TITLE: Value & Honor AUTHOR: Forte E-MAIL ADDRESS: Forte1354@aol.com or bjm1352@aol.com URL: http://www.thebasementoffice.com/ RATING: strong R CATEGORY: XA SPOILERS: All over the place, through The Beginning (US Season 6), including Fight the Future. Author's Notes includes a spoiler for Alpha. KEYWORDS: UST, hint of MSR, MulderAngst, ScullyAngst, mythology. Secondary character death. SUMMARY: When Mulder and Scully face past and present evils, "value" and "honor" are proven to be both nouns and verbs. TIMEFRAME: Early in US Season 6, after The Beginning but before Triangle. ARCHIVE: Gossamer/Ephemeral/Xemplary OK; anywhere else please ask first. DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, et al. don't belong to me. They belong to His Majesty Chris Carter, 1013, and Fox. (And as far as I'm concerned they belong to David and Gillian, too.) The only thing that belongs to me is the bill I get from AOL each month. I'm making no money off of this and intend no infringement. I write with great love, reverence, and respect for all concerned. FEEDBACK: Yes please -- it's better than chocolate! E-mail me at Forte1354@aol.com or bjm1352@aol.com. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: If this fic is any good at all, it's because of Jintian, beta reader extraordinaire, who taught me why adverbs are (often) evil . She also told me what things worked and what things didn't, and encouraged me to keep plugging along. All writers should be as blessed as I am. Thank you from the bottom of my heart! Thanks also to Risheloo, for telling me which ep Scully references toward the end of this story. As promised, I've immortalized you within this fic to thank you for saving my sanity. And last but certainly not least, Virtual margaritas, Sno Caps, and whatever else their little hearts desire to the Primal Screamers, whose Season Six Wish Lists inspired this fic. AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is a Work In Progress. Although I don't know how many chapters I will ultimately have, I expect the total length of this story to be around 250K. (Additional Author's Notes at end.) ******************************************************************** Value & Honor by Forte ******************************************************************** "NO!" Mulder fired. But it was too late. A thousand silent, instantaneous prayers, then the words no law enforcement officer ever wants to speak or to hear: "AGENT DOWN!" ******************************************************************** 60 hours earlier J. Edgar Hoover Building Washington, DC Friday, 8:20 a.m. With eyes shut and elbows on her desk in the bullpen, Scully massaged the inside edges of her eyebrows with her thumbs and sighed -- but only loud enough for Mulder to hear. They had arrested the suspect the previous morning, finally returning home as dusk and exhaustion set in. Scully had cried as she lay in bed, a release she rarely allowed herself but for this case could not deny needing. All she had been able to see when she had closed her eyes was the wiry man, straggly black hair obscuring his face, hunched over a strangled 4-year-old. In all, five pre-schoolers -- three girls, two boys -- had been brutally murdered by the psychotic in Providence, Rhode Island. And his reason? "Because I felt like it." Accompanied by a shrug. As though they had asked why he'd worn a blue shirt that day. Even more than her partner, Scully grieved for the senseless waste of innocent life. Those children never should have had to suffer and die. Scully sat up and rolled her neck slowly. She tried to unravel the knots in her shoulders, borne of the anger twisting her stomach, but without success. Giving up, she opened her eyes, put her wire-rimmed glasses back on, and turned back to her PC. Her nails clicked over the keyboard as she continued to summarize her autopsy notes for their report to AD Kersh. Over the top of her lenses, she could see Mulder standing and watching her with concern. "Headache already, Scully? It's not even 9 a.m. yet." She stopped typing and glanced around. The other agents in the bullpen seemed engrossed in their own tasks. She turned her gaze to her partner. "Not =already=, Mulder. =Still=. The same one I went to bed with last night." Given the case they had just cracked, not even Mulder was in the mood to follow up on that straight line. Scully sighed again. "You know, Mulder, I would happily spend the rest of my life making those damn fertilizer calls if it would guarantee that there would never be anyone else like Jack Morse walking the face of the Earth." Mulder nodded, looking uncomfortable. "Look Scully... I didn't get a chance to say anything while..." He paused. he berated himself. Mulder cleared his throat and tried again, his voice low. "I know this case must have been..." he struggled for the right words, "difficult for you...." Scully's eyes widened for a moment, horrified at her partner's choice of timing -- -- yet grateful for his acknowledgment. Finally, she let them both off the hook by looking back down at her keyboard and nodding. It was the closest she could come to admitting to her partner just how much the Morse case had bothered her. Her head throbbed. "Thank God Kersh let us go out there," Scully said finally, "or that bastard would be looking for his next victim right now." Mulder nodded again, half from agreement and half from relief at the change of subject. "Well, you certainly get the gold star for putting two and two together, Scully. You figured out from the autopsy results where the son of a bitch was going to stalk his next victim." Scully looked up at him again. "I wouldn't have had the first 'two' without your profile, Mulder." She turned that thought around in her mind. Yes, they had worked especially well together on this case. Her science and his intuition had meshed perfectly, so unlike many of their other cases where, although successful, they found themselves at odds with each other. she wondered, then dismissed her concern as a side effect of fatigue and her headache. It was their way, and it worked. Mulder's sigh interrupted her thoughts. "Well, I guess it's good to know I still have some value, at least when every other profiler in the Bureau is tied up with other cases." Scully shook her head, her gaze intense. "You never lost your value, Mulder. Other people lost the ability to see it." Mulder blinked in surprise, then smiled warmly at the unexpected compliment. He leaned over to within a few inches of her, and brushed the edge of her shoulder with his fingertips. "Thanks, Scully. It's comforting to know that there will always be at least =one= person in the Fox Mulder fan club." He stood up again, still smiling. His comment pulled a wry smile from her lips. "Don't press your luck, Mulder." She pushed her chair back and stood up. "I'm going to get some coffee. You want some?" "Yeah, thanks." He gestured toward his own desk. "I'm gonna try to get my shit together for this report before we see Kersh at nine." "Okay." Scully touched Mulder's arm briefly as she slid past him in the narrow space between desks, and then headed down the hall towards the floor's kitchen area. ******************************************************************** Scully's heels clicked on the tile floor of the kitchenette. "Figures," she grumbled at the three coffee pots, each holding one-half inch of dregs. "If I ever get my hands on the people who take the last of the coffee without starting a new pot..." Scully contemplated various forms of retribution as she emptied and rinsed one of the carafes, dumped the old coffee grinds, and started a fresh batch of coffee. The throbbing in her head became stronger. she told herself as the fresh coffee started to drip through into the carafe. She took a deep breath through her nose, and blew it out slowly through pursed lips. Although Scully tried to focus on ideas for channeling her anger, her mind kept returning to more unsettling thoughts. <... the five children that already died...> <... the carnage...> <... little children had to suffer...> "Suffer the little children that come unto me," Scully murmured. As the coffee drip slowed to a trickle, she picked up a Styrofoam cup and turned it around in her hands absently. She thought of Emily, for only the thousandth time since she and Mulder had started on the case a week before. "A sick bastard," she told the cup. **Throb** Scully was startled out of her thoughts by a cheerful voice that came from behind her. "Good morning, Agent Scully." Scully turned. <=Just= what I need right now.> She suppressed a scowl, and instead nodded a non-committal greeting. "Agent Fowley." "I understand that congratulations are in order, Agent Scully," Diana Fowley said, smiling. The dark-haired woman grabbed a cup and reached around Scully for the pot of fresh coffee, moving too far into her personal space for Scully's liking. Scully eyed her, one eyebrow up. Fowley poured herself a cup of the dark brew, then set the carafe down on the burner again. "How so, Agent Fowley?" Scully asked, with a calm she didn't feel. "Your autopsy work resulted in the arrest of a child killer," Fowley replied. "In remarkably short time, in fact. Your skill and dedication are commendable." "It was a joint effort between my partner and me," Scully said evenly, forcing herself to not place emphasis on =my partner=. "As it always is." **Throb** "And how is Fox?" Fowley asked. "I never see him anymore, now that you two are on this floor." "He's fine." **Throb** "You know," Fowley said, in a conspiratorial tone, "I'm aware that Fox must not be particularly thrilled in your... current assignment. I hope he's not taking his frustrations out on you. He can be very =child=ish." She drew out the 'i' sound in 'child' for emphasis. "I hadn't noticed that tendency in him," Scully lied. "I've always found him to be the consummate professional." **Throb** Realizing that she was still holding an empty cup, Scully filled it, then started to add powdered creamer as Fowley spoke again. "I know you haven't asked for my advice, Agent Scully, but if he =does= start acting up, I would suggest that you not..." She paused, then finished the sentence with a hint of a smirk. "=Baby= him." Scully blinked hard, reached for a plastic spoon from the box on the counter, and stirred her coffee aggressively. That was her second reference to... Could Fowley possibly be making jokes about the Morse case? Could she be so insensitive? "I'm sure he was glad to have that case to work on, to be able to stop that madman," Fowley continued. "Fox always had a soft spot for children. He'll be a fine father for some woman's children someday." Scully heard herself say, "I'm sure he will." **Throb** Scully's mind tried to sort out the bizarre conversation. She turned that idea around in her head and dismissed it. With Mulder and her in the bullpen making fertilizer calls, she was already as much of an outcast in the Bureau as she could be. That was a more plausible explanation. But it didn't explain the "why". "Well," Fowley said, glancing at her watch, "I'd better get going. Agent Spender and I have a meeting with AD Skinner in a few minutes. Shall I tell him you send your regards? I'm sure he misses working with you and Fox." She smiled pleasantly. Scully fought the urge to clench her teeth, refusing to give Fowley any indication that her words were causing anger. Instead, she grabbed another cup, this one for Mulder. "Yes, thank you," she said evenly, pretending to give the coffee her full attention as she filled the second cup. Fowley paused as she turned to walk away, as though she had made a decision about something. She leaned in towards Scully, and spoke in a stage whisper. "It's a good thing you're married to your work, Agent Scully. Who would want a woman in your situation?" At first Scully drew a blank at the other agent's remark. Then realization struck her like a physical blow. A chill ran down her spine. Fowley was ridiculing her inability to have children. For a long moment Scully stood shell-shocked, unable to process what had just transpired or think of any kind of coherent response. Fowley straightened again and fixed her with a contemptuous glare. Then the chill in Scully turned into a burn; she contemplated "accidentally" slipping and dousing Fowley with the pot of coffee she held. And for that split second it was a =damn= attractive idea. But she knew that a violent reaction was exactly what the dark-haired agent was hoping for, had goaded her towards, and Scully refused to give Fowley what she wanted. Instead, she returned the pot to its burner and then leaned toward Fowley's ear, to ensure that no one would overhear her words. Unlike Fowley's, her voice was low. "You're not worth it. And this conversation is over." Without taking her narrowed eyes off of Diana Fowley's, Scully picked up the two cups she had prepared and backed away. Finally satisfied that she had moved far enough away from the other woman -- Scully wondered -- she turned on her heel to head back to her desk. And came face to face with Mulder. ******************************************************************** - end chapter 1 - ******************************************************************** Feedback is cherished at Forte1354@aol.com or bjm1352@aol.com. Value & Honor by Forte (Forte1354@aol.com) Please see Chapter 1 for rating, summary, disclaimer, etc. ******************************************************************** - Chapter 2 - ******************************************************************** J. Edgar Hoover Building Washington, DC Friday, 8:42 a.m. Mulder finished typing up his report for Kersh and glanced at his watch, then at Scully's unoccupied desk. He looked at his watch again and frowned, hit "print" on his PC, and stood up. He checked Scully's PC -- -- then headed toward the kitchen area on the other side of the floor. As he rounded a corner, about fifteen feet from the kitchenette, he stopped in his tracks. What he saw was surprising enough, but it was the tension in the air that truly made his stomach lurch. Scully. And Diana. The red and the black. Neither seemed to notice him standing there. Scully stood with her back to him, holding a pot of coffee. Diana's face was twisted in a slight smirk; she leaned over to Scully and said something he couldn't make out. He watched as Scully's free hand clenched and released as she placed the pot on its burner and then leaned over towards Diana. Whatever she told the other agent made no apparent impression. Scully straightened, picked up a Styrofoam cup in each hand, and backed away. Mulder was about to step backwards himself to get out of her way when she suddenly whirled around and stopped short, eyes wide at the sight of him. "Hi," she sputtered. She shoved one of the cups into his hand and continued walking past him, back straight, head high. In control. Mulder stared after her, momentarily speechless, then regained his composure and stalked after her. He threw a glance over his shoulder in time to catch Diana's eye. Seeing his frown, she merely shrugged, then walked away in the opposite direction. Mulder's mind reeled as he lengthened his stride to catch up with his partner without being too obvious. Whatever the hell had just happened in that kitchen wasn't good. Mulder followed Scully back to their desks. She *plunked* her cup down, sending a small tidal wave of coffee over the edge onto her desk. Oblivious, she stared at her computer's monitor. Mulder glanced around to ensure that no one was watching them. "Scully." His voice was cautious, uncertain; the question asked in the tone of his voice. Without a word or glance at him, she yanked open the drawer of her desk. Mulder watched as she pulled out a small bottle of acetaminophen, swallowed three with a gulp of coffee, threw the re-capped bottle back in the drawer and slammed it shut with her hip. "Scully." More tentative. "We have seven minutes to get to Kersh's office, Mulder," Scully told him, still keeping her eyes from his. She hunched over her PC's keyboard, typed a sentence, then hit "print." Mulder moved to block Scully's path to the printer. Why did she suddenly look so small? What could he say to break through the ice dam that stood between him and his partner? "Thanks for the coffee." He steeled himself for the hated phrase, but instead she accepted his challenge and met his gaze defiantly. The image of a much younger Scully saluting her father flashed through Mulder's mind. "You're welcome. And we now have only six minutes to get to Kersh's office." In their years together Mulder had learned to read his partner's eyes in a way that he assumed -- hoped, prayed -- no one else could. In those usually stoic blue pupils he saw anger, determination, and something else so rare and horrific he felt physical pain. Anguish. Pleading with him for time, and space, and dignity. So he let her off the hook. Temporarily. "Let's talk later -- go out for lunch. There's too many people around; someone could be listening." No one else but Mulder could have picked up the slight tremble in her voice. "I know." Scully thought. ******************************************************************** A.D. Kersh's Office 9:00 a.m. Mulder couldn't help noticing Scully's nervous energy as they sat waiting in Kersh's outer office. The slender fingers of her left hand drummed insistently on the folder containing their just-printed reports. With a quick glance towards Kersh's secretary to ensure that she wasn't watching, Mulder brushed the edge of his right hand against her left. Startled from her reverie, she looked at her partner with a face that showed -- embarrassment? Mulder glanced down at her now-stilled hand and back up at her. Scully chewed her lower lip and looked back down at the folder. "Agents -- A.D. Kersh will see you now." Scully led the way into Kersh's office, with Mulder right behind, hand at the small of her back. Each took a seat in front of Kersh's desk, where the A.D. was studying a file. Scully leaned forward to lay the report in front of Kersh. He finished looking at the file in front of him, moved it to the bottom of a pile of approximately twenty similar files on his desk, then started to review the contents of the folder on the top of the pile. After about thirty seconds, Mulder looked over at Scully, who met his gaze without expression. Mulder cleared his throat. "Just a moment, Agents." Kersh closed the file he was inspecting and returned it to the top of the pile on his desk, then turned his attention to the folder Scully had placed before him. He flipped through it for a few moments, then spoke. "This was good work." His voice was a monotone, and he did not look up from the pages in front of him. "Thank you, sir," Mulder responded. "Your forensics work here was especially good, Agent Scully," Kersh added. Scully started, almost imperceptibly, as though she might have been daydreaming. Kersh, still skimming over the report, did not notice. Mulder did. "Thank you, sir," Scully replied. "But you'll see from my report that my forensics work would have been useless without Agent Mulder's profile of the killer." Kersh mumbled something indistinguishable and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. Mulder's eyes narrowed momentarily in annoyance, and this time it was his partner's turn to glance at him. "Agent Scully," the A.D. continued, "I have some files here that I would like you to take a look at." "Sir?" "Autopsy reports from unsolved homicides of young children around the country. I'd like you to review them and see if you can find any connection between these cases and the murders allegedly committed by Jack Morse." His eyes rose to meet Scully's. Mulder's back stiffened. He glanced one more time at his partner, but she showed no outward reaction to Kersh's request. "Certainly, sir." Her words were crisp and professional as they always were -- Mulder heard nothing in her tone to suggest that the assignment caused her the slightest distress. "I'll expect your conclusions and recommendations on Monday afternoon. That will be all, Agents," Kersh said, standing. Mulder and Scully rose also, and the A.D. handed her the stack of files from his desk. As the agents moved towards the door, he spoke again. "Agent Scully." Both Mulder and Scully stopped and turned to face the Assistant Director. "Agent Scully," Kersh repeated, making it clear that he wanted only her attention. "A moment, please?" Scully looked at Mulder and gave the tiniest fraction of a nod. Mulder turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. "Sir?" Kersh came from behind his desk and approached Scully. "I want you to know that I think you're doing excellent work, Agent Scully. You have a long and prestigious career ahead of you at the Bureau. And I am confident that you will not always be in your present assignment." Scully paused, trying to determine Kersh's hidden agenda for this unexpected speech, but reaching no definitive conclusion. "Thank you, sir. I'm sure Agent Mulder and I would be assets to any department in the Bureau." "Agent Scully," Kersh took another step forward, and lowered his voice, "valuable opportunities may present themselves to you in the future that involve -- " he paused for emphasis, " -- individual responsibilities. You would be doing yourself a favor to take advantage of them regardless of your current loyalties." Scully thought as he spoke. Her mind flashed back to the recent events in Dallas and the Antarctic, and at the Bureau after their return from that nightmare. "Do you understand what I'm saying to you, Agent?" Kersh pressed. As difficult and as frustrating as working with Mulder could be sometimes, her place was with him. She had told him so, and Scullys kept their word, did their duty, upheld their honor. Squaring her shoulders, Scully shut out of her mind all of her other reasons for staying with Mulder. Her stony, impenetrable gaze bore down on the Assistant Director, and she allowed some of her disdain to escape in her voice. "Yes, sir, I understand. Is that all, sir?" "Yes, Agent Scully. That's all." Scully turned on her heel, back straight, and left the room. She closed the door behind her with more force than necessity dictated. Mulder was waiting for her in the hall outside of Kersh's outer office. He gave Scully a concerned look, and motioned with his eyes towards the door she had just closed. Scully shook her head. "Lunch," she said, almost inaudible. Mulder nodded and followed her down the hall, Scully finding unusual comfort in the feel of his hand at her back. As they approached their desks, Mulder looked down at the stack of files in Scully's arms, raised his eyes to catch hers, and looked down at the files again. "Are you okay with this, Scully?" "I'm okay with it, Mulder," she assured him quietly. She stopped at the edge of the bullpen, out of earshot of the other agents. Mulder stood facing her, his head bowed toward her to catch her every word. "I can do this. I =have= to do this. Because there are parents out there who don't have what little I have. I =know= what happened to -- " She stopped short, nearly choking on the words she meant to say next. She steeled herself, and started again. "I know what happened to Emily. I know who did it to her. I even know =why=." She shrugged, but trembled slightly, betraying her attempt at appearing detached from the lives she held in her arms, and the one she left in San Diego. "If my forensic knowledge of the Morse case can help bring those parents some answers, then I have to do it." Mulder searched her eyes for any signs of misgivings, but found none. He nodded again, gave her arm a gentle squeeze, and accompanied her back to their desks. ******************************************************************** 12:20 p.m. Trying to dodge the raindrops, the man sprinted across the tarmac to the waiting commuter plane. Despite his efforts, his raincoat was dripping wet by the time he ducked inside the tiny aircraft. His short hair was wet, too, but it would dry quickly enough. Fortunately, the briefcase that held his laptop had stayed safe and dry under the coat. He laid the case on his seat, then stripped off the wet coat, folded it inside out to prevent the water from running off onto other people's belongings, and stuffed it into the overhead compartment. With much greater care, he stowed the laptop under the seat in front of him, then strapped himself into his seat and sighed. He hated flying. He'd read the complimentary magazine and even memorized the plane's safety instructions on the previous flight. Impatient and bored, he crossed one ankle over the opposite knee and drummed on the edge of his shoe. For a few minutes he amused himself by running a thumbnail over a crack in the heel, which had split open enough to allow dirt and tiny stones to become embedded within. He made a mental note to buy a new pair of shoes. A shoe repairman just might remember his face. He glanced at his watch and sighed again. He =really= hated flying to Washington DC. ******************************************************************** - end Chapter 2 - ******************************************************************** Feedback is cherished at Forte1354@aol.com or bjm1352@aol.com. Value & Honor by Forte (Forte1354@aol.com) Please see Chapter 1 for rating, summary, disclaimer, etc. ******************************************************************** - Chapter 3 - ******************************************************************** Washington, DC 12:30 p.m. The sun was out, and the sky clear, but Mulder would have sworn that a rain cloud was trailing his partner like paparazzi stalking a celebrity. Scully had not uttered a word since they'd agreed on a restaurant: a small, dark hole in the wall that they hoped would be relatively unpopular on that beautiful November Friday afternoon. As they trekked along the Washington sidewalk, she kept her chin tucked, her eyes downcast. Had he asked, she probably would have claimed to be watching for cracks in the pavement so she wouldn't trip, and then she would utter Those Words. <"I'm fine, Mulder."> Damn. So he didn't bother asking, and worried instead about what was going on inside of her head. And whether any of it was his fault. #-#-#-#-#-# Scully's mind raced as she sat at her desk. She was preoccupied with Fowley's comments. With Kersh's words. And with the autopsy reports stacked in front of her like shrunken coffins. #-#-#-#-#-# The restaurant wasn't crowded, as they'd anticipated. Scully remained silent throughout their brief wait for the table they requested, one tucked away in a corner that would afford them some privacy. After they had been seated and given menus, Mulder's patience wore out. He decided to start with his usual dry humor, and work up from there. "Nice little meeting this morning, eh, Scully?" "What?" His partner seemed startled to hear him speak. "Scully, have I lost that magic touch? I don't seem to be holding your attention today." He smiled at her, but not without concern. Scully nodded, but kept her gaze on her menu. "Sorry. Headache's really interfering with my concentration. I was... just trying to decide what I want to eat." She paused. "Yes, Kersh was unusually irritating." one half of his brain joked in relief, but the other half, still worried about her, squelched the thought. "He didn't seem too impressed with me, but you certainly charmed him," Mulder teased. "Maybe in our meetings with him you should do all the talking from now on." "I don't think you should let yourself fade into the background, Mul-- " Scully was interrupted by the arrival of the waitress. She took their orders and menus, leaving Scully nothing with which to shield herself. Mulder crossed his arms on the table and leaned toward his partner. "You were saying, Scully? Why shouldn't I let myself fade into the background?" Scully sucked in a breath as anger tightened its grip on her stomach. #-#-#-#-#-# <"Valuable opportunities may present themselves to you in the future that involve -- individual responsibilities. You would be doing yourself a favor to take advantage of them regardless of your current loyalties."> Scully ran her fingers along the pencil that she'd been tapping on the file in front of her. Without thinking, she twisted and squeezed it as hard as she could. #-#-#-#-#-# "Scully?" Mulder's voice shook her from her reverie. He studied her as she stared down at her clasped hands lying on the table. As though she'd sensed his thoughts, she chose that moment to clear her throat and continue. "Kersh seems to be of the opinion that I will not always be making fertilizer calls." "=You=?" "Me." "Oh." Mulder's tone was calm, but his piercing eyes gave away his intense focus on her words. He leaned a little closer to her. "He implied that, at some unspecified time in the future, I would be made an offer too good to refuse." "Did he?" Mulder tried to continue sounding nonchalant while ignoring his growing panic. What had happened to his ability to put together sentences of more than two words? "Yes, he... hinted rather broadly that my loyalty to you is misplaced." Now Mulder cleared his throat. He needed to know; to be sure. "Do =you= think so?" #-#-#-#-#-# Scully stared down at the autopsy report, unable to concentrate. <"It's a good thing you're married to your work, Agent Scully. Who would want a woman in your situation?"> Scully closed her eyes and took in a slow breath, willing her jaw to unclench. Repeating her actions of earlier that morning, she massages the muscles over her eyes with her thumbs. At least her tension headaches were different from the ones she'd had with her tumor; she had a course of action to take, even if it didn't always work. She glanced up. Mulder's chair was swiveled so that he faced the PC on the corner of his desk, allowing her to see him in partial profile. She studied his features for a moment, then returned her gaze to the file on her own desk. #-#-#-#-#-# Only half a heartbeat had gone by since Mulder had posed his question. Did she think her loyalty to him was misplaced? Could he really not know the answer to that question? Yes, he ditched her sometimes. Yes, they fought sometimes -- OK, frequently -- over explanations for the cases they investigated. But he never -- =NEVER= -- put his interests ahead of hers. Even when he ditched her, or withheld information from her, his intent was to protect her. Not that she appreciated when he did it, but at least his heart was in the right place. Unlike other people they had to deal with, most of whom seemed to have no heart at all; never mind whether it was where it was supposed to be. During their partnership she and Mulder had been to hell and back together, over and over. Her abduction...the deaths of his father and her sister...his mother's stroke...the cancer...Emily...Dallas. They'd held each other up, kept each other sane. At other times, he'd snatched her back from Satan's minions: Tooms, Pfaster, Schnauz. He'd gone to the =Antarctic= for her, for God's sakes, to take her back from the Devil himself. She knew without question that if something happened to her, he would do =anything= to save her. Just as she would for him. Were there words in the English language expressive enough, potent enough, to do justice to what they shared? If he wasn't deserving of her loyalty, then who was? she asked herself again. Another half a heartbeat went by. The corners of her mouth turned up. She looked her partner in the eye, holding Mulder's gaze with a fierceness she knew he'd never seen in her before. Her voice held equal strength. "I think my loyalty is right where it should be, Mulder. Nice try, but you're not getting rid of me that easily." "So, as long as no one mentions Salt Lake City, I'm stuck with you?" Mulder clamped an imaginary hand over his mouth, and felt his eyes go wide with horror. Scully gazed at him evenly. "Mulder, I explained my reasoning to you about that. After that meeting with OPR, right after Dallas, I felt like there was nothing that I could do at the FBI that would make a difference any more. Besides," she looked down at the table, "if I'd gone to Salt Lake City, that would have effectively ended our partnership." She looked back up at Mulder; he felt his heart pound in his chest as his pulse rate accelerated. "Mulder, there is still so much that we can do, that we =have= to do. With the X-Files, or without them. This case with Morse," she gestured to imaginary files in front of her. "The vaccine." She paused. "Samantha." She leaned across the table and placed her slender, pale hand over his larger one. Mulder's eyes flicked down to look at their joined hands, then rose to meet hers again. Her countenance became grave. "After all we've been through, I think we've come to rely on each other so we can keep going, keep getting up when we get knocked down. We work better together than we ever could separately." She paused again, taking a slow, deep breath. "After we got back from the Antarctic, Mulder, you told me to go be a doctor. My answer was 'no' then, and it's still 'no' now." Mulder stared at her, unblinking. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. "Good. That's good." He smiled at her. "I wasn't looking forward to eating my lunch alone." Scully gave him a smile in return, but one he could see was tinged with sadness. The waitress approached with their food, breaking the spell of solemnity that had fallen over their table. Scully dragged her hand off Mulder's and sat back in her seat. As they ate, Mulder did his best to not look over at her too often, concerned about making her uncomfortable or anxious about his attention. But her reticence told him that something was still troubling her. And he was pretty damn sure he knew what it was. #-#-#-#-#-# Scully glanced at her watch. She closed the autopsy report for 4-year-old Matthew David Forrester, shuffled it to the bottom of the pile, and opened the next folder. Diana Theresa Robertson, age 3. Scully stared at the first name, willing herself to not replay the confrontation with Fowley in her head, but unable to escape the thoughts. she wondered, not for the first time since she'd returned to her desk. The theory she kept returning to was the one that had first occurred to her in the kitchen -- Diana was trying to cause more friction between her and Mulder. Did that mean that Diana had approached him as well? Mulder was still at his desk, and had neither moved from it nor used his phone since they'd come back from Kersh's office. If Diana had spoken with him, it had to have been before the "kitchen incident", probably within the last week. But they had spent most of the previous week in Rhode Island, and had been together almost every waking moment. Besides, wouldn't Mulder have acted... differently... if Diana had contacted him, tried to create tension in their partnership? She'd been so wrapped up in the Morse case... but she would have noticed a change in her partner's behavior. Wouldn't she? Her head throbbed again. Scully decided. Mind made up, she returned to the autopsy report for the younger Diana. #-#-#-#-#-# After several more minutes had passed, Scully was still eating in silence, her full attention on her sandwich. She gave no indication that she planned to speak again during the meal. Again, Mulder could wait no longer, and this time he wasn't going to tap dance around the subject. "Scully?" She looked up at Mulder as she put her sandwich, on its way to her mouth, back down on the plate. "Hmm?" He hesitated a moment, struck by how weary she looked. Why hadn't he noticed that before? "What happened this morning with Diana?" Scully's jaw tightened and she chewed on her bottom lip, but she maintained her eye contact with him. Mulder gave her credit for not even trying to pretend that nothing was on her mind. "I was just trying to decide how to ask you this." She paused. "Mulder, have you spoken with Agent Fowley recently? In the last week or so?" He wasn't sure where she was going with the question, but decided it would be best to give her a straightforward answer, then ask her to elaborate. "No," he shrugged, "haven't had a reason to. Why?" Scully considered his answer. She pressed her lips together. she assured herself. "Something weird happened this morning, Mulder." She proceeded to detail her conversation with Fowley for him, describing the events in the most professional, detached, and objective manner she could. When she finished, she went back to studying the food on her plate, waiting for his reaction. Mulder slumped back in his chair and stared at her, stunned. Maybe he was full of shit, grasping at straws. Scully, Queen of Skeptics, did not exaggerate. Period. Yet he, King of Believers, could not reconcile what his partner had just told him with what he knew about Diana Fowley. Diana was self-confident, determined; she knew what she wanted, and knew how to get it. But she wasn't cruel. Never. Not even when she'd left him. Finally he found his voice, but again he would immediately regret his choice of words. "I can't believe she would say those things, Scully." She felt knots of frustration twist her stomach -- -- and snapped her eyes up to look at him. "Are you suggesting that I was hearing things, Mulder?" "No, no," he hastened to reply. "I just mean that... that's not like Diana at all. I've never known her to be..." he made a gesture of resignation with his hands, "quite so bitchy." "Well, maybe she's given up her kinder, gentler ways." Scully inhaled sharply, then poked at her sandwich without interest, thinking. "There's something I don't understand." "What?" "How could she have known about...." She paused, then took another quick breath. "About =that=? About =me=?" Alarms went off in Mulder's head, and he blanched. he assured himself. But again, he had to be certain. "Scully... you don't think I told...." Mulder was relieved by her small gasp. "No, no, of course not, Mulder. I know you would never tell anyone unless it were absolutely necessary. But doesn't that beg the question? Where would she have gotten that information, Mulder? I know I wasn't imagining things or overreacting. She definitely =knew=." "I don't know. I have no idea, Scully." Silence. "I'm sorry, Scully." "There's nothing to be sorry about, Mulder. I'm not going to let her get to me." "Come on, Scully. You can't tell me that what she said didn't bother you." The Fates tempted, Scully shrugged. "I'm fine, Mulder." Mulder's jaw clenched. "You're =not= fine, Scully." "Don't patronize me, Mulder!" she returned. Now both of Mulder's fists clenched as well. "Jesus, Scully, do I need to get into a geography lesson here? Give you a fucking lecture on rivers in Egypt?" Scully's eyes widened as her mouth formed an "O" and then closed again without sound. "What the hell does =that= mean?" she demanded. "Do you expect me to believe that comments like that wouldn't hurt you? Or have you really convinced yourself that they don't?" Scully tried to tamp down her hostility -- -- but at the same time couldn't let Mulder's presumptuousness go unchallenged. "Don't do this, Mulder. You have no idea what I think or feel." "I think I =do= know how you feel, Scully. You've been wearing your heart on your sleeve all day." Scully gaped for an instant, then closed her mouth. Mulder rarely spoke to her in words that cut so close to the bone. But he had a point; the events of the prior week and of that morning in particular had gone a long way toward shredding the stoic facade that she tried to maintain at all times. Still, even if he recognized her lowered defenses, that didn't mean he knew the sentiments behind them. Nor did it mean that she could discuss it with him; her emotions were a blur, racing through her psyche, her soul, far too quickly for her to place them in any but the broadest of categories. If she couldn't make sense of it all, how could he? She drew in a breath, then spoke slowly, enunciating each word. "You do not understand, Mulder. You don't have any idea." Mulder sat back and crossed his arms across his chest. "Fine, Scully. So help me to understand. Tell me what I need to know." She shook her head, astounded by his lack of perceptiveness. "You still don't get it, Mulder. There =are= no words. No words at all. Nothing even vaguely adequate." She paused. "Can you understand that?" Mulder waved a hand in frustration. "Just try me, Scully. Throw out a word at me. Anything." Scully sucked in another breath. Words and memories flew around in her head, causing it to pound even harder. She closed her eyes, grasping the fleeting images: hearing Melissa's voice over the phone saying 'She needs your help.' Coloring on the floor with Emily. Lying next to her feverish body on a cold hospital bed. A tiny coffin, filled with sand. Arms that would never again cradle a child of her own. "Loss." Scully paused as she started to feel the anger well up in her again, willing herself to not lose complete control of that emotion. "Indescribable loss." Maybe a =little= less control would be OK. "Miserable, aching, gut-wrenching, goddamn =LOSS=." She opened her eyes and glared at him, unblinking. Mulder glared back, unfolding his arms and leaning slightly forward. "And you think I don't understand loss, Scully? Don't you know I've =felt= loss every fucking day since Samantha was taken?" Scully softened, but only for a moment. "I know that, Mulder, and I'm sorry." Then the glare returned. "But you have something that I will =never= have." Scully paused and took in a breath. Her eyes still reflected anger, but not bitterness. "You have =hope=." Mulder stared, speechless, and Scully continued. "You have hope, Mulder, and I don't have a damned thing. I will =never= have a damned thing, and there is nothing that you or I or anybody else can do about that." Mulder felt a physical pain in his chest and stomach as her words echoed in his head. He continued to stare at his partner. At first, she returned his gaze without wavering. Then she recognized the swirl of pain, compassion, fear, and concern in his eyes. She had seen it before... #-#-#-#-#-# "Breathe!" he urged, terror obvious in his voice. "Scully, can you breathe?" Her naked body shivered uncontrollably. "Cold," she mumbled. "I'm cold..." #-#-#-#-#-# Her eyes stung at the memory of his face, her pain, the cold. She looked down at her food, feeling her jaw unclench and her shoulders droop. she told herself. She absently pushed at her sandwich again with one finger. her voice echoed. "I know you want to help, Mulder, but I need to deal with this... my own way. Please don't push so hard. I don't want to fight about it." Mulder swallowed and took a slow breath. "Neither do I." He paused. "I'm sorry, Scully." He reached across the table, extending the middle and index fingers of his hand, then wrapped them around the finger she was using to poke at her lunch, and gave a gentle squeeze. Scully closed her eyes. <"I want to believe." =Tell= him...> She curled her finger to return the gentle embrace, the corners of her lips edging up in tandem. She squeezed her eyes more tightly, struck by the revelation, then opened them and withdrew her hand, suddenly shy. To cover her embarrassment, she used the same hand to reach down to her coat pocket to retrieve the bottle of pills she'd grabbed from her desk. Mulder watched as she swallowed three more of the caplets, then he released a layered sigh. "So what are you going to do about Diana?" Scully returned the sigh. "What =can= I do, Mulder? Report her? For what, being immature and petty? We're all big boys and girls, and I know how to deal with a bully." Although he hid it, Mulder bristled at the word "bully". And then he felt ashamed of that reaction. "What about how she got her... information?" he asked. Scully set her elbows on the table and once again closed her eyes and massaged the muscles of her forehead, partially concealing her face with her hands. "I don't know, Mulder. Right now I don't want to think about it. My head hurts enough already." Mulder reached across the table and gently pulled back one of her hands. "You okay?" She raised her eyes to look at her partner and nodded. "I will be, when I have some answers." "We'll get the answers, Scully," he said, his tone one of determination. "=I= can get them," he emphasized. Scully squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again, brow furrowing. "Mulder, in all the years we've been together -- have I ever told you what an incredibly persistent pain in the ass you can be?" Mulder froze. Their conversation had been such a rollercoaster, he wasn't sure. He didn't like feeling uncertain, not where Scully was concerned, and that had already happened too many times for one day. she thought, seeing his face tighten. Remorseful, she willed her face to soften, and his followed suit. She shook her head slowly. "Sorry, I didn't mean for that to come out harshly." He nodded his acknowledgment. "This is my problem and I'll deal with it. But I appreciate your loyalty, Mulder." She rubbed her forehead one more time, then sat back in her chair, determination etched in her features. Mulder watched her, an apprehensive cast to his face, as though he were trying to decide whether to speak. But Scully didn't give him a chance; she pushed her chair back and stood up. "I have an errand to run," she announced. "I'll see you back at the office?" Mulder nodded, but the fleeting blank look on his face told her it was only because she'd caught him off-guard. Scully started to reach into her pocket. "That's okay, Scully. Lunch is on me." She nodded in return. "Thanks. I'll see you later." She started to turn away, then hesitated and looked back at her partner's expectant face. "Mulder?" "Yeah?" "You may be a pain in the ass sometimes, but I still wouldn't change a day." She gave him a small smile. "Except for that Flukeman thing, of course." Mulder blinked, then beamed, holding the smile until after she'd left the restaurant. Then his face drooped back into a neutral expression as he replayed their conversation, one of the most stunningly dense and heartfelt discussions he could ever recall having with her. Sweet and bitter and painful, like eating dark, dark chocolate laced with broken glass. he mused. <"My loyalty is right where it should be."> <"You have hope, and I don't have a damned thing."> <"I don't want to fight about this."> <"I still wouldn't change a day.> So many things got in their way. Their enemies, their demons, their own stubbornness.... Mulder realized he was staring across the table at where Scully had been sitting. The empty chair gave him no answer. ******************************************************************** - end Chapter 3 - ******************************************************************** Feedback is cherished at Forte1354@aol.com or bjm1352@aol.com. Value & Honor by Forte (Forte1354@aol.com) Please see Chapter 1 for rating, summary, disclaimer, etc. ******************************************************************** - Chapter 4 - ******************************************************************** 2630 Hegal Place Alexandria, Virginia Friday, 6:50 p.m. Mulder arrived home after running a few errands of his own, including picking up his dry cleaning and some Thai take-out for dinner. As he'd crawled along the congested DC and Virginia roads, he'd contemplated the afternoon's events. About an hour after he had arrived back at the office from lunch, Scully had returned from her errand, empty-handed. He'd swiveled in his chair to greet her silently, phone to ear, as he'd endured another interminable background check. She had given him a rare, shy Scullysmile as she'd settled back at her desk. he'd wondered, pleasantly surprised. He'd returned the smile from behind the handset and gone back to his call. By the time he'd hung up the phone, she had been immersed in the autopsy files again. Each time he'd taken a break to steal another glance in her direction, she'd been studying those files as though they were the Dead Sea Scrolls. He'd been more than ready to escape the bullpen at 5 p.m. #-#-#-#-#-# "Hey, Scully, didn't you hear the bell? School's out for the day. We can unchain ourselves from these desks." "I know, I uh...," she stumbled over the words, keeping her eyes on the files in front of her. "I just want to get my thoughts organized before I take these files home for the weekend." "I'll wait for you," he offered. She shook her head. "No, thank you, that's not necessary. I'll see you Monday, Mulder." He frowned, then mentally swatted himself for his impatience. His face relaxed into an expression of understanding, and his words were gentle. "Call me if you find out anything, Scully." "Yeah, okay. Bye." She murmured the words from behind the closed curtain of her hair. Mulder retreated slowly, hoping she would call him back, have something further to say to him. She did not. He paused at the glass doors, stealing a glance at her over his shoulder before finally leaving. #-#-#-#-#-# As Mulder approached the front entrance of his building, he spotted a familiar figure following him up the walkway. She strode purposefully, hands clenched, face mottled by the shadows of leafless trees abutting a streetlight. For a split second he saw her as a charging demon -- dark hair, long dark robe, soulless eyes. Diana Fowley. Mulder's back stiffened at the memory of Diana's earlier behavior. What the hell did she want from him? The raging side of his brain screamed back at his rational side. "Fox... I've been waiting for you. I need to talk to you." Her voice was toneless, flat, just as Mulder had experienced it hundreds of times before. Now, though, he had a most unfamiliar reaction to it: his skin crawled, as though she'd scraped her fingernails down a chalkboard. He suppressed a shudder, then took a deep breath and promised himself -- for Scully's sake -- that he would not go off the deep end. "So talk." "Out here?" "The maid hasn't been in this week. What do you want, Diana?" She stepped up to within a foot of him, back straight, and looked him in the eye. "To apologize," she replied. "Fox, I'm sorry for this morning. I don't know how much you heard, but..." she trailed off, apparently waiting for a reaction from him, but he gave her only his continuing glower. She cleared her throat and started again. "I did something stupid this morning." Mulder remembered Scully's response to his offer to get her answers. <"This is my problem and I'll deal with it. But I appreciate your loyalty, Mulder."> He couldn't ask Diana direct questions, but he could... encourage her to talk... couldn't he? "Really?" His response barely hid his sarcasm. Fowley took in a slow breath, but continued to hold his gaze without wavering. "Fox, I found copies of some of Agent Scully's old X-Files reports yesterday. Do you realize that she tore up your theories like they were junk mail? It made me sick." Mulder flashed back to fervent words he'd spoken to his partner months earlier. <"As difficult and as frustrating as it's been sometimes..."> He maintained his eye contact with Fowley, as though daring her to blink first. "Scully makes me fight to prove every theory I have -- it's the way we work together. Hell, if she didn't argue with me over every paranormal explanation I suggest, I'd start to wonder if she'd been kidnapped and replaced with a clone." He winced inwardly as the words left his mouth. He wouldn't put such a plot past their enemies. "She mocked you, Fox. Doesn't that bother you? Doesn't that make you wonder why she was assigned to you in the first place?" Mulder's eyes narrowed; he concentrated on his breathing for a few moments in a vain attempt to hold down his anger. "Just what are you implying, Diana?" "Fox, you know I always believed in you and the X-Files. I've always believed that the truth is out there, just like you do. But Agent Scully... she doesn't. She has =no= faith in the existence of extraterrestrial life. She doesn't take this work seriously like you and I do. I resent that such important work was assigned to someone who would never take it to heart; someone who'd make it all look like some big joke." "Scully approached every X-File, no matter how bizarre, with the utmost professionalism," Mulder insisted. "Her scientific bent gave credence to the X-Files that I could never give it on my own. She made it more respected, not less." "Then why aren't you still assigned to the X-Files, Fox? She ripped apart every theory you ever came up with, didn't she? Don't you get it? With her as your partner, you were doomed to fail." Mulder made a sound that was half laugh, half bark. "Are you suggesting that Scully tried to destroy the X-Files? You've got to be fucking kidding me, Diana. Dana Scully is the most honorable human being I've ever met. She may disagree with my theories, but she always respects the work. She respects =me=. She's saved my ass so many times I've lost count. Without her, the X-Files would have been down the toilet years ago, and me along with them." "Damn it, Fox, =I= am trying to save your ass here! You don't have the X-Files anymore. Ask yourself why. I'm not saying she tried to destroy the X-Files on purpose. She just never believed in the work. If she did, maybe you would still have the X-Files instead of Agent Spender and me. Look at the facts, Fox. Go back and re-read what she wrote. Like I said, it made me sick." She turned her head and scrunched up her face, running her tongue along the inside of her mouth as though a horrible taste were inside. Realization dawned; Mulder stared at Fowley incredulously. "So this morning you were trying to do... what? Punish her? Make her quit?" "Half right, Fox." Her voice grew more quiet, more remorseful. "She was an excellent Agent, a valuable Agent -- when she was at Quantico. Superior instructor, popular with trainees, respected by her peers. That's where she should be." She paused, then lowered her voice. "You could still have the X-Files back, Fox. Agent Spender's heart isn't in it, but he's afraid to say so. I could talk to Skinner, get you transferred back -- " "=No=" Mulder interrupted. "No fucking way. I work with Scully, or nobody." His set jaw announced that there would be no further discussion on the topic. "I thought you said you came here to apologize." "I did. I still think I have a right to be angry at her, but I had no right to... say the things that I said to her this morning." She paused, then took a breath as though to steel herself. "It was incredibly stupid and petty." He took a breath of his own. "I came in at the tail end of things, and in any case I was too far away to hear anything. What did you say?" She paused again. "I found out things about her, Fox." "Things? What things?" "I know about her... medical condition." Scully's voice haunted him. <"How could she have known about.... about =that=? About =me=?"> he repeated, like a mantra. He willed himself to stay rational, lucid, to not give in to his rabid fury. "What are you talking about, Diana? What medical condition?" Fowley cast her eyes toward the ground, looking embarrassed. "I did some... digging. Investigating. I found out about her attempt to adopt that little girl in San Diego. The summary of her hearing mentioned her... abduction, and the results of what was done to her." "You did =what=?" Mulder felt the blood drain out of his face and wash down into his stomach with a gallon or two of burning acid. He turned away from Fowley for a moment and ran his hand through his hair before facing her again. "What the hell were you thinking? That's not the Diana Fowley I used to know. You trampled over Scully's privacy like she was some kind of -- " he sputtered, not knowing how to end the sentence. "Like a suspect," Fowley finished for him, raising her eyes to meet his again. "Yes, that's exactly what I did, Fox. I don't expect you to understand why I did it. I'm sorry, but it's done." Sarcasm dripped from Mulder's voice. "And let me guess -- you didn't find a damned thing about the X-Files." She only muttered, "She doesn't believe, Fox. I don't know why she stayed with the X-Files. Or with you." Mulder's eyes burned like red-hot coals. "Scully stays with me because -- " he broke off, realizing that he didn't know exactly =why= she stayed with him. Loyalty? Because it was easier to stay with him than break in a new partner? Easier than going back to teaching at Quantico? . Her sweet contralto came back to him. <"Mulder, you may be a pain in the ass sometimes, but I still wouldn't change a day."> "Scully stays with me because she wants to. God only knows why, but she does. You of all people, Diana, know how easy it is to dissolve a partnership." Even in the dim light Mulder could see her flush red. "That's not fair, Fox -- " "And your attack on her was? What happened with you and me is historic fact, Diana. What you've accused Scully of is =baseless=, in the extreme. You are wrong. Just plain, damn wrong." He ran his hand through his hair again, frustrated, angry beyond reason. "So what now, Diana? I mean, what the hell was the point of this conversation? To relieve your guilt? I don't appreciate being your personal therapist." "I said I came to apologize. My intention was to try to help you, and I let it get out of hand. So I'm saying 'I'm sorry'. To you. And to her, if you think I should." Mulder made the laugh-bark sound again. "Should you =apologize= to her? You've got to be kidding. You've only grossly violated her privacy, acted on the information you gathered to intentionally hurt her, and now you've been standing here basically accusing her of having no work ethic, no responsibility to her duties as an FBI Agent. What the hell is there to forgive?" He shook his head. "I see where this is going, Diana. Don't think I've forgotten how you can play those stupid little 'I'm so pathetic; please help me' games. You want me to apologize to Scully for you. No chance." He took another deep breath and shook his head again. "I can't believe you did something so vindictive, Diana. I never would have expected that from you." His eyes narrowed. "Scully has been through enough. You fuck with her again, and so help me God your ass will be in a very, very deep sling. Is that clear?" "Perfectly," Fowley answered, without wavering. "I'm sorry for being so over-protective of you, Fox. It's hard to remember when you don't have to watch your partner's back anymore." "I'm not your partner, Diana," Mulder said firmly. "Scully is my partner, and she has been for a long time. And she will continue to be for a long time, if I have anything to say about it." Diana nodded. "I understand." They stood in awkward silence. "If you have no other bombshells for me, I'm going to go eat my dinner," Mulder said finally, gesturing with the hand holding his meal. Diana nodded again, then ducked her head in apparent shame. "I'm sorry for..." She paused, then lifted her head again. "I'm sorry. Thanks for hearing me out, Fox. Good night." She hesitated for a moment. Mulder's back stiffened again as old memories returned, and he half-expected her to give him a quick, contrite peck on the cheek. If she had considered it, though, she thought better of it, because she turned and left him. And as she walked away, Mulder unable to see her face, a satisfied smirk crept across Diana Fowley's face. ******************************************************************** Mulder watched Diana until she turned a corner and was out of sight. His brow furrowed. He shook his head, as though to throw off the disbelief weighing down his thoughts, then pulled out his keys and entered the building. He stopped to pick up his mail, then headed towards the elevator and punched the "up" button. The trill of his cell phone jolted him from his thoughts and stabbed at his gut. He transferred his mail to his left hand and pulled out his phone. "Mulder." "Mulder, it's me. Where are you?" He tamped down his panic. "I just got home, Scully. Where are you?" "At home, reading the reports on these unsolved child murders. I've made connections between some of them and Morse's MO." Mulder could tell by the timbre of her voice -- indiscernible to anyone else; of that he was certain -- that she had found something important. The elevator dinged, announcing its arrival. Mulder considered the opened doors for a moment. If he got in the elevator, he would surely lose their phone connection, and he didn't want to wait until he reached his apartment to hear what his partner had to say. He turned away from the elevator and headed for the stairs. "So what did you find, Scully?" he asked. As he pushed open the stairwell door, she started her explanation. "I've been looking for patterns of Morse's MO in different geographic regions..." Mulder reached his apartment door within minutes, feeling all of his 37 years after climbing three flights of stairs, arms full. He held his mail and the bag of Thai food in his left hand, dry cleaning hooked over one finger, with his cell phone tucked between his right shoulder and his head. With his right hand, he reached back into his pocket for his keys. He barely managed the awkward juggling act, needing three tries to get the door unlocked, then pushed the door open with his right hip and entered the darkened apartment sideways, kicking the door shut with his foot. Throughout his acrobatics Scully continued to describe her findings; Mulder gave her synopsis his rapt attention. "So there seem to be enough similarities to connect Morse to murders across a large area of the Northeast, and in localized sections of the Southeast and Midwest as well -- " Scully interrupted herself when she thought she heard a noise from Mulder's end of the line. "Mulder, did you say something?" Then she =definitely= heard a noise from Mulder's end of the line: the dull *clunk* of his cell phone striking a solid object. "=Mulder=?" Dead air. "MULDER!" ******************************************************************** - end Chapter 4 - ******************************************************************** Feedback is cherished at Forte1354@aol.com or bjm1352@aol.com. Value & Honor by Forte (Forte1354@aol.com) Please see Chapter 1 for rating, summary, disclaimer, etc. ******************************************************************** - Chapter 5 - ******************************************************************** Georgetown Washington, DC Friday, 7:12 p.m. "MULDER!" No response. Scully frantically stabbed the "flash" button on her cordless phone, then speed-dialed Mulder's cell phone number again. "The cellular customer you are trying to reach is not avail --" "Flash" again, and then the speed-dial number for Mulder's home phone. Busy. She tried again. Busy. Scully grabbed her coat, keys, weapon, and cell phone, and bolted out the door of her apartment. ******************************************************************** 2630 Hegal Place Apartment 42 Friday, 7:18 p.m. Mulder groaned in response to the ache at the back of his head and the pressure on the left side of his face. Disoriented, he reached to the base of his skull with his right hand. For a dazed second he tried to make sense of the dampness he found there, then felt the throb of the gash. "Shhhhhhhhhhiiiiiit..." he breathed. Realization returned as the solidity under his face registered with the rest of his body. He took a deep breath, which only reinforced the throbbing in his head, and hissed in pain. He took in another breath, shallow this time, and attempted to figure out what the =hell= had happened to him by mentally retracing his steps. He slowly pushed himself up onto his side. Mulder suddenly realized he wasn't alone. Professional training and reflexes took over where his still-fuzzy brain left off. He jerked his weapon from its holster and trained it at the figure hovering near him. The intruder was barely visible in the glow of a streetlight that filtered through the room's window. "Don't shoot, Agent Mulder." The sight of the man before him, hands raised in obvious surrender, made Mulder gasp. "Kurt Crawford?" Mulder gawked at the younger man -- -- before him. In one raised hand, Crawford held a gun. In the other, he held an unsheathed gimlet, the kind Mulder had seen too many times before. Stunned, he leaned back on his left elbow, but kept his weapon pointed at the chest of his unexpected visitor. Mulder gestured at Crawford's raised hands with his SIG. "Put them on the floor, very slowly, then stand up with your hands on your head and take three steps backwards." Crawford complied. Mulder climbed to his feet, struggling against a wave of dizziness. After a moment's thought, he chose to leave the weapons on the floor. That seemed less of a risk than kneeling to retrieve them, when he might not be able to get up again. "Kurt Crawford -- long time no see. Not since..." Mulder trailed off, voice unsteady. At that moment, the pain in his head was eclipsed by the memories of an evening of funky poaching with the Lone Gunmen. That had been a far darker night, for reasons that had nothing to do with the lack of illumination. "Since the Lombard Research Facility, yes," Crawford finished, his voice low. "I was there, Agent Mulder. I remember it well." He paused. "I'm sorry about hitting you, Agent Mulder. I heard the fumbling at the door and thought you were... one of them." He paused again. "I couldn't be certain that I hadn't been followed. When you came in, with your back to me, I could see your neck and knew you weren't..." he trailed off again. "But I still wasn't sure if it was you." He shrugged and gestured with his chin to the gun on the floor. "Your hair is a lot shorter than it was the last time we met. But once I saw your face..." "So the dry cleaning didn't give it away?" Mulder asked. He waved his left hand toward the garments now in a heap on the floor but did not take his eyes off his visitor. Crawford just stared back. "What do you want?" Mulder asked, still wary and now much more alert. "Why are you here? Where the hell have you been for the past year and a half? What happened to everyone and everything that I saw at Lombard?" "I can explain everything, Agent Mulder -- " "That's good, because I want to hear everything. Why don't you start at the beginning?" Crawford squared his shoulders and looked Mulder in the eye. "I'm here because we need your help. We believe we know where Dr. Scanlon is working." Mulder's jaw twitched. "Where?" he demanded. The hybrid swallowed and shifted his weight as though embarrassed. "We don't know the precise location yet, just the city. And in any case, that's not important right now." He took a slow breath. "Even as I stand here, Agent Mulder, there are women finding and removing chips from their necks. Those women will develop brain cancer and die within a year. Dr. Scanlon's new research may help us find a cure. Please believe me -- we're still trying to save these women." Mulder choked out a laugh. "I can't tell you how warm and fuzzy I feel right now, Kurt. You break into my apartment, try to re-arrange my skull, and expect me to trust you on nothing more than a vague sob story? I don't even know if you're really who you appear to be." Crawford gave him a look that Mulder could only classify as beseeching. "Agent Mulder, we... showed you where the ova were kept. Told you that those women are our mothers. You took one of the vials. How would I know that if I hadn't been there? We couldn't disclose that information to anyone without risking the destruction of our work to try to save these women. And if the work were already destroyed, what point would there be in my being here as an impostor? So I =must= be telling you the truth." Mulder's stony face softened as the validity of the words sunk in. "And part of that truth is that I need you and Agent Scully to come with me." At the mention of his partner's name, Mulder's entire body tensed. How scrambled were his brains that he'd forgotten he'd been talking to her on the phone? ******************************************************************** On the road between Georgetown and Alexandria 7:26 p.m. Scully held the steering wheel in a death grip as she drove toward Mulder's apartment, breaking every driving law she could in her haste. She'd made several more unsuccessful attempts at reaching her partner, both at his cell phone (still unavailable) and his home phone (still busy). Gritting her teeth, she punched <0> on her cell phone and waited for what felt like a decade for the operator. "This is Special Agent Dana Scully with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I have an emergency situation and need you to break in on a line in use." She spit out Mulder's home phone number and her own badge number. Although she knew the latter to be unnecessary, it gave her a comforting sense of control to use it. Seconds later electronic sounds crackled through the earpiece. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but that line appears to be in use by a modem." Scully thought. She ended the call to the operator without a "thank you" or "goodbye". She hit another speed dial on her cell phone and said a silent prayer. "Lone Gunmen." "Turn off the tape," she snapped, sounding more angry than she'd wanted to. "I need your help. Put me on speaker." A few *clicks* and a muffled "Hey, get over here -- it's Scully" told her that the bearded Gunman had complied with her request. Frohike's voice, sounding distant through the speaker phone, wafted to her ears. "Agent Scully, what a pleasant sur-- " "Save it," Scully interrupted. "I'm on my way over to Mulder's. I was talking to him when his cell went dead. His home phone is busy, and the operator thinks it's hooked up to a modem. I need you to verify that for me, tell me if the person using the modem is Mulder, and tell me what number that modem dialed up. =Now.=" There was a stunned silence for a moment, and then Langly spoke up. "Uh, sure -- just give us a couple minutes." "Don't worry, Agent Scully," Frohike added, clearly nervous at Scully's demanding tone. "Our kung fu can do." "It better," she muttered. She continued speeding towards Alexandria, growing more impatient and anxious with each passing second. She could hear typing, and the Gunmen talking to each other, but nothing to indicate that any of them were approaching the phone again. "I'm running out of time, guys," she asserted, raising her voice so they would hear her at their distance from the speaker phone. "Got something!" Scully heard, followed by the sounds of someone approaching the phone. "Mulder's phone is definitely in use by a modem," Byers reported, almost breathless. "But he's not logged on -- at least not under any of the names that we know him to use." "So who's using his phone line?" Scully knew she was yelling, but didn't care. Returning her attention to the road, she was startled to realize that she was only two blocks from Mulder's apartment. "Still working on that," came Langly's voice from the background. "I'm nearly there, but keep looking," she commanded. This time she remembered to breathe "we'llbeintouch" before thumbing off the phone. She watched in amazement and relief as a car pulled away from the curb on the opposite side of the street, almost directly in front of Mulder's building. Another car was waiting to back into the space, but Scully spun the steering wheel and U-turned into the spot, stopping at an odd angle to the curb. She scrambled out of her car, flashing her badge at the enraged driver whose parking spot she'd stolen, and sprinted into Mulder's apartment building. ******************************************************************** 2630 Hegal Place Apartment 42 7:35 p.m. "Damn it," Mulder muttered. "Scully..." Mulder moved backwards toward his desk, keeping his SIG aimed at Crawford, stepping carefully to avoid the spilled mail, food, dry cleaning, and parts of his cell phone. When he felt himself bump into his desk chair, he reached for the phone on the corner of the desk. The receiver greeted him with the unmistakable screech of a line in use by a modem. He then noticed the laptop computer sitting on the corner of the desk. "What are you doing, Kurt?" he demanded. "Uploading or downloading? What are you connected to?" Crawford paled. "You'll break the connection -- put the phone down, Agent Mul -- " "ANSWER ME!" As though in response to Mulder's outburst, the door of his apartment flew open. In the ensuing blur of action, too quick for Mulder's dulled reflexes, Crawford scooped up both his gun and the gimlet and pointed the gun at the new entrant. And suddenly he and Scully were pointing their guns at each other, and Mulder's was on Crawford, the phone receiver forgotten on the desk. "Drop your weapon!" Scully commanded, her eyes never leaving Crawford, but flicking to take in the gimlet in his left hand. "Both of them!" Mulder took three steps toward the hybrid. "Kurt, what the hell are you doing?" Crawford addressed Scully, still clutching his gun tightly. "Come into the light, slowly." "I said, what the =hell= are you doing?" Mulder repeated, louder, and moved even closer, until he was within six feet of both Crawford and Scully, each now a point of their human triangle. All three stood motionless for several tense seconds. Mulder had a sudden sense of deja vu, recalling a similar standoff between Scully, him, and Skinner when he'd returned from New Mexico -- and the dead -- years earlier. The silence was finally broken by Crawford. "If you're Agent Scully, then you know you can't shoot me. You'd find my blood to be quite disagreeable to you if you did." "What do you mean, =if= she's Scully?" Mulder asked, his jaw clenching. Crawford ignored him. "Come. Into. The. Light," he repeated. "I need to know that you're not one of them." Mulder started to consider the possibility that Crawford had brought up: perhaps it =wasn't= really Scully that stood before them. He tried to remember how long it had been since he'd been speaking with her. Could she have gotten from her apartment to his so quickly? Could this be one of... ? Scully interrupted his thoughts. "How do I know you're not one of the shape shifters?" she asked Crawford, then nodded towards Mulder. "How do you know =he= isn't?" Mulder wondered. While he struggled with those thoughts, Crawford responded to her. "That's why I want to see you in the light. I already know he isn't." Mulder considered his alternatives, then took a step towards Crawford. "Give it to me," he ordered, holding out his left hand, gesturing toward the gimlet in Crawford's left. It took a moment for a stunned Crawford to find his voice. His eyes darted to Mulder quickly before returning to Scully. "=What?=" "You just said you know I'm not one of them. Show me you trust me and give me the damn thing. If that's not really Scully, I know what to do with it." Scully's jaw dropped open, then shut again before she echoed Mulder's earlier words. "Mulder, what the hell are you doing?" Mulder kept his gun trained on Crawford, but directed his words to the one he hoped and prayed was his partner. "Trust me, Scully." Scully glanced down at the floor, at the scattered mail, the broken bits of cell phone, the small dark smear of -- -- on the floor, and started having her own doubts. Was the man before her Mulder? Or was her partner really hidden from her view, perhaps lying injured in his bedroom? She remembered a Mulder who once came to her motel room who turned out to not really be Mulder, and winced inwardly at the recollection of crashing through a glass-topped table. She kept Crawford in her peripheral vision, ready to shoot if he moved a muscle, and peered back over at the one who =looked= like her partner. He'd shifted his eyes toward her, and in those eyes she saw the spark of realization -- he understood her apprehension. He reached behind his head to the gash where Crawford had struck him, and came back with blood-dampened fingers. He held his hand out to her. In the dim light, the dark red color made it look like he'd dipped his fingers in thin chocolate syrup -- her memory supplied, unbidden. She swallowed back the sour taste that rose in her throat, threatening to choke her. "It's me, Scully," he pleaded. Eyes locked on his, she nodded. Crawford shifted his eyes from Scully, to Mulder, and back to Scully again. Finally, grudgingly, he offered the unsheathed weapon to Mulder, who switched his gun to his left hand and took the gimlet with his right. Mulder kept his eye on the hybrid but addressed his next comments to Scully. "Put your gun down, Scully. If he's one of them, I've got him covered --" Crawford tensed; Mulder hastened to add for his benefit, "-- and if =she's= one of them, I've got =her= covered." Scully looked at her partner, but his eyes were again focused on Crawford. She closed her eyes for an instant. Knowing Mulder could see her movements in the corner of his eye, she slowly knelt, placed her gun on the floor, and straightened again. And then they stood, motionless, soundless, for what seemed an eternity. Finally Crawford spoke again, his voice low. "Now come into the light, Agent Scully." Mulder backed up two steps, giving his blessing. Scully advanced two cautious steps of her own into the dim light cast by the streetlamps behind Mulder's building. Almost immediately, Crawford let out a sigh and held up his left hand in a submissive gesture. "My apologies, Agent Scully. I had to be sure it was you." "Give her the gun," Mulder ordered. Crawford relaxed, consciously avoiding any sudden movement, then extended and turned his hand to offer the grip of the gun to Scully. Still without taking her eyes from his, she took the weapon, flicked on the safety, and tucked it in the back waistband of her jeans. She knelt to retrieve her own weapon, eyes narrowing as she continued to watch Crawford, then stood and holstered the SIG. She backed towards the entry door, shut and locked it, and gave silent thanks that the neighbors had apparently chosen to ignore their loud exchange. "All right, what the hell is going on?" Scully asked, advancing back into the room. Mulder finally holstered his own gun and slipped the sheathed gimlet into his pocket. "Mulder, are you all right?" She stopped an arm's length away from him. Mulder nodded, then winced, his fingers flying to the back of his head. "Yeah. Mostly." He looked at her, watching him, and suddenly realized that she was dressed casually: jeans and a soft-looking blue scoop-neck sweater. "Scully," he said, staring, as though he were having an epiphany, "you're wearing jeans." Scully stared back at him, and Mulder got the sudden, uncomfortable feeling that that had been an inappropriate comment. he considered, dropping his hand back down to his side and wiping it absently on his own jeans. And then Scully was at his side, steering him to a seated position on his couch. As she passed Crawford, she gave him an annoyed look that told him "I'll deal with you next." Scully examined her partner for head trauma with one gentle, skilled hand while the other cradled his chin. "What happened, Mulder?" she asked softly. "The Welcome Wagon played a little rough." "I'm sorry," Crawford spoke up. "I didn't mean to -- " Mulder waved a hand, cutting him off. "Forget it. You did what you had to do." He winced again as Scully continued to palpate his skull, looking for signs of injury beyond the obvious gash. "I'll be okay, Scully." Scully leaned closer to check his pupils. "Looks all right," she murmured, nodding her agreement with him. She smoothed the hair on the uninjured side of his head, then straightened, moving her hands to her hips. Mulder missed their heat, but settled for the warmth of her eyes as she looked down, still regarding him with concern. Scully had maneuvered herself so that her back was to Crawford, and the hybrid could see neither her nor Mulder's face. She mouthed to her partner: *You're sure it's him?* *Yeah* he mouthed back. She gave a tiny nod before speaking again. "Let me get you some ice for the back of your head." "It's okay, Scully, I can wait --" She started to turn toward the kitchen, unwilling to accept an argument. "Mulder, you need --" Mulder grabbed her wrist. "=Scully=." She gave him a don't-mess-with-me look, but he cut her off before she could say anything. "He thinks they've found Scanlon." Scully's mouth dropped, then snapped shut. Mulder released her wrist. She turned sharply to Crawford. "Where is he?" "We're not certain of his exact location. We're narrowed it down to a certain city." "=Where=?" The hybrid cleared his throat. "I'd rather not be specific, just yet. But I need to bring you both there." "Why?" she pressed. "Why should we go with you if you won't tell us where it is? Why should we trust you?" Crawford paused, as though deciding how much to reveal. "We have sources," he said finally. "Anonymous. In the research world. A month ago we received verification from one of our sources about Dr. Scanlon. That information led us to re-establish ourselves -- our research -- in a certain city. Scanlon is one of the keys to saving the women who have not yet succumbed to the cancer, and we need to stay as close to him as we can." "And you believe this anonymous source?" Scully asked, frowning. "It's provided us with reliable information in the past," Crawford replied. He waved his hand toward his laptop on Mulder's desk. "I've been downloading information from various sites on the Internet," he continued. "Supplementing our own research from what we can find from other... established organizations. Other researchers, including those in academia." A tiny, triumphant smile flashed over his face. "Not that they necessarily realize that they're sharing." His face returned to its serious cast. "Dr. Scanlon appears to have developed a new gene therapy technique that controls the development of cancerous cells." He gestured toward Scully with his chin. "This technique may be an evolution of the chip in your neck, Agent Scully. The information that I'm downloading may corroborate what we believe he's accomplished." He picked up the phone receiver and returned it to its cradle. "Well, I =was= downloading," he corrected ruefully. "From one of your more prestigious medical journals." "So if you've found Scanlon and established yourself in this new area," Mulder asked, "why did you come to DC to see us?" "Seeing is believing?" Crawford shrugged. "How should I have contacted you, Agent Mulder? Would you have believed that it was one of us if you couldn't see for yourself?" Mulder nodded to indicate his agreement with Crawford's logic. "But you can't tell us exactly where this location is?" Scully persisted, exasperation clear in her voice. The anger she'd kept contained for so long -- years -- was rapidly coming to the surface again. Was it just that afternoon that she'd been wrestling with those demons? Crawford ran his hand over the phone receiver. "Think of us as an island unto ourselves. We have our facility, our equipment, our supplies. Where we are at any given point in time is wherever we need to be." "Enough with this oblique crap!" Scully snapped. "You still haven't told us what you want." Did she really care what he wanted? What about what =she= wanted? Someone owed her answers. About weeks missing from her memory. The damned chip. The cancer. Emily. "I started to tell Agent Mulder before you arrived, Agent Scully," Crawford responded. He stood across from Mulder and Scully on the opposite side of the coffee table and lowered his voice so that it was just above a whisper. "I said Scanlon is one of the keys, Agent Scully. You are another. Although you're the only one left from the group in Allentown, there =are= more women like you. There are MUFON chapters in Europe; women from those groups have been taken and given chips too. Women who haven't had their chips removed yet. And some who have. We can't let them all die. We just =can't=," he said grimly. "Can't let them die? Why should I believe that? Where were you when I was in a hospital, dying?" Scully's voice shook with fury. "Where the hell have you been for the past year and a half?" "Scully..." Mulder murmured. "Where were you when they put this =thing= in my neck in the first place?" she shouted. "Where were you when they created Emily?" Crawford stood mute. "ANSWER ME, DAMMIT!" "Agent Scully," he said quietly, "we didn't =exist= when the child was created, nor..." he gave her a meaningful look, "when the chip was put in your neck." Scully stared back at him, dumbfounded. After a minute of silence had passed, she found her voice. "What exactly are you telling me?" The hybrid said nothing. Scully recalled Mulder's words in her brother's home, after Emily's custody hearing. <"... children were being created"> Oh God. Kurt Crawford was created, too. Trembling, Scully turned to face her partner. "You knew about this?" He winced at her faltering voice. "When I met... all of the Kurts at the Lombard facility, I was told that the abducted women were their mothers. They didn't mention specific names." He met her hurt gaze with a pained one. "I won't tell you I never considered it. But how could I tell you something like that when it was pure speculation?" Scully sat next to Mulder with a dull *thud* and buried her face in her hands, resting her elbows on her knees. Mulder and Crawford both watched her anxiously until she lifted her head to face Crawford again. "What is it you want?" she whispered. Mulder laid a gentle hand on her back. "Come to our lab," Crawford implored. "See our work with your own eyes. Help us help them." "Help you with your research?" "Yes, but not as a scientist," he replied. "We need -- " "You're not using her as some fucking guinea pig!" Mulder exploded. He leapt up, but almost immediately fell back down onto the couch again, head spinning. "We don't want to experiment on her," Crawford assured them both. "Just draw some blood and perform tests on that. Agent Scully, you are the only one so far who has gone into remission. We want to try to chemically replicate whatever caused that remission to save the other women. Between an analysis of Dr. Scanlon's new research and a study of your blood chemistry -- " "I've had numerous blood tests since I went into remission," Scully interrupted. "Nothing unusual has turned up." "We have the ability to conduct more sophisticated, thorough testing than any hospital or laboratory you could visit." Scully realized that she didn't doubt it. "Remission doesn't just happen by magic, Agent Scully," Crawford said. "Surely you know that better than anyone. There was some biological reason for your cancer's progress being stopped so suddenly. We need to find out what that factor was, and how Dr. Scanlon has learned to manipulate it, so we can duplicate it." "I don't know what exactly caused my remission," Scully said quietly. "The new chip, the treatment I was undergoing at the time, or..." She trailed off without finishing, unable to speak words mentioning her prayer to this particular audience. Mulder placed his hand on her back again; she could feel him watching her with concern. "Nevertheless, some process took place that we want to be able to replicate," Crawford said firmly. "Before it's too late for the others. Before it's too late for you." Scully had not yet absorbed Crawford's last remark when Mulder roared, "What do you mean, before it's too late for her?" The hybrid looked from Mulder's enraged face to Scully's frightened one. "We know that you were... injured... at Ruskin Dam. Tell me, Agent Scully, which is worse -- having cancer, or not knowing when you might be called away against your will again?" He leaned closer to her. "Don't you see? If we can save them by finding a cure for the cancer, we can save you. We can save you from that chip in your neck." Scully stiffened as she pictured other women suffering from the cancer as she had. Dying, like Penny Northern and the other Allentown women had. She tried without success to push Penny's deathbed face from her mind. But then it morphed into her own face, the face that sometimes visited her in nightmares, the near-death face of the Dana Scully that would have been had her cancer not gone into remission. The Dana Scully that could still be, if she ever removed the chip. She was sick, so sick of hospitals and medications and tests... "What if I say no?" "We're not going to force you, Agent Scully," Crawford said quietly. "We want you to do this of your own free will." He smiled sadly. "Ironic, isn't it? You were forced into your current medical state quite against your own free will. As were the other women we are still trying to help." He paused. "I know you value your own life, Agent Scully. Do you value theirs?" She blanched. "Of course I do." "Then come with me. Both of you. Agent Mulder, you've seen our lab. Did you tell Agent Scully about it?" Scully answered for her partner. "He told me about all of you. He told me about the tanks. He told me about the ova being kept in cold storage." Suddenly her eyes opened wide. "Oh my God," she exhaled. "Do you still have them?" She waited a breathless eternity before Crawford shook his head. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "After the incident at Lombard, we were forced to abandon virtually everything in our haste to leave." Scully stared back at the hybrid, stunned, unable to move. She felt Mulder's warm hand moving in small circles on her back, but otherwise was devoid of sensation. Crawford took three steps backwards. "I'll be back in touch tomorrow morning." While Scully continued to stare at him, he packed up his laptop, then retrieved a bundled-up raincoat from a chair in the corner. As he lifted it, it unrolled, and a few thin streams of water cascaded off of it onto the floor. "Sorry," he shrugged. "Where are you going?" Mulder asked. "I can't stay here any longer, Agent Mulder," Crawford replied. "If they've determined that I've come to Washington, this is the first place they'll look for me. It will be safer for all of us if I leave now." He paused. "I'll need my... belongings back." Mulder ceased the motion of his hand on his partner's back and looked over at her. She blinked twice before turning her pale, expressionless face to meet his gaze. After a few moments she cleared her throat, sat up straighter. In silent agreement, they returned Crawford's weapons. He pocketed the gun and gimlet, nodding his acknowledgment of their trust, and repeated, "I'll be in touch tomorrow morning." And then he was gone. ******************************************************************** Crawford left through the building's back door, the same way as he had entered. As he walked away, his eyes darted back and forth, watching for any vehicles that might follow him. There were none. None that followed him. But two figures in a dark sedan watched him retreat into the night. ******************************************************************** - end Chapter 5 - ******************************************************************** Feedback is cherished at Forte1354@aol.com or bjm1352@aol.com. AUTHOR'S NOTE: Have I mentioned lately how wonderful my beta reader is? I haven't? Shame on me. This story is infinitely (gasp! adverb! ) better than it would have been without her influence. Take a bow, Jintian. You deserve it. :) Value & Honor by Forte (Forte1354@aol.com) Please see Chapter 1 for rating, summary, disclaimer, etc. ******************************************************************** - Chapter 6 - ******************************************************************** 2630 Hegal Place Apartment 42 Friday, 8:05 p.m. After Kurt Crawford's departure, Scully remained on the couch, eyes downcast, forearms on her thighs, hands clasped together. Mulder sat with her for the first minute, waiting to see if she would speak. When she didn't, he decided to let her process their meeting with Crawford without him hovering. He rose, then started gathering his scattered belongings from the floor -- mail, dry cleaning, dinner. he thought wryly, placing the dented take-out container in his refrigerator. When he returned to the living room, he saw that Scully hadn't stirred. Mulder sought and found the pieces of his cell phone. Except for a few splinters of plastic, the body of the phone was intact. The battery pack, which had separated from the phone's body, snapped back into place without trouble. He was pleased when he thumbed the phone on and heard a dial tone. "Takes a lickin' and keeps on tickin'," he quipped. He glanced back over at his partner, hoping for a reaction to his lame joke. Scully was now reclined against the back of the couch, eyes closed and head tilted back as though she were taking a nap. But the strained look on her face told him that she was quite awake. Without taking his eyes from her, he turned the phone off again and placed it on the edge of the desk. Then he walked to the kitchen, checking that the entry door was locked, and filled a large glass with cold water. He returned to the living room with the glass, sat beside her, and took a long sip. Still she didn't move. "Water?" he asked, voice low. He extended his arm to hold the glass in front of her. Scully sighed and blinked her eyes open. She stared at the ceiling for a long moment before sitting up straight and taking the water from him. She took three short sips and then handed it back to him. "Thanks." Mulder nodded, took another sip, and set the glass on the coffee table. He wondered what he should say next, how he should address the bombshell that Kurt Crawford had dropped on them. His partner surprised him by speaking first. "What do you think about what Kurt told us?" she asked, matching his low tone. "Do you think we can trust him?" "Scully, you're the only one I trust." She rewarded him with a tiny smile. Mulder returned it briefly, then chewed on his bottom lip before continuing. "But I don't distrust him either. If he'd wanted to harm us, he had the opportunity. If he'd wanted to force us to go somewhere, he could have done that, too." "I know," she agreed. "If he's telling the truth, then... " She paused. "Then we'll want to pursue it. So we wait to hear from him, and then proceed with caution?" "Of course," Mulder smiled. "You know that 'caution' is my middle name, Scully." Scully exhaled a laugh, smiling and tucking her chin. Then she squeezed her eyes shut, sucked in a slow breath, and raised her hand to rub her forehead. "You okay?" Mulder asked, squinting with concern. Scully opened her eyes and nodded. "I'm just tired." "It's been a long week," Mulder acknowledged. Scully made a sound that was like a polite snort. "Mulder, this day alone has lasted longer than most weeks." Scully took a deep breath, leaned over to rest her forearms on her thighs again, and hung her head. "I'm just tired," she repeated. "Tired of going God knows where, chasing after God knows who, to find out God knows what." "I know, Scully," he said, his quiet voice filled with compassion. "I know you're tired." She rubbed her forehead again; took another slow, deep breath. Then, as though she'd made a decision, she sat up straight again. "I just need a good night's sleep, Mulder," she stated. "That's all I need. Then I'll be ready to go God knows where again." Mulder stared at her for a second, in awe of her strength. Then he reached up and rubbed her back a few times as he had earlier, and broke into a wide grin. "Scully, you're amazing." As if in response to his touch, her stomach growled loudly. He chuckled. "Sounds like you're hungry too." "I guess so," Scully admitted. "I haven't eaten since lunch." "Me neither. Want to split my pad Thai? There's plenty." "Twist my arm." Still grinning, Mulder went to the kitchen to heat up the take-out food. As he worked, his mind drifted, replaying recent events, and his smile waned. They'd had a miserable week in Rhode Island with the Jack Morse case, but that was nothing compared to the hellish day that Scully had had. Ridicule and insults from Diana. Autopsy reports on children from Kersh. A painful lunch conversation. More autopsy reports. And now Kurt Crawford's news. It was a damn miracle she wasn't curled up in a ball in the corner, sobbing. But then, this was Scully. Mulder looked out at his partner sitting on the couch. She was fingering the glass of water, lost in thought. He had to admire her seemingly indomitable spirit. She gave, and gave, and gave, and when any mere mortal would have given up she gave some more. And all she wanted was a good night's sleep? He carried the reheated food to the living room and sat down next to her, holding out one of the plates. "Scully -- " he started. She gazed at him as she took the dish. "Yes?" Faced with her perfect blue eyes, he lost his nerve. Instead, he gestured to her plate. "I gave you all the tofu. I know you like it." She looked down at the plate's contents, then back up at her partner. "Thank you, Mulder," she said quietly. "No problem," Mulder replied. "I told you there was plenty." She shook her head and gave him another small smile. "I wasn't talking about the food." He smiled back at her, and they ate in content, companionable silence. ******************************************************************** *RIIIIIIING* The sound of his phone startled Mulder from his sleep. "Wha -- " he sputtered, sitting bolt upright. He realized that he'd fallen asleep sitting on the couch, feet up on the coffee table. As he sat up, his hand brushed against Scully's. She blinked at him in confusion, telling him that the ringing phone had woken her also. She sat about a foot away from him, and by the warmth he felt along the edge of his hand he must have been touching hers in his sleep. he mused. He pulled his feet off the coffee table and reached for the cordless handset on the coffee table. *RIIIIIIING* "Yeah, yeah," Mulder muttered, flicking on the phone with this thumb. "Hello." He turned his head to look at the clock. 9:45 p.m. "Mulder!" "Yeah, Frohike. What's up?" Out of the corner of his eye he saw Scully arch an eyebrow. She gestured for him to let her listen. Mulder moved closer to her and tilted the cordless so she could hear. "You tell me," Frohike replied. "What happened to you and your phone earlier? The luscious Agent Scully was worried about you." "My phone," he said, glancing over at the corded phone on his desk, "was tied up by a distraction." "Distraction?" the Gunman asked. "I didn't... interrupt anything, did I, Mulder?" "No, Frohike, you didn't interrupt anything," Scully spoke up. "What's going on?" "Agent Scully," Frohike blurted. "You're there." Mulder thought. "=Yes=, I am here," she replied, exasperated. "I was talking to you just before I arrived, remember?" Frohike stuttered a few times before Scully continued. "Did you find out anything about Mulder's phone line?" "Uh, yeah. Your 'distraction' accessed three different sites: the British Medical Journal, the New England Journal of Medicine, and the Journal of the American Medical Association." Mulder and Scully's eyes met. "So Kurt was telling the truth," Mulder muttered. "Frohike," Scully said, "can you access those same sites and download anything containing 'cancer,' 'oncology,' or 'gene therapy'?" "Sure, but it'll take some time. We can start that right away. Is there anything else we can do to help, Agent Scully?" The Gunman sounded more solicitous than Scully had ever heard him before. She'd have to catch him calling her "luscious" more often. Mulder leaned a little closer to her to speak into the phone. "Yeah, search for the name 'Kurt Crawford' in car rental records for the past week -- anywhere in the country. And check whether there's a record of him taking a bus, plane, or train to DC. 'Kurt' is with a 'K' and 'Crawford' with a 'C', but check all the spelling variations, too." He shrugged at his partner and lowered his voice. "I doubt he would have traveled under that name, but...." She nodded her agreement. "Anything else? You want some fries with that, Mulder?" "Very funny. Just send me an e-mail with whatever matches you find. You can come by next week to pick out your token of my gratitude." "Deal," Frohike enthused. "You'll be hearing from us." The line disconnected. "Well, that's a start," Mulder said, thumbing off the phone. He stood, stretching, and moved away from the couch. He deposited the phone on top of the TV before moving over to his computer and booting it up. "With luck I'll have an e-mail from them within a few hours." He felt his partner's eyes following him as he opened the e-mail application and returned to the couch to sit next to her. "So you were worried about me, Scully?" he teased. "Yes, and clearly with good reason." Scully sighed. "You certainly do attract the most interesting house guests, Mulder." Mulder scrubbed his face with one hand, fatigued. "Yeah, I was Mr. Popularity tonight. Kurt wasn't the only visitor I had." Scully sat up straighter and looked at him with curiosity. "Why? Who else visited you?" Mulder cleared his throat and looked at his feet. He hadn't wanted to stumble into the conversation like this. "Mulder?" Deep breath. "Diana." One Scully eyebrow went up, and her jaw tightened. "Oh?" "Yeah, she was waiting for me outside the building when I got home. I talked to her just before you called me." He looked up to meet her eyes. He didn't know why, but he felt compelled to add, "She didn't come in. We talked outside." Scully nodded. "What did she want?" Mulder shrugged, his forced nonchalance unsuccessful in hiding his nervousness. "She wanted to apologize for this morning. She... was angry that a 'non-believer' had been assigned to the X-Files, but she let her anger get out of hand. She wanted me to pass along her apology, too. But I told her I couldn't do that for her." "Isn't that what you're doing now?" "No, all I'm doing now is telling you what happened, as your partner. And as your friend. I thought you would want to know the truth. Was I wrong?" "No," Scully admitted. "No, you're not wrong." She paused, brow furrowed. "Did she say how she found out... ?" Mulder hung his head, studying his shoes, deciding how to tell her the truth. he told himself. He lifted his head to meet her gaze. "She thought that you were assigned to the X-Files to destroy the work." "Wasn't I?" "Well, yes, but...." How the hell was he supposed to tell her this? He glanced down at the floor and cleared his throat for a second time before meeting her eyes again. "Anyway, she did some investigating, trying to dig up some damning evidence about you. And in the process... she found out about your petition to adopt Emily, and read the summary of the hearing, which included..." He trailed off and waited for her to absorb the information. She paled. "Oh, my God..." Mulder watched as her face flashed through shock, then resignation, and then a calm that he knew she didn't really feel. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. It was bound to happen sooner or later." She maintained the stoic mask, but Mulder could hear the sadness and sense of violation in her voice. After several moments of silence, she asked, "What else?" Trying to lighten the mood, Mulder added, "I also told her if she fucked with you again she'd find her ass in a sling." He grinned sheepishly. "You don't need to protect me, Mulder." Mulder held up his hands in mock protest. "I didn't say =who= would put her ass in a sling. I have no doubt that it would be you." He paused, turning serious again. "What she did was inexcusable, but she had an explanation. She was being petty and stupid -- she said so herself -- and I suppose jealous, too. It's not like her, but that's what it was." "Do you believe her?" "I don't have a reason not to. Why do you ask?" Now Scully studied the floor. "Mulder, I have learned from you to question what everyone says. And to question their motives." She looked at him again and shrugged. "Did she have anything else to say?" Mulder snorted with derision. "She said that she forgets that she doesn't have to watch my back any more." Scully's eyebrow arched again. "And you said... ?" "Just the truth, Scully. That she's not my partner. =You= are, and I plan on keeping it that way for a long time." Mulder paused, watching for any negative reaction. None. In fact, she looked interested, even encouraging. So far, so good. Well, this day had been so miserable for her that she deserved to hear a truth that was CONstructive rather than DEstructive. "What I =didn't= tell her, Scully.... is that you're the best damned partner I've ever had, or could ever hope to have. You're the only one I want watching my back." He paused. Although Scully looked pleased, she said nothing, as though waiting for more. So he continued. "Diana... she offered to get me back on the X-Files, with her. I told her no. It's no contest, Scully. I'd rather work with you on fertilizer duty than be on the X-Files without you." Scully looked stunned. Pleasantly so, but stunned nonetheless. "Come on, Scully, you can't tell me that you didn't know that already." He grasped her arm and squeezed gently. "Just a variation on a theme you've heard before." With his eyes, he gestured towards the door to the hallway. Scully smiled with understanding, looked down for a moment, then raised her head to look into his eyes. But even through the smile Mulder saw the pain left in the wake of the evening's events. Mulder smiled back. "You know, Scully, if this were a movie, this would be about the time that the beautiful heroine throws herself into the arms of the handsome hero." If he hadn't known better, Mulder would have thought that her eyes shimmered with mischief. "Mulder, I know what kind of movies you watch, and we're overdressed for that kind of scene." "You coming on to me, Scully?" "In your dreams, Mulder." Scully pushed herself off the couch until she was standing facing him. She continued to hold her enigmatic smile. "I never got you that ice for your head. Better late than never." She turned and walked towards the kitchen with a purposeful stride. Mulder thought ruefully. ******************************************************************** Scully returned a few minutes later with a plastic bag of ice wrapped in a towel. Handing it to him, she remarked, "Hold this on the back of your head for ten minutes. If it's still bothering you later, apply it for another ten minutes." Mulder nodded, taking the pack. "I think I'm going to head for home before I fall asleep again." "You don't have to go if you're that tired, Scully," he protested. "You can stay here for the night." His partner shook her head. "I want to get up early to finish working on those autopsy reports from Kersh. I'd like to have that out of the way before we go running off on some field trip with Kurt Crawford." Mulder nodded his acknowledgment as he rose from the couch, leaving the ice pack on the coffee table. "All right, Scully. I'll see you tomorrow." He followed her to the door to let her out, placing his hand lightly on the small of her back as she passed him. "Call me if you need anything." "I will," she responded. He watched her until she disappeared into the elevator, then closed and re-locked his door. Yawning, Mulder crossed to his computer, then sat down and put on the wire-rimmed glasses that had been resting by the keyboard. No messages yet. He removed the glasses, leaving them on the desk again, and moved back to the couch. He lay down with the ice pack at the back of his head, flicked the TV on with the remote, and fell asleep to the sounds of The Discovery Channel. ******************************************************************** *RIIIIIIING* The sound of his cordless phone startled Mulder from his sleep. he thought, groggy. He half-fell to his knees off the edge of the couch and reached to the end of the coffee table for the handset. Thumbing on the phone, he tried to mutter "Yeah." What came out of his sleepy mouth was indecipherable. "Mulder?" "Scully?" The serious tone of her voice woke him up faster than anything else could have. He turned his head to look at the clock. 5:36 a.m. Scully would never call at this hour unless... "Are you all right? What's wrong?" "Everything is wrong, Mulder. Everything about this is wrong. I've been awake all night thinking about what Kurt Crawford said. Whatever he has in mind, I don't want to pursue it. I'm not going wherever it is he wants to take us." Mulder's free hand gripped the coffee table in disbelief. "Scully... if what Crawford said is correct, you'll be able to get rid of that chip in your neck. Don't you want that?" "Mulder, we've had carrots dangled in front of us before. We wind up going around and around and we never get anywhere." She sucked in a deep breath, as though rushing to get the words out before losing her nerve. "I'm sick of being used, I'm sick of not knowing where the =hell= I'm going to wake up tomorrow, I'm sick of not knowing what they're going to take from me next. I just want them to leave me alone. I want all of them to leave me alone." Mulder blinked at his partner's unusual outburst. His limbs felt heavy and numb. "Scully... I don't know what to say." Ignoring his comment, Scully continued. "And no, Mulder, before you even ask, I'm not leaving the X-Files and I'm not leaving you. But I'm tired, Mulder. I'm tired and I want to go home." "Home?" he mumbled. "Yes, Mulder, home. You know, that place Dorothy wanted to go in The Wizard of Oz? I've had enough, Mulder. I give up on this one. They win." Mulder felt a chill run down his spine at her final words. "Scully -- you can't mean that. Do you realize what you're saying? You're giving up on yourself. You can't do that, Scully. I won't let you." "I don't want to argue about it, Mulder. Besides..." "Yeah?" he asked, voice full of fear. "You have mail," she said, imitating the computer voice that announced new e-mail. He blinked. "How --" he started, rolling on his knees to turn to look towards his PC. And then suddenly he was falling to the floor, face down, and landed with a grunt. Blinking, he pushed himself up into a kneeling position and took a deep breath. His eyes darted in search of the phone. "Scully?" he called, hoping she would hear him through the receiver, wherever it had fallen. And then he spotted it. Across the room, on top of the television. Right where he'd left it after speaking with Frohike. "Oh, shit," he muttered, sinking to a seated position on the floor. He leaned against the couch and ran his hand through his hair. He sat for a moment, trying to control his breathing and heart rate, telling himself over and over that it was just a dream, it wasn't really Scully, Scully wasn't giving up, it was just a dream... At least the dream Scully had said she wasn't leaving him. His subconscious wasn't =that= self-recriminating. Finally calmed, he looked up at the clock. His sense of time hadn't been off by much in his dream -- it was 5:48 a.m. Then he turned his gaze toward his PC. Sure enough, the new mail icon was flashing. He groaned as he climbed to his feet, then tottered over to the desk, sat down, and slipped on his glasses. Grabbing the mouse, he clicked on "read". One new message, from the Gunmen. Subject: "Kansas City". Mulder mused. He opened the message. "No matches anywhere under any spelling variation we could think of. Sorry." Mulder sat back in his chair, closed his eyes, and sighed. "You have mail." Mulder blinked and leaned towards the PC's monitor. Was he dreaming again? No, the new mail icon was flashing anew, and the Gunmen's message was still on the screen. He closed it to check the status of his mailbox. One new message. No subject line. From an address he didn't recognize. He opened the message, sat back in the chair, open-mouthed, and then reached for his cell phone to call Scully. ******************************************************************** - end Chapter 6 - ******************************************************************** Feedback is cherished at Forte1354@aol.com or bjm1352@aol.com. Value & Honor by Forte (Forte1354@aol.com) Please see Chapter 1 for rating, summary, disclaimer, etc. ******************************************************************** - Chapter 7 - ******************************************************************** On the road between Alexandria and Georgetown Friday, 10:38 p.m. Scully pulled one hand from the steering wheel to cover her escaping yawn. As she returned her hand to the wheel, she glanced at her watch. Home in ten minutes, in bed by eleven. Good. "Tired," she sighed, then huffed in amusement when she realized she'd said it out loud. <"I know you're tired."> Scully's memory returned to Mulder's earlier words. He knew she was tired of chasing, of being chased, of frustration and lies. But could he grasp everything, every nuance? She certainly couldn't pretend to know every facet of his emotions regarding his sister's disappearance. Just as he could never know, never understand, every anguish she felt over Emily. She knew he cared, even though he didn't always show it well. But it was simply impossible for him to have that depth of knowledge without first-hand experience. And in this case, Mulder couldn't understand every painful sensation that Kurt Crawford's reappearance had dredged up in her. Multiple levels of fear, and rage, and guilt. Yes, guilt. Scully's rational side knew that she had "survivor's guilt"; she'd been tormented by -- and still battled -- that hell after Melissa's murder. But =knowing= she felt guilty couldn't stop the guilt from wringing knots in her stomach. So many women who'd had chips in their necks were dead. She was alive. Dozens of families had buried wives, mothers, daughters, and sisters who had succumbed to the cancer. Her family had not. At times, the weight of that realization was crushing. Exhausting. Yes, she was tired. But when her time to leave this life finally came, and she moved on to whatever came next, how could she face all those women? How could she tell them that she had been too tired to fight back? <"I've got things to finish, to prove to myself, to my family... but for my own reasons."> She'd spoken those words in a hospital in Pennsylvania the night Penny Northern had died. Perhaps conscience really was the dead speaking to us from beyond the grave. And the dead had spoken to her, demanding justice, as she'd sat in Mulder's apartment. It was then that she had made her decision. Well, it wasn't really a decision. There was no decision to make. She had simply realized anew what she had to do. "I just need a good night's sleep, Mulder," she'd told him. "Then I'll be ready to go God knows where again." And then Mulder said something about her being amazing, and caressed her back. The corners of her lips curled up at the memory of the soothing sensation. <"Could he really not know?"> Although the context was different, the question she'd asked herself at lunch came back to her. So did her reply. <"For God's sakes, tell him!"> Tell him. There were a lot of things she could tell him. A lot of things she =should=. She'd been doing a lot of thinking about their partnership since the most recent events involving Gibson Praise. In a moment of quiet clarity, Scully had realized that she and Mulder were sometimes so committed to their own mindsets -- the rational and scientific vs. the paranormal and unexplainable -- that they painted themselves into their own corners, with no way to reach each other without destroying the ground between them. Why did their theories have to be mutually exclusive? Scully recalled something her high school biology teacher had told the class on the first day of school: "Half of everything I teach you this year will be wrong. We just don't know it's wrong yet." And so, perhaps, she and Mulder could be wrong about many things. Would she be shocked if someday the existence of Mulder's aliens, vampires, and mothmen could be proven by a strict analysis of facts? Would Mulder be disappointed if everything they ever investigated could be explained by her science? She hoped not. She hoped they would rejoice in such truths. Maybe that day was coming. But in the meantime, she would settle for a few answers from Kurt Crawford that both Mulder the believer and Scully the skeptic would be comfortable with. And for some reason, she believed that they would get such answers. Scully's meditations ended as she reached her apartment building and parked. As she climbed out of the car, the trunk release handle caught her eye. When she'd arrived home earlier that evening she'd forgotten to bring in what she had picked up during her lunchtime errand. She retrieved it from the trunk and brought it inside with her. The autopsy files were in disarray on her coffee table, just as she'd left them. Had her phone call to Mulder been only three and a half hours earlier? She resisted the urge to tidy them. Instead, she took care of the item she had carried in from the car. Then she went to her bedroom, set her alarm for 7 a.m., and prepared for the good night's sleep that she so desperately needed. ******************************************************************** Georgetown Washington, DC Saturday, 5:53 a.m. At first, the sound that filtered through was like the carillon of a far-off church. Then it became louder and more shrill until Scully reached full consciousness on the fifth ring. She blinked open her eyes and reached for the bedside phone, noting the early hour. "Hello?" she said, groggy. But all she heard was a dial tone. Confused, she replaced the receiver and sat up in bed. The phone rang again. She threw the blankets off her legs, flicked on the light on the nightstand, and stumbled to her dresser where her cell phone waited. "Scully." Her voice now held its usual authority. "Hey, Scully, it's me. Sorry to wake you." "Are you okay, Mulder? Why did you call my cell phone?" "I'm okay, Scully. I called your cell because you're going to need your land line. Check your e-mail -- I'm willing to bet that you have a message from an anonymous mailer. I just got a very interesting piece of mail myself, which I forwarded to you. Three guesses who it's from." "I don't think I need three," she said, reaching for her robe. "What does it say?" "Well, that's still a bit of a mystery. It's encrypted." "Great," she muttered. "Hold on a minute, Mulder." Scully shrugged on the robe and headed towards her living room. She scooped her eyeglasses off of the coffee table, being careful to not let her eyes linger on the files there. "What makes you think I've got a message, too?" "Intuition?" "Hmmm." Scully booted up the computer on her desk and slipped on her glasses. "How's your head?" "It feels like somebody's been using it for field goal practice. Got anything yet?" If he was joking about his injury, he was okay, so Scully didn't push. "Just a second." She logged on and opened her e-mail. "You have mail," the PC told her. "That sounds familiar," Mulder remarked. Did she detect some tension in his voice? "What have you got?" "Two new pieces of mail. One from you." She clicked on 'read'. "Yes, that does appear to be encrypted," she murmured, more to herself than to her partner. "Nothing gets past you, Scully." She ignored his joke and returned to her mailbox. "The other -- no subject line, unfamiliar return address." She clicked on 'read' again. "This one's encrypted too. Great," she repeated. "At least it's not Navajo," Mulder quipped. Scully didn't laugh. Instead she stared at the message on the screen, lost in thought, chewing her bottom lip. "No, it's not. It's different from the message that you received, but it looks like the same kind of encryption. The type of encryption doesn't look familiar, though, like the Navajo did." She suppressed a shudder at the memory of the information on the digital tape. Her name. "Merchandise." She shook off the feeling of dread welling inside of her, and became aware of Mulder clicking and typing. "What are you doing?" "Checking a couple other screen names I use." While she waited for her partner, Scully studied the odd-looking message on her screen. It was a very long string of letters, long enough to take up an entire printed page. Some of the characters were upper case, some lower case. There were no spaces or punctuation, and the letters didn't spell anything. She looked for patterns in the characters but could discern none. In fact, it looked as though someone had typed out letters completely at random. What was that saying about monkeys at typewriters pounding out Shakespeare...? After a minute Mulder spoke again. "Nothing else." "So now we just have to break the encryption. Gunmen?" "Scully, you read my mind." The tone of his voice told her he was grinning. "Let's forward these messages to them an