Changing Tides (1/10)
By The Artist Formerly Known as "the lud" - now going by
the Queen of Mush(QofMush@aol.com)
     
Disclaimer: Most of the characters included within belong to
the Fox Network, the creative people over at 1013, Chris
Carter, David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson.  No
infringement is intended.
     
Classification: XRA/MSR
     
Summary: Who says change is all bad?
     
Rating: PG13
     
Time line: Post movie
Spoilers: All over the place.
     
Archive: Please do not archive anywhere without my permission.  However,
requests to link directly to my fanfic page will be enthusiastically granted.
(http://members.aol.com/msrsmut/TheLud.htm)

Author's Notes: Following the story
     
Feedback: Wouldn't miss it for the world -
QofMush@aol.com 
     
Changing Tides
Chapter One
****************

Apartment of Fox Mulder
Tuesday - 6PM

Strange that although it had been Scully who'd done all the fighting to get
the X-Files, reopened, it was Mulder who received the late message on his
machine.

"Agent Mulder, it's Skinner.  I know this is last minute, but I need you to
come to the office ASAP.  I'll be here until at least 9PM.  Anytime after
that, phone me on my cell. We need to discuss the future of the X-Files, and I
think you'll be pleased. Don't bother calling Agent Scully.  I want to meet
with you alone."

The message amused him on so many levels, he thought while listening to the
other paltry messages:  two hang ups, a telemarketer wanting to up his credit,
and Chantal.  First, that Skinner thought reopening the X-Files was good news,
that Mulder should be the first person to hear it, and ultimately, that
Skinner would assume Mulder would immediately call Scully and bring her along.

Well, he had that part right.

Mulder wasn't entirely sold on the reopening of the X-Files.  Despite Scully's
protestations to the contrary, he still believed she was right to leave and
right to want to get away from him.  He meant it when he told her he didn't
want to watch her die because of his hollow personal cause.  A cause he wasn't
even sure he wanted to fight for anymore.  Scully was right when she told him
to look closely and see if his heart was still in the game.  It wasn't.  As he
drove to the FBI, he wondered exactly how he was going to tell Skinner.

Skinner must want to talk to him because he was technically the Senior Agent
in the Division.  On paper perhaps he had more seniority than Scully, but they
had ceased to be anything less than complete equals years ago. If the X-Files
were to reopen, it would be his signature on the form,  but Scully had earned
the right to be there with him every step of the way.  The right and the life
sentence.

And, that was the rub.

The guilt was still fresh.  It hung around him like a shroud, cloaking him in
recrimination and self-loathing.

She almost died in Antarctica, and for nothing more than the sin of having him
as a partner.  That she meant something to him.  And that *they* knew it.  Was
there any reason on Earth that he'd want to continue to endanger her?

Could Skinner have that insight?  Maybe that was why Skinner wanted him to
come solo.  Perhaps the X-Files was going to be reopened, but that the one-
desk scenario he knew Scully hated was going to be a reality.  Spooky Mulder,
back in the basement alone.  Among the ashes.  Was Scully going to be
reassigned?  Did her passionate pleas in front of that board somehow indicate
that a promising agent had lost her mind and was under the evil delusionary
influence of the crackpot of the Bureau?

As he pulled into the now empty parking structure, he didn't know whether  he
was saddened or relieved.  

**********************

Office of Assistant Director Walter Skinner
Tuesday -  8PM

Mulder walked into the outer office and greeted Kimberly with a small smile.
As long as Mulder could remember, the redhead had been Walter Skinner's
gatekeeper.  Her hours were his, and Mulder certainly hoped Skinner had a big
overtime budget.  Kimberly looked as fresh as she must have looked at 6AM when
she arrived.

"Hi, Kimberly.  He called my apartment earlier today and told me he needed to
see me as soon as possible."

"Hang on, Agent Mulder. I know he's been waiting for you," Kimberly smiled up
at him while reaching for her intercom phone.  She spoke softly into it,
waited a moment, hung up, and motioned Mulder into the office.

"Go on in.  He's expecting you."

"Thanks.  You get to go home soon?"

She winked,  "I think that depends on how well your meeting goes."

"Ah."

Walter Skinner was, by all accounts, an imposing figure.  Even seated behind
his desk with the hint of a smile lurking around his mouth, he was still
intimidating.  

"Come in, Agent Mulder. Sit down and close the door."

Mulder closed the door and crossed to the visitors' chairs in front of the
Assistant Director's desk.  He subconsciously sniffed the air for the telltale
smell of cigarette smoke.  Some habits were hard to break.

"How are you feeling, Mulder?  Have you fully recovered from Antarctica and
your gunshot wound?"

"I'm fine, Sir.  I had an appointment earlier today - and got a clean bill of
health. The doctor told me he was clearing me for active duty," Mulder
responded.

"That's good to hear.  When I spoke to Agent Scully earlier, she mentioned her
similar medical clearance."

You spoke to Scully earlier?

"Agent Mulder, I'm not going to beat around the bush. I've got your new
assignment. It's not exactly what you may think is going to happen, yet I want
you to listen to me all the way through before you say anything.  There are
conditions and rules you have to follow this time."

"You know I've never been good at going by the book."

"I want you to listen to me. Will you grant me that?"

Out of a deep respect for his superior and his own innate curiosity, Mulder
grudgingly nodded.

"Thanks mainly to Agent Scully's passionate and eloquent testimony about her
experiences in Texas and Antarctica, and my somewhat enthusiastic,"  Skinner
winced self-deprecatingly, "endorsement, the Attorney General has decided to
reopen the X-Files.  Presently, this is a temporary reopening, pending
continual monitoring and review. You will get new offices, out of the
basement, and you and Scully will still be reporting directly to me. I will
okay every case you investigate, and you will file all the proper
documentation before you pursue any leads. Do you follow me so far, Agent
Mulder?"

Me and Scully?  Still together?  Then, why am I here alone?

"Yes, sir.  Sounds like we're back to the beginning, but with a better view."

"I'm not finished yet.  There are a few more conditions.  To begin with, your
first case is predetermined. "  Skinner waved a familiar red checked folder at
him.   "Gibson Praise."

"What about him?"

"The Attorney General has had a chance to cool down and realizes perhaps she
acted in haste to close the X-Files before you could complete the
investigation.  To clean up the mess you and Agent Scully started.  We want
answers.  We want you to find that little boy."

"But, sir, we don't even know if he's still alive.  And, we still aren't sure
what exactly he has to do with anything. The shooter was the key, and I don't
know where to go from there."

"Then, it's convenient that you'll have help."

"You mean Scully?  Yes, she was the one who discovered the first anomalies
about Gibson - "

"No, I'm not talking about Scully.  I'm talking about the second condition of
your reinstatement.  The X-Files has grown in the past five years. There's
almost too much for two agents to handle.  Especially two agents who work
together so well as partners that sometimes their loyalties to each other
might blind them to the truth."

Mulder visibly tensed and began defensively, "Sir, I don't know - - "

"Relax, Agent Mulder. I think you and Agent Scully are a good team.  One of
the best.  However, it has come to the attention of some of the powers-that-be
that perhaps you work too well as a team.  Whereas before, we could rely on
Scully to rein you in and keep you in check, in light of recent developments,
it seems like you might be influencing her more than even you might be aware."

"So, I'm still "Spooky" Mulder?  It couldn't be that I'm right sometimes? I
must have perfected some kind of voodoo brainwashing? You insult  me and Agent
Scully with that thinking!" Mulder sputtered, rising to storm from the office.

This was crazy.  He didn't need to hear this.  Reopening the X-Files wasn't
worth this.  First, Skinner implied that he and Scully were too close, then
that the only way she would agree with him is if he had somehow brainwashed
her?  He didn't need this, and he knew she wouldn't like it.

"Sit down, Agent Mulder and let me finish!" Skinner returned, standing to stop
the younger man from departing.  

The tone that Skinner used brooked no argument.  Seething, Mulder reluctantly
returned to his seat.

Sighing, Skinner retook his own seat and resumed.  "This is why I wanted to
meet with you alone.  I knew you wouldn't like this turn of events, and I
didn't want Agent Scully to bear witness to your behavior.  This wasn't my
call - it goes higher than that. But, for now, it's the best I can do to get
the X-Files up and running again.  You're going to have to work with two other
agents.  All four of you will report directly to me, although you and Scully
will have senior status within the division. This means you two can decide
which cases you take."

Skinner shuffled through the folders on his desk, pulled out two personnel
files and glanced through them.  Mulder could tell the man was stalling for
time, and with a sinking certainty, Mulder knew he wasn't going to like his
new "work-buddies."

Mulder stretched for the files across Skinner's desk, but Skinner was too fast
for him, pulling them out of his reach.

"Mulder, I want you to approach this with an open mind. Both of these agents
*requested* to be assigned to the X-Files.  They both have different
backgrounds that I think will complement you and Agent Scully.  I'm hoping
you'll overlook past differences and see that the end might justify the means.
I've received assurances from these two that they are willing to start with a
clean slate."

"All due respect, Sir, but could I please see who I'm going to be working
with?  I appreciate the stalling techniques, but I just need to know what I'm
up against here."

With a quiet sigh, Skinner handed the files across the desk.   Mulder grasped
them quickly and sat back into his chair with a thud.  He didn't think the
situation could possibly be worse than it was.

The two tabs on the folders read: Diana Fowley and Jeffrey Spender.

 End Chapter One



Chapter Two
************
Casey's Bar and Grill
Tuesday  - 10PM

I've been a bartender here at Casey's for a little over two years. I like it.
It never gets too busy or too ugly; I usually don't have to worry about
kicking people out at closing time.  Due to our location, we do a big lunch
crowd, a fairly large happy hour - thanks to Stan's Ten Cent Buffalo Wing
Specials - and by this time of night, pleasantly buzzed Fibbies have all
hailed cabs back to their homes in the suburbs.  Only the diehards remain.

Which is why I looked up in surprise to see the door open on a Tuesday night
and someone walk in.  Until I recognized the someone.

"Spooky" Mulder.

A few weeks ago, this poor man had drowned his sorrows in tequila, told me
one of the best stories I've ever heard, and then left me a great tip.  I thought
I'd never see him again.  I was happy to be wrong.

Impeccably dressed as he had been that night, he hung his suitcoat on the
rack, rolled up his sleeves and took the same seat at the bar.  I was glad
to see him.  He may be crazy, but he spruced up the place.

"Well, well.  How ya doing, Spooky?"  

I saw the wince before he could stop it.  "I told you about Spooky, didn't
I?"

"Yup.  And a whole bunch of things you probably don't remember.  Don't worry.
Bartender's Code, " I responded while holding up my palm to indicate my oath.
"You don't like Spooky?"

Wow.  Those eyes were amazing when they were lucid.  So was the grin.  "You
could say that.  How 'bout you call me Mulder?"

"Deal. So, Mulder.  Tequila?" I asked, setting up the salt and lime in front
of him.  The bar was almost empty; I could spend as much time as I wanted
to with my new favorite customer.

His hand on my wrist stalled me before I could cut the lime. "No, not tonight.
How about a Harp?  Do you carry that?"

"Draft or bottle?"

"A pint would be great. Thanks."

With that I was dismissed. While pulling the draft, I watched him.  He looked
around, drummed the bar with his fingers keeping time to the music, and pulled
out his cellphone.

Ah - Ha.

Being a good bartender means learning the art of eavesdropping. I delivered
the pint glass quietly, making myself almost invisible so I could listen in on
the tail-end of his conversation.

"I know it's late, but I really need to talk to you.  Yes, I met with Skinner.
I heard. So, you know too?  Come on, Scully, you know you wanna meet me. I'm
buying.  Yes, I'm buying. I promise."

And with that he ended the call.  No goodbye, nothing.  Just the sweetest
smile I've seen all day.  Too bad "Scully" couldn't see it.

Suddenly I knew why the need for  all that tequila the other night. I should
have known.  Crazy stories aside, he must have been feuding with Scully. 
He never mentioned that name that night, content instead to tell me a fairytale
instead of what was really bugging him.

I left him alone to his beer and walked down to the end of the bar to visit
with my regulars. I kept him in my sights, though, and watched him sit, lost
in thought, nursing his beer for about half an hour.

Then, a petite red headed woman walked in.  Dressed more casually than he,  she
walked with self-assurance and style.  He seemed to sense her presence,
turning toward her as soon as she entered his line of vision.  They didn't
greet with a kiss, although I thought they would, but you could tell they
were "together."  He caught my eye and motioned me down to them.  He ordered
another Harp for himself and a vodka tonic for her and once I'd delivered
their drinks,  they moved from the bar to one of our booths - I'm assuming
for more privacy.

All the good ones are taken.

******************
She really hadn't want to come out tonight.  The term "in for the night"
echoed  through her head as she dressed and headed for her car to meet him
at Casey's. 

Who was she kidding? She knew he'd call.  Well, she hoped he would.  It was
better than a 2AM knock on the door.  This way, she'd be able to get a decent
night's sleep.

Arriving at Casey's, she found a parking spot around the corner and walked
down the deserted street.  She hurried into the bar and tried to sneak up on
him, but had no luck. Almost on cue, he turned to her as she approached.

"Hey, Scully.  Thanks for coming.  What can I get you to drink?" He greeted
her while signaling for the bartender.

"Mmm...vodka tonic.  Extra lime.  How long have you been here?"

"Me? Oh, I just got here when I called you.  I didn't meet with Skinner until
late tonight."

They left the bar with their drinks and settled into one of the high-backed
booths.  Mulder raised his glass, jerked a wry grin and toasted, "Here's
hoping our third's a charm,  not a strike out."

Oh, no. This was pissed-off Mulder verging on the morose. What she was afraid
might happen.  Taking a quick sip of her drink, she jumped right in.  "So,
tell me how you really feel."

"Ah, Scully.  You know those third sequels never work.  Jaws 3 in 3-D?  The
Godfather III?  The Search for Spock?  Don't even get me started on Halloween
3, the Season of the Witch.  By the time the third one rolls around,
everyone's just going through the motions.  Their hearts aren't in it anymore."

"Return of the Jedi, " she responded quietly.

"There's an exception to every rule, " he mumbled, slouching into the booth,
making water circles on the surface of the table with his pint glass.  Those
circles must hold the secrets of the universe, for all the attention he was
paying them. 

"Are you saying you don't want the assignment, Mulder? Is your *heart* not in
it anymore?"

There, that got his attention.  His gaze lifted to her face quickly  and then
just as quickly dropped back to the endless contemplation of the table's
surface.

"Mulder, look at me.  What happened at your meeting with Skinner?  Did you
refuse his assignment?"  Sometimes with Mulder, she could afford to be
patient.  To wait him out.  He'd tell her in time.  Tonight she wasn't in the
mood.  This had to do with both of them and their future.  She thought they'd
settled this that day on the Mall.

She watched his mouth trying to form the words in response.  Nothing seemed to
be coming out.  If he'd bother to look at her, she'd know what he was going to
say before he said it, but he was insisting on playing this the hard way.
Finally, he lifted his gaze, and she got her answer.

"No, I didn't.  After a *heated* discussion, I told him I'd try to do this."

Gracing him with a smile, she spontaneously reached out and covered his hand
resting on the table with one of her own.

"I'm glad."

He smiled back at her and pulled his hand from underneath hers to lift the
glass to his lips.  She watched him tilt his head back to drain the glass, his
eyes sliding shut and his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.  If she wasn't
careful, he'd catch her staring.  Shrugging subtly, she brought herself back
to business.

"Okay, Mulder.  How do we approach this?"

"Funny you should ask, Scully, " he responded, while signaling the bartender
for another round,  "I have a few theories.  However, what I really want to
know is why Skinner felt the need to tell you first."

"Because he likes me best."

**************************
Casey's Bar and Grill
Tuesday - 2AM

They'd stayed way too late. Around midnight, they had switched to club soda,
in order to make sure they were both okay to drive.  Finally, the bartender
had gently told them that *she* wanted to get home, and would they mind taking
their conversation to an all-night diner?

Scully looked around and realized they were the only three people in the bar.
She and Mulder had been so involved in their conversation, they hadn't noticed
the time or that no one else was even in the restaurant.

It was weird.  They really hadn't talked about work except to discuss when
their new offices would be ready.  By mutual consent, they'd decided to wait
until they got to those new offices to discuss the Fowley/Spender situation.
Neither of them were happy with it, but they knew they'd have to work with it
in order to continue their search.  Mulder wanted to know how her conversation
with Skinner had gone, and she wanted every detail of his *heated* meeting.
Plus, there were doctors visits to discuss (she always had to know exactly
what his doctors said) and what they had been doing with their off-time.

It was during their debate about summer blockbusters that their bartender had
nicely asked them to leave.  They settled their bill, wished her goodnight and
stood in front of Casey's.  Laughingly, they realized that Mulder had parked
around the corner to the right of the bar, and Scully had parked the exact
opposite.

"Fitting.  Well, never let it be said Fox Mulder is not a gentleman.  I'll
walk you to your car, Scully, " Mulder said, offering his elbow dramatically.

Just as she started to grab his elbow to continue the joke, she felt it.

Someone was watching.

Waiting.

Stalking.

She whispered to him, "Mulder, don't walk me to my car."

Mulder leaned down to catch her eye.   "What's the big deal, Scully? I know
you can take care of yourself, just humor me.  I promise I won't try anything."

Leave it to Mulder to think she was rebuffing any possible romantic overtures
and to be hurt.  Okay, let's try this again. She pulled him down to her to whisper in his ear.

"Mulder, there's someone watching us. I'm guessing one of us is a target.
I'm guessing it's me."

Mulder's head snapped up and looked around, scanning the empty sidewalk and
deserted street.  "Where? Scully, I don't see anyone."

"I can't explain it, Mulder.  I just know.  Now, if he doesn't have an easy
opportunity with me, he might wait until our friendly bartender leaves.  I'd
rather we take our chances.  So, pretend you forgot something, wish me
goodnight, and go back inside and tell her to stay put.  Then, follow me and
back me up," she said, grabbing his forearm and whispering up at him through
gritted teeth. 

He looked down at her, and for a moment she thought he was going to continue
the debate.  It was difficult to overcome Mulder's alternately frustrating and
endearing overprotective side when it appeared, and she knew their adventures
in Antarctica were still all too fresh in his mind.  But, if they were going
to get past that, he had to trust her.  And, know she trusted him to back her
up.   She tried to quickly convey the message wordlessly, and they stood there
in silence for a moment just looking at each other.

There.  Message received.  Mulder must have decided to trust her hunch and
rely on her instincts like she had relied on his so many times before.  He
trusted her.  And, if she weren't in the middle of a potentially dangerous
situation, she would allow herself the luxury of the warm feeling that was
causing in her stomach.  Instead, she settled for a tense smile up at him
as she waited for him to start the charade.

"Oh, damn. I forgot my trenchcoat.  Okay, *Miss* Scully.  You're a woman of
the nineties. Go ahead.  Walk yourself to your own car.  Good night, " he said
jauntily, reaching over to cover her hand still resting on his forearm.  

She squeezed his arm lightly and let go. "Goodnight Mulder.  Thanks for a
lovely evening."

She turned and walked quickly but steadily toward the corner.  Half the block
down, she started thinking his paranoia was rubbing off on her.

Then she was grabbed.

Strong arms snatched and dragged her backwards into the alley off the deserted
street.  She heard the <snick> of a switchblade opening a second before she
felt the cold blade on her throat as one arm lay heavy on her neck.  The other
arm effectively pinned her back to his front, making her arms, and more
importantly, her gun, useless.

A guttural voice whispered in her ear, "Don't say a word. I don't wanna alarm
your boyfriend."

Forcing herself to acquiesce, she relaxed into his arms to give him a false
sense of security.  As soon as they reached the alley, he spun and forced
her back up against the wall, never taking the blade from her neck.  It was too
dark to see his face, but he was tall.  Not as tall as Mulder, but wider.

"Okay, give me all your money, " the voice said as one arm rummaged through
her pockets, emptying them onto the ground in his frantic search for valuables.  Luckily, he didn't 
pay attention to her FBI badge, letting it slide unnoticed to the ground.

The smell of the alley was overwhelming.  It was squalid and dank and smelled
of urine and stale liquor. Or was that her assailant?

"This all the cash you got?  Well, then you're going to have to pay me in
some other way.  Since your boyfriend gave you the night off, maybe you can pay
me in trade, if you know what I mean," and suddenly she could feel the growing
erection pressed up against her stomach.

A trickle of fear-laced sweat ran down her back.  All the self-defense
training in the world was no help when she was outweighed by a hundred pounds,
a knife to her throat, and her position such that she couldn't get enough
leverage for a knee to the groin.  She felt helpless, and she didn't like it.
The fact that she had intentionally made herself helpless seemed incredibly
stupid right now.

<Where the fuck is he?>

"Ah, but before we get to that, you do have something else I could use.  A little religion.  This 
could fetch me a coupla dollars." 

The knife at her neck dipped and raised with her cross now hanging from the
blade.  A flick of his wrist and he could easily cut the chain in two. She
felt the pull on the back of her neck as the chain was drawn taut like a
leash, and she could smell his acrid breath as he lowered his head for a
closer inspection.

Suddenly she was released and her assailant was bodily lifted off of her and
thrown against the opposing alley wall.  Scully heard the familiar <click> of
the safety being released as she watched Mulder shove his gun into her would-
be mugger's face.

Propping the mugger against the wall, Mulder hissed, "She's an FBI Agent,
asshole.  Believe me, you're lucky I showed up when I did, because otherwise
she'd be kicking your ass up and down this alley."

Over his shoulder, in a much gentler tone, he asked, "You okay, Scully?"

"I'm fine, Mulder."

She heard the chuckle, and could have sworn she heard, "You always are,"
whispered under his breath before she stumbled out to the street.

<That's because I knew you'd come, Mulder.>

As she reached the street, she saw the familiar flashing lights of a police
car approaching at a fast speed, screeching to a halt in front of her.

Mulder must have called the Cavalry ahead of time. Maybe that's why he was
late.

End of Chapter Two



Chapter Three
************ 

FBI Headquarters - X-File Division
Monday - 9AM

She really hadn't meant to buy it.  At least that's what she kept telling
herself. She told herself that when she wandered through Georgetown, looking
into every used CD store, every teeshirt joint and every headshop on M Street.
She told herself that when she negotiated with the proprietor of  Doobie's
Emporium for the last one - convincing "Doobie" to take it out of the frame
and to wrap it up for her in plain brown paper.  She even told herself that as
she walked through the doors of the FBI building, the brown roll tucked firmly
under her arm, looking for their new offices.

Dana Scully hadn't meant to, but she had bought him a new poster. Kind of like
a housewarming gift.  Silly, really, and she wasn't altogether comfortable
with it, but Scully was willing to do anything to help make Mulder's first day
back at the X-Files better than his last.  She remembered all too clearly how
his eyes had focused on the charred remains of the I WANT TO BELIEVE poster as
they had stood in the burned office.

Mulder had many ghosts.  If she could chase one of them, she'd try.  She also
knew he wasn't entirely sold on the reopening, he wasn't convinced that
working with two new people was the right thing to do, and that he thought
their chances of finding Gibson Praise were slim at best.

There was plenty of negativity going around.

Turning the corner, Scully looked at the numbers over the doors as she walked
down the corridor.  Skinner had phoned her over the weekend and told her that
their new "suite" occupied 206-208.  Their view wasn't great, but at least
they had windows.

Finding the number 206, she stood in front of the door reading the newly
minted plate: The X-Files Division.

<Wow, Mulder.  We're official.>

Deciding not to postpone the inevitable, she opened the door, and found she
wasn't the first to arrive.

"Good Morning, Agent Scully," greeted Jeffrey Spender, turning to offer his
hand to her.

She shook it firmly,  looking around at the office set-up.  "Good Morning,
Agent Spender.  Welcome to the X-Files."

"Thanks.  Listen, I hope you don't mind that I let myself in. I just got here,
" Spender said, already firmly ensconced behind a desk in the corner of the
room.

"No, of course not.  You have just as much right to be here as anyone.  This
is your new assignment."  

Skinner must have had a hand in the office set up, she thought, as she walked
around examining things.  There were four desks, one in every corner, a name
plate, phone  and computer on top of each.  The nameplates were a nice touch
to avoid that uncomfortable moment where they all picked out their desks.
Scully was happy to see that hers and Mulder's were sitting on top of the two
desks nearest the window.

The office was large enough to hold a small round table directly in the middle
of the room.  Apparently, this was where division meetings would take place.
File cabinets took up one entire wall - the wall between Mulder's and Fowley's
desks -  while on the opposite wall sat a table with a new microscope.

Casually setting Mulder's poster on his chair, she walked over to her new desk
and ran her finger across her nameplate.  Lost in her musings, it took her a
moment to realize Spender was speaking.

".....but I just wanted to say that I'm hoping we can let the past remain in
the past and I'm looking forward to working with both you and Agent Mulder."
Spender ended in a rush, almost stammering at the finish.  

She turned and graced the uncomfortable man with a small smile.  "Agent
Spender, I can't presume to speak for Agent Mulder, but I'm willing to start
fresh.  We're all adults looking for the same thing, right?"

She couldn't help it.  Contrary to Mulder, she kind of felt sorry for the
younger agent.  He was ambitious, arrogant, and young.  He and Mulder had
butted heads from the beginning, but part of her could understand where
Spender was coming from.  He was worried about his mother, who was still
missing.  She knew he partially blamed Mulder for that, and that he had bought
into the "Spooky" legend, but she hoped his words indicated he was willing to
look past that.

Spender slumped in the chair behind his desk. "I'm glad to hear you say that.
Agent Scully, can I ask you a question?"

Before she could respond, the door swung open and a laughing Fox Mulder and
Diana Fowley breezed in, coffee cups in their hands.

"Here we are. See, I told you Diana.  We're moving on up." Mulder said, as he
took in the new digs. His eyes lit on Scully momentarily, giving her a silent
"good morning" before turning to appraise Spender.  She could tell he was
biting back a Muldercomment, and she was happy to see he controlled himself.

"Yes, you did, Fox.  And, I must say this is a big improvement from your
basement cave.  Good Morning Agent Scully, Agent Spender.  We decided to bring
you both coffee," Diana Fowley said, giving one of her cups  to Spender.  He
mumbled his thanks, but Fowley didn't seem to be paying much attention,
turning to put her briefcase on her own desk.

*We* decided?  Oh, this was just going to be great, Scully thought, fighting
to tamp down her uncharitable feelings toward the other woman.  But, before
the jealousy could really take root, Mulder was standing in front of her,
offering her a wonderful smelling cup of Starbucks. 

"I ran into Diana at the Starbucks on the corner.  I stopped to get you
coffee, and she mentioned we couldn't leave the kid out, " he whispered out of
earshot of Spender.  "Hey, looks like you finally got a desk."

"Thanks for the coffee.  And, yes.  Five years later, I finally have a place
to sit. And a nameplate too, I hope you noticed,"
she smirked, lifting the lid off the coffee, pleased to see that he'd
remembered how she liked it.

"I noticed."

*************
X-Files Division
Monday - Midday

The first day back had been a busy one.  After the morning niceties had been
exchanged, simultaneously all four agents had retreated to their corners to
settle in, return phone calls and answer E-mail.  Except for Spender, this was
the first day back in the office in a long time.  There were banker's boxes
sitting behind each desk containing personal items from their previous
assignments.  Skinner had also seen to it that everything that could be
salvaged from the basement was sent up, and it sat against the window.

Scully was happy to see that Mulder's enthusiasm for the basement remains
seemed genuine.  Once he'd opened his personal box and taken out the picture
of Samantha and placed it on his desk, he'd paid no attention to anything near
his desk and instead had taken to sitting on the floor near her desk sorting
through the charred files.

She was glad he hadn't noticed the poster yet.  One never knew how Mulder was
going to react to things, and she didn't want to deal with that in front of an
audience.  It was hard to ignore the looks Diana had been giving them all
morning as Mulder continued, in his boyish way,  to show her every single file
that had survived.

"Look, Scully! The Fluke Man.  Your favorite X-File."

"Mmmhmm..." she'd taken to saying as she tried valiantly to catch up on her E-
mail.  She was relieved when the phone rang, and Mulder sprang up from the
floor to get it. Of course, he sprang to her phone.  On her desk.  Propping
himself on the edge while he spoke.

She really couldn't complain.  She'd take an enthusiastic Mulder over one
spoiling for a fight.  He'd even been polite to Spender, which was more than
she had hoped.  His attitude toward Diana had been cordial, yet distant, and
she liked that more than she wanted to admit.

Mulder hung up and stood, addressing the group.  "That was Skinner.  He wanted
to welcome us all back to work.  He hopes we like our digs, but he wants us to
get to work right away on the Gibson Praise case.  So, what say we order some
Chinese in and break in our new conference table?  Diana and I got breakfast,
Scully.  You and Spender are on the hook for lunch."

********************

"So, Scully.  I hear you were involved in some kind of local skirmish last
week.  Everything okay?"  Spender asked, as the agents made small talk over
take-out Chinese.

Scully looked up quickly from her Veggie Delight to see three pairs of eyes on
her; one sincerely curious, one coldly appraising, and one distinctly amused.
She was used to amused, curious seemed harmless, but the appraising pair made
her uncomfortable.

"Oh, you mean outside Casey's?  No big deal. Wanna-be mugger just targeted the
wrong victim. I was glad I could help catch him."

"Help catch him?  Scully set him up.  She lured him into attacking her and
then made the arrest.  We found out later the guy had been attacking women in
that neighborhood for weeks, " Mulder defended through a mouthful of Kung-Pao
Chicken.

Sometimes having Mulder around was a nice thing.

"So, you set yourself up to be a victim?  Doesn't sound like a smart move to
me, Scully.  What if things hadn't gone as you had planned?" Diana asked
mildly, spearing a piece of chicken out of Mulder's box.  

"That's why it pays to have back-up, " Scully responded just as mildly,
looking over at Mulder.

"Still, Scully.  You should have told me more about what you were planning on
doing.  We almost cut it too close."

Sometimes having Mulder around was not so nice.  

****************
X-Files Division
Monday - Late Day

The first "official" division meeting was in full swing.  After the lunch had
been cleared away, boxes of files, background information, and forensic data
had been brought to the main table and the agents had spent the afternoon
poring over the information on the chance something had been overlooked.
Because Spender had been the Agent in Charge of the original task force, he'd
kept all the records of the investigation into the shooting.  This included
all the information on Gibson Praise.

Fowley and Mulder had taken over the psychological profiles of the shooter and
Gibson.  Scully studied the autopsy data of the shooter and the original
victim, and Spender looked through the transcripts of every interrogation of
the shooter.

There was nothing new.

"I still think the shooter's the key, " Mulder said, sitting back in his
chair, stretching his arms above his head.

"That's all well and good, but that doesn't help us.  He's dead." Scully
responded.

"Yes, but is his family dead?  Did he have any loved ones? Confidantes? Pets?"
Mulder asked sarcastically.

"Not according to the FBI database.  Or any known information about him.
According to our records, the guy didn't have much of a life outside his work.
But, I agree, he's the key." Diana said.

"But, why?  It's not like he can tell us where Gibson Praise is right now. I
still don't understand why he's so important.  We're looking for a little boy,
not an assassin." Spender chimed in, looking up from his interrogation
transcripts.

"I agree with Spender," Scully quickly spoke, before Mulder could attack.  She
saw the look in his eyes.  He'd been waiting for Spender to speak up, and she
didn't want a show-down.  "Our goal is to find Gibson.  Not worry about the
shooter. I think we have to look deeper into who wanted him, not who wanted
him dead."

"And, what makes you think they're different?" Diana asked.  "Someone paid the
shooter to shoot Gibson.  Then, they shot me to get to him. I think they shot
me, took Gibson, shot him, and then killed  the shooter.  Effectively covering
their tracks and ending the mystery."

"But why, once they got him, would they kill him?  Now they have him and they
can study him as much as they want.  He no longer poses any kind of threat of
exposure."  Spender stated, directing his comment at Diana, seemingly afraid
to challenge Mulder.

"Why do you think he's still alive, Scully?" Mulder asked.

She shrugged and looked down at the forensic data. "I can't say for sure.
Aside from the point Spender makes, I know it doesn't make a lot of sense. But
I think before we decide whether he's alive or not, we have to figure out who
took him."

"I think we know *who* took him.  Some of us better than others, " Mulder
said, pointedly staring at Spender until the younger agent flushed and dropped
his gaze to the table.

"I don't have any idea what you're talking about, Agent Mulder" Spender
mumbled.

Looks like Mulder got his showdown after all.  Sighing, Scully rubbed her
eyes.  She was tired, and this wasn't going anywhere.

"Look, it's getting late.  I want to take the forensic data home to look at it
more carefully. I can't help but think there's something we're missing.
Something in the trace evidence taken from the motel room."  She stood and
collected the piles of paper scattered in front of her.

"I still want to look further into the background of the shooter.  Further
than I think "official" channels go.  How about tomorrow we split up and see
if we can actually follow some leads?" Mulder questioned, looking up at Scully
from his seated position, ignoring the other two agents in the room.   " Diana
and I will go dig into the shooter's background and pick up some data on
Gibson I've got stashed with the Boys, and you and Spender can take a look at
the forensic data - maybe get your friends at the lab to rerun some tests."

She watched Diana perk up at Mulder's next-day pairings.  Diana did have the
terrorism background, and if The Lone Gunmen could dig up any information on
the shooter, Diana might recognize it.  Plus, Spender might be able to catch
something in the forensic data.  From the little she'd seen, he seemed eager
and willing to learn.  Much more eager to look over lab results then Mulder
had ever been.

She didn't like it, but it might actually work.

**********
X-Files Division
Monday - Evening

Everyone had gone home hours ago.  Everyone but Fox Mulder. He'd made
arrangements to meet Diana in the morning, planning on going directly to the
Lone Gunmen instead of coming to the office.  He'd even said a pleasant
goodnight to Spender, although it was difficult.  When he said it, he looked
over to Scully to make sure she was paying attention.  He knew she was worried
he was going to make the kid's life miserable.  And, he wouldn't deny that it
was very tempting.  He didn't like Spender, didn't trust him, and knew he knew
more about Mr. Morley than he was letting on.  But, for now, he'd keep the
peace.  For her.

Scully.

He had forced himself to throw himself back into the X-Files with enthusiasm
as much for her sake as for his.  He knew she worried about him. So, today,
he'd shown up and played the good FBI agent, and pretty soon he wasn't playing
anymore.  The case did intrigue him; he'd put his professional reputation on
the line for it.  To be given a second chance to solve it was not something he
took lightly.

Which was why he was still in the office hours after everyone else had gone
home.  Well, that, and the fact that he had nowhere else to go.  He could have
gone home, but all that enforced leave had given him a bad case of cabin
fever.  Scully had looked tired, so he didn't want to suggest they discuss the
case over dinner.  She didn't get enough sleep as it was.

So, he spent the evening unpacking his desk and making himself at home.  It
felt good to be back in the game.  He sent E-mail to the guys telling them
what he wanted to look at in the morning, and tried to wrack his brain for a
lead in the case  while he sharpened a box of pencils.

Then he found it.

Somehow, it must have rolled under his desk when he pulled his chair out in
the morning.  But when he bent over to pick up a pencil he'd dropped, he found
the brown paper tube.

He looked for any kind of writing to indicate what was rolled inside. It was
probably one of his old maps of Area 51 or something.  Shrugging, he undid the
tape and unfurled it onto his desk.

And stared slack-jawed and misty-eyed at what the brown paper had hidden.

She'd found one.

For him.

He'd scoured Georgetown over the weekend looking for another one, and had come
up empty-handed.  He was convinced they didn't make them anymore.  In fact,
he'd taken it as a sign that perhaps he was a fool for still wanting to
believe.

But, no.  She'd found one.  His skeptic, who would rather stare into a
microscope for eternity before believing in lights in the sky, who made him
work for every outrageous theory before she'd come close to giving it any kind
of credence, and who in moment of brutal honesty had confessed that she
thought she held him back, had found one.  And bought it.  Celebrating with
him their differences, and respecting that after all of these years, he still
wanted to believe.  And, perhaps, in some small way, so did she.

Or maybe she just liked the poster.


End Chapter Three


Chapter Four
************
They let him watch television.  Anything.  Even the adult stuff - but he
didn't like that too much.  He was much more into the cartoons.  Mom and Dad
never let him watch cartoons cause they said simple stuff  like that would rot
his brain.

He missed Mom and Dad.  He missed having someone to talk to.  The men who
watched over him never talked to him.  They brought him his food and gave him
books to read, and one day, one of them brought him a brand new Sega system
complete with the newest games.  But they never hung out and kept him company,
even when they were watching the same show in the next room.  He could tell he
made them uneasy.  They didn't want him to hear what they were thinking.

Gibson Praise was lonely.

At least he was pretty sure he wasn't going to die anymore.  When he first was
taken, after the tall lady was shot, the man who smelled like smoke thought
he'd be killed.  Then, the man who lied to him, who talked like the guy on The
Nanny, told him he was going to be okay.  Gibson didn't believe him.  He heard
what he really thought.

When they first showed up at this house, he was sure he'd be killed.  All the
men were dreading it - they each thought he would be the one who would have to
pull the trigger out in the woods.  

That was scary.  Reading their thoughts and seeing his own death as they
imagined it.  He wanted his Mom.  He even wanted that nice lady  with the red
hair, Dana - he thought her name was.  She was one of the few people he'd met
who talked like she thought.  Didn't fool around with trying to confuse him.
He liked that.  And she had promised him he'd be okay.

Then, something changed.  He wasn't in danger anymore.  The guards stopped
thinking about killing him, and started thinking about what to do with him.
They didn't do any tests, they didn't ask him any questions, they didn't seem
to care that he was even there.  It was weird.

So, he watched television.  And waited.

************
Offices of the Lone Gunmen
Tuesday - 10AM

"Come on, Boys, I told you we'd be here early, " Mulder yelled while pounding
on the wooden door to the Lone Gunmen's office.  Diana stood next to him, arms
crossed, a mocking smile on her lips.  They'd been standing there for the
better part of fifteen minutes, Mulder alternating between knocking and
yelling.

"Mulder, are you sure you told them we'd be here?  Maybe they're at some kind
of geek convention or something."

Mulder stopped his knocking and gave her his best glare.  "No, Diana.  I just
decided we might as well surprise them.  I like doing that.  Just dropping in
and wasting *all* my time."

Diana shrugged and was on the verge of a retort when the door opened to reveal
a very sleepy Frohike still dressed in his pajamas, complete with kevlar vest.
If Mulder hadn't been in such a terrible mood, he would have laughed aloud.

"Morning Mulderman," Frohike yawned while opening the door wider, "Sorry we
didn't hear your knock.  We all overslept due to an extended Buffychat last
night.  She's hot." 

As soon as they walked in, Mulder and Diana were greeted by a slightly more
alert Byers and Langly, also still in their sleepwear.  Diana seemed
uncomfortable and wore a fake smile plastered on her face. Mulder remembered
that Diana used to merely tolerate the boys for his sake, that she had never
developed much of her own rapport with them. This was in direct contrast to
Scully, who seemed to have a genuine fondness for the three geeks, although
she would be loathe to admit it. 

"Guys, you remember Diana Fowley, right?  She's been assigned to the X-Files
and is helping us with the Gibson Praise case.  We're hoping you guys can help
us figure out the identity of the shooter and if he had any friends here in
the States."

"Hello, Diana.  A pleasure to see you again.  I trust you've fully recovered
from your injury?  Mulder mentioned you had been wounded, " Byers said in
greeting.

"Thank you, Byers.  Yes, I feel much better.  I'm just glad to be given the
chance to work with Mulder again and to help solve this case."

Because she had moved over to talk to Byers, Diana missed the raised-eyebrow
look Langly and Frohike exchanged, and she did not  hear Langly's quiet, "I
bet Scully's thrilled."

But Mulder did.

Before he could ask Langly what he meant, the tallest geek  had moved over to
the computer next to Byers and had immersed himself in a search for their
Russian shooter.

For a while, the only sounds in the office were the sounds of clicking on a
keyboard as Langly and Byers performed random searches of databases with Diana
moving back and forth between their terminals to review their results.  Mulder
let Diana do all the work, figuring she knew more about terrorist cliques than
he did these days.  Soon Mulder became aware that Frohike was not
participating in their search - that instead he'd taken up residence at a
computer at the far end of the room, putting as much distance between himself
and the rest of them as possible.  Mulder walked over to find out what was
wrong.

"Hey, Frohike, whatcha doing? Don't feel like helping out your friend in the
FBI?"

The little man blinked and looked up at Mulder.  "It seems like Byers and
Langly are taking care of it.  They're helping out *your* friend, Diana.  I'm
just looking at some of the tests Agent Scully asked us to run."

Mulder crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, looking down on Frohike.
"Tests on what?  Gibson Praise?"

"Yeah, the tests she asked us to run that helped give you the proof what
you've been looking for all those years?  Those tests?" Frohike snapped.

Wow, Frohike was testy this morning.  "What's the matter, Frohike, you not get
enough beauty sleep?"

"No, I just don't understand you sometimes, Mulder."

"Excuse me?" All of a sudden this had taken the turn for the personal.

"You've got a great partner.  The best you've ever had.  Where is she?  Why
are you here with yesterday's news?" Frohike mumbled quietly, looking over to
where Diana stood, looking over Byer's shoulder.

Mulder followed Frohike's gaze and then came back to impale the little gnome
with his own glare.  "What's the big deal, Frohike?  Diana's been assigned to
the X-Files. She's helping me today while Scully looks at some forensic data.
That's it.  You act as if I'm cheating on Scully or something."

"Aren't you?"

Mulder sighed and rolled his eyes, exasperated.  "Look - I know you have
*special* feelings for Scully, and that makes you protective, but trust me,
Scully's okay with this.  She's a professional, and if she were to have any
personal feelings, which I don't know if she does, she would easily shelve
them to deal with the professional situation we're in.  And, besides she
doesn't even know about my past with Diana - " Mulder stopped when Frohike's
gaze suddenly dropped to the floor " -does she?"

Oh, No.

The little man stood up and defended, "Listen, she asked.  We answered.  Just
because you don't see fit to confide in her, don't expect us to keep your
secrets for you.  And, why was it a secret?"

"I just didn't think - - "

"Well, from her response to the news, perhaps you should have."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mulder sputtered, noting that the tables were
turned, and he was suddenly on the defensive.

Frohike shook his head in disbelief and looked up at the younger man.  He put
his hand gently on Mulder's crossed forearms and said quietly, "It means, my
friend, that the lovely Agent Scully was suffering from a bad case of
jealousy.  And, you're a fool if you can't or don't see that.  And, you're a
fool if you don't do anything about it.  Then again, I'm smitten, and you and
Scully are "just friends," right?"

Luckily for Mulder, he was spared from having to answer by the excited "That's
him!" that came from Diana Fowley.

***************************
Forensics - FBI Headquarters
Tuesday - 3PM

They'd looked through everything.  Twice.  Every footprint, fingerprint,
smudge, and random hair sample that had been taken from that hotel room had
been examined, classified and catalogued .  Still, there was nothing to lead
them to anything.  Except Scully realized she shed a lot.  And that Diana was
going grey.  It shouldn't have given her much satisfaction, but it did.

There were plenty of fingerprints.  Plenty.  Unfortunately, they all belonged
to someone.  In a strange twist of fate, there were no unidentified prints.
Apparently, this particular hotel room hadn't been rented in a long time - and
the last time it was cleaned, the maid had done a thorough job.

Spender had given up the search a few hours ago - claiming he had a lunch date
and that he'd meet her back in the X-Files office.  He had a few more ideas
about the shooter that he thought he could research up there.  If she came up
with anything, would she mind tracking him down?

She was used to working with someone whose eyes glazed over after being
exposed to too much "science."  She let him and his feeble excuse leave
without a fuss.

Truth was, she didn't mind the tedium.  To her, it was like getting back into
the game. The brief stint in anti-terrorism had taken her away from what she
truly loved: finding the answers through Science.  Scully knew if she kept at
it, sooner or later something would turn up.  It always did.  

She remained convinced Gibson was alive, and that they were somehow
overlooking the obvious.  All she could do was be patient. Let the lab techies
continue their work and hope for the best. That's what she told herself as she
sat in the corner of the lab looking over the same results and learning
nothing.

The insistent ring of her cellphone startled her out of her musings. She
pulled it out of her pocket and  thumbed <send>,  "Scully."

"Talk dirty to me, Scully. I'm bored." 

"I'm sorry sir, you must have hit the wrong number on your speeddial.  Your
partner is speeddial #2, 1-900HiSkank  must be #1," she retorted, unreasonably
pleased to hear his voice. 

"Aw, Scully.  You know you're always number one with me," he returned, the
unmistakable sounds of traffic in the background.

"Where are you Mulder?  The Boys give you any leads?"

"Funny you should ask.  Between Byers, Langly, and Diana, we got not only the
name of our mysterious Russian shooter, but also the names and addresses of
some of his home boys. Whether that means anything or not is still to be
determined.  But, we're working our way through the list.  Diana's driving us
through the streets of DC as we speak."

"Are we going to play guessing games, Mulder, or are you going to share with
me the name of the man who tried to shoot Gibson Praise?" It was difficult to
hide the biting tone that crept into her voice. <Diana's driving?>

"Oooo, Scully.  A guessing game.  Now *that* might alleviate my boredom."
Scully waited as he remained silent.  She could feel him testing her and
refused to rise to the bait. After a beat, he resumed. "Just kidding.  His
name is Thomas Kartchoff.  Not necessarily the most exotic name,  but not the
most common either.  It's how he was known both in the KGB and here in America
where he worked part-time for FTD.  The guy delivered flowers in between
offing little boys for money. Nice, huh?  So, you and Boy Wonder come up with
any information on your end?"

She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose.  For some reason, this entire
conversation was giving her the beginning of a monster headache.  "No, not
yet.  Spender's retired back to the X-File office to do more research on the
shooter - but that point now seems to be moot.  Otherwise, the forensic data
isn't showing us anything new." <except that Diana's going grey.>

"Well, we didn't think you'd find anything.  Maybe there's just nothing there
to find.  Diana seems to think that one of Thomas' pals must have finished the
job with Gibson. It's not unheard of for these guys to work together.  For
instance, if Thomas got caught, which we know he did, his buddy Boris would
finish the job for the big paycheck.  I guess it's kind of like a partnership.
We have a list of those buddies." 

<And what else does the Brilliant Diana think?  Stop it, Dana, there's no time
for bitchiness.  We need to find Gibson.  That's what matters. Not Diana
Fowley and her *expertise.*>

Scully rolled her neck to loosen the tension that had mysteriously developed
and decided to take the high road.  Whether he knew it or not, Mulder owed her
for this.  "So, Mulder.  How many friends did Thomas have?  Spender and I
could help relieve some of your boredom. All we're doing is waiting for
results that you already think are worthless.  Want to meet up somewhere and
give us half the list?"

She heard muffled conversation before Mulder came back to the phone.  "Nah,
Scully.  Why don't you take it easy?  I think Diana and I can handle it.  We
don't need you on this one."

"Fine."  And she attacked the buttons on her cellphone with a repressed
violence, simultaneously ending the conversation and turning the power off on
the phone.  Practically throwing the phone into her jacket pocket, Scully took
two deep breaths and walked back over to the center of the lab to the young
technician who had been giving her the most help.  Gracing him with her nicest
smile, she asked, "Kevin,  whenever you get them, would you mind Emailing me
the latest fingerprint and hair sample matches?  I'll access them from my home
PC. I'm taking the rest of the afternoon off."

******************

Fox Mulder had seen a lot of things. The paranormal phenomena that had become
his calling card never failed to amaze and sometimes amuse him.  Trying to
explain it, as Scully was wont to do, threatened to take all the fun out of
it.   The wonder was half the fun.

But, in all his travels, he'd never felt an inanimate object lose core
temperature as fast as his cellphone just had.  It was most certainly an
unnatural phenomena,  to feel his phone turn to a block of ice with the
utterance of one word and the familiar <click> that signaled the end of the
call.  He sat in the car, dazed, staring at the phone, willing it to give him
the answers he was seeking.

What the hell just happened?

"Fox, is there something wrong?"  Diana asked quietly from the driver's seat.

Shaking off the sudden chill, Mulder turned off the phone and pocketed the
offensive object. And, though he knew it was all in his head, he found himself
blowing on his hands to warm them.

"Fox?"

"Uh..it's nothing.  Scully just had to go.  I think the lab guys must have
come up with some results for her or something."

"Oh.  You had that look on your face.  I haven't seen it in a long time."
Diana smiled gently in remembrance.

"What look?"

"The puppy dog one.  The one you use when you're in trouble and you're trying
to get out of it."

"I have no such look, " Mulder indignantly replied, waving his hand
dismissively.  "Besides, who says I'm in trouble?  Scully had to go."

Diana didn't comment again on his supposed "look," rather  she began talking
about the next name on their list.  He found himself half-listening to her
theory, instead thinking about  his conversation with Frohike and Scully's odd
behavior on the phone.  Could she really be jealous?  Nah. Frohike was crazy.

She was probably mad at him because she was stuck with Spender all day.  He'd
be ready to kill someone if their positions had been reversed.  And, damn.  He
hadn't thanked her for the poster yet.  He didn't want to do it with Diana
listening in.  Maybe she was annoyed at that.

Whatever it was, he knew he'd be able to smooth things over tomorrow.  If
there was anything to smooth. This could all be in his imagination.  It had
been a strange day.

"Hey, Diana.  Let's do this next one, and then call it quits.  We can start
again tomorrow, okay?"

**********************

The phone on the corner table rang, and as he exhaled, he reached to pick it
up.  "Yes."

"The X-Files Division has been reopened."

"Tell me something I don't already know."

"They're looking for Gibson Praise.  For some reason, they seem to think he's
still alive."

"Who's doing what?"

"Mulder and Fowley seem to have found the identity of Thomas Karchoff and are
working their way through his allies.  Scully and Spender spent the day at
headquarters, we think looking at forensic data."

He took a drag on the ever-present cigarette while thinking.  If he misled
Mulder, the rest would follow.  And, this way, Spender wouldn't necessarily be
wrong.  Just following a superior agent.  And no one would ever know Gibson
was alive.

"We'll have to convince them that Gibson is dead.  Give Mel Snarkov a vacation
back to the homeland.  Set him up as Thomas' conspirator, and get something of
Gibson's in his apartment that will tell our little agents that poor Gibson
has suffered a dire fate.  Make sure Mel has a head start and they can't track
him. That should close their case."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, and put an extra agent on Gibson." He said, ending the call without
waiting for another assent.

Sometimes misleading Mulder was the best perk of his job.

End Chapter Four


Chapter Five
************ 

Apartment of Fox Mulder
Tuesday - 5PM

He'd go for a run. Maybe that would clear his head and help him figure out
what the hell was going on. It had been a strange few days, and he couldn't
shake the feeling that something *big* was about to happen.  He just had to
figure out what that was.

They hadn't found anything at the last house of the day, and when Diana
dropped him off in front of his apartment, Mulder was happy the day was over.
She'd asked him if he wanted to go for a drink and catch up, and he'd politely
refused, saying he was beat and had some reading to do, could he take a
raincheck? Oh, and tomorrow? He'd pick *her* up.  This passenger business
was not going to happen again.

Chucking his work clothes and throwing on his favorite sweats and running
shoes, Mulder double-checked his answering machine for messages.  Nothing
there.  He didn't know why that surprised him.  It wasn't as if Scully wanted
to talk.  For some unknown reason, she was acting like she was really, really
mad at him.  And, he couldn't figure out just what it was that he'd done
wrong.

******
Running his most familiar route, Mulder reopened his favorite mental profile:
Dana Scully.

What was going on with her?  She was the one who wanted to continue their
search, wasn't she?  He remembered her vow on the Mall that day - "my work
is here with you now."

With you.

Damn.

His feet pounding on the concrete kept time with the "with you with you with
you" echoing in his head.

Could it be?  Could Dana Scully be jealous?   Had he really been that obtuse
or was she even better versed at hiding her emotions than he thought she was?

He was probably obtuse.

But she was damned good at keeping her emotions a secret.

That infamous day in his apartment, Scully's confession that she felt she
Held him back had floored him.  How could she have ever thought that?  His 
Bumbling proclamation of his devotion hadn't come out at all the way he'd rehearsed it.

Nor did he ever think he'd finally try to plant one on her in the middle of
the hallway outside his apartment, only to be interrupted by a yellow and
black 6-legged employee of their mysterious enemies.

Fucking bee.

Yet, in typical Mulder and Scully fashion, they'd never discussed anything
about that day.  Not her fears, not his feelings, not the kiss.

That was going to have to change.

His life was full of uncertainties - always had been.  Yet, in the last five
years, he'd learned that there was one thing he could always rely on:  Dana
Scully.  Somewhere along the way, she had ceased being just his partner, but
something bigger and scarier and undefined.

Right up his alley.

As he rounded the corner for home, Mulder decided it was time to discuss this
phenomenon with his favorite skeptic.

********************

Apartment of  Dana Scully
Tuesday - 8PM

The music was on, her fireplace had a nice fire quietly blazing, and the lamp
was dimmed to the lowest setting.  Still enough light to read by, but not
enough to ruin the peaceful mood she was trying to create.

Dana's home was her fortress.  She didn't spend nearly enough time there, but
when she was home, she made sure it was a place she wanted to be. Comfortable.
Homey.  Soothing.  A place to relax and forget about the pressures and
tensions she accumulated while at work.

Tonight, no aromatherapy candle was going to help, no matter what the box
promised.  And, she'd been trying.  She'd placed the candle on the coffee
table right next to the data she'd printed out to study as she sat on the
floor staring into the fire.  Staring into the fire and picturing her so-
called *partner* investigating *their* case with a tall brunette by his side.
Telling Diana instead of herself  his jokes, theories,  and usual Mulder
nonsense.   Nonsense she found she missed with a passion.

Sighing, she blew out the candle and forced her attention back to her reports.
The anger she'd felt this afternoon had been replaced by a stealthy
melancholy, born in her stomach and slowly making its way up her body toward
her rusty tearducts. If she wasn't careful, the melancholy would win, and
she'd be treated to an old-fashioned crying jag.  And, that was just NOT going
to happen. 

<Feel sorry for yourself later, Dana.  For now, focus on finding that little
boy.>

That settled, she opened the folder in front of her just as her doorbell
chimed.

Mulder.

Who else could it be?

Standing on the other side of her door, looking out at him through her
security glass, she debated pretending she wasn't home.  But, she knew he
must have seen the lights, and pretending like she wasn't there was simply
childish.  Perhaps  he'd be quick.

Opening the door, she greeted him with the voice she usually reserved for
door-to-door salesmen and telemarketers. "Good evening Mulder.  Can I help
you?"

"Is this how you treat all your visitors, Scully?" Mulder sauntered in,
seemingly not worried about being welcome.

Oh, God.  He was not going to make this easy.  He must have changed when he
got home from work and then come over, as he was dressed in black denim, black
boots,  and the ubiquitous leather jacket, which was just then being tossed
onto the back of one of her dining room chairs.  Removing the jacket gave her
a view of what was underneath.  Oh, no. Not that shirt. The grey teeshirt he
must have washed in hot water and dried so it clung to his arms like a second
skin.  The one he was wearing that day in the hall---

"Hello, Scully?  Earth to Scully.  Are you gonna stand there with the door
open or are you gonna play hostess and offer me something to drink? I'm happy
to get it myself.  What would you like?" While she'd been standing in her
trance, he'd  moved through the dining room and was peering into her
refrigerator.

Shaking her head, she closed and locked the door.  Leave it to Mulder's mouth
to ruin a perfectly good daydream.  "Make yourself at home, Mulder.  You know
where everything is. I have tea."

She crossed to the coffee table  and stacked her papers.  It wasn't like
Mulder to worry about her beverage intake.  Especially when he was on the
hunt.  No, he'd come over here tonight for something else. Sitting on the
couch, she decided she'd wait him out. Then he could go.

"So, whatcha working on?" He sat on the couch, holding a glass of ice water in
his hands.  

Now, this was strange.  He was clean shaven and sitting next to her on the
couch.  Mulder's usual seat, during  the infrequent visits to her apartment
when he wasn't delirious or yanking her out the door on some goose chase, was
the overstuffed armchair in the corner of the room.  He'd commented on how
comfortable the chair was.  But tonight, he purposely sat on the couch.  Next
to her.  Right next to her.  
And, he was clean shaven.  At eight o'clock at night.  That was unheard of.
She looked at him closely and quickly, making sure it was really Mulder and
not Eddie Van Blundht making a return appearance.  He caught her gaze and
opened his eyes wide, "What?"

Caught.

"Nothing, nothing. So, what's up Mulder?  To what do I owe this unannounced
and unexpected visit?"

His gaze dropped from hers and went to the low fire.  There *was* something
up.  And, from the look of things, she wasn't going to like it. 

He shook his head, placed his glass on the coffee table and turned back to
her.  " I just wanted to come by and see how your day went.  What did you
find?"

How her day went?  What?  Something was definitely up, but he obviously wasn't
ready to tell.  She'd play his game and let him take them to neutral ground.
They were good at this kind of communicating.  Neutral.  Work.  He'd tell her
in time. She could wait.

She leaned forward to grab a folder off the coffee table. "Well, I didn't find
much of anything yet. So far, the forensic data hasn't turned up anything we
don't already know.  Whoever took Gibson out of that room didn't leave a
calling card."  The manilla folder lay open on her lap as she looked through
the data.

Mulder scooted even closer to her and pretended to read the information over
her shoulder.  She knew he was pretending because she was certain the DNA
information in front of them was pure gibberish to him.  What the hell was he
doing?

Scully turned her head to ask him that precise question and discovered just
how close he had moved. Her lips, pursed in preparation for his question,
grazed against a freshly shaven cheek.  Suddenly, time wasn't a universal
invariant anymore.  It stopped.

Simultaneously, they both jumped  away, Scully pressing back into her corner
of the couch, Mulder retreating towards the center cushions.  The elemental
awareness of each other remained in the room with them like a third guest at
their tea party.  The room was dim, but she was fairly certain Mulder was
blushing. She knew she was.

"I'm sorry, Mulder.  I didn't realize you were that close."

"Hey, that's okay. For a second, I thought you were coming onto me."  He
waggled his eyebrows at her, jerked a grin and the moment was gone.  "Now,
tell me all about your day with Boy Wonder."

*****************

He'd tried everything in his arsenal.  He offered to get her drinks, asked her
questions about her day, listened to her defense of Spender, and invaded her
space more than was healthy for either of them.

He'd received an involuntary kiss on the cheek for his troubles, and that was
it.  He didn't want involuntary.  They'd talked about the case, both deciding
they still had a ways to go.  But, anytime he'd even hinted at the personal,
she'd steered him back to Gibson Praise, mystery assassins and fingerprints.
No confessions, no discussions, nothing. 

Mulder was losing patience. And while he wasn't entirely happy about the
tactic he was about to employ, at least it would give him some direction as to
how she really felt.

"You know, Scully, Diana doesn't think you're going to find anything in those
tests on the hotel room."

Bingo.

"Oh, really?"  There was that tone again.  The one that had frozen his phone.

"No, she thinks you're just wasting time with that.  She says this was done by
a professional and a professional would wear gloves.  I have to say I think
she's right."  He wasn't lying to her, he and Diana had spoken about this.
But, he knew he was courting danger to report it.  Or, not.

Sighing, she sunk back into the corner of the couch, rubbing her eyes with one
hand while her other crossed over her chest and grabbed her shoulder.  Quietly
she muttered,  "You're probably right.  Or, should I say, Diana's probably
right since apparently she's now thinking for the two of you?"

Ouch.  He deserved that.  He *was* acting like Diana's parrot.  Before he
could reply, she mumbled, "I'm sorry, Mulder. That wasn't fair. It's
just...sometimes it's hard enough fighting with you.  I guess I'm not used to
the extra voice."

Suddenly his tactic seemed cruel and hurtful.  He reached over and covered one
of her hands with his own larger one.  Linking their fingers, he pulled her
slightly away from her corner and rested their joined hands on her knee. "I
know. Look, we both knew this wasn't going to be easy.  If it makes you feel
better, the Boys missed you today.  'Specially Frohike."  He grinned down at
her, but his best smile was wasted.  She refused to look at him, instead 
staring down at their linked hands, seemingly fascinated with the circles his
thumb was tracing on the back of her hand.

Her next quiet words stunned him.

"Just the Boys?"

Was she actually flirting? 

"Well, I can't speak for Diana, but I'm sure she missed you too."

His joke was ill-timed.  She glared at him and tried to pull her fingers out
from his.  He actually watched the walls come back up as the woman he'd been
trying to get to relax all night retreated back into her fortress.  It was
time to pull her back out and test some of the boundaries they usually set for
themselves.  He refused to let go of her hand, pulling it up toward his lips.
Gently kissing the back of her hand, he mumbled, "Okay, I missed you.  It's
just not the same.  I've gotten used to the constant second guessing, the
heavy sighs, and that noise you make when you're trying to stifle your
laughter at my jokes."

He felt her fingers relax and looked over to find a familiar sparkle back in
her eyes.  "That's gagging, Mulder."

One land mine averted.  Her next words told him they had just toed the edge of
the minefield.

"Mulder, why didn't you ever tell me about Diana?"

End of Chapter Five



Chapter Six
************ 
"Mulder, why didn't you ever tell me about Diana?"

He'd come here tonight to get things out in the open.  Now that she was asking
to play true confessions, it suddenly didn't seem like such a good idea.
Especially since it was Mulder who had to do the confessing.  Again.  If she'd
been better able to hide the hurt in her voice, he might have deflected the
question with a wisecrack.  But, he'd heard the hurt and disappointment in the
quiet question coming from the corner of the couch.

He might as well go for it.

Sighing, he sat back, released her hand and stretched both arms across the
back of the couch. When he let go of her hand, she reached for her tepid tea
on the coffee table and remained hunched forward.  He knew she wouldn't ask
this again and that she was letting him off the hook if he wanted the escape.
It was tempting, but there was too much at risk. 

"Scully, I'm sorry I didn't tell you about my history with Diana.  To be
honest, I didn't even think about it.  She's a part of my past and I thought
she'd only be a mere blip on my present.  It wasn't an intentional slight,
believe me."

Scully set her teacup back onto the coffee table and sat back.  She shifted
slightly, and leaned against the arm of the couch, lifting one leg to bend in
front of her, her foot resting against his thigh. Grasping her  knee with both
hands, she looked directly at him.

"Care to share now?"

This wasn't going to be as easy as he thought.  He preferred when they both
were staring at the fire.  Well, he could still stare at the fire.  He'd never
be able to do this while looking at her.  Feeling her eyes on his profile, he
shrugged and began.

"Not much to tell.  We had an affair while I was still in Violent Crimes.  I
think she loved me - I was fond of her.  She helped me discover the X-Files
and watched as it started to take over my life.  She claimed to be
interested..."

"Boyfriend Indulgence?" 

"You could say that."  

He chanced a glance down at her and temporarily lost his train of thought.
She was nodding at him in agreement and encouraging him to continue. One piece
of hair had fallen in front of her ear, and he couldn't resist tucking it back
in place as he resumed, staring again at the fire.  "When it looked like I was
permanently derailing my promising career and losing focus on our
relationship, she took the LEGATT assignment.  No hard feelings. I was sad to
see her go, but chalked it up to my *stellar*" -  he jerked a self-deprecating
grin down at her - "reputation with the ladies.  Believe me, it was a mutual
thing, no unrequited nonsense - on either side.  I had mutants to catch.  Oh,
and a newly-minted, straight-out-of-the box, skeptic to persuade and
antagonize."

He forced himself to look down at her as he finished his story.  Scully was
watching  him steadily, and he hoped she'd made the connection that one of the
reasons he'd never taken the time to miss or mourn Diana Fowley was that he'd
been intrigued and entranced by Dana Scully.  Whether she knew it or not,
she'd been the owner of his heart for years now.  Maybe he should stop hiding
that fact.

Scully reached up and traced her fingers along his cheek, trailing her hand
down from his face to rest on his shoulder.  "Thank you."

He tried to ignore the newly discovered nerve-endings he had in his shoulder
and focus on her words.  "For what, persuading and antagonizing?"

"For sharing."

Oh, man.  He'd gladly share every single romantic tale of woe at his disposal
beginning with Sandy Kling breaking his heart in the sixth grade if she'd keep
looking up at him like that.   Her hand still rested on his shoulder, the tips
of her fingernails glancing lightly against his neck.  He sat there,
dumbfounded, as she raised her other hand to caress his face, seemingly
searching his eyes for answers she had yet to ask.  He hoped she found them.
The elemental awareness that had joined them earlier had returned with a
vengeance, and Mulder found himself wanting to freeze time and stay stranded
on the precipice of whatever was going to happen, suspended indefinitely in
anticipation.

But suddenly, he wasn't thinking about anything but the feeling of Dana
Scully's lips on his, and how anticipation had *nothing* on the real thing.

He wasn't quite sure what it was he had said or done that had propelled Scully
to make the first move, but make the first move she had.  With a whimsical
smile lurking around the corners of her mouth, she'd pulled his face toward
hers and gently touched her mouth to his.  Any sign of hesitation on his part
she would certainly interpret as rejection and pull away in embarrassment.  He
knew this. He didn't hesitate.

Letting her maintain control of the kiss, he matched her gentle exploration of
his mouth with a few exploratory nibbles of his own.  His previously useless
hands were put to use;  one hand tangling in her hair, the other resting on
her hip, pulling her as close as possible without tumbling her onto his lap.
Not that such a thing would be bad.

When breathing was no longer an option but a biological necessity, they broke
apart, panting lightly while staring speechlessly at each other.  He watched
her tongue peek out and lick her lips and couldn't resist himself.  He'd had
yet to define and categorize her taste, and wanted another chance.  Breathing
was overrated.

Measuring time in the space of breathless kisses, they broke apart about a
dozen later.  By now, she was sprawled across his  lap, hair mussed and color
high.  Dana Scully had been very thoroughly kissed.  She had never looked more
beautiful or desirable.

"Wow."

He'd never gotten a "wow" before.  It made him want to scream and shout and
act like the adolescent boy he'd thought he'd long since left behind.
Instead, he figured he might as well return the compliment.  Gently tracing
her cheek, he smiled down at her.  "Wow, back."

It was apparently the right thing to say.  She smiled up at him, and smoothed
the hair back from his forehead like a mother would her little boy.  Yet,
there was nothing maternal in the look she was giving him; it was a focused
stare of seriousness belying their previous activity.  He shivered under her
scrutiny.

"Mulder, I have to tell you something."

Uh.Oh.

She tried to shift and move off his lap, but he held her captive. After a
moment's hesitation, he released her and she slid back to her corner of the
couch.  Tucking her legs underneath her, it was her turn to stare into the
fire.  He fought the panic that had begun to take root in his gut.  Hey, she'd
started this, hadn't she?  Amazing how a few kisses had somehow opened the
door to his vulnerability.

"Look, Scully.  Just because I told you about Diana, doesn't mean we have to
play truth or double truth.  I don't need to know about you and Michael from
Accounting.  Really."

Looking away from the fire and back at him, she reached for his hand. "No, no
it's nothing like that."  Pausing, she looked up at him. "Michael from
Accounting?"

He shrugged and dead panned. "Hey, I'm not one to gossip.  But, I figured you
*must* have done something to get our expense reports approved." He waggled
his eyebrows at her suggestively.

"Michael has nothing to do with that, Mulder. Now, Skinner's another story."

The familiar banter was a relief.  So was her downcast smile. It was enough to
give him the courage to pursue her train of thought.   He tucked a finger
under her chin and raised her face to look at him.  "We're getting off the
subject, though.  What do you need to tell me? I have to warn you,  I'm going
to be really disappointed if you ruin the mood."

"It's really no big deal, Mulder.  I just need to confess to you that I'm not
very good at confessions."  Off his puzzled look, she continued.  "That day in
the hallway, before the bee interrupted us?  Well, I have to say I enjoyed
hearing your confession.  More than enjoyed it.  It meant everything to me.
And, as I stood there listening to your confession I found myself envying
you."

He couldn't help it, he snorted derisively.  "Envy me, Scully?"

"I envy you because you seem to be able to put your feelings into words so
well.   I can't do that.  I'll never be able to tell you what you mean to me
to my satisfaction.  Or yours.   I wish I could.  But, for some reason, every
time I try to put it into words, I end up sounding like a silly schoolgirl and
I can't. Tonight, again, you told me all about Diana.  Just because I asked.
Without hesitating."  She broke off suddenly, eyes welling with tears he knew
she'd do anything not to shed.  He lifted her hand  to his mouth and gently
kissed it.

"Hey, Scully.  It's me, remember?  We're different, that's all. When the time
is right, you'll be able to tell me.  And I look forward to hearing what you
have to say.  I've got time.  Besides, I'll take a kiss over a verbal
confession any day."

She blinked the tears away and smiled gently up at him.  "That's what I
figured."

"Feel like *telling* me anything else?"

She pulled his head down to hers.  "Let me think about it. Oh, yeah.  There's
this."

**************
It was much later and they'd long since broken off their "confessions."
Mulder had kicked off his boots and sprawled across the couch, Scully covering
him like a blanket.  Who would have thought they'd finish the evening necking
and cuddling like teenagers on her couch?  

By mutual consent, they'd gone no further than heated kissing.  It had taken
them five years to get to this point, there was no reason to rush it.
Besides, it was a school night.  Or early morning, as the case may be.  This
grand new exploration was all so new and different to them, neither of them
appeared to want to be the one to say goodnight.  So, they didn't.  A few
hours ago, Mulder had broached the subject with a whispered, "I should go."
The comment was half-hearted at best, and Scully's unspoken look let him know
he could stay.  They lay in silence, and he thought Scully had fallen asleep.
Until she raised  her head and fixed him with one of those scrutinizing
stares.

"Does this mean I get to call you Fox?"

Oh, God. Not that.

"Uh, d-d-do you want to?" he stammered, not quite sure he wanted to hear the
answer.  He would be hard-pressed to refuse her anything at this point, so if
she really wanted to call him that, he supposed he could get used to it.

She stared at him as if seriously considering the proposal. Coming to a
conclusion, she answered, "No, I don't think I do.  But, it's nice to know I
can."  She tucked her head back under his chin, decision made.

What a woman.

****************

The fire had long since died out, the pink hue of sunrise peeking through the
blinds providing the only source of light to the semi-dozing couple on the
couch.  Scully yawned and stretched, feeling joints creak in protest at their
uncomfortable resting positions.  While she'd occasionally taken quick cat
naps on the couch, her queen-sized bed was a far more comfortable resting
spot.  But, her queen-sized bed didn't come with a Fox Mulder body pillow.
Yet.

She sat up as quietly as she could, so as not to disturb the snoozing man
sharing the couch with her.  Her instincts told her that while she had at
least fallen asleep for a few hours, her companion had not.  As if to prove
her point, as soon as she stirred, his eyes opened.

"Good Morning, Mulder."  Shyly, she stood and gathered their empty glasses,
putting some space between them.  She was nervous.  Her behavior last night
was reckless, and she worried that he'd be having second thoughts.

"Morning, Scully. Sleep well?" His mocking tone drew her back to him, and she
found herself trapped in the warm hazel eyes looking up at her.  No second
thoughts were apparent.  He sat up, looked at his watch, and started to tug on
his boots. "This time, I really do have to go. I'm supposed to meet Diana in a
few hours."

"How many names do you have left on your list?"

He followed her into the kitchen where she dumped their dirty glassware.
"Actually, we only have one or two.  Um, do you want to come with us?"  

Standing with her back to him, she grinned openly. He was actually trying to
include her! His obvious concern touched her, and reinforced her belief  that
their new relationship might actually work.  

Schooling her features back to their more normal pose, she turned to him.
"Thank you, Mulder, but I have plenty to do looking over this forensic data.
For some reason, I didn't get anything accomplished last night."

"Hot Date?"

She walked him to the door.  "You could say that."

"So, you gonna see the guy again?" He shrugged into the jacket he'd retrieved
from the back of the chair as he followed her to the door. She could hear
behind his mocking tone that he too was having some morning-after nerves.  The
least she could do was assuage those for him.

Kissing him lightly goodbye, she retorted, "Oh, I hope so. Maybe next time,
he'll even buy me dinner."

Smiling, she closed the door and turned to get ready for the day.

End Chapter Six



Chapter Seven
************
X-Files Division
Wednesday - Noon

Scully had been looking at forensic data all day.  She'd been trying to keep
her mind off the events of the previous evening, and had been moderately
successful.  Having an audience aided her in her quest to remain focused.

Poor Spender.  He really looked lost while he looked through the forensic
data.  She was making him cross check all the fingerprints and trace evidence
they found in the hotel room and the surrounding area on the off chance that
they'd overlooked anything.  She could tell that he was much more comfortable
reading terrorist profiles - but since Mulder and Diana had discovered the
identity of the shooter and his friends, that didn't seem necessary.

Speaking of Mulder and Diana, she hadn't heard from him in a good hour. It was
cute, but Mulder was taking the words "stay in touch" a little too far.  He
phoned her after every stop, just to tell her where they were and what they
were doing next.  Scully was sure that Diana was beside herself.

Too bad.

"Agent Spender.  Would you like to order out for sandwiches?  Feel like taking
a break?"

The young man looked up with such an expression of gratitude she had to stifle
a laugh.  "Sure, Agent Scully.  If you'd like, I'll go get them. I could use
the air."

<You mean escape, don't you?>

"Great.  I'll take a turkey on whole wheat with mayo.  And a diet Coke."

Her phone rang, and she watched Spender practically run out the door as she
picked up.  "Okay, where are you now?"

The mocking tone that had been present for all the previous phone calls was
noticeably absent.  "Scully, I think we have our man.  In fact, I'm almost
sure of it."

"Did you find Gibson? Is he okay?"

The cellphone's tinny connection distorted his voice, but not his obvious
concern.  "No, we didn't find him, but we did find something *of* his, and it
doesn't look good.  We'll be there in an hour and I'll show you."  Mulder
paused, as if waiting for her to say something.  "Scully?  I'm sorry."

****************

Of all his guards, he liked Tom the best.  Tom wasn't secretly afraid of him,
didn't mind that he could read his thoughts, and always made sure there was no
mustard on his burger.  That was Tom's job - to make sure he was fed and
quiet.  If that meant a new Sega or more comic books, Tom would get them. 

Yesterday, Tom came and took his glasses.  He promised that he'd find him some
new ones at the drugstore so he could still watch TV, but the boss needed
them.  Then came the hard part.  Tom had to take some blood.  Just a little,
he'd said, and he promised it wouldn't hurt.  Gibson was used to tests, so
didn't really mind it, but he knew it bothered Tom and that the older man
didn't understand why he'd been sent to do this.  After they were done with
their little blood-taking experiment and Tom had taken his glasses and
favorite sweatshirt jacket, he brought Gibson a stray kitten he told him he'd
found in the neighborhood.

Gibson named her Willow and taught her how to watch television.


******************

X-Files Division
Wednesday - 4PM

"A pair of glasses, a dirty sweatshirt and a gun? That's what we're basing
this on?"  Scully tried unsuccessfully to keep the sarcasm out of her voice as
she addressed the three agents sitting at the conference table.

They'd been debating this since Mulder and Diana had arrived at the X-Files
office empty handed, but filled with news as to the fate of Gibson Praise.

"They're Gibson's glasses, Scully. I remember them.  Plus, it's the same
jacket he was wearing the night I was shot." Diana coolly replied, crossing
her arms over her chest and leaning back in the chair.  She and Scully engaged
in a tense stare down until Mulder broke the silence.

"Diana's memory aside, I dropped them off with Kevin downstairs just to make
sure.  The glasses are a match. Plus, the gun looks like it's been recently
fired.  I'm having it tested."

"Why bother?  You seem to have all the answers figured out. Who needs data to
support this?"  The more they discussed this, the angrier she got.  At Diana,
at Mulder, at the whole damned situation.

"Usually, you do." Mulder quietly mumbled.

He wasn't meeting her gaze, which was never a good sign.  Apparently, the only
person in the room who wanted to look at her was Diana Fowley, and that was
only to gloat.  Spender had remained silent during the entire debate, which
had basically consisted of Diana lecturing her on Terrorism 101 with Mulder
playing guest lecturer when Diana ran out of breath.

She took a deep breath of her own and tried another tactic.  "Okay, let's say
they are Gibson's things.  You found them at the abandoned apartment of a
Mel..." she paused to rifle through the file "Snarkov.  This person has
conveniently left the country, with no forwarding address. We're just going to
assume he killed Gibson, disposed of the body and left? And, why leave the
glasses behind? And his gun?  And, why does their recovery automatically lead
us to believe Gibson's dead? There's no body, is there?"

"Scully, it looks like there's blood on the sweatshirt.  If that blood matches
Gibson's- -" Mulder started to explain quietly, before being interrupted by
Agent Fowley with what, Scully was certain, was going to be yet another
lecture.

"As I told you before, Dana, this is common in these kind of jobs.  Snarkov
probably took the glasses as a way to prove to his benefactors that he
finished the job Kartchoff started.  According to what we found, Snarkov left
in a hurry late last night.  He probably heard we were snooping around and
fled - leaving everything behind.  I doubt we'll ever find the body of Gibson
Praise.  As far as I'm concerned, the case is closed."

"Thank you for the summary, Agent Fowley." Scully responded, slightly
enunciating Diana's last name.  She didn't remember giving Diana permission to
call her Dana, and she resented the implied familiarity and condescension. "Do
you two agree with her?" 

She was sitting between Mulder and Spender at the round table and purposely
looked for Spender's nodded affirmation first, before slowly swiveling her
head to catch Mulder's response.

She didn't like what she saw.

He tried to downplay it, to hide it, but she could tell he agreed
wholeheartedly with what Diana Fowley was saying.  She knew she wasn't being
fair, but to her it felt as if he were taking sides, and the side he'd chosen
was the opposing team.

"Scully, she's right.  The case is closed."

"So, you don't think there's any chance that Gibson Praise is still alive out
there somewhere?"

"I'm sorry.  I don't.  We can wait for the data to come through tomorrow
morning, but I think it will just confirm what we already suspect - that poor
little boy was too dangerous to be kept alive. So, they killed him.  Remember
when this all began, he was their original target.  There's nothing here
indicating they changed their mind."  Mulder's eyes filled with sympathy as he
finished speaking.  This time it was Scully who couldn't maintain eye contact.
If she had, the tears she felt building in the back of her eyes would
overwhelm her.

Perhaps she was too close to this case.  Was she projecting her feelings for
Emily onto Gibson?   Is that why she was so desperate to save him? He was
still alive, she could feel it. 

However, she did work in a division of four now, and she was outvoted.  It
wasn't like the old days where she would have debated Mulder until the wee
hours of the morning.  Now she had to learn compromise.  Although she
disagreed, she'd bow to the majority. At least, until they got the forensic
data back.  That should prove something.

"Fine.  Then one of you write the report for Skinner.  I'm going to see how
Kevin's doing on the data."

************************

Apartment of Dana Scully
Wednesday - 10PM

The bedside phone trilled, startling her, and breaking her from her intense
study of the results she'd made Kevin rush to finish by the end of the day.
She'd spent the rest of the day down at the lab, waiting for him to finish,
and by the time she'd returned to the office, everyone had already gone home.

There had been a yellow post-it stuck to her chair with the words "See you in
the AM" scrawled in Mulder's mostly illegible cursive.

<Gee, wonder how long it took him to think up those sweet nothings.> She was
still bruised from his slight betrayal that afternoon.

She knew it was childish, but she purposely let the phone ring a few extra
times so it wouldn't sound as if she was sitting on top of it waiting to ring.
Which, if she were to be brutally honest with herself, she was.  "Hello."

As usual, Mulder didn't bother with an introduction.  "Just because I don't
agree with you on this, doesn't mean I'm working against you.  You know that,
right?"

Well, well.  This was an interesting development.  Mulder *never* apologized
for disagreeing with her.  Ever.  In fact, he usually reveled in it.  Not that
this was technically an apology.  Oh, no.  She knew him well enough for that.
This was a white flag.  He needed reassurance that they could still maintain
their professional antagonism without damaging their newborn personal
relationship.  It was a duality they both needed to adjust to.

Sighing, she answered, not completely letting him off the hook. "Yes, Mulder.
I'm used to it.  But, it goes both ways.  I've tolerated your hunches before.
I'd appreciate it  if you could grant me the same courtesy.  And, not be so
quick to take her side."  Oh, damn.  Did she say that last aloud?  

The quiet chuckle told her she had.  "Ooo, is that jealousy I hear, Agent
Scully?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."  She tried to give him the
skeptical inflection she knew he was waiting for, but she couldn't quite hang
on, and broke into a rueful chuckle of her own.

The soft-spoken, gravelly voice on the other end of the line was her reward.
"I like you being jealous. A lot. No matter how illfounded it is."

"Good night, Mulder."

"Hey, Scully?  What are you wearing?"

She hung up without satisfying his curiosity.

***************************

X-Files Division
Thursday - 11AM

Sometimes she thought that the way she and Mulder worked was akin to mental
badminton.  He'd loft a shuttlecock theory gently in the air, and she'd wait,
knees bent and racket poised on the other side of the net to slam it back to
his side.  Often, he'd recover, otherwise, she'd score the point.  They both
were comfortable with the positions they normally played.  And, they both had
fun.

Playing doubles was a whole different racket sport.

Thursday had begun much the way Wednesday had ended, the four of them hunched
around the conference table, files and forensic data scattered across the top,
covering the imaginary line that had been drawn down the middle.  Fowley and
Mulder had resumed their positions on one side, leaving her with Spender by
default.  Spender hadn't yet taken a side, preferring to play line judge.

Fine.  If she had to, she could do this alone.

"Scully, will you at least concede that it's Gibson's blood on the
sweatshirt?"  Mulder was starting to sound aggravated. 

"Yes, but that doesn't prove anything.  It's his blood on the sweatshirt, but
there isn't enough to be consistent with a close range headshot.  Since the
gun has only been fired once, we have to assume it was an execution, right?"
Scully was able to speak of Gibson's death easily because she didn't believe
it.

"We don't know he was wearing the sweatshirt when he was shot.  They may have
used it to move him after his death.  I think we have enough circumstantial
evidence to close the case." Fowley spoke, seemingly unaffected by the topic
of discussion.

Scully was getting close to running out of reasons to keep the debate alive.
She was much more comfortable returning serve, not setting up the volley.
Looking to Mulder to help her, she was disappointed to see him studiously
avoiding her eyes again.  It was the second time in two days, and she didn't
like it.

"Agent Scully, there's something funny here on the glasses report I just
noticed, " Spender interjected, suddenly eager to be a part of the debate.  It
appeared her line judge had stepped onto the court.

"What is it, Spender?"  The annoyed tone came not from her, but from Mulder.
She recognized that she was the source of his frustration, but he was more
than happy to take it out on the unlucky Spender.

Spender looked at one report, quickly shuffled through the dog-eared forensic
data he'd been cross-checking yesterday, found what he was looking for, and
proudly handed her both files to read.

At first she didn't see it.  He was showing her the results the fingerprint
crew had taken from Gibson's last known hotel room. Her prints were there, as
were Diana's, Gibson's and a list of other law enforcement officers.  There
were no unknown prints.  She looked up at him quizzically.  He shyly smiled
and pointed to the fingerprint results from Gibson's glasses and the zipper of
the sweatshirt jacket.

Along with Gibson's prints, there was another known partial on both items.
The same name appeared on the list of the hotel room prints.

Phil Mitchell.

"I'll be damned."  And here she thought he wasn't really paying attention when
she'd had him cross check those reports.  She smiled her gratitude at her new
teammate. 

"Is this a moment for Scooby and Daphne, or can the whole gang know what's
going on?"

<*Now* who was jealous?>

"Mulder, hang on a second..." she warned, quietly.  While she was secretly
pleased that he'd chosen Daphne over Velma, she didn't think Spender would be
too happy to be referred to a goofy talking dog who was afraid of his own
shadow.  

Shuffling the documents, she slid them over to where Mulder and Fowley sat.
"I think Agent Spender may have found us a suspect.  Spender, did you request
Agent Mitchell for your original task force?"

"No, I didn't.  I only handpicked a few agents.  The rest were assigned."  His
eyes flickered over to where Mulder sat, reading the file.  "I didn't know
much about him, just that he's been in anti-terrorism for a long time."

"More than a long time.  He's been in anti-terrorism for twenty years.  Phil
Mitchell is a decorated agent and a good friend.  What you're implying is
ridiculous."  Diana slapped her hand palm down on to the top of the folder,
closing it in disgust.

"Why, ridiculous?  His prints are on both the glasses and the sweatshirt.
Plus, they're in the hotel room. Coincidence?" This was comfortable ground.
Evidence. Proof.

Her familiar opposition took his place across the net.  "Scully, he was in
charge of protecting Gibson just as we were.  It could easily be a set of our
prints we're debating.  We have no way of knowing how old those prints are - -
they could have been back when Phil was taking care of Gibson."

Anticipating this argument, she reached for the folder on Gibson detailing the
schedule for his round-the-clock surveillance.  She sat back in satisfaction.
"Except, according to this duty roster, Agent Mitchell never took care of
Gibson.  His shift was *after* Diana's.  He should have never been in that
hotel room, nor should he have even met Gibson."

Diana raised her voice in frustration, leaning over the table to enunciate her
point.  "We can't know that!  He may have gone over to the hotel room to help
with the investigation.  Also, who's to say that he didn't meet Gibson at some
point?  Did you stay with him 24 hours a day? There were a swarm of agents
around him all the time."

"Did they all get close enough to leave prints on his glasses and his
sweatshirt?  You and I were the last two agents to be in the same room with
him. Our prints are nowhere on his belongings.  You're telling me this Phil
Mitchell may or may not have been in the same room with him earlier in the
week and his prints are still there?  It's an inside job and Mitchell's
involved.  I can feel it."  Scully directed all but her last words to Diana.
Her last words were directed at Mulder, willing him to back her hunch.

For a moment, their gazes locked.  She asked, he answered.  She didn't like
the answer, as usual.

"I can't.  I think you're reaching, Scully.  I think we know who did this.
Those same unnamed men who work in the shadows, and who don't make mistakes.
This is too obvious.  I've known Phil as long as Diana has.  He's a good agent
and a good man.  He wouldn't do something like this. I agree that the prints
being there are weird, but I don't think it warrants us questioning a twenty
year veteran of the Bureau. If you knew Phil like we do, you'd agree."

"Since when do you trust members of the Bureau?" The shuttlecock was floating
out of her reach, and threatened to land on her side of the net.  It was bad
enough that he wasn't trusting her hunch, but now he was tossing up some past
friendship he and Diana had shared with this person.

"I don't.  But, I know Phil.  Besides, it doesn't make sense.  Why now?  Why a
sloppy mistake like that?  No, I think we have our man, and unfortunately,
he's long gone.  As hard as it may be to accept, I think we have to assume
that Gibson Praise is dead."  Mulder reached over on the pretext of handing
her back the forensic data, but she knew it was merely an excuse to gently run
his index finger across the back of her hand as she reached for the file.

Oh, no.  They weren't shaking hands at the net.  She pulled her hand away from
his, and gathered her files while standing on somewhat shaky legs.  She
gritted out a singular word of concession, hoping that he'd be so distracted
with the knowledge of what it cost her to say that he wouldn't question its
truth.  

"Fine."

End Chapter Seven



Chapter Eight
************

X-Files Division
Thursday - 12:30PM

She sat quietly at her desk debating whether she could trust Spender.   After
she'd adjourned their meeting, Mulder had tried to make peace by offering to
take everyone out to lunch at Pete's.  Diana had agreed enthusiastically,
while Spender had declined, claiming he had paperwork to do.  Scully thought
Spender still wasn't comfortable spending time with Mulder, and that was the
true reason for his refusal.

Scully had no need for excuses.

"No thanks, Mulder.  I've got plenty to do here."

He walked over to her desk, effectively blocking her from the rest of the
room.  Lowering his voice, he leaned over and tried to catch her gaze, which
was presently fixed on the files in front of her.  "Come on, Scully.  I'm
buying.  Whatever you have to do can wait until the afternoon."

"Contrary to yourself and Agent Fowley,  I don't feel that closing this case
is cause for celebration."  It was snappish, but got the job done.  She
refused to look up, certain she'd find hurt in the hazel eyes still looking
down at her.  He backed away without another word, and soon after, he and
Diana left for lunch.

Spender sat at his desk, sifting through paperwork.  Making the decision that
she had to trust him, she dialed the familiar number.

"Hello, Holly. It's Dana Scully.  How are you?"

"Dana! How are you? I heard you've had a rough time of it lately."

"Thanks Holly. I'm doing well.  Listen, can I ask you yet another favor?  Off-
the record?" 

The young woman on the other end of the line didn't hesitate.  Scully and
Mulder didn't have many friends in the Bureau, but Holly was one of them.
"Sure.  What can I do for you?"

"Could you look up the personnel records of an Agent Phil Mitchell? I'm
looking for all of his known addresses, and any  property he may own."

For a moment, all she heard were Holly's fingers tapping on the keyboard.
"Okay, it looks like he owns a condo in Georgetown and he has a residence with
a Post Office Box in Luray. Oh, wait. It looks like he owns land near Luray on
Mill Road.  No mailing address - that must be what the PO Box is for."

"Thank you so much, Holly.  I owe you lunch.  Remember, this is between us."

"You're welcome, Dana.  I was glad to hear you and Mulder got the X-Files
back."

She wrote down the specifics before hanging up and turning to her computer,
quickly opening her browser to get directions to Luray, VA.  Scully knew that
Luray was a resort town on the edge of the Shenandoah National Park - what
better place to hide a little boy? 

The question was, should she tell Mulder?  No.  If she called him, he'd just
tell her she was reaching again.  He'd made it clear that he wasn't willing to
believe her on this.   She wasn't willing to risk being hurt again.

She would take back-up, though.  Grabbing her coat, she scrawled a post-it
note to Mulder and walked over to where Spender was sitting at his desk.

"Agent Spender, feel like taking a ride?"

*************************

X-Files Division
Thursday - 2PM

The office was empty when he and Diana returned from their lunch, take-out
containers in hand.  He was committed to making peace with Scully, and if that
meant bribing her with her favorite food from Pete's, so be it.

Strolling over to his desk, Mulder realized the food would have to wait.  A
long time.  And also, that he'd seriously underestimated how angry she'd
been.  The note was icy in its precision.  "M:  Following up an extreme hunch.
Took Spender for backup. - S."

Damn.

Mulder slumped down into his chair, childishly tossing the take-out container
into the garbage can next to his desk.  He couldn't decide which emotion was
going to win in the battle currently being waged his gut.  He was furious that
she'd ditched  him, jealous that she'd taken Spender, and yet slightly
remorseful that he hadn't supported her in her uncharacteristic hunch.

But, to ditch him?  That was beneath her.  That was something he did - and it
was usually to protect her.  Her motivation was because she was mad or hurt or
both.  Fine.  Let her take Scooby on her little goose chase. He could amuse
himself here.  He'd just call her and find out just where she'd gone...

"The Cellular One customer you're trying to reach is currently.." 

He hung up in disgust.  Did she actually turn her phone off or was she really
out of reach?  He'd wait a few minutes and try again.

***************
Half an hour later, the first niggling of worry edged itself around the anger
that had originally claimed victory.  He knew her well enough to know that as
angry as he'd ever made her, Scully was a professional who wouldn't turn off
her phone just to prove a point.  Would she?

"Diana, do you happen to have Spender's cellphone number?" If Spender's phone
worked, he would have to strangle Scully.

"The Cellular One customer..."

Okay, so both of their phones weren't working.  He didn't know if that made
him feel better or worse.  She hadn't totally gone over the edge and turned
her phone off - but now she and Spender were truly incommunicado.  It was time
to figure out where they were.

"Fox, what are you doing?"  Diana looked up from the Post to discover Mulder
looking through the papers on Scully's desk.

"Just trying to figure out where Scully and Spender went."

"Why?  If she wanted you to know, she would have told you, wouldn't she?  Last
I saw, Agent Scully had a mouth."

Mulder ignored the dig.  "Scully  and Spender are out of cellular contact.
That worries me."  The only files on her desk were those dealing with Gibson
Praise.  She hadn't taken anything with her.  He looked at her computer to see
if she had left it on.  She had.  Scully never cleared out her cache - what
had she looked at last? A map of Virginia.  Where did she go?

Redial.  He played a hunch and won. 

"Communications, Holly."

"Hi, Holly. It's Fox Mulder."

"Sheesh! I don't hear from you guys in months, and now I get two calls in a
day?" The voice was censuring, but there was warmth beneath it.  He knew
Scully and Holly were somewhat friendly, so he hoped he wasn't making a fool
out of himself over a personal call.

"I know, we never write, we rarely call.  Listen, Scully and I are working on
something and I think she called you in on it - -" he trailed off, hoping
she'd fill in the blanks.

Holly didn't disappoint. "Phil Mitchell's addresses?  I gave those to Dana a
few hours ago.  Is there a problem?"

"No, no problem.  I'm supposed to meet her at one of them, but she didn't
leave me the address.  Would you mind?"

"Sure.  I'm assuming you want the one in Luray.  That's the one Dana seemed
interested in."

He scribbled down the information, thanked Holly and hung up.  He had no need
for directions.

Luray was off the Blue Ridge Parkway. You had to drive through it to get to
Skyland Mountain.

******************

The drive along the Blue Ridge Parkway was a beautiful one.  The leaves were
just changing, and it would soon be awash in the wonderful colors of Autumn.
Maybe if she and Mulder were really serious about trying to spend some
downtime together, a Sunday excursion to New Market to look at antiques would
be a start.

Of course, that would mean they'd have to be speaking to each other, and after
he realized what she'd done, that might be in question.

It didn't help that the mountains were blocking all cellphone reception.
Spender had tried to check his voice mail and received no signal. Even if
Mulder had wanted to reach her, or she him, it was impossible.  Oh, well.
She'd phone him tonight when she returned.

The longer the drive, the more she started to think Mulder was right and she
was acting totally irrationally.  Spender hadn't questioned her motives,
content to sit quietly in the passenger seat as they drove towards this patch
of land that Phil Mitchell owned.  Scully would have to swear him to secrecy
if all that was there was an empty lot, not a weekend getaway.  Mulder would
never let her hear the end of it.

A quick stop in the touristy village of Luray got them diet Cokes, a bathroom
break and directions to Mill Road.  She supposed she could have called Mulder
from the pay phone in front of the post office, but she still wasn't ready to
make peace. Besides, all she needed was one sarcastic comment from him or
Diana and she'd be angry all over again.

As they drove down Mill Road, Scully's sixth sense flared. Gibson was near
She parked a half a mile from where she guessed Phil Mitchell's cabin was, and
as she and Spender walked down the road, she detailed the plan.

"Somehow, I don't think we should knock on the door and ask to see Gibson.
The house will look deserted, and they aren't expecting company.  I'll get in
the front door - you cover the rear - and we can meet in the middle."

"Wouldn't it be better if we stay together?  That way I can--"

"Protect me, Agent Spender?" She interrupted sarcastically.  "No, the plan is
to get to Gibson though the front and smuggle him out the back way - which you
will have already cleared for us."  They rounded the turn and she saw the
cabin nestled back into the woods.  Just as she predicted, it appeared
deserted and rundown.  There was a car in front that looked like it was worth
more to a scrap metal dealer than a passenger.  She put her finger to her lips
and motioned Spender around to the left as she walked up to the front door.
He looked as if he wanted to continue arguing the point, but acquiesced to her
motion.

Stepping to the front porch, she peeked through the window alongside the front
door  and was rewarded with the soft drone of a television playing.  It
sounded like cartoons.  Gibson loved cartoons.

Thanking Mulder for last year's stocking stuffer, she pulled out a battery-
operated lockpick and quietly opened the front door.  Even if Gibson was in
there, he probably wasn't alone.  The element of surprise was one she couldn't
afford to squander.

Scully crouched and followed the sound of the television.  It was still the
only sound in the cabin, and she hoped that meant they didn't have to
overpower too many men.  She turned the corner into a room and had her
instincts rewarded.  Sitting on the floor, closer to the television than was
healthy, holding an orange creamsicle kitten tightly on his lap, was Gibson
Praise.  Directly behind him, with his back turned to Scully was a large man,
chuckling at the antics of Wile E. Coyote.

Sometimes one had to use force to control the situation.

Quietly taking her gun from her holster, Scully snuck up behind the laughing
man and hissed into his ear, "Don't make a sound.  I'm going to handcuff you,
and I'm taking the boy.  Is anyone else here?"

The man shook his head no while Scully quickly handcuffed him.  She pushed him
flat on his back and turned to Gibson, quietly standing at the foot of the
bed, arms around his cat.

"He's lying.  There's another man in the back of the house."

Hopefully, Spender had taken care of him.

"The man you came with didn't do what you wanted him to do.  He's right behind
you."

Scully whirled around to find Spender standing in the doorway of the living
room at the same time that the door at the far end of the room burst open with
a crash.  She never got the chance to ask Spender why he had refused to trust
her instincts. There seemed to be a lot of that going around. At least Mulder
wouldn't lie to her and put both of them in danger.

Phil Mitchell opened fire on the two adults in the room at the same time
Scully ducked down to protect Gibson from the flying bullets.  The burning
sensation in her arm told her she'd been shot, but running on pure adrenaline,
she fired back at Mitchell from her crouched position.  She saw him hit the
floor - whether from her gun or Spender's she didn't know.  All she did know
was that she had a small window of time to get Gibson to safety before
Mitchell's reinforcements arrived.  In fact, she heard a car pulling into the
driveway as she shepherded Gibson out the back door.  She hoped that Spender
would know how to get out the way and then call for back-up as she dashed into
the woods behind the cabin with a little boy and a very scared-looking kitten.

******************************

"No one's following us."

"How do you know, Gibson?"  It was becoming increasingly difficult for her to
focus.  She'd been losing blood steadily from the wound in her upper arm, but
she knew they had to put as much distance between themselves and the house
before they could rest.  Climbing over the uneven terrain of the Shenandoah
National Park in her heels wasn't helping her physical condition.  Somewhere
along the way, she'd lost her cellphone - not that it would be of any use,
anyway.

"Dana, don't you believe what I can do?"  He sounded disappointed in her - as
if her question had indicated a lack of faith in him.

She lifted her uninjured arm to ruffle his hair as they hiked.  "I'm sorry,
Gibson. I'm just tired.  So, no one's following us?"  Not even Mulder?  She
had to stop thinking like that.  Even if Spender had been able to get ahold of
him, he was at least an hour and a half away driving at top speed.  She had no
doubt he'd come.  He always did.  Just as she had an uncanny sense of where to
find him when he got himself into trouble, she knew he shared the same
connection.  He'd find them.

"Nope. I can't hear anything."

They came across a small clearing in the trees, not big enough for anything
more than a small campfire.  The fallen log and small clearing reminded her of
the last time she was stuck in a forest. Maybe if they just rested here for a
bit, she could figure out what to do.  

"I think this is a good place to stop, too.  So does Willow."

Gibson's ability to read her thoughts was downright spooky.  Mulder was in
danger of losing his nickname.

"Okay.  Let's curl up against this log and rest for a moment.  I need to check
out my wound, anyway.  Make sure Willow doesn't run away."  She sat down and
shrugged out of her muddy overcoat.  They could use this as a blanket for
their short nap.  Unfortunately, there were no handkerchiefs nearby, so she'd
have to rip one of her favorite shirts to use as a tourniquet.

<Another shirt down the drain.  I wonder if Skinner will let me expense this.>
She could picture her superior's face as he looked at her expense report.
"DKNY?  I don't think the Bureau can afford to cover this loss, Agent Scully."
Whooboy.  Things were really getting fuzzy.

She ripped the sleeve, and tied a sloppy bandage around her arm. Adept at the
art of self-diagnosis, she realized that her blood loss was sending her into
shock, and now that the adrenaline had worn out, she had hit her virtual wall.
Before she totally collapsed, she could at least make sure Gibson was secure.

"Come here, Gibson.  You and Willow curl up on my lap and we'll rest here for
awhile under my coat.  As soon as I get a little bit of rest, we'll figure out
what we're going to do. Deal?"

With a spark of tenderness, she realized that Gibson curled up in her lap with
his kitten just as Mulder had all those months ago in the woods.  She wished
for Mulder with a longing that was painful.  Getting Gibson to safety had been
accomplished, now she just had to wait for the Cavalry in an Armani uniform to
arrive.

Her last thought before she lost consciousness was that Mulder would come.
She was counting on it.

End of Chapter Eight




Chapter Nine
************ 

"Fox, would you mind at least varying your route?  You keep knocking papers
off my desk."

Mulder paused midstride and glanced up in annoyance. He hadn't even been aware
that Diana was still in the room.  

"Sorry, Diana. I'll try to keep my pacing on our side of the office, so it
won't disturb your *work,*" he snapped peevishly, walking over to Scully's
desk and looking through the files on top of it for what felt like the
millionth time.  Still nothing new.  What the hell was he supposed to do?  Her
cellphone was still inoperable and she hadn't seen fit to try and reach him.
Is this how she felt when he ran off to parts unknown? 

<Okay, Scully. I've learned my lesson.  You can call in now.>

"Hey, no need to get snappy with me, Fox.  I'm not the enemy.  I just can't
understand why you're so upset.  She's following a lead.  She took back-up.
What's the big deal?"

"She didn't take me," he mumbled, looking down at his feet.

"You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you sounded like a jealous
boyfriend instead of a partner.  I thought we were all partners here - the
four of us - equal."

Mulder's head snapped up from its perusal of his feet so fast he was afraid he
might sprain something. "I won't even dignify that with a response."

"Excuse me?"

Luckily, he was spared any further conversation by the ringing phone. Diving
over to his desk, he picked up with a jerk.  "Mulder."

"Agent Mulder, it's Spender - "

"Spender, where the hell are you?  Where's Scully?"

"I don't know, Mulder.  She's gone."

His world suddenly became white nothingness, a buzzing drone indicated that
Spender was still talking, babbling incoherently in his ear.  He heard nothing
beyond the first few words Spender spoke.

She's gone.

Diana tried to take the phone out of his hands, effectively snapping him out
of his trance.  He yanked the handset away from her with a glare and hissed at
Spender, "GONE?  What do you mean, gone?"

"As I just told you, she's missing.  We came out here to check out Mitchell's
house, and we found Gibson - "

"Alive?" Diana interrupted from Scully's extension.  Didn't she have her own
phone?  Scully would kill her if she found out.  Mulder glared at her out of
loyalty.

"I think so.  I didn't see him that well.  There was gunfire, and when it was
clear, both Gibson and Scully were nowhere to be found."

Mulder hung up without saying goodbye.

Diana caught up with him in the parking garage.  She must have been running
full speed to catch him in his mad dash out of the building.  Mulder could
care less whether she came with him or not, until he realized in his rush to
get to the car he had completely forgotten the keys.

"I don't think you'll get far without these."  Diana puffed, waving them
teasingly in front of her.

Barely acknowledging her presence, he held out his hand for the forgotten
objects.

"Fox, I don't think you're in any condition to drive.  If you know where we're
going, I'll drive us there."

"Diana, no offense, but I really could give a shit what kind of condition you
think I'm in.  Now, give me the goddamn keys. I've made this drive before."

She surrendered the keys without further comment.

*************************

Gone. 

Missing.

Gunfire.

Scully's blood on his hands yet again.

Don't go there.  Don't go anywhere near there.  Jumping to conclusions at a
time like this would only get them into a car accident on the Blue Ridge
Parkway and Scully didn't need that right now.

She was out there counting on him for back-up.

She had to be. 

Because the alternative was not an option.

He'd driven this road too many times.  Always at faster speeds than legally
approved, always with his mind somewhere far away, always with the wrong
person sitting in the passenger seat.  Except for that one time he and Scully
went to Skyland Mountain together and he shut her down and out when she tried
to open herself to extreme possibilities at a time when he couldn't tolerate
them.

What was it about these mountains?

When they got out of this mess, he and Scully would have to make a day trip
here just to erase some of the bad memories.  Maybe he could talk her into
visiting the Luray Caverns - she'd mock him mercilessly, but she'd go along
with it, he knew she would.  And, the ghosts of X-Files Past would be banished
as to their rightful place.

Why didn't I trust her hunch? 

Why didn't I believe in her?

Will she forgive me?

Self-recrimination and guilt, his familiar friends, threatened to overtake him
painfully.  He'd deal with them later. Now, he had to concentrate on getting
to her.  Before he was too late.  Again.


***********************

Spender must have called every law enforcement agency in the county and then
some.  The small cabin wasn't difficult to locate, thanks to the traffic jam
of fire trucks, ambulances, and sheriffs' cars clogging the rural road.
Mulder parked, and without even taking the keys from the ignition, sprang out
of the car and sprinted up the road.  He didn't wait to see if Diana followed.
They hadn't exchanged one word on the drive.  If he spared one thought for
anything but Scully, he might have considered that Diana was doing something
akin to pouting.  He could care less.

He found Spender sitting on the corner of the front porch being attended to by
two paramedics.  It looked like they were working near his head,  but it must
not have been very serious as the young man was sitting up and watching  his
approach with trepidation.

"Agent Mulder - -"

Mulder had to restrain himself from yanking Spender up by the lapels.
Instead, he settled for fisting his hands on his hips as he skidded to halt in
front of him.  "Where is she?"

"I told you, I don't know.  It all happened so fast, and the next thing I knew
they were *gone*.  I didn't see anything!"

"Why do I have trouble believing this, Spender? It all seems a little too
convenient for me."

"What's that supposed to mean?"  The younger man shook off the ministrations
of the paramedics and rose to stand toe to toe with Mulder.  The paramedics
shrugged and left the two men alone.

"It means, I'm beginning to think this was all a trap for Agent Scully.  A
trap that you led her to." <A trap I didn't see to save her from.>

"Wait a minute, Mulder.  Scully's the one who asked *me* to come along with
her.  She wanted to take back-up, and I think she wanted someone who was
willing to believe her theory."  The implication was obvious. 

With a curt nod, Mulder turned away from Spender to stare out over the front
porch.  Forcing a calmness in his voice he didn't feel, he quietly asked, "So,
what *did* you see?"

He heard Spender sigh behind him.  "Not much.  Scully went in the front door
and asked me to go around back.  But, I figured she might need my help so I
followed her.  When I found her, she had already handcuffed one man and was
standing with Gibson.  Then it gets kind of blurry.  A man came through the
back door and started shooting at us.  That's when I got hit."  

Mulder spun around in time to see Spender motion toward his head.  Without
words, he gestured for him to continue.  It was everything he could do not to
shake the man - but there was time for that after he got the entire story.

Spender winced.  "That's where it gets fuzzy.  I think I lost consciousness
for a bit.   I think I heard  men coming in and dragging bodies out, but for
some reason they left me alone.  When I came to, I was alone in the house.
That's when I called you."

"So you have no idea if Scully was one of the bodies being dragged out of the
house?  Or Gibson?"  The words were said with controlled violence through
gritted teeth.  The thought of Scully's body - stop it - he couldn't meander
down that path. He had to remain calm.  Scully was counting on it.

"No. I - I'm sorry I wasn't more help to her.  I thought sure if I went in
behind her, I could back her up."

Something inside Mulder snapped.  "Wait a minute.  You said earlier that she
asked you to go around back.  Yet, you ignored her request and FOLLOWED HER?"
He loomed over the agent, his hands on the wall on either side of Spender's
head, pinning the younger man.

Spender ducked under Mulder's arm and rose to stand at the porch's rail next
to Diana who had joined the interrogation.  Was Spender looking to Diana for
protection?  Staring down at his feet, Spender whispered, "Yes."

This time Mulder couldn't stifle the urge to grasp Spender's lapels.  He
grabbed them and spun the younger man around and up  against the wall of the
house.  "You idiot!  Do you realize that your mysoginistic paternalism is
responsible for whatever's happened to Agent Scully?  She was counting on you
to back her up, not to protect her!  She's a trained, experienced agent who
expected you to trust her instincts. You let her down, Agent Spender."

Spender returned Mulder's glare with his own before quietly uttering, " Funny.
I bet she could say the same thing about you."

If Mulder could have thrown Spender into the next state, he would have.  As it
was, he shrugged off  Diana's arms grasping him and her pleas to let go of the
young man.  Without words, he shoved Spender into the chair he'd been sitting
in when they'd arrived and stormed away from both of them, following the wrap-
around porch to the rear of the house.  He heard Diana calling his name, and
he waved his arm behind him to ward her off.  He couldn't talk to her - or to
anyone right now.  Anyone but Scully.  Where was she?

He paced the porch behind the house, trying to organize his thoughts and to
get a sense of where they should start their search.  Spender had left him
absolutely nowhere to begin.  Looking down, he realized that, unfortunately,
Scully had.

The wooden planks of the porch were stained with what looked like fresh blood.
Staring off into the rapidly darkening woods, Mulder could swear he could see
Scully's blood lit in neon leading him into the forest.

******************

Somewhere in the Forest

It was dark and the noises that he hadn't heard as they tromped their way
through the woods were all of a sudden really, really loud.  And, really,
really scary.  He heard strange rustling sounds that could have been just the
wind or a mountain lion looking for dinner.

Willow was frightened too.  He could feel her heart racing beneath his fingers
and he watched her ears shake and her eyes focus on the monsters she saw in
the trees.  Why did cats stare like that?  He could also feel her tiny kitten
claws sinking into his sweatshirt as she held onto him, asking him to protect
him from the unknown dangers of the forest.  Whispering to Willow softly,
Gibson promised he'd do whatever he could to keep her safe.  She was counting
on him.

The woman that Gibson was counting on was asleep.  Dana's arms encircled both
he and Willow as they lay propped against the log, Gibson lying in her lap.
Soon after they'd stopped to rest, Dana's thoughts in his head had gone silent
and he'd assumed she'd fallen asleep.  Gibson had tried to sleep himself, but
the noises of the forest were too scary.  So, he waited for Dana to wake up.  

He also waited for *Mulder* to show up.  Dana seemed convinced he was coming.

Suddenly, the sounds of the forest changed.  They silenced except for a
determined rustling, and the darkness was punctuated by an arching light.  A
flashlight.  As it got nearer, he heard a man's voice yelling a word over and
over again.

"Scully!  Scullaayy!  Sculllaaay!"

He tried to wake Dana up. She'd know if this was someone who wanted to hurt
them or not. She promised she wouldn't let anyone hurt him. Try as he might,
he couldn't get her to move.

Then, Gibson listened for the stranger and sighed with relief.  Dana was
right.  Mulder did find them.

The man Gibson knew as Fox Mulder stumbled into their little clearing.
Disheveled and holding a small flashlight, Mulder ran over to where they lay
against the trees and fell to his knees beside them.  He gently touched Dana's
head and felt for a pulse at her neck while whispering "Scully." 

Gibson thought he'd try to make the man feel better.  He looked up and said
simply, "She knew you'd come."

Why did that make Mulder cry?

Gibson would never understand adults.

End Chapter Nine


Chapter Ten
***********

Mulder had been at the hospital for forty-eight hours, and Scully had been
asleep for all of them.   He was existing on pure caffeine alone, taking cat
naps in the god awful visitor's chair next to her bed.    The nurses were used
to his constant presence by her bedside and had stopped urging him to eat or
rest.  He just ignored them anyway.

He had to be here when she woke up.  She had to see that he had come through
for her.  That he had found her in the forest, just like she thought he would.
He had to prove to her that she was right to place her faith in him.

The trip through the forest was a blur.  He'd taken off on his own, certain
that Scully was out there, and not wanting to waste any time trying to explain
that to the rest of the officers, least of all Spender and Diana.  He followed
the broken branches and occasional bloodstains he found on the leaves while it
was still light to see.  Once it got dark, he resorted to blindly running
through the forest yelling her name.  His flashlight was close to useless.

When he stumbled into that clearing, his relief was short-lived.  He'd found
her, but was he too late? Gibson didn't look worse for wear, nor did the
kitten who sat quaking on his lap.  Scully looked bad.  She was pale and
unconscious; she didn't respond at all to his repeated muttering of her name.

"She knew you'd come."

Oh, he might have forgotten the details of his trip both into and out of that
forest, but he would never forget Gibson's words.  At once, he knew what the
little boy was trying to say.  Scully hadn't *told* Gibson that Mulder would
come, but she had kept it within, believing it inside, counting on him,
relying on him to find her just as she had found him so many times before.  It
humbled him.  He couldn't help it, he started to cry.  Poor Gibson.  The kid
was scared enough, now the person who was supposed to be rescuing them was
bawling like a baby.  Great hero he was.

Once he'd regained control of his emotions, he remembered asking Gibson if he
was okay to walk. There was no way Mulder was leaving them to bring back
reinforcements, and since Scully didn't seem to be able to walk herself, he
was going to have to carry her.  Luckily, Gibson assured him that he and
Willow (must be the cat) would be fine walking behind him.

Lifting Scully as gently as he could into his arms, they began their trek out.

The rest of the journey out of the forest to where he sat now was a blur of
ambulances and hospital corridors.  He refused to let Gibson out of his sight
once Scully had been taken under the control of the paramedics.  He knew she
was counting on him to keep Gibson safe.

Skinner arrived  at the hospital with Gibson's parents who were full of
effusive thanks for saving their little boy's life.  He barely heard them.
Didn't they know?  He had little to do with saving Gibson's life - that was
all due to the woman in emergency surgery.

The doctors assured him she was going to be fine.  They'd removed the bullet,
and while she'd lost a lot of blood, a few days in the hospital followed by a
few weeks at home in bed would give her a full recovery.  Just what Scully
needed, more  medical leave thanks to him.

Skinner tried to get him to go home.  He wouldn't budge.  Not until she woke
up.  No way.  Both Spender and Diana had come by the hospital to visit.  He
ignored them.  They left together.  Skinner mentioned that Diana might be
asking for a transfer.  Mulder could care less.  He did pay attention when
Skinner told him that Gibson and his parents were being put into a Witness
Protection Program.  Scully would be happy to hear the boy was going to be
safe.

He sat at her bedside and watched television. And thought of ways to say he
was sorry.  And ways to yell at her for ditching him.  That was a shorter list
because he knew she'd just start talking about pots and kettles and glass
houses and stones.  Whatever.  It was an argument he was destined to lose, but
one he wanted to have.

On the second day, Mulder had gone from sheer worry to sheer worry plus
boredom.  Her condition had stabilized, and the doctors told him that they had
her on heavy sedatives to keep her asleep through the majority of the pain,
but that she could wake up anytime.  When she did wake up, she'd probably be
woozy and have a hard time remembering what happened right away.  Mulder knew
it was too much to ask  that she might forget how he didn't believe in her.

To alleviate his boredom, he replayed their night on her couch.  Over and over
and over again.  They were so close to something. So close. Until he'd almost
screwed it up again by not believing in her.  By not backing her hunch.  What
if she didn't want to continue their new level of closeness?  What if he had
blown that forever?

Come on, Scully.  Wake up.  But, what would he say once she did?  More
importantly, what would she?

********************

Dana Scully lay on her back, eyes closed, and listened to the sounds of the
room.  Her eyelids felt so heavy she knew it would require serious effort to
lift them.  Instead, she'd gather as much information as she could by relying
on her other senses.

She was in a hospital room.  That clean, medicinal smell gave that away.  The
too starched sheets pulled tight against her midriff and her hands resting
straight at her sides as if she were a corpse gave her a big clue that she was
the patient. 

Did she hurt anywhere? She was too tired to even try to find out.  Her brain
was still very murky, lingering with the sleep fuzzies in spite of the fact
that she'd been awake for at least five minutes. She must be on heavy
painkillers.  The *good* drugs.  It felt nice.  Floaty.  Not quite herself.
Almost drunk, actually, and she was having trouble remembering how she ended
up here.  Where was here?

The room was silent.  Almost silent. The squeaky slide of fabric against
pleather off to her right as somebody shifted their weight told her she was
being watched over.  By whom?  

The nearly silent sigh gave her an answer.  Mulder.  A bored Mulder, if her
sigh translations were still up to speed. Well, if Mulder was here, she might
as well try and open her eyes.   Knowing him, he had worried himself sick over
her condition.  Maybe she could ease his pain.  Besides, she'd missed him.  At
least she thought she had.

The ceiling.  Pretty.  Tiles.  Why was she staring up at that?  Follow the
flickering light, Dana.  A-ha.  The television in the corner.  Mounted on the
wall, it proudly displayed a basketball game.  Then a baseball game.  Then the
basketball game again.  Why did it keep switching?

Silly question.  Mulder must have the remote.  And, somebody must be losing.
Hence the sigh.

Turning her gaze slowly to her right without moving her head, Dana watched him
out of the corner of eyes.  She wanted the opportunity to watch him unobserved
for just a moment.  His appearance would give her a clue as to how badly she'd
been injured, and as soon as he realized she was awake, he'd have doctors and
nurses hovering all over her.  By looking at him, she could diagnose her
condition.

Oh, God.  She must be dying.  Well, maybe it wasn't that bad.  If she were
dying, he wouldn't be sighing over a basketball game, would he?  Maybe the
Knicks.

<Oh, man.  These are the *good* drugs.  I'm funny.>

It looked like he hadn't slept in a week.  He slumped in the visitor's chair
next to her bed, long legs stretched out in front of him, remote control in
the hand resting on the guard rail of her bed, attention fixed on the
television in the corner.  His blue dress shirt was rolled up to his elbows
and whatever creases his cleaner had lovingly pressed into it had long since
been replaced by rumpled wrinkles everywhere.  How do you get wrinkles in the
shoulders?  The top two buttons were undone, and the knot of his tie, if you
could really still call it a knot, was hanging forlornly near his breastbone.

Since his attention was focused on the television, she got to sneak a glance
up to his profile and was rewarded with a glimpse of scruffy stubble covering
his lower face.  She liked him scruffy.  The muscles in his cheek worked as he
clenched and released his jaw.  What was he chewing?  The slender coffee
stirrer jutting from his lips gave her the answer, plus a clue that Mulder had
probably been existing solely on caffeinated fuel since she had arrived here.
Which was when, exactly?

It was really too much effort to talk, so she contented herself with staring.
She smiled dreamily at him, enjoying the effect of the painkillers and the
sheer beauty of her companion.  He really was beautiful.

"Like what you see?"

Uh-oh.  He must have noticed she was awake and that she was staring. Before
she could stop herself, she looked up into amused and yet slightly
apprehensive hazel eyes and growled, "mmHMMM."

Blush.  She made him blush.  And smile. With teeth.  She loved that smile. She
loved him.  She smiled back, still staring dreamily at him.  It made him blush
even more.  At least some of the apprehension in his eyes had faded into a
warm indulgence.

He cleared his throat nervously and leaned forward to tuck the covers even
tighter around her. "Go back to sleep, Scully.  Everything's going to be okay.
You're fine, you just need some rest."

"Are you gonna stay, Mulder?"  Even that simple question was a Herculean
effort, and her eyes slipped shut.

She felt the gentlest of kisses on her forehead and heard the whispered words,
"Where else would I be?"

Sleep was threatening to claim her but she knew she had to tell him something
before she let it win. She felt his breath on her cheek and his hand in her
hair and knew he was close enough to hear her whisper. "Oh, Mulder?"

"Hmmm?"  

"I knew you'd come."

She was asleep before she could hear a response.

End of Story

Author's Notes: Yes, these are going to be long.  This is the longest work
I've ever completed, so I get to write long author's notes.  Humor me. <g>

Part of me seriously considered subtitling Changing Tides "Or What I Did For
My Summer Vacation."  Except that depressed me because I haven't had a Summer
vacation in more years than I care to remember.  But, I digress.  Remember in
May when we were all so excited because this year the Summer hiatus would be
broken up with a little movie on June 19 and that the season premiere couldn't
*possibly* be as late as Redux was?  Well, by about June 23, I was Jonesin'
for new episodes.  The movie was great and all, but I'm GREEDY!  When I
realized it was going to be a long wait, I decided to amuse myself and write
my own season premiere.   15OK later, and we're almost to the real one! Yay!
If you like it, please drop me a line. I promise I'll answer.

Onto acknowledgments.  Humor me and read them.  These incredibly patient and
tolerant people deserve more acknowledgment than I can possibly give them.
The least I can do is thank them in a public forum.

Thanks, as always, to the Screamers for their support and hand-holding.
Especially to jeni for her last-minute edits and for giving my words such a
wonderful home on the web. Also, to those pals out there who always give me
that extra encouragement about my writing.  Anyone who wrote to me while this
was in progress earned a special place in the QofMush's court.

Special thanks to MCA who was drafted as my location scout early into the
writing process.  She had no idea what the fic was about, only that it was set
in a place she had some familiarity with, and she was incredibly tolerant of
emails like: "How long a drive is it from DC to Luray if one is really in a
hurry?" 

Finally, there are three women who went above and beyond the call of duty with
this one.  I will never be able to express adequately how much they help me in
their unique and talented ways.  Next time any of youse are in Hollywood,
drinks are on me! (At the Derby, of course.)

Sherrie: What can I say about Sherrie that I haven't already said?  A pal
forevah, she gave me black and blue marks when Mulder found a certain cross in
Antarctica.  She's my one-woman critic, focus group, editor, and emotional
barometer.  Odds are, if Sherrie didn't like it, it's no longer here.  Well,
except the Jedi comment - that stayed. Thanks, buddy!heehee
  
Michaela: She held my hand and edited, talked me out of the cave I'd crawled
into near the end of this,  listened quietly to my crisis of faith, firmly
told me to walk away from the computer when she needed to, and promised me I
would finish this fic or else she'd have to kill me. All while she was writing
her own kick-ass story, Unnatural Disaster.  Go read that!

Jill: I say with absolute certainty that you would not be reading this fic if
not for Jill.  Whether that means you want to thank her or curse her is up to
you.  Jill's talent for editing, brainstorming and all around hand holding
have probably never been put to a more difficult test.  Her faith that I could
actually write something this long with a <gasp> plot, her infinite patience
and her uncanny ability to ask the right questions to steer my course can
never be repaid.  All I can say is thank you.  Added generous and selfless
points go to Jill as all this coddling was done while Jill was working on her
own creation, the divine "Paper Saints."  

For those who have made it this far, I thank you kindly. 

QofMush
10/98