Wunderkammer (1 of the Mushroom Emulation Series)
by bugs and Branwell
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Gossamer okay, Ephemeral okay, anywhere
else, please ask.
SPOILER WARNING: "Within," "Without" and numerous previous
seasons.
RATING: PG-13 for language, disturbing images
CLASSIFICATION: S, A
KEYWORDS: Doggett POV, Story, Angst
SUMMARY: While becoming accustomed to his new assignment at the X-
files, Doggett gets to the bottom of Mulder's junk drawers.
DISCLAIMER: Chris Carter, Robert Patrick, Gillian Anderson, and
Ten Thirteen productions created and own the characters you
recognize. Our writing is for fun, not profit.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: Thanks to "Deep Background," and Tiny Dancer's
wonderful script site.****************************
June 2000
When my ass comes in contact with the cushion, the chair creaks
much too loudly for such a small space. I try not to, but I have
to look over at her.Agent Scully is pretending to sort through a backlog of reports,
but her chin tips slightly so she can put an eye on me.I announce, "I'm starting my report now."
She goes back to her file, but her jaw works furiously, as though
she's chewing something very tough.She shouldn't even be here. Her sick leave doesn't officially end
until Monday, but here she sits, fading bruises floating on the
pale face above her nun-black suit. Tenacity makes her a barnacle
and me a rock.I begin typing, to see if my strokes rattling the desk will shake
her loose.'To: Deputy Director Alvin Kersh
Report on a further search of the dwelling of Agent Fox Mulder.'I take a peek into the box on the floor by my feet and try to
decide where to start.
A key had scraped in the front door lock just as I was placing the
last object in the cardboard box. Dropping it, I yanked out my
weapon and whirled to face the door.Agent Scully froze, her hands still on the door knob and deadbolt
key. Her eyes immediately fixed on the gun in my hands. One
eyebrow rose. "Agent Doggett?" Her tone suggested that she'd found
me on the bottom of her shoe and was not pleased.Embarrassed, I reholstered my piece. "Agent Scully."
Her face was still striated with bruises and cuts, that large,
dark contusion on her jaw line just beginning to fade. She stepped
into the entryway and I could see she was carrying a lime green
bucket. She was also moving with a slight limp."Agent Scully, you should still be in the hospital," I pointed
out. At the same time I tried to block her view of the box I'd
filled."What are you doing here, Agent Doggett?"
She made me defensive. "I'm gathering more evidence."
Even as I saw a flash of concern in her eyes, her lip curled in
derision. I pushed. "And you, Agent Scully? I've already given the
fish their daily feeding."Lifting the bucket, swinging it on the end of one finger, she
said, "You won't need to worry about that anymore. I'm going to
take them to a friends' place. They'll take care of the fish until
Mulder returns." This sounded as though she didn't expect Mulder
back anytime soon. Again I wondered how much information she was
keeping to herself.She skirted the box on her way to the aquarium, but I saw her
glance into it as she passed.I put out there, "Perhaps you can help me, Agent Scully,"
Warily, she paused, but lowered the bucket. "What do you mean?"
Then her eyes narrowed. "What have you been doing in here?"The force in her words actually made me take a half step back. "My
job, Agent Scully. Finding Agent Mulder."She moved closer, and glanced into the dark depths of my
collection. "You and your men have already gone over the
apartment. I assumed you'd taken anything of relevance then.""But that's when we were looking for the obvious. Now it's time to
go down under the next layer of skin."The look of concern came back and I felt like a shit. She really
is very bad at hiding her emotions.She insisted again, "There's nothing here," and I glanced to the
lightly dusted circular area amid the thicker dust on the desktop.
"Exactly, Agent Scully." Motioning, I asked, "Who took the
computer? Did you--" I took a stab, "Or those fish-feeding friends
of his?"She blinked and I was briefly mesmerized. She can blink one eye on
a different beat than the other. The room was silent except for
the low hum of her thinking."No," was her brief answer.
I grasped her elbow. "Please take a look at some things I've
found. I'm sure you can save us time here."Reluctantly, she sank into Mulder's desk chair. She let her
eyelids drift shut and went paler under the painful marks on her
face. I thought she was going to be ill."You should still be in the hospital."
Ignoring me, she said, "What do you have there?"
I clicked on the desk lamp, spotlighting the box's contents.
"Things that caught my attention."Her gaze lifted and swept the cluttered room as a rueful grin
spread onto her face. "And what criteria did you use to spot an
anomaly, Agent Doggett?"It was more of a 'Sesame Street' test, Agent Scully. Which thing
doesn't go with the others?""Agent Mulder's life defies easy categorization, Agent Doggett."
Suddenly, she rose and I jumped back in surprise. "I have to go.
I'm sorry, I can't help you.""Scully--" She swept past me without a glance. "Agent Scully, are
you all right?""I'm fine," is the last thing she said as she went through the
door.
I'm starting to hate those words. Maybe they're what's making me
put on this show for my partner.'Contents of Fox Mulder's apartment, and their possible
significance:'From the corner of my eye, I see her scribbling pen hand stop as I
take out an earth-toned cap. It reads: 'Stonehenge Rocks.'I recite the slogan aloud, as though she'd agreed to help me. "I
checked his credit card records. He flew into London last spring
and rented a car. He filed a report. It was vague, even for
Mulder. Something about ritual circles. You didn't go with him."She lays the pen down. "I didn't go with him."
"Why not?"
"There was something more important I had to do," she answers.
I hear a smile in her voice that gives the lie to the set
expression on her face. Some private joke, I guess."Any chance he met up with a cult? Druids maybe?"
I'm half joking myself, but she seems to decide humor is a
dangerous thing to share. "It was crop circles, Agent Doggett. He
didn't learn anything over there.""Did he learn something over here?" I persist.
She shrugs. Her attention has wandered to the gold bowl up-ended
over the rest of the box's contents."I see you've noticed the fine dinnerware I found under the bed.
Not a family heirloom, I'd say." The bowl is a cheap plastic mold,
painted with gilt on the outside. It could have been a giveaway
from Taco Bell or McDonald's. But the word 'Jerusalem' appears on
the bottom. I spin it around on my pen before I fold the hat up
inside it. "There's no record of Agent Mulder visiting Israel in
the last ten years."She bites her lip and takes longer to answer than I expect.
"There was a movie. It's a long story. I think you should take
that bowl to AD Skinner. He can tell you more about it than I
could."That's the final word from her. She goes back to work.
'Agent Scully referred me to AD Skinner for details on the gold-
colored plastic bowl found under Agent Mulder's bed.'When I look back at Agent Scully, she's taken up a position behind
a manila folder. I keep watching her while I fish out the poster.
It's the kind of thing I'd expect a teenage boy to hide in his
room.Apparently still intent on her report, Agent Scully blushes as I
unfurl it. Her reaction puzzles me. As porn, it isn't even R-rated
- just a red-haired Lara Croft knock-off strapped into skimpy
black leather.After making sure she doesn't have a glass of water within reach,
I venture, "Is this an old girlfriend of his?"Her eyes widen for a moment and then she surprises me with a snort
of laughter. "Don't you know a fantasy when you see one, Agent
Doggett?"I look back into the poster's wicked gaze. I open my mouth to tell
her what I'm thinking, but then close it again. With Agent Scully
pushing my buttons, it's hard to resist pushing back, but I'm more
interested in information than a fight.'Agent Scully does not know what significance the figure on the
poster had for Agent Mulder. Recommend review of his contacts for
possible involvement in the BD/SM scene.'I fish another oddity from the bottom of the box. It's a dime and
penny fused along their diameters into a sphere."Was this a trick, Agent Scully?" I ask her. "I know of arcades
with gadgets that press an image into a penny to make a souvenir.
But deliberate mutilation of legal tender is a federal offense."She shrugs. I suppose my observation is minor league stuff
compared to aliens and shape-shifting clones. Now she barely
glances up from her papers when I toss the hybrid coin from hand
to hand. She might as well say it aloud: You're getting cooler,
Agent Doggett.I wouldn't mind having a pair of gloves to handle the next object.
Somebody lived a hard life in this cap. It's got worn spots and
dubious stains to prove it."NICAP" I read the letters across the crown out loud. "They shut
down their Who's Who Directory' on the web a while back." That
gets her attention."Really?" she comments. "You've started following organizations
like that?""That's my job now, Agent Scully. You don't seem to think I take
my work seriously. I know the site disappeared for a while; now
it's back.""It's not based in the United States anymore." The edge in her
voice reaches glass-cutting hardness."They don't sell hats anymore either. Just videos and books." I
ask, "Did Mulder collect hats?"She reaches for the cap instead of answering. I deliberately
ignore her outstretched hand and turn the hat inside out, as if I
expected to find a clue to Mulder's location scrawled in blood on
the fabric. Dana Scully isn't the only person who can pretend
something doesn't exist if it suits her.The hand goes back into her lap, as though she'd just been
stretching. "It belonged to a friend. He's gone now. Dead.""Did this friend have a name?"
"Max Fenig."
"Ah. The plane crash victim. I thought maybe you were going to
confirm my instincts and say the owner of this hat was missing
too."She almost says something, but old habits of secrecy must win out.
I wait, pretending to re-examine the hat. Her lips create a tight
seal. I fold the cap, and settle it into the bowl on top of
"Stonehenge Rocks." This isn't turning out to be a ground-breaking
report.'Recommend that the Max Fenig file be re-visited for information
pertinent to Mulder's disappearance.'Scully has gotten up and is filing a few of the reports when I
pull another item from the box. I remove it from its plastic bag.
It's a pair of men's dress pants, charcoal black. They're soft to
the touch where they aren't stiff with dirt. I found them rolled
into a ball in the corner of Mulder's closet. He wouldn't have
lasted a minute into one of Sargent 'Bullhead' Schultz's
inspections.This time she doesn't bother with hints. She walks around the desk
and looks me straight in the eye while she takes a firm grip on
the waistband. I have to decide if I want to try my luck in a tug
of war.I let go.
Returning to her seat, she rests them across her knees, smoothing
the fabric with short, jerky strokes, as though she could press
the wrinkles out. Her hands shake a little, but I don't hear a
tremor in her voice when she asks, "Why don't these pants go with
the other things in Mulder's apartment?""Check the right front pocket, and you tell me."
Agent Scully won't just stick her hand into something on my say-
so. She pulls the pocket open and tries to see the bottom of it.
When that doesn't work, she peels it almost inside out until she
exposes the small deposit of white crystals."It's salt," she exclaims.
"Or sugar. Or coke. Or some other powder you don't usually carry
loose in your pants' pockets." I can see she knows it's salt. I
think it's because she knows how it got there. "Shall I give it
the taste test?" I ask.She won't let me put something dangerous in my mouth…I don't
think."That wouldn't be safe, or procedurally correct, Agent Doggett."
"Why would Agent Mulder be carrying loose salt in his pockets?"
She shrugs. "I was just guessing. Maybe it is sugar, or sand, or
some substance he wanted to have tested."Nodding, I hold out a hand for the pants. Without another word,
she gives them back, and I return them the plastic evidence bag. A
sample of the white substance has already been bagged for
analysis.'A pair of dress pants found on Agent Mulder's closet floor will
be sent to the lab for analysis. The sample of the contents of the
right front pocket has been bagged separately. The results could
be useful for comparison if any trace of Agent Mulder is found at
some future date.'When I take out the big roll of sketch paper, I rattle it, and
roll it open on the desk."This looks like something Fox Mulder would appreciate."
The sketch is hideous and weird - a devilish-looking gargoyle done
in charcoal laid on with a heavy hand. I leave it spread on the
desk and dig back into the box for the other picture. It's a
framed painting of a white house, harmless and pretty.An Oxford graduate might have an artistic hobby. I, on the other
hand, fulfilled my art requirement with a woodworking class,
passing on Art Appreciation. I glance back and forth between the
pictures as though I knew what I was looking for in the images.
Beyond being able to see the styles are very different, I'm unsure
of any conclusions. By all accounts, her partner was moody. Did
that extend to his artistic taste?"Did Agent Mulder paint to relax?" I ask.
There's a choked sound from Agent Scully and for a second I'm
afraid it's a sob. But when I glance up, I catch her swallowing
the last gasp of laughter before her mask returns. Maybe I look
more foolish than I think.In control again, she echoes, "To relax."
I try to keep my dignity. "I've found artistic types can be a
little unstable. And there are creeps and psychos out there who
prey on . . . suggestible . . . people. What if Agent Mulder got
mixed up with a bad element?""Suggestible," she parrots back.
The copycat routine is starting to bug me.
Then she returns to the here and now. "Agent Mulder isn't an
artist. He obviously kept those as . . . souvenirs . . . from
cases we worked. I remember them."Maybe I'd been right the first time about the sob. She has that
wide-eyed stare that dams up tears. This is a promising line for
questions."Did those cases have something in common?" I press. She opens her
mouth, but then sets her jaw instead of sharing her thoughts.
"Don't you think Agent Mulder wants to be found?"She has to give in and turn away. "Of course he does." One hand
brushes across her eyes in a careless motion, and her mouth turns
down with frustration. I bet she wishes she could wipe me away as
easily.First I wonder if I'll ever get past her denials, then I wonder if
she ever will.'I recommend we pursue any connections Agent Mulder had in the art
world. It's my experience that the imagination has a dark side.
More attention should be focused on the unsolved homicide that
took place in the basement of Agent Mulder's apartment building.
One Philip Pagdett, an unpublished writer, was found dead there,
with his heart torn out of his chest.'Agent Scully pushes her chair back from her desk when I remove the
next object from the box. She leaves the office, carrying her
empty water glass. I sense she's just outside the door, watching
me.The next item is a small cassette meant for an answering machine.
I'd discovered it, unlabeled, and almost hidden behind a pile of
papers on his desk. But there wasn't a speck of dust on it. That
made it different from a lot of the things in his apartment. I've
also brought Mulder's machine, and set it up for playing.Mulder's voice sounds flat coming from the small speakers. "This
is Fox Mulder. Leave a message. I'll try to get back to you.""Fox, it's your mother. I'd hoped you'd call upon your return--"
Suddenly at my side, Agent Scully nearly knocks me down in her
lunge at the answering machine."That's personal," she hisses, hitting the 'Stop Play' so hard she
moves the machine several inches across the desktop. "You know his
mother died last spring.""Are you so sure the personal isn't relevant in this case, Agent
Scully? His mother didn't 'die,' did she? She killed herself
because she had a fatal disease. If there's anything we've learned
about suicide, it's that runs in families. Hasn't it occurred to
you that Mulder might have done just what his mother did?""No. He wouldn't have done that."
To me. The words come through so clearly she doesn't need to speak
them. But I don't think she's as sure about this as she is about
the salt.If she has any evidence to back up her faith, she isn't going to
share it with me. I eject the tape and quickly slip it into an
evidence envelope before she can snatch it away from me. I feel
like I'm back wrestling with my sister over an Archie comic book.
The key is to remain cool and in control. I return to my report.After a moment of trying to drill a hole through the side of my
head with her laser gaze, Agent Scully relaxes the tension in her
shoulders. She returns to her side of the desk, placing her empty
water glass on the edge before settling into her chair.'Explore the possibility that Agent Mulder decided to follow his
mother's example, but didn't want his body found.'Next I lay the fabric heart in its plastic sleeve on the corner of
my desk.I'd recognized it the instant I'd found it in the lap drawer. The
'Paper Hearts' profile is a classic - required reading at
Quantico. They don't talk about Mulder's screw-up later on, when
Roche escaped from his unauthorized custody."Agent Mulder did something pretty unpredictable when he took off
with John Roche, didn't he?" I ask.She understands me instantly, and deflects me from my line of
questioning. "He thought he could bring peace to a family living
in permanent doubt . . . never knowing . . .. ""Peace to himself, you mean. The truth will set you free. I don't
think you believe that, Agent Scully," I challenge her. I'm not
surprised at her silence.'Consider how far Agent Mulder might go to identify John Roche's
sixteenth victim.'I'm almost at the bottom of the box. Second to last is a short
stack of green-barred computer paper in continuous sheets. It's
slightly yellowed, and curled at the edges. It's been folded and
re-folded. The numbers and letters mean nothing to me. Somebody
wrote "Double Wow" on the first sheet in fading black marker.My temper is fraying and by now I don't expect any answers. I slap
the paper down and nod toward it, wordless. Her reaction catches
me off guard."It's proof, Agent Doggett. Scientific proof of extraterrestrial
life. You've heard of the SETI project?""Sure," I say, hoping to keep her talking. "A friend of mine has
it on his PC. Great red and blue animated graphs. But there's no
printout.""There's a printed record at the station where the signals come
in.""So why did Mulder stuff this into a shoe box? Why haven't we seen
any headlines about the approach of alien space ships?" My
cynicism shows.She gives me a look: a sniper's bullet that goes all the way
through. My chance to earn trust probably just slipped by."How can you ask that, after what you saw in the desert? I gave
you an answer and you turned away. Did Kersh tell you to go out
and dig as deep as you needed to find the truth? Or did he tell
you to close the case however you could? Do you still think the
answer is going to be some half-baked attempt by one madman to
fake his own abduction?"These are big questions, but this wasn't the time or place. I'm
still just trying to do a cop's job, looking for evidence about a
missing man."Maybe he had help," I suggest.
Not knowing what to make of the pity in her expression, I'm the
first to break eye contact."Me? Skinner?" Her voice brims with frustration.
I'm not going to tell her my conclusion. When I found her asleep
on Mulder's bed, I took her off the short list of suspects. I
don't believe she knows where he is, or why he's missing.I'd be the one to feel pity, if I didn't believe she was
withholding important details from me.I quickly remove the last objects in the box. First I set the red
game piece, and then the blue ones, on the edge of the desk.
Stratego had been my second favorite childhood game, after
Battleship. Mulder has a Red Flag, a Blue Spy and a Blue Bomb.I move the Red Flag to the center of the plastic envelope holding
the flowered heart, flanking it with the Blue Spy and Blue Bomb."Well, Agent Scully? Where are the rest of the pieces?"
This gains me a weary shrug of her shoulders. "Maybe he had all
the pieces he needed."I was going to make a crack about him being a few pieces short of
a full game, but restrained myself. Instead I ask her, "Will you
go back for the fish later?""No. I changed my mind," she says. "If I go by regularly, I can
keep an eye on things."Our gazes lock for a long moment and then I look back to the
computer screen.'I am continuing to pursue leads in the disappearance of Agent
Mulder. It isn't clear at this time that any area of investigation
can be closed.' I set the document to save and print.I start to re-fill the box, making sure each object is in a
labeled envelope. This time, I notice a white corner sticking out
past the edges of the computer paper. It turns out to be an
envelope, clean and white-- a lot newer than the bundle of paper.
It's addressed to the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I zip it
open.I can sense Agent Scully going still.
I've read enough of Agent Mulder's field notes to recognize his
handwriting.'To whom it may concern: This is my final statement in the matter
of Donnie Pfaster's death by gunshot in the apartment of Agent
Dana Scully.'During the hearing on his death, I made a statement declaring
that, under imminent threat to her own life, Agent Scully had shot
Donnie Pfaster. The investigative board ruled in her favor, but I
knew the truth.'I had picked up Agent Scully's gun as I entered her apartment.
Knowing Pfaster's MO, I was filled with murderous rage, certain
he'd already mutilated and killed my partner. I brought him under
control immediately, but allowed my emotions to overcome me. I
shot him in the head. Agent Scully emerged from the bedroom, dazed
from her injuries. I allowed her to believe she had shot Pfaster
while in a fugue state. I was certain she'd be exonerated at a
hearing, while I would not.'It is my last wish that the truth about this be known, so that
Agent Scully's record can be cleared of any imputation of bad
judgment in the performance of her duty.'I can't choke back a "Hunnh" of surprise. Agent Scully rounds the
desk again, snatching the letter out of my hand. Mulder's
handwriting is familiar to her too. When she reads it, her face
loses its mask-like stiffness. Her mouth stretches into a silent
cry, and I think she's finally going to break down.After a few gulps to regain control, she whispers, "This letter
was meant to be read when he died. Please. It's a lie, Agent
Doggett."I'd read the report on Pfaster's death. It sounded like one of
those confused struggles that's pretty hard to reconstruct. No one
denied that he'd stalked, beaten and done his best to kill Agent
Scully. That was after he'd escaped from maximum security and
committed other murders. I had to ask myself if it mattered which
one of these idealists shot the scum.She's saying "please" to me. It doesn't feel right.
"Please. When we find him . . . his career . . . he's only trying
to protect me . . . but it's not true...you have to believe me.
Believe me, Agent Doggett."Back when I was on the force, I had a cynical partner who told me
that the toughest witness to interview was a pretty young woman.
He was an old pig, but now I'm wondering if I've aged to an old
pig too. I can't see the truth beyond this woman's clouding
emotions.All I've gained from this box is the knowledge that if I'm going
to find out what happened to Mulder, I'm going to have to get more
of that emotion out of Dana Scully. But there's a seduction in
that gaze, beyond a pretty woman's pleadings. It's an urge to want
to believe her, to want to believe that truth shows itself in
beauty and beauty leads to truth. I didn't take Art Appreciation,
but I did read Keats in a survey of Western Literature.Long lashes slide down, as though she's suddenly tired. When she
turns to go back to her seat, I notice that the limp is back. She
begins to fill her briefcase with files and papers.I get up from my chair.
The growl of the paper shredder causes her head to snap up, but
she's silent while Mulder's confession is gulped down. Then our
eyes meet. I expect, joy, relief -- hell, a 'you're my kinda guy,
Doggett' look. Instead, she's confused, contemplative, then
judgment is in her steady gaze.All she says is, "I am feeling tired. I'll see you on Monday,
Agent Doggett."Coming around the desk, she reaches under the machine and removes
the bag that catches shredded paper. Clutching it tightly in one
hand, she shifts her briefcase to her wrist and walks away from my
paralyzed form.I watch her arrow spine go out the door, but wait until I hear the
click of her heels fade on the stairs before saying aloud, "Well,
fuck you too, Agent Scully." Exhausted, I plop back into my chair.
Behind me, the printer makes one last chunking sound, and I snatch
up the papers, signing the report to Kersh with a flourish.Finished, I let my leg swing out and the toe of my shoe strikes
the file cabinet, rattling the files in the drawers like
skeletons. My hand snakes out and pulls F-M open. My fingers trace
along the stiff bodies within, finally pulling one out. I
recognize Mulder's handwriting. "Fungus. Subterranean.
Hallucinogenic."It's 3:30. I'll read a few old cases until it's time to meet the
guys from the forth floor bullpen for our Friday night drinks at
Paddy's.The End.
+++++++++
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