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Title: Mistletoe Summary: Mulder employs Santa's help in getting Scully into the Christmas spirit. J. Edgar Hoover F.B.I. Building "It's happening, Scully. The whole government is turning into a red light district." Mulder swirled around in his office chair to face Scully, who was intently trying to concentrate on her computer screen. "Do you think they've got those flashing in the House chamber?" quipped Mulder, trying to divert Scully's attention. He pointed to the string of flashing red Christmas lights hung around the perimeter of their office. "There's a new video on sale just in time for Christmas - "Steamy Minutes from the Floor: Confessions of Hanky-Panky from the Left and Right." "Mulder, if you don't stop talking, you're going to have to find some other place to do your work." Scully shot Mulder a glance and turned wearily back to her screen. "What happened to peace on earth, good will towards men...Scully, it's 4 PM on a Friday, the comes-but-once-a-year is just a week away, and there's a Christmas party going on. Give me the mouse." He reached out towards the desk. "No, Mulder." "Go to START and then SHUT DOWN." "Stop it, Mulder! I know you're bored with our new assignment, but, Christmas or not, Kersch wants our reports on the fertilizer inves- tigation by Monday. It may not seem exciting to you, but as for me, Mulder, I'd like to have a cheque come next pay period." Mulder knew better than to press Scully any further. Things had gotten pretty cramped since their basement office had been gutted in the spring by a deliberate arson attack. Since then, they had been reassigned to desks in the main office, not far from their new supervisor's office and watchful eye. Their old working space had been cramped and cluttered, too, but at least it had been theirs. No constant interruptions, no incessant ringing of phones. Now, each of them had only a few square feet of desktop and little elbow room. The desks weren't even good for sprawling out papers and charts, for most of the surface was taken up by their computer monitors. Probably what Mulder missed the most was privacy. It seemed that every conversation that he and Scully had now at work was within earshot of about twenty other agents whose desks were set up in this very room. He could tell that the new working environment was weighing on Scully - she seemed very frazzled lately, and though she would not admit to it out of pride and thankfulness, Mulder could tell she was profoundly bored by their new assignment. Mulder stood up, paused for a moment, and then spoke one more time to his partner. "I'll go upstairs. I'll ask Santa's elves to save you some spiked punch." Mulder headed towards the entrance. "Come up when you're finished, Scully. The party goes on until 6." "I'll try, Mulder," muttered Scully. Mulder started to head out the door, then turned around. "Scully, one last thing." "You've got fifteen seconds, Mulder...." "There's this strange case that came across Kersch's desk. I think we might want to look into it." "Then why hasn't Kersch given us orders to pursue it?" "It just came in today. Reports from all over the country, people from all walks of life, working in their respective workplaces, living in suburbia, the big city, or even in American Samoa - they're all coming down with a mysterious illness." "Then why isn't FEMA taking care of it?" asked Scully, getting more annoyed with Mulder's every word. "Because they don't know exactly if it's a disease, but they do know how it's contracted." "Mulder, that makes no sense. If it's contagious, it's got to be some sort of illness. How serious is it?" Mulder's face looked suddenly very severe. "No man in the history of this planet has ever quite understood it. It strikes without warning - any person at any age, usually when it's least expected. And when you've caught it, your judgment becomes clouded, your thought pattern is suddenly consumed with overwhelming urges that can only diminish by committing certain ritual acts." "So, you're describing to me an obsessive-compulsive disorder that's contagious. Stop it, Mulder, you of all people should know that mental illness is not catching." "All I'm saying, Scully, is that this contagion, this pathogen, may be lurking in the very places where we live and work. And if what I saw on Kersch's desk is accurate, *we* may be at risk within the next week." "Then, Mulder, if this is truly such a health risk, you need to go to Kersch now and do something about it....Now, if you'd just let me finish these reports, I might actually be able to help you with this, but right now, you're on your own. "Scully...." "Go!!!" Mulder shrugged his shoulders and ambled towards the door. No use dissuading Scully when she was bent on being a workaholic. Not that he hadn't been the same way about his work on the X-Files..." Feeling little desire to do any work so late on a Friday afternoon, and feeling too tired to watch the impeachment debate on the C-Span broadcast in the employee lounge, Mulder decided to take the elevator up to the fourth floor, where the F.B.I. Christmas party was taking place. It had become sort of a tradition the past few years at the Bureau. The Friday before Christmas, work would slow down almost to a standstill by the end of the afternoon, and employees would slowly trickle upstairs for a happy hour or two of merrymaking. The Friday- before-Christmas-work-cessation had now been officially approved, and the Bureau had expanded the informal celebration to include festivities for employee children, complete with Santa holding court. Mulder got into the elevator, and took it to the fourth floor. As he stepped out, he saw before him the open bar for the employees, and, next to it, a table decorated festively with a small Christmas tree and a brass menorah. The table was loaded with all sorts of edible goodies - candy in little grab bags, gingerbread men and Christmas tree cookies on a silver platter, hundreds of toothpicked cubes of government surplus cheese, and, in the center of it all, a J.Edgar Hoover Building made from gingerbread and decorated with lacy vanilla and licorice frosting. "How sweet," mumbled Mulder wryly to himself. "The J. Edgar Hoover Building all dressed up in frills." Down the hall, Santa was seated on a plump, upholstered chair borrowed from one of the conference rooms. Employee children, most no older than seven or eight, lined up eagerly to sit on Santa's lap to tell him their Christmas wishes. Mulder couldn't help but overhear the children's requests. "So, have you been a good little girl this year?" "Yes." "And what do you want Santa to bring you?" "A FURBY!!!!!" "We'll see what Santa can do. Next." Agent Thorpe, who had been with the Bureau since the days of J. Edgar Hoover himself, donned a beard and red suit each year to take children's requests. He made a very jovial Santa, though he was much perturbed by the children's increasingly extravagant demands. Mulder walked over to greet him. "Hey, Santa, how's it going?" "Oh, I've got my hands full right now. Where's that nice partner of yours?" "Scully? I couldn't tear her away from her work." "Hmmm, that makes Santa very sad. Tell you what, Agent Mulder. You ask Agent Scully to dinner this evening. Even a hard-working soul like her needs to have fun." "I can't even get her to open the stockings, Santa," said Mulder. "She needs some Christmas cheer. Here, I've got something that might help you." Santa, or Agent Thorpe, reached into his pocket and pulled out something wrapped in crinkly plastic. "Come here, and I'll tell you what to do." Mulder went over to Santa, leaned over, and listened to his whispered instructions. "No fair!" said a little boy in the line. "It was my turn next!" Mulder looked at the boy - "Older kids get first priority!" "Hey!" Santa put the package in Mulder's palm and closed his fingers over it. After he finished administering his advice, he patted Mulder on the back, and sat up to resume his duties. "See, you'll all get your turns. Now, who wants to tell me what they want for Christmas?!" Mulder fingered the package in his hand, and hastily put it in his pocket. He knew what he would do. Passing the food table and the elevator, he made his way to the stairwell. He made his way down the stairs, heading towards the back hallway that led to the printing room. J. Edgar Hoover F.B.I. Building Mulder raced back up the stairs to rejoin the party, his mission with the package already accomplished. As he neared the landing, he suddenly heard a door slam below. It sounded like it was coming from the floor below. He heard steps pounding on the metal stairs. He turned around to look, and saw a flash of red and white. Santa was following him. "Agent Thorpe?" But the steps sounded light and agile, like that of a greyhound running. Thorpe, on the other hand, weighed at least 250 pounds. Before Mulder could get a better look, Santa swung at him with his arm, catching him off guard. As he fell to the ground, he saw his assailant's other arm slam against the railing, stiff and straight. Its impact made a hollow sound. Santa had a plastic arm. J. Edgar Hoover F.B.I. Building Scully was tired. Her co-workers had long since drifted one by one upstairs to the party, leaving her alone in the large office. The report was almost done, yet her eyes stung from the strain of looking at the computer screen. And the fact that she was preparing a report on the potential terrorist uses of combustible manure didn't help, either. She had not meant to be so sharp and unfriendly towards Mulder. But sometimes it seemed to her that he had no conception of how precarious their positions at the Bureau were at that moment - and how one perceived slip or shoddiness in their assignments, no matter how boring and mundane those assignments might be - could cost them their jobs. She had not had the heart or opportunity to tell Mulder of her most recent discovery, one that would surely add to the drain on his spirit. While Mulder was endangering himself chasing phantom ocean liners in the Bermuda Triangle, Scully had, by chance, discovered that the Cigarette Smoking Man had dangerous access and influence over the X-Files. The X-Files had been closed following the suspicious fire in the spring that had destroyed Mulder and Scully's office. When the X-Files had been re-opened later that Summer, their old jobs had not been restored to them. Instead, Mulder and Scully had been removed from Assistant Director Skinner's supervision, and were placed under their new supervisor, Assistant Director Kersch. Scully had been even more disheartened when their positions and their years of work were handed over to other agents. One of them, Agent Jeffrey Spender, was a squeaky weasel rookie agent, the other, Diana Fowley, was a former girlfriend of Mulder. In fact, she had been with Mulder when he discovered the X-Files years ago. Just weeks ago, Scully had ventured down to the basement where her old office had been. She had gone there to demand special assistance from Agent Spender in obtaining access to military satellite photographs so that she could locate and rescue Mulder from the Bermuda Triangle. After Spender had gone upstairs to look for help, as Scully had thought at the time, she had remained in the office. When the phone rang, she had answered it, only to hear the raspy voice of the Cancer Man, who mistook her for Agent Fowley. It was then that she realized that Agent Fowley had gone to the dark side, and was flagrantly abusing Mulder's trust. As much as Scully hated Diana Fowley, as much as she hated her power over Mulder and how she could manipulate Mulder with one smile from her crooked little mouth, Scully hadn't been able to bring her- self to tell her partner the truth. How could she bring herself to tell him that the woman that he had trusted - one with whom he had been personally and professionally involved - was now somehow another puppet of the Conspiracy of Elders? As much as Diana Fowley caused every hair on Scully's body to bristle with jealousy, Scully took no pleasure in thinking of the hurt that such a revelation would cause to her partner. But weeks had passed, the pressure had increased, and she was beginning to realize that, for his own safety, she had to tell Mulder the truth. Maybe tonight, after her report was in, they would open their stocking presents, and then have a talk. Scully sighed. All these things to consider. Had there not been holiday music drifting down from the upper floors of the building, or had the annoying red lights not been flashing, Scully would have felt nothing to indicate that Christmas was only a week away. After finishing the second to last portion of her report to Kersch, Scully saved the file on the computer and selected "Print." She walked down the hall to the network printer room. Oddly, someone had left the room a mess. A wastebasket was overflowing, and someone had left a stepladder leaning precariously against the wall behind the printer. Scully felt like cursing. Oh, to have her own office space again, and not to have to share that space with a couple dozen slovenly agents! She waited for the document to finish printing. All of a sudden, she heard a slight knocking against the open door. "Can I come in, Agent Scully?" "Sir, what are you doing here?" Scully was startled, then pleased, to see Assistant Director Skinner standing by the door. "Be quiet," he said. "I'm not even supposed to be down here, Agent Scully, on orders from above. So what I say to you is entirely off the record." "I understand your position, Sir, and your need for discretion. But why are you coming to talk to me now, Sir? Is something wrong?" Perhaps Mulder had informed him about that mysterious contagion. "Sir, did Agent Mulder send you down to discuss a case with me?" "No, Agent Scully," he answered, wrinkling his bald brow. "I just wanted to speak my conscience. They've forbid me from speaking to you or Agent Mulder since the X-Files were re-opened. You have to understand - I'm almost at the age when I need to start thinking about my retirement and my pension. I just haven't been able to put myself on the line in the same way as before. But I need to apologize to you, Agent Scully." "Sir, what for? I don't understand...." "I owe you an apology - for not foreseeing the lengths to which the Conspiracy could harm you. If I had known, I could have protected you and saved you a lot of grief. Thank god you came back alive. "Sir, what they did to me this Summer was beyond any prediction, any foresight you could have had." She reached out to touch Skinner's shoulder. "I assure you, Sir, I am fine now." "Agent Scully, in all my years at the F.B.I., I have never encountered agents with as strong a conviction as yourself and Agent Mulder have shown. I may not have always agreed with your approach or methods, but I have great admiration for your dedication to uncovering the truth." Skinner looked down, and then looked away. He sighed. "You'd better not leave this here in the office. And don't let anyone know it was me who gave this to you." He pulled out a flat, rectangular package, wrapped in green Christmas paper. "It's just a small gift that reminded me of you." "Sir, I don't know what to say..." Skinner urged, "Hurry up, open it before the whole office comes back downstairs!" Scully, still shocked by her former bosses' emotional confession, paused a moment before opening the package. She pulled apart the paper, and unwrapped a small, silver wall frame. Within the frame, written in beautiful calligraphic script, read the following words: If you do not stand firm in faith, you shall not stand at all. Scully's eyes lit up, and she looked at Skinner in amazement. "I recognize this passage - I believe it's from the Book of Isaiah, when the prophet forsees the coming of Christ." She searched her memory for the words of scripture. "Therefore, this Lord himself will give you a sign. Look, the young woman is with child and shall bear a son and shall name him Immanuel," she recited. "Sir, this is beautiful!" Skinner looked flushed. "I'm not in a position to be of much help to you and Agent Mulder, but I do have faith in your faith." Scully was stunned. "Thank you, Sir." Skinner began to turn towards the doorway. "Don't tell anyone I said that!" he ordered. "Sir!" Skinner turned around. Scully reached up and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. She wrapped her arms lightly around him and hugged him. "Sir, you must know that your faith in me - and in Agent Mulder - has done more to help than you will ever realize." She pulled away. Skinner saw the tears in Scully's eyes. He glanced up at the doorway nervously, looked at his watch, and said, " I must return to the party before they start looking for me. Merry Christmas, Agent Scully." J. Edgar Hoover F.B.I. Building Mulder couldn't believe his eyes. In front of him stood Alex Krycek, his former F.B.I. partner, dressed in a Santa suit with full white beard. At closer inspection, there was no confusing this man with Agent Thorpe's jovial Santa. Krycek's eyes flashed black like cold metal, and a devious grin broke across his face. "Merry Christmas, Mulder. Before Mulder could get to his feet, Krycek kicked forward with his right leg, striking Mulder in the thigh and throwing him off balance. Mulder scrambled to stand up, but fell, tumbling, onto the stairs. Krycek stepped forward and kicked him again. Mulder rolled down the rest of the flight of stairs, landing sprawled upon his back. Krycek jumped down the stairs and landed, feet placed firmly on either side of the fallen Mulder. He whipped out a gun and pointed it right in Mulder's face. "Mulder, why don't you just kiss my ass?!!!" Mulder, pulling a hand against his own throbbing temple, mumbled, "Thanks for the invitation, but I'll have to take a raincheck!" Krycek slowly withdrew his gun. "Follow me, and I'll shoot you dead. Do you hear?" Before Mulder could think of a wise response, Krycek stepped away from him and went running down several flights of stairs. Mulder heard the door slam before he dared get up. Sore all over from his fall, Mulder got up and smoothed himself over. He started to run down the stairs towards the security station, but something shiny and black caught the corner of his eyes. Bending down, he saw an open 8 X 10 manila envelope on the floor of the stairwell. Glossy black- and-white photographs spilled out from the envelope. Mulder picked them up and flipped through them. They were surveillance photos showing a man entering the F.B.I. building, each photo dated to consecutive Fridays at around 4:50 PM. Mulder looked at his watch. It was 4:48 PM. Grabbing the photos, Mulder ran down the rest of the stairs, opened the door to the stairwell, and hurried down the hallway to the security booth where several television screens monitored the various entrances to the building. Yet no one was there in the booth. "Dammit," said Mulder. Someone had neglected their duties. Mulder stepped into the empty seat in the booth. He looked up at the television surveillance screens. There was no sign of Krycek. All of a sudden, Mulder saw it. On the center screen was a close-up shot of a side entrance. Through the grainy resolution of the screen, Mulder saw a figure appear in a trench coat, his back turned to the camera. He seemed to be talking to two people while smoking a cigarette, but Mulder could not see who they were. Then the man turned around. His face was lined and ragged, his eyes two sunken pits. He took another drag on his cigarette and then turned to head out the door. The two figures followed him - a man and a woman. Mulder couldn't make out who they were, except that the woman had long, dark hair. He reached down, stopped the surveillance tape and rewound it, then pushed "play." He paused the tape, framing the three figures in the doorway. There was no mistaking. The first figure was the Cigarette Smoking Man. The woman was Diana Fowley, and the second man was Agent Jeffrey Spender. Mulder sat there, shocked. Diana, who had been there when he discovered the X-Files, now seemed to be willingly following the Cigarette Smoking Man. Mulder became filled with the bitter taste of betrayal. He buried his face in his hands. He did not want to believe it. Had he lifted his eyes to look, Mulder would have seen at that moment on another surveillance screen Krycek leaving by a back entrance of the building. He had shed his Santa suit and flashed a badge to the guard at that exit. And then he was out the door and gone. J. Edgar Hoover F.B.I. Building Scully wearily picked up the pages of her report and shuffled them on the top of her desk, trying to get the pages to align. Finally, her report to Kersch was finished. If she had more energy, she might have wanted to join the party upstairs. But instead, she was dead tired, so tired that all she could think of was going home. The red flashing lights in the office were yet another reminder of how close Christmas was, but how little joy she actually felt about it. She heard someone enter the office. "Scully, it's me," said Mulder. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag of candy, plopping it down on her desk. "I got you something from upstairs." Scully looked up to see Mulder in his disheveled suit, his hair mussed up, with a bruise starting to darken on his cheek. "Mulder, what happened to you?" She rushed over to examine the bruises, gently touching her fingertips to his face. "Are you all right?" Mulder answered," Scully, I got attacked by Santa in the stairwell." "Santa? Agent Thorpe?!!!!" "No, Krycek in a Santa suit!!!" "Krycek's back?" said Scully incredulously. "What is he doing here?" "He dropped these," said Mulder, slapping the surveillance photos he'd found down upon her desk. "Looks like he's had his eye on the Cigarette Smoking Man for some time now. Look at this - Cancer Man has been here every Friday at the same time..." "Mulder, I've been meaning to tell you something. When you were lost in the Bermuda Triangle, I went to Spender and Diana Fowley's office to ask for Spender's help in finding you, and..." "Spender's working with him," said Mulder. "That weasel - how did he get Diana messed up in this?" "Mulder, I think you need to know something about Diana. When Cancer Man called Spender's office, I picked up the phone. He thought I was Diana. It appears that he was trying to call Diana. "But how could she work for him??!!" said Mulder, hurt and disbelief in his voice. He sat down on the desk, and his shoulders slumped. " I thought she was put on the X-Files to protect my work." Scully walked over and sat next to Mulder on the nearby chair. "As much as it is hard for you to accept, Mulder, you can't trust these people. I am now realizing there is a reason for our reassignment. For why Skinner is forbidden to talk to us. For why they keep on sending us on meaningless, boring assignments that waste our professional experience and knowledge, when we should be salvaging what's left of the X-Files. They want to crush our faith, Mulder, isolate us, and take away our will. But if you let this defeat you, Mulder, as they would like it to, they will have won." "I just didn't believe Diana could work with such people." Scully was silent. They sat there for a while, too dejected to speak. Then, suddenly, they heard the music of a visiting choir singing from the party upstairs: What can I give you? Scully looked at Mulder. She reached out to place her hand upon his. "How about opening the Christmas stockings?" Mulder shrugged, and forced a smile. "They're in the box under the desk. Scully reached under and grabbed the two bulging red-and-white yarn Christmas stockings marked with their names. She took hers and handed the other to Mulder. "You first," said Mulder. Scully reached into the stocking, pulling out a large plastic bottle. She turned it in her hand to view the label. "Bee pollen," she read. "To put in your yogurt. It really doesn't do any good. You should know that, Scully." Scully grimaced in jest. "Thanks, Mulder. What else is in here?" She pulled out a cylindrical plastic sleeve filled with colored water and plastic stars. "What's this, Mulder? Not something from one of your catalogues...?" she teased. "Of course not, Scully; it's a stress-reliever," said Mulder. "See, you squeeze it." He reached out to demonstrate, but the tube slipped from his fingers and bounced onto the floor. Scully started to giggle. "Mulder, I can't believe the Bureau entrusts you with a gun! You're such a klutz!" Mulder gave her a sheepish grin. "Go on, finish yer stocking!" She reached down further to pull out a container of liquid bubble bath. "Is this a hint?" she asked. Mulder just folded his hands in back of his head, leaned back, and raised his eyebrows. "Thank you, Mulder," said Scully. She reached into the toe of her stocking, fished around, and pulled out a tiny jeweled pin. It was a bee made of gold-plate with an amber-colored stone for its abdomen. "More bees?" asked Scully, lifting her eyebrows a notch. "Mulder, is there some general point you're trying to reach?" "I could tell you to buzz off," laughed Mulder. "Okay, it's my turn." He grabbed the cardboard tube jutting out of his stocking. Opening the top of the tube, he pulled out a poster, and unrolled it. "I found it at that little shop on M Street," said Scully. It was a photograph of a UFO with the words, "I want to believe." It was just like the poster that had once hung in their basement office. "I didn't even know they made these anymore," said Mulder. He reached deeper into his stocking and pulled out a bag of sunflower seeds. "These will last a long, long time," he commented facetiously while tearing open the bag, taking a seed, cracking it in his teeth. He reached in again and pulled out a toothed comb. "For bad hair days," said Scully. Mulder picked up the comb and ran it through his hair, patting it with the palm of his hand and squinting as if looking into a mirror. "Pretty slick, Scully, huh?" "I guess it's okay, for someone who goes to Hair Cuttery," she said. He reached in for the last gift, pulling out a bunch of unsharpened yellow pencils fastened with a rubber band. "To replace those you lost when I was away," said Scully. "And if you shoot them at the ceiling, you're not getting new ones." "Thanks, Scully," said Mulder. "How about going upstairs to that party before it ends," said Scully. "I think we can make it." "One last thing, Scully," said Mulder. "I need to talk to you about that contagion sweeping the country." "Have you found out more about it?" "Scully, it's gotten a to a pretty serious level. We're now at risk." "Then, Mulder, you've got to *do* something. Has the pathology lab been able to identify it?" "It's Latin name is 'Phoradendron serotinum.' Pretty serious, huh?" "I know I've heard that name before," said Scully. "Wait a second, that's commonly known as...mistletoe." "Scully, I've got to show you something." He took her hand and led her down the hall to the printing room. He pointed up at the door frame to the sprig of mistletoe with its white berries. He looked back at Scully, raising his eyebrows and shrugging his shoulders. "I swear, I don't know how it got there." Scully looked up at the mistletoe, then stared at Mulder, wrinkling her brow into a frown, then looked up again. "Mulder, come here!" she ordered. "I'm sorry...It was just a joke..." "Mulder, for the last time, will you just shut up!" said Scully. She reached out one hand and planted her palm firmly on his shoulder. Then, with the other hand, she reached up and placed it around the back of his head. She tilted his head down towards her. He let his stocking fall to the floor, then wrapped both his arms around her back. Scully planted her mouth upon Mulder's. Their lips did not meet, exactly. They instead collided rather forcefully. Mulder moaned in surprise. Scully did not pull back. Neither did Mulder. Scully reached out with the toe of her shoe and kicked the door closed. J. Edgar Hoover F.B.I. Building Mulder straightened out the collar of his shirt and re-arranged his tie. "Can you see my hickeys, Scully?" "No, Mulder," said Scully. "It's because they're all over *my* neck." "Scully." "Yes, Mulder." "What do you think of the new epidemic?" "I must say, Mulder, I will dread the day when they develop a vaccine for it." "Scully." "Yes, Mulder." "What were you planning to do after work?" "Go home, collapse, and watch the impeachment debate on C-Span." "Want to come over and help me find a place to put my new poster?" asked Mulder. "Can you get some of that 'Phoradendron serotinum' on our way home?" "Sure, I'm in touch with the supplier, the jolly old elf in the red suit." "Then, it's a deal." Scully reached out to touch Mulder on the cheek. "Scully, let's get out of here." "One last thing, Mulder," said Scully. "Oh no, not Kersch's report..." said Mulder, moving away. "Mulder..." said Scully, gazing at him with eyes wide open. "I love you, too."
*The End* Disclaimer: All of the characters in this story (except for Agent Thorpe) are creations of Chris Carter and are the property of Twentieth Century Fox. I have used them without permission, but do not intend to profit from this story in any way. The music verse comes from the traditional carol "In the Bleak Midwinter." The Biblical verse is from Isaiah 7:9 and 7:14-15 in the "New Oxford Annotated Bible with Apocrypha."
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