Value & Honor by Forte (Forte1354@aol.com) Please see Chapter 1 for rating, summary, disclaimer, etc. Prior chapters are available at http://www.thebasementoffice.com/. Author's Notes: Oh, hello. It's nice to see you all again. My Muse finally got her act together and graced me with a new chapter. I promise that it *WILL NOT* be another four freakin' months before you see Chapter 14. Are you listening, Muse? ******************************************************************** - Chapter 13 - ******************************************************************** Alexandria, Virginia Saturday, 4:24 p.m. Scully drummed her fingers on the steering wheel in a tuneless rhythm as she circled Mulder's block for the fourth time. This was ridiculous. Even all the illegal parking spaces were taken. She glanced at her watch, mentally calculating the time it would take to reach the airport. Traffic had been crawling on the way to Mulder's apartment; getting to National Airport would take a good hour. Damn it. Scully thrust one hand toward her jacket pocket, intending to grab her cell phone. She cursed under her breath as her seat belt got in the way. With one eye on the road and the other watching for any open parking places, she yanked on her jacket blindly to free it. When she felt something give way she stole a look down; a corner of the pocket was torn. "God -- " she muttered, then cut herself off, stomping on the brake pedal as she realized she was about to run a stop sign. Momentum pressed her into the shoulder harness, then slammed her back into the seat as the car jerked to a stop. Scully pulled up some slack on the seat belt, freed the damaged pocket, and yanked out the cell phone. As she accelerated, beginning another circuit around Mulder's building, Scully punched one of the familiar speed dial numbers with her thumb. She blew out a frustrated sigh as Mulder's home phone rang. ******************************************************************** 2630 Hegal Place Apartment 42 Saturday, 4:20 p.m. Mulder hunched over the open garment bag that was spread open on his bed. He hadn't emptied the bag since their return from the Morse case in Providence; packing for Boston had been a blur of replacing dirty clothes with clean. He glanced at his watch -- ten more minutes until Scully picked him up -- and flipped through the bag's contents, mentally ticking off what he'd need. Suit and shoes -- check. Underwear, socks, T-shirts -- check. Map of Massachusetts -- check. Flashlight -- check. When he was satisfied that he had everything, Mulder closed the bag and moved to the end of his bed, where he'd tossed his jacket. The inside pocket bulged with everything he'd collected during the day; he left his cell phone and the ID's that Frohike had created there but removed everything else. Half the cash he'd gotten from the Gunmen, the airline passenger manifests, and the CD migrated to the outer zippered compartment of the garment bag. Mulder shoved the rest of the cash into the front pocket of his jeans, then turned his attention to the printout of the e-mail that had been sent to Diana. Just seeing the two photos of Kurt and Scanlon was enough to start his stomach churning again. Frowning, he shoved the garment bag toward the middle of the bed and sat down with a heavy thud. Mulder flipped through the pages, turning ideas over in his mind, then stared at the photo of the familiar hybrid. Kurt couldn't possibly be working with Scanlon, could he? If he were, why would someone have waited so long to let him know that -- and been so vague in doing so? Hell, the e-mail hadn't even been sent to him. It had gone to Diana. Why did someone want her involved in this? If Kurt =was= working with Scanlon -- if his intentions were malicious -- he could have made his move when he first showed up the previous night. And if he wanted to lure them somewhere, why go to the trouble of sending Scully and him those four encrypted e-mail messages? It simply made no sense. Mulder kept coming back to the same conclusion: the Kurt who had visited them the night before was sincere. He wanted to help Scully, and the other women like her. And he needed them to go to Boston. Which meant that the e-mail to Diana was a hoax. Which meant that someone knew that Kurt had contacted them. Which meant that someone had sent the bogus e-mail to Diana to use her. They were using Diana to separate him from Scully. To put Scully in danger. Fuck that. The phone on the nightstand rang, jolting Mulder from his thoughts. With a start, he realized that his free hand had been savagely picking at a loose thread on the garment bag's padded handle. He jerked his hand away and snatched up the phone receiver, answering with a gruff voice. "Yeah." His partner's similar clipped tone got his attention. "There is =nowhere= to park near your building, Mulder. I'm circling your block like some kind of hawk." At her words, Mulder pictured his partner as a stern, regal bird: eyes piercing, watching for their enemies, missing nothing. Hawk-Scully had scalpel blades for talons; she'd carve into anyone who tried to separate them. The latter image forced a twisted smile to his face. "Keep circling, Scully. I'll meet you out front -- I'll be down in a few minutes." He dropped the receiver back into its base. Mulder stared at the photo of Kurt for another few seconds, then folded the pages of the e-mail and dragged pinching fingers down each crease. Until he and Scully were back in DC, wild horses couldn't drag him away from his partner. He shoved the printout into the garment bag's outer pocket, jerked the bag and his jacket off the bed, and left his apartment without a backwards glance. ******************************************************************** 4:30 p.m. Mulder squeezed past two cars parked at the curb as Scully's car jolted to a halt in the street. The car behind her honked its outrage while Mulder tossed his garment bag in the back seat and then climbed in the front. The car surged forward almost before he had his door closed. "Same to you," Scully muttered, glancing first in the rearview mirror and then at her watch. "Traffic's a mess," she stated as Mulder snapped his seat belt into place. "We'll be lucky if we get to the airport before Thanksgiving." She flicked her eyes toward her partner and returned them to the busy road. "So what couldn't you tell me over the phone, Mulder? What happened with Agent Fowley?" Mulder scrubbed his face with his hand, studying her tense profile. "Based on the e-mail she showed me, someone knows that Kurt contacted us." Scully snapped her head to look at him, then turned back to the road again. "What was in the e-mail?" "Hold on a second." Mulder turned to reach his bag in the back seat. "I can show you exactly what she showed me." The traffic light ahead of them turned yellow; Scully accelerated to beat the light but then thought better of the idea, braking instead. Mulder lurched forward, stopped by his seat belt, and looked at her in surprise. "Sorry," she sighed, catching his eye for a moment before looking out the windshield again. Her fingers resumed their drumming against the steering wheel. Nodding, Mulder stretched back toward his bag again, tugging on his shoulder harness. Just another inch... He felt Scully press her palm firmly against his shoulder and sat back in his seat, surprised at the contact. "Careful," she said, dropping her hand to where the seat belt fastened at his hip. What...? he thought, feeling his pulse pick up. Scully removed her hand and gestured to the torn pocket of her jacket. "These seat belts can be lethal." Mulder shot her a grin, releasing his seat belt and his breath. "I'd better not see the repair bill on your next expense report, Scully." He twisted in his seat and squeezed over the gear shift between his and Scully's seats, pressing against her arm. Pleased, he noticed that she didn't pull away to give him room. Holding the top of his seat with one hand, he opened the outer compartment of his garment bag with the other and pulled out the folded e-mail. He made sure he grazed her arm as he pushed himself back into his seat and re-fastened the seat belt. The sun had begun to set; Scully flipped on the map light as Mulder snapped open the folded sheets and handed them to her. He sat in silence, watching his partner stare at the warning message and the two photos. Several moments later he quietly intoned, "Green light," as the traffic moved in front of them through the intersection. She jerked her head up and accelerated, thrusting the pages at him and switching the light back off as she brought her hand back to the steering wheel. Mulder waited as she processed the information. "Someone sent that to Agent Fowley? Why?" Scully paused, forehead wrinkling, her eyes fixed on the traffic in front of them. She rubbed the space between her eyebrows with her forefinger, then dropped her hand back to the steering wheel. "And why did she show this to you? How did she know that you'd recognize Kurt and Scanlon?" "She didn't know about Scanlon. But she saw Kurt enter my apartment building last night." Did he hear Scully mutter "great" under her breath? And if it was, was that because of his comment, or because of the sea of brake lights ahead of them? Before he could answer his own questions, she spoke again. "What did you tell her?" Mulder bristled at the biting tone of her voice. Why did the temperature around them have to drop twenty degrees every time they discussed anything related to Diana? But, he chastised himself, remember what Diana did to Scully, how she violated her privacy. He couldn't blame Scully for still being pissed off. He was still angry himself. After all, how would he feel if the shoe were on the other foot? If one of Scully's old boyfr -- No. Not going there. Get back to the topic, Mulder. "I told her..." What was it he'd told her? "I told her what was technically the truth. That I hadn't seen Kurt on my way up to my apartment, and that he hadn't come knocking on my door." Scully's eyebrow quirked, but she gave him a tiny nod of acknowledgment. "And I told her the basics of the case from Allentown -- nothing she couldn't have found out for herself by reading the report we gave Skinner." He summarized the rest of his basement conversation with Diana Fowley, including her theory that Mulder was in danger and his insistence that she have Skinner talk to Kersh. As traffic came to a halt again, Scully glanced at her watch, then at her partner. "You know those photos don't really tell us anything," she said, nodding toward the pages in Mulder's lap. "There's nothing that dates them, or proves where they were taken. They could easily have been doctored." "I know." "So what's your take on them?" Mulder snapped his finger against the pages. "I think this whole thing -- the idea that Kurt is working with Scanlon -- is a hoax. We talked about this last night, Scully -- if Kurt had wanted to harm us, he had the opportunity. If he'd wanted to force us to go to Boston, he could have done that, too." "And if we're being lured to Boston, why use four encrypted e-mail messages to do it? That certainly seems like overkill." Her brow furrowed. "But why send that warning message and those photos to Agent Fowley?" Mulder scowled, looking past his partner and then meeting her eyes again. "To get me to investigate the warning that's in this e-mail with her. Someone was watching her, figuring out a way to use her to get me away from you." Scully's eyes widened, then she turned her gaze back to traffic as it started to move again. "Because the Kurts want my help." How many times today had he been gripped by this need to protect her from something unseen? "Because they want to stop you from helping them, and you're more vulnerable if I'm not with you." He expected her to rail against that 'v' word. But instead her tight, controlled voice asked, "What about Agent Fowley?" What about her? Mulder wondered. He was glad that he hadn't given Diana more information, but at the same time felt a twinge of guilt. Someone must have been watching Diana. Watching her because of him, because of the X-Files, because of what his work had done to Scully. Could she possibly be in danger herself? No, he reminded himself, they don't want Diana. They wouldn't risk exposure by going after her. She was just a tool. They want Scully. He suddenly, desperately, wanted to make Scully pull over, turn the car around, go back to his apartment where he could lock the door and stand guard... "They're not interested in her, Scully. They want you." She pulled in a breath and sat up straighter in her seat, lips narrowing. "I was alone part of the day today, Mulder, and no one came near me." His pulse quickened again. "Are you sure?" "=Yes.=" She all but spat the word out, then rubbed her fingers against the space between her eyebrows, and huffed out a sigh. "I'm sorry. That wasn't necessary." She paused, pursing her lips. After a moment she gave a slow nod. "There was a jogger that bumped into me, on the path near where I met you at the Potomac. But I'm certain that was just an accident." A slight quaver -- one Mulder knew only he would detect -- gave away her uncertainty. It mirrored his own. "I hope you're right," he muttered, staring at the pages in his lap. He pulled out the photo of Kurt, studying his face. Could he be wrong? Would this hybrid want to harm Scully? This hybrid. =This= hybrid. "Scully?" "Yeah," she said, voice soft. He looked up at her, concerned at her far-off tone and expression. "What if there's more than one kind of Kurt? Ones that are on our side, and others that are working with Scanlon. Good Kurts and bad Kurts, if you will." Her professional facade slipped back into place as she flicked her eyes to him and back to the road. "Good Kurt/Bad Kurt? That sounds like the name of a bad self-help book, Mulder." He chuffed out a half-laugh. "No, hear me out, Scully. What if this has been a huge, elaborate hoax -- to get us to believe that the Kurt we met last night was really one of the Kurts we met in Pennsylvania?" Scully's words came out slow, deliberate, cautious. "Then you're saying that we're walking into a trap." "We could be." "Why go to all the trouble? Why build up our faith in a 'bad' Kurt?" Mulder stared at her with dark, earnest eyes. "Maybe what they have planned for us -- for =you= -- in that lab in Boston is more than what this Kurt described to us last night. So they're building up our confidence so that we'll go along with it." "If he wanted something from us, Mulder, he could have taken it. Forced us to do what he wanted. We agreed on that point." "Maybe," Mulder said, chewing on his words before releasing them, "what this 'bad' Kurt needs is something that has to be given willingly." "Like what?" Mulder was silent. Scully's fingers once again beat against the steering wheel. "Mulder?" He reached over and laid his left hand over her right, stilling her nervous drumming. He gave her fingers a quick squeeze before dropping his hand back to his lap. "I don't know," he admitted. And he wasn't sure that he wanted to speculate. ******************************************************************** Scully kept her eye on the bumper of the car in front of her as they continued to crawl through traffic. After all, a fender-bender would make them even more late in getting to the airport. She barely registered Mulder's movements as he replaced the e-mail and photos in his garment bag. Her mind couldn't stop churning through everything Mulder had said. Were there Kurts that were working with Scanlon? Was she the target of all this? If so, why now, after all this time? What could they want from her? And why did Diana Fowley's part in this just seem so... wrong? Hopefully they would find out in Boston -- but first they had to get out of this damn traffic. "How's your headache?" What...? She looked at her partner, startled, before realizing that she'd been rubbing her forehead again. "It was better before you got in the car." As soon as the words left her mouth, Scully blanched. "I'm sorry, Mulder -- I didn't mean that the way it came out." He nodded. "It's okay, Scully -- I knew what you meant." She caught his eye, nodded in return, and gave her attention back to the road. "It had pretty much gone away, but now... I'll be fine once I take some more Tylenol." A pause lasting a heartbeat went by before Mulder asked quietly, "Are you sure?" "Mulder..." She sighed. "The only things I'm sure of right now is that we need to get to Boston as soon as possible -- and that we need to be even more careful than usual." "That's why I have you to watch my back, Scully. I don't trust anyone else to do it." She cast a glance in his direction; he had turned to look out the side window. Scully felt a pleasant squeezing to her heart, contradicted by the simultaneous clench of her stomach. Something was horribly wrong about this whole thing -- something about Fowley, but something she couldn't put her finger on. And, therefore, something she couldn't explain to her partner. With a grim sigh, she glanced at her watch again and continued to inch the car toward the airport. Within a minute she was drumming her fingers across the steering wheel again. ******************************************************************** Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport Arlington, Virginia Saturday, 5:28 p.m. He scanned the terminal from his vantage point near a bank of phones, concentrating. He felt her. She was close. Very close. The replacement chip in the neck of the one called "Scully" functioned perfectly, as he knew it would; tracking her had been a simple matter of following its signal. He was displeased that the Kurt had managed to elude him again, but it was a minor matter. Knowing the humans' predictability, she and the young Mulder would lead him directly to that Kurt and the rest of his kind -- traitors to the Project. The Kurts were foolish to think that they would remain undetected. They would be found. They would be eliminated. To keep up appearances he had to affect certain human traits. Gestures, mannerisms, that kept humans fooled. So he blinked once, twice. Then he gave a little tug at the collar of the flannel shirt he wore. Its previous owner, whose face and body he had duplicated, now lay dead in the trunk of a car. By the time the naked corpse was found, he would be long gone. The Kurts would be gone, too. No longer a problem to the Project. He squinted -- another mannerism -- and looked across the terminal at the human stream flooding through the automatic doors. Yes. There they were. ******************************************************************** - end Chapter 13 - ******************************************************************** Feedback is cherished at Forte1354@aol.com or bjm1352@aol.com. More Author's Notes: A big wave across time zones to Jintian, beta reader extraordinaire. And big hugs to Special Guest beta reader Audrey Roget -- glad I hooked you all over again.