' shook his head. "Once you're in this business, it's for good, Mister Wall Street."

"No, I've thought about applying for a position on Matheson's staff."

The others hooted in derision.

'Charlie' exclaimed, "But he's the biggest 'good guy' in the Senate. He'll know, won't he?"

'Andrew' frowned. "Not necessarily. We might want someone there, so we'll know what Matheson and Skinner are up to. I could have Randall write a recommendation for you, since he's new and the Democrats are preaching reconciliation, it might work." He punched the dashboard. "But we still have to stifle Mulder. It's too bad about Alex, we could use his insights since he worked with him."

'Ace' chuckled. "No insights required, guys. If you really want to waste Mulder big-time, don't just intimidate Scully, one of you hunks try to ask her out." The men turned to her. "He's such a perfect gentleman around her, especially lately, it makes you wonder."

'Charlie' grinned back. "Ooh, the nerd programmer and electronics whiz have her hopes up?"

She rolled her eyes. "Him? Ugh. But you should hear some of the rumors that run around the labs."

'Finn' shrugged as he pulled up to an unmarked door behind a broken-down warehouse. "Well, none of this matters, kids. We don't run the show, they do, so we'd better get down to work."

Apartment 42
Arlington, VA
Friday, 9:30 am

"Hey, Princess Leia, rise and shine."

Dana Scully opened one eye.

Her partner was bending over her, steam curling out of an oversized mug in one hand, the other still resting lightly on her shoulder.

She could smell the heady aroma of the strong African coffee he preferred. Pushing herself out of the pillows, she lifted her alarm clock from the bedside table and held it close to her nose. "Mulder! Why did you let me sleep so long?"

Fully dressed, he smirked down at her and struck a pose. "Those noises? You weren't just appreciating the floor show? Only happens twice a day around here."

She groaned as she tucked her feet under her hips.

Mulder sat by her knees, extending the arm with the mug. "Try some. Dig the PJ's, Scully."

Scully sipped the coffee, appreciating his use of skim milk, rather than the cream she had forsworn in March. She rubbed the too-long flannel sleeve between her thumb and forefinger, admiring the muted browns and whites woven into a basic plaid. "Mom found these. All natural cotton, no dyes. 'Iceman plaid,' she called them."

Mulder grinned. "Ooh, catchy."

She looked up. "No, really. It's the same pattern as the cloth found on that man in the ice."

Raising an eyebrow, he nodded. "I'll remember that for Christmas, Scully. Expect a birchbark basket for carrying fires under the tree. Or grass-stuffed boots?"

She ignored the jibe. "I'd been saving them for our next extended field case, but I figured they were better for visiting than the sweats." Turnabout is fair play, partner. She reached over and flipped the point of the black tie covered in rows of grey X's with her index finger. "Dig the neckwear. Frohike?"

He smoothed the silk down possessively. "Was there ever any doubt?" He tipped his head and dropped his voice conspiratorially. "Now, should you want a scarf, there would be certain *obligations*, and they won't involve climbing the Alps."

Scully up held her free hand, signaling surrender. "So, Mulder, do we check the Maryland shelters today?"

He walked over to his computer table and picked up the case folder. "Might as well. With the government operating on continuing resolutions, Travel won't spring for more than one trip on this case. We can't plan on interviewing at any of the more distant ones until Wednesday at least." He frowned, thinking of the appointment that lay ahead. "Oh, the vet called to say the Red Menace is okay, just upset. We can pick him up anytime we want."

Charles Street Clinic for the Indigent
Baltimore, MD
Friday, 11:35 am

Doctor Nora Samuelson dropped the pen on the pad of paper. As she checked the list of patients, she rubbed her right index finger with her left hand, where the joints were already showing signs of arthritis. Well, Nora what do you expect? First, you work your way through a Master's in Nursing Science. Then there was all that paperwork in 'Nam. And if you couldn't torture yourself enough, you came back and put yourself through Med School.

This was her normal weekly visit with her test patients, usually students or the homeless, who received a small compensation for participation in her study. The Clinic had made an office for her in a tiny cubicle large enough only for a desk and two armless chairs.

She sighed, picked the pen back up, and began writing up the results from her last patient, Carl. A borderline psychotic with a repressed tendency for violence, Carl had been one of those declared 'functional' in the last round of reviews at St. Elizabeth's in the District. What was probably really the truth was that the financial troubles of the Capital City had dictated the number of patients the Victorian facility could handle, and Carl wasn't sick enough to be kept. Fortunately, between the lithium and TP-101, he was getting along fairly well. His six month old job in a Roy Rogers as a cook was secure and his temper hadn't flared at his roommates in the group home.

I hope these new anti-hallucinogens work out. They were everything one could want in a drug, simple to manufacture, nontoxic except in extremely high doses, and so far, no major side effects, at least in the animal trials. Only the human testing remained. On to the next one. Hum, Johnny. What a poor, mixed-up kid.

Johnny shuffled in and smiled at Doctor Samuelson. The mature woman pulled her greying brown hair back in a barrette, which reminded him of Aunt Sarah, so he liked to talk to her. "Hi, Doctor Samuelson." He sat in the metal chair in her cubicle, then dropped his bag by his feet.

"Hi, Johnny. You're looking dapper today."

The stringy boy visibly swelled at the compliment. "I got these at the shelter in DC. They give away new clothes for free, so I could look good when I rode the train home this morning."

She leaned over her desk. "You didn't steal the money for the ticket did you?"

His eyes grew wide. "Oh, no, Doctor Samuelson." He put his hands on the desk top and leaned over to get close to her concerned face. "I begged. People are real nice this time of year. Got five dollars from one guy who was showing off for his lady."

They settled back in their respective seats.

"Well, Johnny, have the drugs been working? No voices?"

He shook his head and took a breath. "Er..."

Nora looked up from her notes. "But what?"

"I saw something on the Ellipse last night." He hugged himself as he shrank into the chair. "I think it was a man, but it was a deer, too. I don't know."

Nora scribbled on his file. "You've never *seen* things before, have you, Johnny?"

"No, never, Doctor Samuelson. I thought the medicine would work on everything."

Nora rubbed her knuckle absently. "It's new, Johnny, that's what you're helping us find out. I'll tell you what. Try taking one pill a day, not two." She made another note. "Have you talked to the people at the other office yet?"

Thinking of Mister Johnston's house, Johnny closed his eyes. "I don't want to go in a foster home again."

Frowning, she checked the first page of the file. "Well, according to your chart, you are eighteen now. You could try a group home, where you lived with several other boys your age, and you all went to school. You did well in school, before your Aunt died, right?"

Puffing out his chest, he beamed. "Lots of A's, 'specially in math. Loved algebra. Fun to figure things out."

"Well, think about it, okay? Take this card with you. It has the address and phone number for the group home, and I've written my phone number on the back. You call me if you want to go, I'll come get you, take you to meet Elizabeth and the boys." She smiled as she handed him the card, along with a refill of the pills. "You'll need to come back next week, okay? Try to remember?"

Johnny grinned back, picked up his bag, then was out the door. Maybe a home with other boys and a nice lady in charge wouldn't be so bad.

Nora Samuelson returned to flexing her fingers. It's the nurse in you. You want to fix everybody. She checked her watch, calculating how late she would be for her lunch with Susan.

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Tuesday, November 5, 1996
9:23 am

Inspector Phoebe Green clipped on the Visitor pass, waiting by the front check-in desk. I wonder how much he's changed. As a foreign national, she would be escorted through the building by her ex-lover, facing down the stares that were sure to follow anyone foolish enough to meet with "Spooky" Mulder.

When the elevator doors rolled aside, the partners stepped out, Scully nudging Mulder and pointing their visitor out.

Phoebe looked the tall agent over. Mulder, you haven't aged a day, and I see you've managed to hang on to at least one partner. Wary but resolved, she met his eyes. I want this over as badly as you do.

Mulder glanced at a passing tour group before he spoke to the Englishwoman. "Well, hello, Inspector Green. Waiting for anyone?"

Her breath hissed out through her teeth. "Hello, Mulder." She turned to Scully to tentatively extend her hand. "Glad to see there’s someone who can work with him, Agent Scully."

The red-haired woman grasped her palm in a firm, professional clasp, then dropped it.

Phoebe narrowed her eyes. They both look so guarded. The rumors must be true, then. Her old flame from Oxford was getting closer to the truth he so desperately sought, and it was beginning to wear him down.

They were both in their coats. As Phoebe waited, Scully spoke to the uniformed sergeant by the metal detector. "Have you searched her yet?"

The African-American man nodded.

After he was favored with a slight smile, Scully rounded on Phoebe. "Well, Inspector Green, let's go."

"Go where?"

Mulder answered, "Out of here. We need to talk where we can't be overheard."

"What? Not in the basement?"

He stared at his feet before replying under his breath. "The walls have ears. Move."

Old Post Office Pavilion
Tuesday, 9:35 am

They were seated around a small cast iron garden table in the central processing area that had been converted to an indoor veranda, surrounded by potted trees. The Nineteenth Century building itself had been restored as a tourist attraction, with several levels of small shops. Phoebe sipped some Prince Edward tea, while Mulder savored the Kenyan coffee he was holding, studying his ex-lover's face.

Scully was scrutinizing the visitors milling around on the several stories of overhead balconies, then focused on the Englishwoman's closely cropped reddish-brown hair. "Okay, Phoebe, let's hear it. Why you? Why now? Mulder and I have kicked this around, but we want you to be straight with us."

Phoebe looked from one somber face to the other. "Hey, guys. I don't want to be here. I was given this assignment by my regular CI, not some dark spymaster. He knows I knew you at University, Mulder, but no more than that. I haven't told him anything, because, frankly, I'm not hung up on it, at least not anymore."

Scully watched her partner's face harden into a hooded mask and wanted to touch him, but restrained herself, sliding her hand over until it rested on the fabric of his coat sleeve. Don't let her get to you. She always knew how to push you.

The Inspector arched a brow at the minuscule gesture. "I've been reading up on your stepfather, Mulder. How much do you know about him?"

He replied from behind the styrofoam, his voice a menacing growl. "How much do I know? He survived Dachau, and he saved my mother's life. How much more do I need to know?"

Seething, she leaned across the table. "Look, get this past those deflector shields you have on maximum. I don't want this! Here!" She grabbed a folder from her briefcase then shoved it across the latticework. "Keep it, mail it to the Washington Post, all right? Just stop glaring at me like I'm the devil."

One long hand grasped the folder to pull it close to him. He flipped through the pages before sliding the papers over for Scully.

His partner thought she caught the slightest relaxation in his shoulders. Good, maybe we can discuss this like rational adults. "Okay, Phoebe, but cut us a break. You weren't exactly honest with us about L'ively and the MP."

Phoebe sighed. Oh, that. "Look, last time was a mistake. Your stepfather is a good man, Mulder, but he's treading on alligator's toes, and these reptiles don't like to be disturbed. You could lose her all over again if he's not careful."

He put the cup down. "Okay, you've dropped the information in our laps. If last time was a mistake, then help me protect them, Phoebe. We have our own snapping turtles to worry about on this side of the lake." There. You've heard our worst. Now rise to be the woman I thought you were, once.

She nodded. "Sure, I'll do what I can." A bright blue bag barely missed her head as a woman in a "NEW YORK" T-shirt attempted to control three children at the next table. "Why couldn't we discuss this in your office?"

Scully gripped his arm, he nodded, then they stepped away from the table.

Phoebe watched them conversing, his hand on her shoulder, the red hair brushing his tie as her head bobbed. Not lovers. But tight, like two halves of a whole. Suddenly she missed Eric and his warmth. I'll be home soon, my Heart. I'm glad 'Artist and Muse' is still on our front wall, not in some Earl's drawing room. Phoebe focused on the other side of the table as they resumed their places.

Scully began speaking quietly. "We've just spent the weekend putting my place back together after someone went through and trashed all my private keepsakes and family photos. We were almost assassinated in Chiapas in September."

"It's those documents of yours, isn't it?"

Mulder rubbed his face, a gesture familiar from too many late nights of study. "Oh, the whole world must know about them by now. We don't understand why they matter so much."

Phoebe pondered her choice of words, then leaned across the table, gratified when the FBI agents closed the rest of the distance. "Look, I don't know how much you two know about the secret powers in the major governments of the world."

Mulder and Scully pulled their chairs up closer.

Phoebe dropped her voice. "We hear things at the Yard. Things we can't verify, but we all know are true. If the election here in the States goes as expected, then Clinton will pull the Democrats into control of both houses of Congress again. The Shadows in your government are worried that with the Cold War really over, they'll be pushed off the Gravy Train. They're playing damage control and if they keep you two quiet, one of the thorns in their sides won't need scratching for a while."

Mulder's face twitched. "Guess I'd better be a good citizen and march off to the polls." His partner's glare prompted another jibe. "What, Scully, you stand in line at 7:00 am?" The Look was all the answer he needed.

Phoebe smiled, enjoying her silent, but obviously effective, reprimand. "Early bird, Mulder, but you haven't changed."

As he glowered, Scully shot the Inspector a Look of her own. Don't get him going or I'll be up and on the phone all night.

Old emotions, long suppressed, rose, his temper flaring strongest. "You were never around in the mornings, as I recall."

Now Scully felt compelled to step in. "Phoebe, thanks, but I think we have a meeting with Assistant Director Skinner in a few minutes. May we keep this folder, or should we make copies?"

She waved her assent. "Keep it. There's nothing in it that shouldn't pass from one law enforcement agency to another." He still withdraws as easily as he did fifteen years ago. "Listen, guys, if I hurry, I can catch an early flight back to Heathrow. If you learn anything, call me." She pushed her chair back, then froze, half standing.

Mulder's hand had grasped Phoebe's wrist, but he was looking at his partner. "Scully, may I have a minute here?"

She nodded, then headed for the door.

Phoebe tried to read the emotions swirling behind his eyes. "Mulder, I don't want to fight with you. What you and I were is over."

His grip tightened almost to the point of pain, then he released her as they resumed their seats. "I know. That's not why I wanted to talk to you alone. Scully's been a good friend to me these past few years, and we need to talk without her feeling like she has to be my Guardian Angel. I can't leave the country, and my Mother may be in trouble. I need your help to protect her. For whatever I once meant to you, please..." His palms were out, flat, on the table, the fingers fanned, pressing hard against the latticework.

She ran an index finger down the right hand, from the wrist to the middle fingernail. "I promise, Mulder. I'll try to track them down and keep them out of trouble. Partly, that's my assignment, and partly, I'd like to atone for how I've treated you in the past. I understand how you felt about me then, because I feel that way about someone now. As much as my conscience would like me to, I can't take the pain I've caused you away, but, I'll do my best, okay? I wouldn’t mislead you about something this important. My parents aren’t in anywhere as good health as your Mother is."

They stood at the same time, raw from the emotions that had been bared to each other. For a moment, Phoebe expected him to take her by the arm, as he often used to do, but he distanced himself from her as they walked. You're only missing Eric again.

U.S. Navy Memorial
Tuesday, 10:45 am

Scully watched as Inspector Phoebe Green climbed into a Yellow Cab to be whisked up Pennsylvania Avenue. And out of our lives, forever, I hope.

Mulder scanned the surroundings for her auburn hair, grinning broadly when he saw how much space his partner had established between them. He sent her a questioning look as he waited for the light to change, then crossed the street, loping past the Hoover Building to the short rise of steps where she sat. "Sorry to kick you out, Scully, but I needed to read her for myself without you trying to shield me." He lowered himself to the steps beside her, his eyes tracking the vanishing rusty Plymouth. "I think she'll help us, for a while, anyway. She's finally fallen hard for someone, and her dirty tricks are costing her sleep. I only hope he's man enough for her."

"Mulder, don't..."

He turned and finished the sentence for her. "...let her get under my skin? Not this time, Scully, twice was enough. Three times and you *could* consider me a suspect in these homeless disappearances."

Scully's fists were clenched. "She makes me so angry. You're *so* decent to me. Since you two were close, I can only imagine how well you treated her, but she crushed you like a worm!"

Memories of angry words and a time of aching cold receded as an image formed in Mulder's mind that made him smirk. "So my little sister is going to pull her hair and claw her eyes? Thanks, but only if you sell tickets. Oof! Stop, Scully. I was only think of Frohi... Oof!" He rubbed his ribs where her fist had landed, twice, then sobered. "So this mythical meeting with Skinner?"

She rolled her eyes. "Is about to happen. Look."

His eyes followed the vector her finger indicated to the opposite street corner, where he could pick out the bald head of the Assistant Director. "Looks like Dad had a bad day at the Capital. Do you think if we go to our dungeon he'll..."

She pursed her lips, trying not to laugh as their superior approached.

"Agent Mulder, Agent Scully."

"Sir." Their response was nearly simultaneous.

"I didn't know the Bureau paid to have its agents sit on street corners."

Mulder leapt at the opening. "New directive, Sir. We're to panhandle until we have enough funds for stationery and bullets."

"Very funny, Agent Mulder. Remember that line the next time you're on Leno. In the interim, I need to talk to you two about the Sharpsburg case." The partners looked puzzled, which irritated him. "The case, people. What you're supposed to be working on now instead of goofing off. Agent Scully?" Skinner depended on her for a straight answer when Mulder was in the mood for sparring with him, as he so obviously was now.

"Sir, Gloria rushed us a case about homeless disappearing from shelters. So far, it has had nothing to do with Sharpsburg." Scully used the steps to bring herself to eye level with the two men as the partners stood.

Skinner glanced around at the crowd before he responded. "Then we have a problem, or perhaps we don't. Senator Matheson warned me to pull you off the Sharpsburg case for your continued health and well-being. But you were never on it, apparently."

Mulder shook his head. "This makes no sense, Sir. If the case we have been on is meaningless, then why was Scully's apartment ransacked on Halloween?"

Skinner pondered. "Is this true, Agent Scully?" He watched her nod. "I don't know. Certain *powers* are so unsettled that it may be wise of me to send you two on a long vacation at Bureau expense, but I'd hate to have to justify it to those idiots." He jerked his head back towards the Capitol, then sighed. "Keep plugging on this homeless thing. It's not glamorous, but your efforts may actually save a few of the nation's unwanted." With that, he turned away from them to head back toward the Hoover building.

The partners stared at each other, then Mulder offered her a hand down. "I don't get it. Phoebe, the homeless, the damage. None of the pieces seem to fit."

She was surprised to find him clueless in this relatively secure moment. "Maybe they're not supposed to. We have to be careful not to impose order and meaning on random events."

They followed their AD, leaving a discrete distance.

He glanced down at her. "By the way, did I ever tell you how glad I am you're still my partner, Scully?"

She stopped him with a hand on his elbow, her green-blue eyes serious. "Only about six times this past weekend. Thanks for being there, Mulder. It was as tough as you said it would be, throwing away all those pieces of my life."

He brushed her shoulder lightly with the back of his fingers. "S'okay. You were there in Chilmark. I had to return the favor. What?" She was staring at a tuft of grass poking up through the sidewalk, and he found himself bending over to check her face.

"Are they going to leave us with nothing? No friends, no family, just those ancient notebooks?"

Mulder moved as close to her as he dared, feeling like all eyes in the building were trained on them. "No." He attempted a hesitant smile as she lifted her gaze to meet his. "I still have you, and you're worth a thousand Phoebes." He nodded as he arched his brows.

She wanted to return the kindness, but words failed her at the moment, so she just tried to send gratitude with a look.

Message received, he pulled open the glass door, then shepherded her inside.

Office of the Lone Gunmen
Alexandria, VA
Tuesday, 8:30 pm

Langly craned his neck to identify the figure on the front steps of their office/home through the peephole. "Hey, G-man, you've been tailed!" He was grinning as the door swung open, revealing Dana Scully, wearing a comfortably faded pair of jeans, running shoes, a thick green wool fatigue sweater, and a thoroughly disgusted expression on her cold-reddened face. Mulder vacillated between feeling relief that she was still safe and trepidation over the tongue-lashing he knew was coming.

"Mulder! I thought I'd find you here after you weren't at your place. Skinner tells us we shouldn't be looking at Sharpsburg so the first chance you get..." The Agent and the Gunmen were poring over surveillance photos taken from bank video cameras.

"I make sure Sharpsburg is under observation, but not by us." He waved his arms over the documents on the table-top as if he were conducting an orchestra.

She stalked over to him, glaring at his three accomplices, but wedged herself into the tight group.

Mulder and Frohike separated, purposefully giving her a little less space than she would feel comfortable with to stand.

She glanced around the table. "So, what's going on?"

Byers slid one of the prints in front of her. "Your arrival may help us determine that, Agent Scully. What does this look like to you?"

She studied the image. "The guards are moving artworks into or out of a vault at..." She tapped the frozen digits on the overhead clock and the darkened windows. "...midnight?"

The four faces lit up.

Mulder slid to his right, bumping into Langly, but giving his partner space to angle away from Frohike. "Not just any art, Scully. Take a look at this." He lifted an enlargement from under three other prints. "In the full photo for this one, the guards are repairing a damaged section of the transport framework and a portion of the canvas is exposed. Byers matched the partial up with one of the paintings known to be in Joseph Goebbels' home when Berlin was occupied by the Allies."

Chewing her lip, she tapped his arm. "Hang on guys, I've been reading about some high profile art thefts from museums in Europe and Israel. According to the posts I saw on the Net, the burglar can get in and out of the highest security areas in less time than the guards can wire up the place." She turned to the Gunmen's LINUX machine and brought up a section of the AP newswire. "See, there's your painting, Mulder, and check this out." She tapped a name in the section on its history.

Frohike hovered over her shoulder. "Ooh, Babe, Smart is Sexy."

Just as Mulder expected her to, Scully backed away from him.

He slid off his stool and faced her, blocking the little man's view of his partner. "This also reveals a whole new set of adversaries. We may both have been wrong about who trashed your place on Halloween. You followed our SOP as regards the Queen?"

Scully's head bobbed up and down. "Direct site-to-site transfer. No overnighters." Her eyes widened as she connected the photos and the notebooks. "Wait, Mulder, I understand what's going on!" He stepped closer to her. "When I arrived at the first bank, I noticed a large panel truck and several cars across the street, all occupied. I thought it was odd that these guys were just sitting in plain sight, waiting."

He shook his head. "Our friends in black at least have the courtesy to hide in the shadows."

Scully rubbed the back of her neck. "The old bank had two large vaults, which was also odd for such a small Branch." Her eyes narrowed. "My face is known, now, and they probably assumed I was there on official business, tracking them. It would be no trouble for anyone to find where I live."

Her partner ran a hand through his hair. "Jeez, Scully, thanks. Now I'll have to spend every night on your sofa if I want to get any sleep at all." He turned to the Gunmen. "Guys, help me out here."

His eyes aglow, Frohike stepped forward. "We get to take turns?"

Shaking his head fiercely, Mulder frowned. "No, I need a list of major art collectors and their dealers, both the legitimate ones, and those who don't make their collections and services known, if you catch my drift."

Frohike's shoulders sagged, but Langly swiveled on his stool to face his Power PC.

Pushing his chair over to their Pentium, Byers fired off a rapid round of questions: "Think we should limit our search to the major WWII player countries? Would the collectors be young or old? Do the dealers necessarily have to be First World?"

Whipping around her partner, Scully resumed her place at the free machine, returning an answering salvo, "Only those with a taste for the Old Masters. Both. No."

Lone Gunmen's Office
Tuesday, 11:55 pm

"Well, that's a start." Scully smacked the edges of the pile of standard sized sheets on the table, stapling the now-even pages together before passing them to Mulder. As he scanned the list, she stood behind him, pointing over his arm, while grasping his seat back for support. "I think these three are the most likely suspects, but I've included the others just in case."

"Why those?"

"Oh, just my usual mundane reasons. Money, motive, and opportunity. All three made killings in the junk bond market in the Eighties and have to dump their money somewhere. All are major collectors of the Old Masters, and all have permanent or vacation homes in Sharpsburg."

When her head dropped momentarily on his shoulder, he spun around, alarmed. "Scully, you okay?"

She rubbed her eyes. "Sorry, Mulder. I've been up since three. Susan E-mailed me the first draft of our publication on the herbal antibiotics from Chiapas. When I heard the beep and saw what it was, I was too keyed up to sleep any more, so I reviewed it before coming in to work. I should know I'll pay if I try to burn the candle at both ends too long, since I was up late Sunday night too, nervous about being in my apartment. The last good night of rest I've had was at your place."

"Hey, guys, look!" Langly punched up the volume on the television in the corner. "It's official. Dole's conceded. Four more years!"

Mulder focused on the screen momentarily. "And Congress?"

Frohike smiled. "Belongs to the Democrats again."

The agents groaned, remembering Phoebe's inside information. When prompted, Mulder explained their concerns to the three Gunmen.

Frohike spoke for them all. "Oh. So should you guys just hire bodyguards, or what?"

Scully glanced at her partner. "That long vacation is beginning to look better and better."

He nodded, the intensity of his thoughts drawing a curtain over his face.

Office Building
Manhattan, New York
Wednesday, November 6, 1996
10:15 am

"Well, what do you think?" With a flourish, the balding man removed the drape, revealing his latest acquisition.

The white head nodded, then a long arm swept over the canvas. "Such style as he has, totally natural?" One looked to the other for confirmation. "Those bold touches of color break up the subtle greens magnificently. He's in London?"

"Yes, I was visiting the Yard when I heard about the show, so I stopped by. He had a larger piece that didn't sell, but was finer than this. All scarlet poppies and a young couple, rendered with almost photographic realism in the center. Magnificent!" The long fingers tapped a buzzer, then his blond assistant appeared. "Come, take a look at this, Mister Lindhauer. What do you think?"

'Finn' stepped back, nodding his approval. "Yes, Sir, very fine. How many more pieces does he have available?"

The balding man passed over a catalog. "Several. You should take more of your windfall from the stock market and invest it in this fellow's work. You'll make a fortune one day."

A wave of perfectly manicured fingers. "As a matter of fact, young man, I'm thinking of visiting him myself. Why don't you accompany me?" At his nod, the long face took on a gleam. "Very well, then, we'll leave tomorrow."

Begging off for private reasons, the assistant took his leave. All these personal trips to view art are too much. 'Finn' closed the door behind him as he left. Little does he know how I've been acquiring my art, and it's not with taxpayer dollars either. If I were in charge, things would be different.

Afterwards, the sallow-faced man questioned in his soft monotone, "Shouldn't we be concerned about the changes in Congress?"

"Nonsense, we've weathered worse. Remember all the work we did in 1973 to protect ourselves from Colby and his confessions?" The two old heads nodded. "However, I have recently received some information on our Washington colleague that is both disturbing and enlightening. It seems our friend is talking in his sleep." He walked over to a paneled maple wall, touching the control that slid it away, then pressed the PLAY button on his tape recorder.

Baltimore Museum of Art Park
Wednesday, November 27, 1996
7:37 pm

Nora Samuelson pushed the passenger door open, then a shaking, bedraggled boy crawled inside. "Johnny? What happened?" She smoothed aside the curls, wincing sympathetically at the cut cheek and swollen eyes. He'll have two nice shiners in the morning.

He sniffled and hiccuped twice before answering. "Can I go to that home? I'm hungry and cold, and I just got beat up for my bag and my extra set of clothes. I don't want to be outside anymore."

The car pulled away from the curb before she replied. "Oh, no. I couldn't just drop you off with Elizabeth tonight. Would you like to sleep on my couch? Have a hot bath and a big Thanksgiving dinner?"

His eyes widened at the thought.

"When was the last time you had a real meal?"

He shrugged.

"I haven't seen you since last Friday. Where were you tonight?"

He hugged himself and shivered. "I was in the park, sleeping under one of the ash trees. I was dreaming about three ladies, one young, one your age, and one as old as my Aunt Sarah. They were standing over me, trying to tell me something, but they were talking funny."

Nora applied the brakes, slowing to a stop at a red light. Once halted, she turned her head toward him.
He hugged himself, then continued. "I thought they were real, but when I woke up, they were gone. Later the men came."

As the light changed, she queried him. "Have you been taking your medicine, Johnny?"

He nodded vigorously. "One pill a day, just like you said, Doctor Samuelson."

She frowned. "Can I tell you something?"

He swelled with anticipation. "Sure!"

"You may be special, Johnny. You're the only one who's had any side effects from TP-101. While you're at the home, I'd like to visit you, and run some tests. Would that be okay?" Her words in his ears were like water in the throat of someone lost in the desert.

"I'm special? Anytime, Doctor Samuelson! Can we start tomorrow?"

Shaking her head, she laughed. "Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. First I feed you a decent meal to put some meat on those bones. We'll get you checked in and start the tests on Friday."

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, DC
Wednesday, 8:45 pm

While standing beside a map of the Eastern US, Fox Mulder pushed two blue pins into the P in Philadelphia, then turned to his partner, who was leaning, bleary-eyed, against a file cabinet. After driving all afternoon and evening through the rush hours of three major metropolitan areas and the holiday traffic, they were adding the information on the latest disappearances to their data base.

"Well, Scully, what do you think?"

"That I'm glad tomorrow is a holiday, and with the Gunmen supposed to show up on Friday, I'll be able to stay in one place for more than twelve hours."

Scratching his prickly chin, he nodded. "Yeah, right. I'm happy your Mom will put up with us, too." Lifting an eyebrow, he tapped the map.

"Oh, that." Attempting to deduce a pattern from the arrangement of colored plastic dots, Scully perused the charts. "I can't figure out anything that ties these disappearances together. With just the data from the Washington area, we thought it was someone either sampling or murdering adult white males." She waved her arm down the coastline from Boston to Charleston. "But this I don't understand. No uniform distribution by age or sex or race, or even, location. Some of the missing were extremely ill, some in the best of health." She leaned against her partner's desk beside where he had positioned himself, crossing her arms until they were unintentionally in identical stances.

Mulder sighed, shaking his head. "Well, as our first Consulting Detective said, we should twist our theories to suit the facts, not the facts to suit the theories, and right now, I don't have anything to twist." He dropped his shoulders. "Let's call it a night. We do need to hit the road early tomorrow."

The agents collected their assorted bags and left the office. As they waited for the elevator, Scully shifted her weight from one foot to the other in an effort to stay awake.

Mulder glanced down at her. "You'll probably be glad to hear this. Travel disallowed our request to revisit the shelter in Boston. The carry-over funds from the old fiscal year have expired, so all trips have been canceled."

The Republican-controlled Congress had decided, in a fit of pique, to refuse to cooperate with the Clinton White House. They had suspended debate on the new Budget and recessed for the rest of the year, leaving the Justice Department, as well as several other branches of the Federal Government, strapped for cash, again.

She held still, swaying slightly, so Mulder took her by the elbow as she replied, "Oh, good. Now we don't have to drive another ten hours. I'm so tired of long trips in automobiles, and it seems forever since Halloween. I never understood why the Bureau won't spring for airline tickets, but will pay mileage. For the more distant cities, it works out to almost the same amount of money."

He snorted his agreement. "And if I don't see another pathetic line of dirty people waiting for Campbell's soup and Wonder Bread for a while, I'll be happy." He paused, finding the energy for the most minute of smirks. "Compassiongate."

Scully stared up at his red-rimmed eyes. "What?"

"Oh, just thinking up a name for the press to use when it leaks that the FBI doesn't care about disappearing homeless."

The elevator doors opened, finally. As they walked inside, Scully caught her heel in the gap between the elevator car and the floor. Frustrated, she pulled her foot out, then kicked the shoe into the box, sending it across the small space to rebound off the wall. The doors closed then they slowly ascended. Scully picked the pump up, noting the gap between the heel and the sole. A new pair, too. The partners leaned against the back wall of the car.

Mulder closed his eyes, but his mind continued to churn. "I wonder if Byers came up with anything new on the art in Sharpsburg."

His partner's eyes were closed as well. "I don't care. Right now, my mind is soaking in a steaming hot bath, imagining soothing vapors Chamomile, or perhaps some of those fresh elderberries, waiting for my body to join it." Sobering, she leaned into his side. "Considering what today is, Mulder, I'll forgo everything if you'd like to talk."

Gazing down at her, Mulder flashed an wobbly little grin. Finding he was partly relieved that he could share his burden with someone, partially filled with an unexpected sense of anticipation, he took her arm to help her balance her unevenly distributed weight. "No, Scully, thank you, though. This year I feel like I'll finally find out something about Sam. I don't know why, I just do." He eyed her. I'm all right, partner. "However, that hot bath requires further investigation."

"Mulder!" Scully walked through the doors while they were partly open so he couldn't see her grinning at their jests.

Annapolis, Maryland
Thursday, November 28, 1996
10:30 am

"Was the traffic bad this morning, dear?" Margaret Scully swept the celery pieces into a bowl, sprinkling in freshly chopped parsley, oregano, and thyme to season the stuffing.

Dana Scully swallowed the slice of apple she was chewing before answering. "No, Mom, most of the Exodus happened yesterday afternoon and last night." She glared at her partner, who was purloining large pecan pieces from a Tupperware dish on the kitchen table. "Oh, Mulder! We need those for stuffing the turkey!"

He grinned. "But then the turkey stuffs me. Just eliminating the middle-bird, Scully."

Margaret shook her head, reveling in their comfortable banter. Neither of her sons would be joining her this year, both opting to visit their in-laws, so she was preparing a 'Thanksgiving Lite', as Dana's partner christened it. A ten pound turkey, the last of her garden's vegetables, freshly baked bread, and a small smorgasbord of pies would partially disappear inside the three of them in a few hours. But first, the letters, Margaret. She smiled over at her daughter. "Dana?"

Scully placed the knife on the counter, unwilling to chop while looking away from the blade. "Yes, Mom?"

Margaret poked at the sprigs of herbs drying on a towel. "Didn't you bring in some rosemary?"

Scully frowned, checking through the fragrant leaves. "I'm sorry, I guess I didn't." Dana Scully reached into the top drawer by the sink to retrieve a pair of kitchen shears.

Her partner rose, then took them from her, brushing her back with his left hand as he turned to the door. "That's okay, Scully, I'll get some. You and Susan have so carefully explained herbs to me, I promise, no cilantro or spearmint instead."

Dana Scully let him take the scissors, then turned to her mother when the older woman cleared her throat. Now, Mom?

Yes, Dana.

"No, Mulder, let me go. You have to do the turkey, anyhow." She gently lifted the shears out of his palm, called for the Pomeranian, then exited through the screen door in the back of the kitchen.

Margaret approached Mulder, who was lifting the bird off the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. "Fox?" He raised an eyebrow at her inquiry. "Put the turkey down and come with me. I need to show you something."

Her sudden seriousness troubled him. "Are you okay, Mrs. Scully?"

She nodded, leading him through the hallway and into the large living room of her airy home. "Sit, please, Fox." I wish I didn't have to be so secretive about this, but she did ask. As he settled on the couch, she dropped a large manila envelope in his lap.

He gasped as air mail letters spilled out onto the cushions. "Are these all from her?"

Margaret nodded once, silent for fear of wiretaps in the ceiling. She patted his shoulder. "Take all the time you want with them, dear. I know she wanted you to see them eventually, but she was afraid any letters to you might be intercepted."

His eyes took on that haunted cast she hated to see. "But they weren't after her, just Scully and me. Do you know where she and Max are?"

Margaret shook her head, holding up one of the blue envelopes. Like the one Scully received in October, it bore no return address, just a European postmark, this one from Paris. They heard the springs on the screen door squeal as Scully let herself in.

"Mom?"

Margaret leaned into the hall. "In here, Dana."

The Pomeranian padded in ahead of her, shaking himself as he walked.

Scully sat beside her partner, who was extracting the letters and stacking them in chronological order, oldest on top. Dana looked up at her mother. "I didn't know there were so many, Mom. She must have written you nearly every other day, almost.

Margaret extended her arm towards her daughter. "Let's go, Dana, we have to finish dinner." Mulder began to lay the letters aside. "No, Fox, stay and read. I think we two can handle this ourselves."

He settled back again, thinking how fortunate he was to have a partner like Dana Scully, and a friend like Margaret. Well, Mulder, your Mother has obviously been happy.

Clipped to the first letter was a photograph of Caroline Mulder, now Lowenberg, and his stepfather, Max, taken in front of the Mozart Monument in the Burggarten in Vienna.

"Mom, I can't take it anymore. Let me go to him. He's suffered so much already."

They could both hear an occasional choke or sob from the living room puncturing a steady crinkling as he read the account of his Mother's travels in Eastern Europe.

As she finished wiping the counter after stuffing the turkey, Margaret washed her hands, then addressed her daughter. "No, Dana. This is something he needs to work out on his own. When we hear he's done reading, then I'll go. He needs to not feel like your perpetual responsibility."

Scully opened her mouth to protest We're both each other's! then sighed, thinking that perhaps her mother was right. This wasn't his nightmare about Sam, or herself, but actual good news, from what her Mother told her.

Caroline and Max had located her brother, Isaac, living back in Austria, and the letters were full of pictures of cousins he never knew he had. Caroline's beloved uncle Benjamin was gone in 1976, having passed on in his early eighties. They listened to the papers shuffling, then silence.

Mulder reappeared in the kitchen doorway, his eyes shining, one hand holding the bulging manila envelope, the other a photograph.

Scully took the print to examine it. "Mulder, this could be Sam in her early twenties!"

He nodded, unable to speak.

Margaret checked the image. "Yes, that's Rachel, Isaac's granddaughter. Caroline made the same comment in her letter. She's lovely, Fox."

Mulder turned to his partner's mother, finding himself entwined in her usual tight hug. "Thank you." His jagged voice could be trusted no further, so he stopped.

"It's no problem, dear. Caroline wanted so badly for you to know. I hope she'll feel safe enough to come home, soon." He began to choke again, so Margaret rubbed his shoulder. "If you don't stop, dear, we'll have to baste you along with the turkey."

When she released him, his partner placed the photograph on the table, standing close to catch his downcast eyes. "You were right last night, Mulder, you have found something."

Dark Apartment
Washington, DC
Thursday, 7:46 pm

Click. That's one more. He took a drag, then leaned back, wondering how many of these he had smoked over his life. His apartment was as bare as his office, just whatever was necessary to keep him alive, but no more. He contemplated the unopened half liter of Scotch on the coffee table in front of him. It was to have been his Thanksgiving celebration, but he thought of Bill Mulder's ravaged face as he had last seen him in life, and decided. Tucking the bottle under his arm, he crossed his living room to his kitchen, unscrewed the cap, then poured the contents down the sink. As he tossed the heavy glass in the trash and it shattered, he heard a satisfying crunch.

He remembered the last real liquor he had enjoyed, at Bill and Caroline's wedding. It was just after his one and only dance with the girl from Vienna who intoxicated him so. He had watched them leave, wishing them well. He was toasting their happiness with the other men in the office. He had hoped that eventually, Bill would adore Caroline as he did. But that was never to be, even after the son and daughter were born.

Such tragedy. He would continue to protect the son, so the boy could find the daughter, wherever she was, and bring Caroline some peace. Despite the complications it was making for him personally, the old man was relieved she was still alive, with Max Lowenberg, to boot. He lit another Morley, reflecting on the unexpected reappearance of an old adversary. By the time the cylinder had burned down, he had decided that he would continue to protect both Mulders, extending his promise to his old friend.

As he returned to his seat, he noticed a ding in the ceiling of his living room and he stood on the sofa to investigate. Pulling out his pocketknife, he dug a lozenge out of the plaster. Ah, so the old men in Manhattan think so little of my abilities they have resorted to this. He inspected the other rooms, finding one in his bedroom.

That one worried him. He had been having odd dreams of late, awakening in a cold sweat more often than not these days. If he had been talking in his sleep, then someone would have some explaining to do. He pushed the metal around in his hand, rubbing the dust off as he did. What's this? He dropped one on the bedside table, then blew on the other. I know who did this. Opening his window, he craned his head out before he nodded to himself, certain now. This new information required he make two stops at the FBI tomorrow, before setting his new plan in motion.