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Title: Eye of the Storm Summary: Mulder and Scully investigate possible alien abductions in Washington and military craft that could be related to the Project. No actual M/S romance, though rather a lot of UST (I'm still not clear on what it stands for, but I think I know what it means). Author's Note: This takes place after "Elegies." As such, there are numerous spoilers, references and what have you regarding previous episodes. The bulk of the story was written during a frenzied several hours following "Elegies," a bit more after "Demons" and wrapped up after "Gethsemane." (We'll get to THAT in a moment) I'd like to thank Monique Manifold (best Journalism teacher around, and as die-hard an X-Phile as I am) for excellent editing and suggestions concerning characterization and plot. Anything that doesn't seem like Mulder or Scully is her fault (heh heh, just kidding). Considering I'm playing in someone else's playground, and this is my first attempt at fanfic, cut me a few breaks and keep the flaming to a minimum. Any constructive criticism is wholeheartedly welcomed. The story's Title, if you're wondering, refers to the relatively quiet period of time between "Elegies" and "Demons." I apologize for any slights you may think you experience, but it's all in your head - really! I'd appreciate any comments regarding just about anything, even if only to say "Wow, that was pretty cool" or "Man, did that bite," though I would appreciate a reason give if the latter is true. I can be reached at . Thanks! And now . . . well, the Rant is next, if you're interested, or just skip to the story. Author's Carter-induced Rant: I don't know what CC thinks he's doing, but better be good. The last few pages of this story were written after "Gethsemane" - you can probably tell. Chris: hybrids, clones, MIBs, I don't care - don't screw this up. We've respected the journey way too long to have it end like this. As much as I love GA/DS, she's only half the team. Bloody well remember that! We trust you won't let us down... Legal Junk: Mulder, Scully, Skinner, The LG, Cancerman and anyone else recognizable belong to Fox Entertainment, 1013 productions and Chris Carter, the grand puppet master. The FBI building and Washington state belong to the Federal Gov't and the citizens of the US, respectively. I (if stars truly granted wishes) belong to Gillian Anderson. And now, please, enjoy the show, for what little it would now seem to be worth. Washington Forest It was a diffuse light at first, a flickering among the trees, a will o' the wisp. And then it was brighter, too bright, making the forest a nighttime, nightmare version of day. And Alexis Carter knew fear. It welled up in her throat, a huge lump making it hard to breathe. The light came closer, over her, bathing her in cold brilliance. And she screamed. She had no idea what it was, except is caused true fear. Tears streaming down her face, she fell to her knees, and the light was All; first filling her vision. Then the coldness seemed to touch her soul, and then she was flying. Three Days Later The three-fighter-flight banked above the clouds, in tight formation. They had been patrolling for two hours, and were beginning their return leg. "Set two-two-seven," Major John Davis ordered, nudging his rudders slightly. He checked his wingmen; both were experienced pilots, both had flown in the Gulf. They could hold formation in their sleep. Davis kept a loose hand on the stick; winds could get tricky up here. His earphone crackled. "Black Dog Leader, Base One. Hold course for five. You've got a bone incoming. New orders follow: escort Courier One to Base; confirm." Davis checked his radar. "Copy, Base One. I'm not picking anything up." He checked his six. Nothing. "Hold course," Base One repeated. "Arm weapon systems for possible bogies." Davis realized it sounded like Colonel Brecky, the base's commander. "Understood." He switched frequency to flight only. "Go hot and keep up visual scanning. Call out if you spot anything." "Base One out. See you soon, Black Dog." "Black Dog out," Davis replied. Looking to his four and down, he saw something pull up out of the heavy cloud cover. "Look alive," he ordered. The shape resolved itself as it settled in between Two and Three. It appeared to be an F-22 Lightning. Only it was a polished, shiny black. A stealth? Well, Davis thought, at least that explains the lack of radar contact. Then he thought, Geez, this must be high up. We're gonna have a fun time in debriefing tonight. "Black Dog, this is Courier One. Thanks for the escort." "You're going our way, Courier. No problem." Davis tried to keep the confusion out of his voice; but who but the Brass could send a fighter that had yet to be mass produced as a messenger? A stealthed one at that... "Boss, I'm picking up a fuzzy." Fuzzy, squadron slang for a partial radar contact. Davis checked his screen. Indeed, there was something coming in and out of contact. "Copy that. Base One," he called, switching the freq. "Confirm a contact on us." A few moments later, Brecky came back, "That's a negative. We're clear skies." The fuzzy was beginning to resolve itself into a clearer contact. What was this, another stealth? "We've definitely got something, Base One." "You have authorization to engage, Black Dog. Take the contact out, repeat, take the bogie out. Courier One has all priority." Engage? Over Washington? Everybody was going to feel pretty stupid if it was a goose or something. Except geese didn't give off a bounce this big, or cruise at thirteen thousand feet, or make a colonel sound nervous. "Confirmed; engaging." Davis broke off, swinging off to the left, dropping his fighter on an intercept. A few seconds later, he could see the bogie. "Visual contact, hull design unknown. Contact unidentified. I'm locking on." Before he got tone, however, the target spun, changing direction on a dime. "What the-" Davis managed before the bogie shot by, a blur of dark glossy metal. He pulled hard over, throttling back then going to afterburner, trying to stay on its six. "Bogie is on you, Two. Lock and fire." Rocketing over the clouds, the moon shining down and reflecting off the fighters and the unknown craft, Davis tried to require. "Copy, Boss." The target was darting around, keeping out of Davis' fire cone. And suddenly, the bogie was above him, breaking all laws of physics in the maneuver. And Davis' F-16 was bathed in light. And then he was falling, screaming as every electronic on his fighter went dead. "Lead's hit!" Two yelled. Behind him, Courier One dove for the clouds, the F-22's lithe frame cutting into the heavy cover and disappearing. A persistent tone sounded in his ear, and he called, "I've got lock. Fox two, fox two!" Sidewinders dropped from the fighter's wings and shot away. The target froze, hanging in the air. Then the bogie was climbing, its saucer shaped body launching straight up into the night sky. The missiles lost the lock and detonated. Three called tone, pulling hard g's to keep his nose up. Two streams of smoke marked the passage of the missiles. Two went for a gun hit; standing on a pillar of fire, the fighter followed the bogie in a full 90 degree climb. He traced a line of across the bogie - what his addled mind was calling a 'frickin' flyin' saucer' - but the ship rolled down past him. The ship clipped Two's wing, ripping it off the fuselage. Two screamed and tried to eject; his engine caught shrapnel and the fuel tank exploded. In the space of thirty seconds, two F-16s were on their way to the forest below. The ship, damaged from the brief impact, was spinning off course, and Three's two tracking Sidewinders slammed into is port side. A secondary explosion tore off most of the aft section, and the craft began its fall. "Black Dog Three to Base One," the remaining member of Black Dog Flight called. "Bogie is down, Courier One is unknown condition. Lead and Two are both gone. Request emergency clearance and escort." His voice was shaking, cracking. Colonel Brecky's was tight, "Understood. We've got four birds inbound. Hold a pattern. Can you see where they went down?" "Ah, about four miles from my current posit. I didn't see a chute from Leader, I lost him in the clouds-" "What about Two?" "He's gone, sir." Three swallowed, getting himself under control. The training, he thought. Fall back on it and don't think. Don't think about the fact that your wing just got wasted by a-honest-to-God UFO- "Understood. Keep the holding pattern over the area, drop to five klicks. ETA on your escort is fifteen." "Sir, any word from Courier?" "That's an affirmative. She's inbound. Base One out." Airfield Fort Colonel Brecky watched the F-16 land and begin taxiing. A few minutes later, Lt. Reynolds, Black Dog Three, jogged over and saluted; Brecky returned it. "Lt.," Brecky said finally, his eyes darting to watch the black F-22 as it was pulled into a hangar. Reynolds turned to watch. "I understand you had some trouble up there," he said when the hangar doors had closed. His voice was tight, full of anger and frustration. "Yes, sir- some kind of new fighter or a honest-to-God UFO-" "Lt., I think you are mistaken." Reynolds broke off, his eyes wide. "Sir?" "You escorted Courier One, an F-15 Eagle, halfway to base when Black Dog Leader experienced engine trouble, flew off course and hit Black Dog Two. They both went down. You waited," he almost spat, "for the Search and Rescue chopper. There were no survivors." The lt. looked bewildered. What the hell was Brecky talking about? Had he lost his mind? Black Dog Flight had been attacked! His eyes flicked behind the Colonel. A small red dot had glowed, then quickly faded away in the shadows of the radar tower. A vague outline of a man sucked on the cigarette. "Soldier, I think you know what you saw." Blue smoke wafted up, catching the light from one of the strobes. "But I think you've already forgotten it." Reynolds looked from the shadowed man to his commander, who just gritted his teeth and looked pained. "Go get some rest, Lt. Your mind is playing tricks on you." Incredulous, Reynolds went into full military mode. He'd been given orders. Orders were easy. "Yes, sir." He saluted and about-faced, walked slowly away. The man stepped out of the shadows. Somehow, the Colonel held his ground. A jeep with 'USAF' on the door rolled up. The cigarette smoker took another puff. "Shall we go, Colonel? I believe we'll have a few new toys in a couple hours." Brecky couldn't make his voice work. The malignant presence at his side chuckled softly, an evil sound more felt than actually heard. "Let's go, Colonel Brecky." The Cigarette-Smoking Man flicked his cigarette away, ignoring all common sense concerning active airfields and fire. He stepped into the jeep, not bothering to wait for Brecky. The hangar was waiting. And he may have to do something about young Lt. Reynolds. He looked like he could be a loose end, and one thing the Cancerman couldn't stand, was a loose end. Two Days Later The fire crackled softly in the fireplace, casting shadows around the room. Dana Scully watched the flames jump and dance, feeling drowsy. Papers and folders were scattered around the room, the coffee table was littered with case reports. It was Friday, she'd left work hours ago, only to come home and... work. Of course. What else did she have? She curled up tighter on the couch; her auburn hair in disarray, having been left unchecked for most of the day. She was in her most comfortable clothes. She'd taken some aspirin for a headache earlier, and attributed some of her sleepiness to that. She rested her head on her knees and tried not to think. That, she supposed, was why she'd brought all this work home. To not think; to bury herself in paperwork. But it hadn't worked, it rarely did. It hadn't worked the night she came home from the hospital, after they'd stood there and held each other, and she had promised to keep working, to fight, to stay with him; standing there, their tears staining each other, holding each other, all the unsaid things passing silently between them. And now, she kept thinking, in few minutes, Mulder's going to knock, and it'll be him, and there's the fire going, and he'll have a bottle of some cheap wine, and it'll be him, and not Eddie Van Blundht the shapeshifter- she could usually stop the train there, but derailing it was proving impossible, and it would just start up again, usually in the middle of a case report, when she was just getting into it. She was up to 'and it's not Eddie Van Blundht' again when the doorbell rang. She jumped, turning her head to stare unbelievingly at the door, as if it was somehow playing a trick on her. But it rang again, followed by a quiet knock; she unfolded herself from the couch, walked to the door. Looking through the peephole, she saw it was, indeed, him. She opened the door. Her partner, Fox Mulder, stood there, one hand behind his back, the other in his leather jacket's pocket. His shoulders were slumped, and his tall, lanky form was hunched forward slightly. She easily read his posture as nervous, embarrassed. She wondered about what. Her expressive eyes locked onto his face, flame blue conveying concern, worry and a touch of fear. "Hey, Scully," he said, smiling. "Mulder." She made no move to let him in. "What's wrong?" This seemed to throw him. "Er, nothing. Did I wake you?" She noticed her disheveled appearance. "No." "Oh." He looked blank for a moment. "Well, uh, I couldn't sleep and I thought-" "'Gee, I wonder what Scully's doing, why not get up and check it out,'" She finished for him. "Well, yeah." He looked guilty. He also wasn't sure why she was being so . . . cold. But he could guess it had to do with the last time he'd 'dropped by' and she had had to replace her front door. She didn't really think he was Van Blundht, did she? "Look," he pulled his hand around, showing her two folders. No wine, no flowers. Just . . . work. "It's me." Scully smiled slightly, her lips just barely curving. Most anyone else wouldn't have noticed it; Mulder did. "Okay. I think I have some muscle relaxant in my kit, just in case, though." He grinned and followed her in. "Are you trying to seduce me again?" She collapsed on the couch, pulling a leg under her. "Why? Have you suddenly developed a personality?" He sat down at the other end. "Hey, I have at least three personalities." "Too bad they all need to be sedated." They both smiled at that. She nodded at the folders. "What're those?" His dark features looked guilty again. His hazel eyes glanced away, looking to the fire. "An excuse, really. I actually couldn't sleep. I had a feeling you couldn't either and I was kind of-" he broke off, eyes locking onto her face; his lips formed a thin line, his left eye seemed to wince, as if in pain. Like he was sharing hers, or at least trying to. He could, she knew, attempt to shoulder all the guilt- She felt it then, a slight warmth under her nose. She cursed, touching it, covering it. She got up, walking to the kitchen. "Kind of what?" she asked, dabbing at the blood with a napkin. Her back was to the living room. The nosebleeds were becoming more frequent; it was only a matter of time before it happened in the hall at the Bureau and then- "Worried about you," he finished, putting a hand on her shoulder. She tensed under his touch, but Mulder didn't remove it. Finally, she turned around, not looking at him. "I'm okay." He dropped his hands to his sides. "No, you aren't. I may not be a smart guy-" She laughed darkly. "Mulder, you're a certified genius. The diplomas are in your top left desk drawer." He have her a lop-sided smile. "Not according to Frohike, I'm not." Her eyes jerked up at that, then away. Frohike had had a crush on her for... how long? The weird Lone Gunman had been obvious about it, every chance he got. What could he have told Mulder? "Okay, so I'm not stupid," Mulder continued. Quietly, he said, "Please don't lie to me, Scully. We're all we have." Her jaw clenched, tears welling up in her eyes, making them shimmer. She bit her lip. "What's in the folders?" she asked quietly, barely audible. Mulder looked hurt; oh God, she thought, he looks like he's about to cry- He swallowed and stepped away, the wall slamming down over his eyes. She resisted the urge to reach out, grab him, pull him to her. But how could she? She had just pushed the wedge between them, the one created at that mental hospital during their last case, in deeper. She didn't know what to say. "Skinner gave me a case today; a bunch of people have been disappearing from Seattle. All the physical evidence, what little there is, points to a routine abduction scenario. They've even found one of the victims, she has a few new scars, and remembers nothing at all about her lost week. Seattle PD is calling it a serial kidnapper; as such, they're sending their 'best' profiler . . . " "How many have disappeared so far?" she asked, knowing he didn't believe it was human kidnapper anyway. But she supposed he needed the excuse to go. "Twelve. Only the one has been returned. If 'they' follow the pattern, another should be returned in two days." She bit back a 'if it is aliens' comment. She couldn't doubt him. Not after what she'd just done to him. "What else?" She can see the excitement in his eyes, even dampened by what had occurred just minutes ago. "Two days ago, two F-16s were destroyed over Washington," Mulder said, his voice all business, a tone he hardly ever used with her. He walked to the window, looking out. Slowly, Scully walked over and picked up the folders, thumbing through them. "The Air Force is claiming they both suffered some engine failure or something and collided. The third pilot, a Lt. David Reynolds, later claimed they had been attacked by a UFO, after being given orders to escort some new type of fighterjet back to Fort Bayton." "What kind of fighter?" she asked after a moment, leaving the obvious denouncement about UFOs left unsaid. He shrugged. "The photos of the crash site were taken by news choppers and a few campers before the go-team got there." Scully glanced through them; long ruts in the ground, blackened foliage and brush. Bits of metal, a wing, crumpled against a boulder. One of the pictures was a sky shot, showing an impact crater several hundred feet long. There was no aircraft, no wreckage. "That last one is supposedly where the UFO went down." "Who'd you get this from?" "The boys. They say the fighter was some kind of new design; new counter-measures or something. Langly was talking pretty fast. It's all in there." "Mulder, even if there was anything there, it looks like it's gone now. They've had three days to clean up. Do you want to pursue this?" He looked at her, eyes dancing with firelight. "I wouldn't, except Lt. Reynolds apparently committed suicide yesterday. Under, according to Byers, suspicious circumstances." "Everything is suspicious to those guys." She closed the folder. "After these last few cases, I wouldn't mind a normal UFO investigation." She tried a wan smile and failed. Her nosebleed had reminded her all too well of her own abduction experience; she had no wish to go anywhere near a supposed UFO crash site or alleged abductees. Except they would find answers there, or at least questions that would bring them nearer to the Truth; their quest, she supposed. "I'm willing." He nodded, continued to watch her for several minutes, obviously thinking. Finally, Mulder said, "I'll pick you up around noon, after clearing the military aspect with Skinner." She pursed her lips and looked away from his gaze. "See you then." She stared at the fire as he let himself out. Scully winced as the door shut softly; to her, it sounded very loud against the soft crackle of the fire. Damn. Motel 6 Mulder took the keys from the clerk and handed one to Scully. "He says they've had to switch rooms on us. With all the talk about UFOs and cover-ups, every nut-ball in two hundred miles is coming here. His words." "Will we still have a connecting door?" The door cost a bit more, when requested, but it had become a staple in their work. No doubt the Accounting office had a few theories as to why, but Mulder never seemed to read their memos anyway. "We won't be needing one." The muscles in his jaw danced as he picked his bag up and started up the stairs. "Oh." "Yeah. He says we've got two beds, so 'it shouldn't look too bad on the bill.' That's what all his laughing was about." "Ah." He looked at her, over his shoulder. She looked distracted, maybe it was just the jet- lag. DC to Seattle was going to play merry hell with their heads. You'd think they'd get used to it, considering all the traveling they did. Their room was on the second floor, and he fumbled with the key before getting the door open. He went in first, leaving his bag in the hall, doing a once-over. You couldn't really blame him, she thought. "I'm sure we'll get along," she mumbled, dropping her single bag next to one of the beds. They doubted this case would take long; more than likely all the facts were buried so deep by now they'd never find them. But they had to look. She looked over at him, as he watched the still-bustling city outside. Scully wondered what these . . . arrangements would do to them. They'd been forced to sleep together before; huddled for warmth, or out of fear of million year-old bugs. But nightmares of her abduction still plagued her, sometimes waking her in a cold sweat; nowhere near the degree to what Mulder's dreams did to him, but she didn't want him to see her . . . out of control, not now. Sleeping in the same room, no matter for how brief a time, was sure to put a strain on their partnership. But it might not, they were adults, weren't they? They could handle it. Part of her was saying, 'and that's not the only reason, is it, Dana?' But she closed that off, shutting the voice away where it would be safe. Where he wouldn't see the slight blush rising to her cheeks. Where she would be safe. But the voice called, 'If not Mulder, then who can you be safe with?' They could go down there, right now, and demand another room, they could- He looked over at her from the window. "What?" "I said I'm sure we'll manage." "Oh." He turned back to the window, holding the curtain open just a bit, looking out through the slit, wondering what she was thinking about. He knew they shouldn't do this, that it would look bad for her. He'd long since stopped caring what other Agents thought of him, but Scully was . . . important to him. Her feelings were important. "We can drive out to Bayton tomorrow. It'll take about an hour. Then maybe see if the abductee is okay to be interviewed." She nodded, laying down on the bed. "Hey," Mulder said, leaving the window. "I had dibs on that one." She looked up at him, the smile on his lips. She returned a tired version of her own. He could look perky, he never slept anyway. "Grow up, Mulder." He sat down on what was now decided as his bed, began reading the information pamphlets. "What, and lose this adolescent infatuation I have with redheads?" She closed her eyes, not wanting to see if he was joking. "What're you ordering?" "Pizza sound okay? There's a couple of take-out Chinese places on here too." "Will Dominoes deliver here?" "Sure." "No anchovies." She had to smile at his dramatic sigh. "You're no fun, Scully." "You're enough fun for the both of us." He dialed. Motel 6 It may have been the wracking sobs that woke her, or that he was calling her name. She is across the aisle between their beds without thinking, grabbing him, trying to keep him from thrashing. "Mulder," Scully says, trying to hold him. "Mulder, wake up-" "No- leave her alone-" he cries, thrashing against her. "Dana- God, please no-" In the dim light of the moon, she can see the sweat glistening on his skin. "Mulder," she begs, shaking him. "Wake up, please-" His eyes snap open, wide with fear. "Scully- you're alive-" He stares into her eyes, realizing she is crying. For him. Again. "Oh God, I'm sorry-" "It's okay," she says, swallowing, letting him go. "You were dreaming? About Samantha?" Mulder knows she has heard him calling her name, knows she is giving him an out. His partner, his friend, even when he wakes her with his terrified screams in the middle of the night. "No. No. I dreamt... they took you again. In a forest..." She swallows again, trying to wet her throat. "It's this case. UFOs. You're having flashbacks . . . nightmares . . . that's all." He nods, praying she is right, but knowing she probably isn't. "Yeah." He closes his eyes, sees hers looking down at him, seconds ago, full of... something, something he can't name. Something no one has ever looked at him with before. And suddenly, he realizes it is not the first time she has looked at him with it in her eyes. He looks back up at her, she is looking down at him, at his forehead; he feels the warmth there, reaches up. "I must have hit my head on something..." She says nothing, trying to go into doctor mode, to find some kind of detachment; from her own terror at hearing him call her name, her given name, from his proximity and warmth next to her. Grabbing a Kleenex off the night- stand, she dabs at the blood. "It looks pretty shallow. Nothing to worry about." He nods again. Her face, looking at him, concentrating on cleaning the slight wound. Her hair falls like a curtain of fire, framing her face. He absently reaches up, pushes several locks behind her ear. Scully jumps at the contact, surprised. "Sorry," he whispers, dropping his hand. "It's... okay." She dabs a final time; it's already stopped bleeding. Her eyes scan his face, seeing the embarrassment, the sorrow. Something else. She looks away, stands suddenly. Carefully, she lays down in her own bed, pulling the blankets tightly around her. She studies him, his profile in the darkness, eyes glittering in the moonlight as he stares at the ceiling. "Mulder?" She whispers. He turns his head, looking at her. "Yeah?" "Are you okay?" A pause. "Yeah. I'm okay." "You sure?" "Yeah." He looks back up at the ceiling. To anyone else, it would have been a statement. To her, who had stitched his wounds, cried with him, and spent more time with him than anyone else in the last four years, it was obviously a question. "We'll be okay," she whispers, not sure he can hear her. "We're all we have." He closed his eyes, trying to hide the sudden tears. Fort Bayton, Washington Mulder stopped at the gatehouse, watching the guard as he talked into a phone. The soldiers both had M-16s strapped to their backs. "Hey, Scully, those kids are a couple decades younger than me, and they have guns a whole lot bigger than my pistol." "Feeling inadequate?" He raised an eyebrow at her and was about to reply when the other guard tapped the window. "Can I see some ID please?" Mulder had his out, and Scully dug around for a moment. "We have an appointment with Colonel Brecky?" Scully leaned over, handing her ID to the Marine. "I'll check, sir. Madam." He took the badges and headed back to the guardhouse, handing them to his partner. Mulder turned back to Scully. "Inadequate?" "Lots of guys feel like that about their weapons. I mean, .45s pack a nice little punch, but nothing compares to a fully automatic rifle." A smile glittered in her eyes, hinted at in the slight quirk of her lips. "Gee, Scully, I didn't know you were so superficial." "We can't all be deep philosophers like you, Mulder." The guard returned, handing them their IDs back. "You check out. These passes will allow you to travel around the base. Clip them to your lapels, please." The guard waved, and the barrier was raised. "Private," Mulder guessed, figuring front-door duty must be pretty low on the totem pole, "can I ask you whether this is an Air Force or Marine base?" "Joint, sir." He stepped back. Mulder rolled his window up and started the Taurus rental forward. "Well, he was a Private, right, Scully?" "I think I'll get you a 'know-your-ranks' book while we're here. You always seem to get into trouble. Sometimes, I think you do it on purpose." "Well, was I right?" "That's hardly the point." She was trying hard not to smile; this, she thought, this was the camaraderie she had so missed. The pointless bantering, or the arguments, the discussions, keeping them both sharp. Of late, both had been noticeably absent. He grinned. Base Commander's Office "Thank your for seeing us, Colonel," Scully said, sitting down in one of the leather chairs across from Brecky's desk. Brecky looked like a poster-child for the military. He sat ram-rod straight, his uniform looked pressed enough to cut. His dark eyes glittered at them, unreadable. "Not a problem, Agent Scully. However, I am rather curious why the FBI would take an interest in this matter." "Officially, we're here to investigate recent disappearances of twelve citizens from Seattle," Scully informed him. "Unofficially, we'd like to look into the recent downing of Black Dog Flight. It may have some bearing on the other aspects of our case." Mulder sat down, folding his trench coat tightly around himself. "We understand Reynolds' squadron was shot down?" He ignored Scully as she rolled her eyes. Great, Mulder, go straight for the jugular. Brecky's eyes were cold as he replied, "Lt. Reynolds' squadmates were killed by equipment failure. As far as we can tell, Major Davis' F-16 lost engine capability, flew off course and collided with Lt. Anderson's plane. They were both killed in the collision or subsequent explosion." "To what do you attribute the engine failure?" Scully interjected. "There has been a rash of F-16s going down. Age and disrepair may be factors. We're looking into it." "Do you have any idea why Lt. Reynolds would kill himself?" "Agent Mulder, he saw his flight leader collide with his wingman. I have no idea what he may have been thinking. Major Davis, Lt. Anderson and Lt. Reynolds were all Gulf War veterans." Brecky paused before continuing. "It is possible he somehow felt guilty. He could hardly land when he got back." Mulder nodded, jumping in. He had wanted to bring this up anyway. "The report stated he held position over the crash site for an hour before returning to base. Why?" "He was marking the area for the Search and Rescue teams," Brecky said, too quickly. "You said the F-16s were both destroyed in the collision. Did you expect survivors?" "No. Lt. Reynolds reported no chutes; we had to look all the same." Brecky took a deep breath. "I called in some favors, Agent Mulder. I've learned a bit about you. I know why you're here, and I don't appreciate it." Brecky's body language seemed to change, he leaned forward slightly, emphasized the next few words. "UFO hunting isn't something I can condone. And," he said, staring directly at Mulder, "it's dangerous. Especially in the face of this tragedy." Scully started, and the two men looked at her. Holding her hand over her mouth and nose, she said, "Excuse me, please." She stood quickly and left. Brecky looked at Mulder inquiringly. "FBI business," he said quietly. "One last question, Colonel. Do you smoke?" He nodded at the ash tray, and the ashes piled in it. The Colonel didn't seem surprised by the question. Brecky looked the agent dead in the eye. "No, Mr. Mulder. I do not; it's a disgusting habit." Mulder nodded. "Thank you for your time, Colonel. We'll call you with any information or any more questions." "Good day, Agent Mulder." Outside the office, Mulder looked at Brecky's secretary, who nodded down the hall, towards the bathrooms. He thanked her and walked swiftly towards the ladies room; he knocked softly. "Scully? You okay?" "Yeah," her voice, muffled by the door. "C'mon in." Pushing the door open, he says, "Wow, deja vu." She smiled, dropping a wad of toilet paper in a bowl and flushing it. The last time this had happened, on a case, was at the mental hospital, while they had been investigating those 'wraith' sightings. "I'm sure you say that every time you walk into the girls bathroom." "You know me, the obsessive voyeur." She just shook her head. "Let's go. I want to get a look at Lt. Reynolds' body. Why don't you head out to the hospital and see if your abductee is feeling any better." He nodded, agreeing. "Okay, I'll hook up with you back here after; I'd like to check out the actual crash sites, too." W. 46th Ave. It was raining outside, washing the filth into the already clogged gutters; the sky bled dirty water. The old man sat, watching the window. Across the small coffee table from him, the short, round man in the dark suit was watching his companion, the tall, haughty, thin man. The shorter man looked the part of a TV movie gangster. "How do you wish to proceed?" he asked, accent betraying his Brooklyn heritage. The Well-Manicured Man raised an eyebrow. In his cultured voice, he said, "What can we do? Our associate has said he will take care of it." "Again." The other put his tea cup down, looking at the window as the rain streamed down it. "Yes, again. This phase of the operation is of extreme importance. I'm sure he understands that." He wasn't happy about it, but there seemed little he could do. Belief, he knew, was as important as fact. And right now, all the lies were up in the air. He felt it, the same way you could feel lightning before it struck, a shivering in the air. Both their eyes flicked to the full ashtray, then to each other. The two Consortium members frowned. F-16 207 Crash Site Washington Forest 4:30 p.m. The driver pulled off the road and turned to his passengers. "We'll have to hike from here." "And us in our summer outfits, too," Mulder quipped, indicating their suits and trench coats. "Yes, sir." The forest was thick, in the vibrance of spring. The agents followed their Marine guide through the dense foliage and underbrush. Every now and then he would check a compass on his watch. The trees suddenly broke into a clearing. The ground was bare, scorched clean of underbrush; several of the surrounding trees looked burnt, their tops wilted. "This would be Major Davis' impact, sir." The area was stripped of wreckage, not even a screw remained. They walked to the bottom of the pit. "What exactly are we looking for, Mulder?" "You never know, Scully. Let's keep our finely-honed FBI detective senses open, huh?" "Yeah, right." After a few minutes of useless poking around, Mulder asked, pointing, "And Lt. Anderson's crash site is that way?" He pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket when the guide nodded his agreement, looking at it for several seconds. Mulder started off in the opposite direction. "Uh, sir? Where are you going?" "I'd like to see the third impact site." The private ran to catch up. "Third, sir?" "Yeah." The private looked pleadingly at Scully, who only shrugged and followed her partner. With the look of someone about to be court-martialed, the Marine followed them deeper into the forest. Alleged UFO Crash Site Washington Forest 5:45 p.m. Mulder paused at the boundary of the crater. "Hang on," he said, squatting down, looking at the plants around the rim. They were all blackened, withering. "Scully, look at this." She did, observing the apparent lack of chlorophyll and the fact they didn't look burned by fire. "Radiation burns?" "Radiation?" The private, whose name they found out to be James, backed up unconsciously. "This may be hot." He grinned at Scully. "Kinda like you, huh, Scully?" She only raised an eyebrow at him; he was spending way too much time with the "boys" - the Lone Gunmen - and definitely too much with Frohike. "Hey, ouch," Mulder said at her look and dug around in his pockets, finally produced a small Geiger counter; flicking it on, he waved it around. It clicked quietly. "It's in the yellow." "The vegetation in the area has been subjected to it for several days, which explains their current state," Scully observed, looking around. "i.e. dead or dying." Returning the Geiger counter to its pocket, he pulled out two small stopwatches. He hit the buttons simultaneously, then tossed one to the private. The other he stuck on a stick and lowered into the crater. "Where do you get those things?" Scully asked. "You'd be surprised." "Probably not." She watched him pull it back out; standing, he retrieved the other from James. Clicking the buttons, he looked at Scully triumphantly, offering her the stopwatches. She leaned over, looking at their faces. "Lost time," she said quietly. "Yeah. Well, Dr. Scully, shall we go observe Lt. Anderson's crash site?" "Mulder..." she sighed, caving. "All right, but you owe me dinner." "I bought last night," he protested, helping her out of the small indentation they had been sitting in. "I just followed you for two hours through a hot forest just so you could gloat. I deserve it." "Oh, all right." Putting his hand on her back, guiding her towards the first crash site. He whispered, "We have a lot more to discuss when we get back to the motel." She looked up at him; his face was tense. Private James watched the two FBI agents, confused. Shaking his head, he followed them, more certain than ever that all civilians were nutcases. Motel 6 "I've got dibs," Scully said, heading for the bathroom, dropping her coat on a chair. "Woah," Mulder complained, closing and locking the door behind him. "I buy dinner and still have to stand here and stink for twenty minutes?" She smiled. "Ladies first." "But you don't sweat, you just glow. I sweat, therefore I stink." "That's a fact." She disappeared into the bathroom. He gave the door a sour look and sat down, flicking on the TV. Re-run, re-run, sit- com, adult channel. He paused here for a moment, then clicked again. "Did you say something?" Scully called. "Not if it was 'oh-dear-god-yes.'" He grinned when she stuck her head around the door. Leaning back, his mind began sifting through the facts, such as they were. The dull flickering of the TV made him drowsy, but his brain was moving in full gear, his eidetic memory revealing every detail. He briefly wondered why he couldn't remember his sister's abduction, or the events that led up to it, so clearly. Perhaps because, on some level, he couldn't. It would hurt him more to know the Truth. Finding this thread disturbing, he dropped it, returning to the case, but it was hard. He kept flashing back, to the night in the hospital, feeling her so close, to the night he'd broken down her door, to see himself nearly kissing her. With the memories other feelings were dredged up. He tried to fight them down. Ten minutes later, Scully reappeared, her hair still damp. "All yours." She had one of the motel's scratchy robes wrapped around her; she was toweling her hair dry. "Bet you used all the hot water." "You need a cold shower anyway," she said cryptically. He almost tripped at this; muttering something about the carpet for at least a semblance of cover, he closed the bathroom door behind him. Undressing, he stepped under the nozzle. After a second of consideration, he followed her advice and damn near froze himself. Scully was half-asleep watching Jeopardy when he got out, feeling at least half-human. She wore the same T-shirt from last night. Last night. He tried to suppress it. "You want to talk?" "About what?" She mumbled, not really paying attention. "The case." He flopped down on his own bed. "Sure. Me first." She sat up, leaning against a pillow. "Well, Lt. Reynolds had all the symptoms of someone who had blown most of his skull away. Massive cranial trauma, bone fracturing suggests he ate his own gun." "No evidence of homicide, foul play, any weird holes I should know about?" "Not that I could see. The forensic reports would seem to make murder an unlikely conclusion. Toxicology came up blank, too. Nobody injected him with anything." "Unless the forensic evidence was tampered with or the reports were doctored." Scully raised an eyebrow that. "But maybe Reynolds did kill himself." "It would seem that way. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder probably had a lot to do with it," she said, intent on debunking his "paranoid delusions." Mulder sat up. "Want to hear something crazy?" "You think Black Dog Flight shot down a UFO which was then retrieved and brought to Fort Bayton?" "Scully, we really should be checking out china patterns." "Not if your taste in ties is any indication." Grinning, he went on. "I think the UFO destroyed at least one of those F-16s. After that, maybe the official line is true. Except Lt. Reynolds managed to down the UFO, whose impact crater we visited." Completely serious now, he said, "Reynolds either suicided or was killed; either way, it was to keep him quiet. Somehow, I doubt he had much choice in it." "Mulder, suicide means he killed himself." "Voluntary homicide then." He ignored her dubious look and continued. "That's not all, I think the Cigarette-Smoking Man was there, and Colonel Brecky was trying to tell us." "The Cancerman? Why do you think that?" She was alert now, if not fully awake. The Cancerman could be called their greatest enemy, the arm of the conspiracy they hunted. "After you left, I saw a full ash tray on Brecky's desk. he said he didn't smoke, and didn't like people who did." "Mulder, those stubs could have belonged to anybody. Don't jump to conclusions." "They were Morley's. And, what about the way he said UFO hunting wasn't very smart?" Scully looked away. "I wasn't really listening." Her partner said nothing. He simply sat there, watching her, until she looked back at him. They had a rule, one he tried to follow, but one they both seemed to botch up. No pushing. "I think the UFO, and possibly its occupants, if any, are still on that base. We didn't get to see the airfield, or the wreckage, or anything really pertaining to the crashes except the empty impact sites. I think it may be worth it to go back." She shrugged. "It's up to you. What did your abductee say?" He frowned. "Not much, she's still in a coma." "Oh." She looked away. "I'm pretty tired, Mulder. I'd like to get some sleep." She reached up, twisting the switch. The room jumped into sudden darkness. He lay there, leaning on his elbow for a minute, watching her. The moonlight revealed her face and hair, her neck, slim fingers clenched around the blanket. Her eyes, screwed shut. Mulder laid down, and stared at the ceiling for a long time. Fort Bayton, Washington The guard at the gate wasn't the same as yesterday; he was older and meaner looking. Every few seconds, he would finger the butt of his carbine. They repeated the ID process, holding the previous day's passes out for inspection. The guard took both their FBI IDs and the passes. He came back several minutes later, returning only their badges. "The passes have been revoked. I have been informed you are not to be issued new ones." He stepped away, eyeing them as if he was sizing them up. "Could we speak to Colonel Brecky, please?" Mulder asked as politely as possible, pointing at the phone in the guardhouse. "Colonel Brecky is no longer in command of the base." "Why not?" The guard simply glared at Mulder. The agent was about to argue, when Scully lightly touched his arm. He followed her gaze. The other guards held their rifles at the ready, not exactly pointed at the agents, but not exactly pointed away, either. "Fine," Mulder hissed, backing up and turning the car around. "Now what?" she asked when they'd reached the highway. "I still want a look at those hangars, and the airfield." "Mulder, not again. Remember what happened the last time you broke into a military base?" she asked, referring to his little jaunt into Yellow Base. "Not clearly." He looked unhappily at the rear-view mirror. "Exactly," she persisted. "Nevertheless." He didn't like having this portion of their investigation slammed in their faces; it was an important part of whatever was going on here, he felt. Scully sighed, wondering how many stitches he'd need this time. Then, looking over at his tightly wound frame, she wondered if he'd get the chance to need any, this time. Downtown Seattle Mulder was pulling into a restaurant's parking lot when his cellphone rang. "Get it, would you?" he asked Scully, trying to fight for a parking space. Traffic had been horrible, and he was working on a short fuse. She turned around, grabbing his coat from the back seat. Digging around in its pockets, she found the phone. "Scully," she said, turning it on. "Er, I'm sorry, I was looking for an Agent Mulder?" A female voice said. "I'm his partner, Agent Scully. He's busy playing battle of the sedans." Her lips curved ever so slightly as Mulder gave her a look. The other car suddenly broke forward, taking the spot. "And losing, apparently." "I see." The person on the other end said, not seeing at all. "My name is Doctor Lanier, and Mr. Mulder asked me to notify him as soon as Ms. Carter regained consciousness. She came out of the coma about an hour ago, and is proving quite lucid. I thought he'd like to know as soon as possible." "Thank you very much," Scully said, gesturing to Mulder to stop hunting for a space. "We'll be right there." She ended the call, telling Mulder, "The abductee just woke up. I guess lunch'll have to wait." Seattle General Hospital Mulder waited at the desk, looking anxious. He didn't like hospitals, hated the smell of antiseptic and sterilized halls. Finally, Dr. Lanier appeared, a middle-aged woman with dark brown hair and eyes hidden behind thick glasses. "Agent Mulder," she announced herself, then turned to Scully, "and you must be Agent Scully. Who won?" Mulder cocked an eye at that, missing the reference. "We didn't," Scully said, smiling slightly. "Mulder needs a few more lessons in offensive driving." Ignoring the slight on his driving ability, something normally sacred to him, he asked, "Is Ms. Carter still awake?" "Yes, and she is demanding to know exactly what happened to her. I don't think she remembers much of her kidnapping." "Abduction," Mulder corrected absently. "Can we see her now?" "Certainly, but only for a few minutes, I'm afraid. She really is very tired." Mulder nodded his understanding as the two agents followed the doctor down a hall. "I'll leave you alone," Lanier said, promptly walking away. Mulder opened the door, stepped inside. Scully followed a moment later, closing it after her. The young woman on the bed looked sick, tired and irritated. Neither of the agents blamed her. After what had probably happened to her- well, Scully at least could sympathize. Mulder could only imagine. "Ms. Carter?" he asked, walking towards the bed. "Yes." She watched them, the tall, dark man and the smaller, petite woman. Both in black trench coats and serious looks. They seemed to emanate "G-men." "I'm Agent Mulder, this is Agent Scully," he said, flashing his ID. "We'd like to ask you a few questions, if we may." "I don't remember much." She had heavy bags under her eyes; for someone who had just spent the last several days in a coma, she didn't look very rested. Perhaps the nightmares had started. "I don't know if I can help you." "What do you remember?" "I just remember I was in the forest... and there was this light, and I was following it. I don't know why. And then... well, there's a lot of images, of darkness, and someone hurting me. And then waking up here." Scully nodded, stepping around her partner. "If you don't mind, could I look for something, please? I'm a doctor." Carter frowned but nodded, and Scully motioned her to sit up. With some help, the woman did. Examining her neck, Scully found the tell-tale scars. "Have you ever disappeared like this before?" she asked, stepping back. "Once, when I was a little girl. I got lost in the city and hit my head. I woke up in the forest..." She frowned. "Do you think this is related?" Scully gave her a reassuring smile. "I doubt it. Thank you very much for your time." She took Mulder's arm and led him out into the hall. He frowned at her, annoyed she'd cut his interrogation off. "What is it?" "You were right, Mulder. She was taken." "Her neck?" Scully nodded. "The scars aren't recent. She was probably taken as a child." Scully looked torn. "Should we tell her? I mean... she's going to end up like me," she trailed off, looking at her feet. "I think she should know." He reached out, almost touching her, then pulled back. "I agree. But not right now, she needs to accept being back first." He looked around, uncomfortable in the familiar surroundings of a hospital. "I guess you're right, Scully. She can't help us anymore. Let's go get something to eat." Nodding dully, looking over her shoulder at Carter's room, Scully stuck her hands in her pockets. Mulder planted his hand on her back, gently led her to the elevator. The Applebush Restaurant Seattle, Washington 2:05 p.m. Mulder leaned over his salad, almost dipping his tie in the dressing. Not, he thought with a small smile, that you would notice. He tapped his partner's hand, making her blink her eyes, as if she had been asleep. "You okay, Scully? You don't look so good." "I don't know, Mulder. I feel okay, I guess." She gamely took a bite of bread. "Didn't sleep much last night. You?" "I never sleep, Scully." Quickly changing the subject, he said, "So, what do you think of our abductee?" "I told you, I agree with your theory. Someone's taking these people from the woods and... putting them through the same operations they did me. As soon as the others are returned, I think all our leads will have dried up." "I think they already have, Scully. Bayton's closed up, Brecky's gone, and our subject remembers nothing of her experience. One good thing, I have the location of where she was found. We should head over, just check it out, you know." She frowned, her face tight. "Why don't you go ahead and do that, Mulder? I think I'll go lay down at the hotel for a while." He finished his salad, spearing the last of it on his fork. "Are you sure you're okay?" "My stomach's acting up; nothing serious." Looking up, she shrugged. "Too much chow-mien last night, I guess." "Okay," he said slowly, suspicious, but not willing to push her. "I'll drop you off and check it out." Still frowning, he collected the check and they headed for the hotel. Alleged Abduction Site Outside Seattle, Washington Mulder checked his stopwatches; a small time difference. Possibly the effects of... whatever it was that caused lost time were wearing off. He looked up, noticing the slightly singed tops of the trees. The clearing was surrounded with police crime tape. Wandering around, he took samples of the fine gray ash commonly associated with areas near alien abductions. To him, this was a classic case. Almost too classic, which would have made him suspicious, were it not for the eleven missing people, and the one returned one. Kneeling over a pile of the ash, he saw a dark red leaf, reminding him of his partner's hair. Picking it up, he wondered what was wrong with him. Or her. Both of them, really. He knew himself to be utterly hopeless, but Scully had always been strong, had always been his anchor, stabilizing him from sinking into his own forms of madness. Last night was a perfect example. He closed his eyes, photographic memory calling up her face, her eyes. He was worried about her. Not only for the . . . the cancer, but her listlessness, the apathy she had never before displayed, even when the X-Files had been shut down, and they'd been broken up. He pocketed the leaf, still worrying about her. Guilt was an easy thing for Mulder; sometimes, it was all that kept him going. The guilt, and Scully. Straightening up, he looked around the clearing one last time. He really didn't see what else he could find here. The area had been combed finely by the Seattle PD forensics team. Thinking of SPD, he decided to pay them a visit, see if they had any idea as to why Alexis Carter had been out in the middle of the forest in the middle of the night. He also thought of Scully, and wondered what she was doing right now. Resting, he hoped. Motel 6 Scully was just getting up when Mulder came back, looking tired. She felt a lot better; her stomach ache had gone away, and she felt refreshed. Mulder, on the other hand, looked like he hadn't slept in a week; possibly, he hadn't. "You okay?" "Yeah," he mumbled, dropping into a chair without pulling his coat off first. "Long day." He smiled at her, "How are you?" "I'm okay. What took you so long?" "After checking out the scene, I went over to the Police Station. Then I checked out some old newspapers at the library." He sighed. "They'd all been put on micro-film. Those things'll be the death of me." "What'd you find out?" "SPD is in the dark about this one, but they seem to be having some outside help. I don't know who. The library was more productive." He stood, pulling his coat off, kicking his shoes away and sitting down at the foot of her bed. "Apparently, there have been sixty disappearances in that forest since 1970. Before that, one or two every decade. Each person has been returned, after about a week. None had any memory of being taken, or how they had gotten to the forest." He shrugged. "This is a big town, one or two every now and then probably wouldn't be noticed." "Then why the sudden spike? Why twelve all of a sudden?" He shook his head. "I have no idea. Possibly it relates to 'the Project.' Or maybe whatever Lt. Reynolds and Black Dog were escorting." "That was three days after the first disappearance." "I know. Maybe they were trying something out... Something they wanted to use, involving whatever that F-22 actually was." "You think the fighter was a hybrid?" He wasn't surprised at her leap; she had been reading his mind for years now. "I think so. Half military, half UFO. It fits what Reynolds supposedly said, about how it looked different, modified." Scully frowned. "What else do you think?" "I think another abductee is going to be returned tonight, and I'd like to be there to see it." She pursed her lips, obviously unhappy. But she got up, reaching for her clothes. Mulder grabbed his shoes, slipped his trench coat back on. "Let's go," she said finally. Washington Forest Outside Seattle, Washington 2:34 a.m. The forest was cold, dark and, if the little girl in the back of Scully's mind could be believed, very creepy. There were no night sounds, no insects singing, no owls hooting. Utterly silent, the forest felt like . . . she couldn't place the feeling, but it made her nervous. "Mulder, we've been out here all night. Do you really think they're coming?" "The pattern, Scully. Carter was returned after a week; all the abductees from 1970 were returned after a week. It seems plausible they'd stick to that. And this was right around where she was found. Let's wait a little longer." Sighing, she leaned against the tree; her body was sore from sitting on the hard ground all night, and she was hungry. They'd only grabbed a quick bite from a fast-food place before driving out here. And then hiking the rest of the way. "How was Carter found all the way out here?" she asked. "A pair of hikers heard her screaming. They rushed over-" Mulder broke off as a light appeared above the treetops. Without a word, they both hid deeper in the shadow's of the trees, guns in hand. The light was moving very rapidly, and it was quickly over them and rising. It was followed seconds later by another, dimmer, light and the low roar of engines. "They're doing it again, Scully!" He yelled, running for the clearing where Carter had been found. "What?" She yelled back, stumbling through the forest after her partner, legs stiff. "They're going to shoot it down - they'll kill the abductees!" He called over his shoulder. He ignored the branches whipping past his face and arms, finally broke into the clearing. He craned his neck up, staring into the dark night sky. The two lights were dancing. The first, a bright white dot was jinking, moving insanely. The second, a dim, longer red, followed in curving arcs. Scully joined him, breathless. "What's going on?" "Look!" He pointed. Her eyes followed his finger; the orange light was doggedly following the first, pulling nearly the same impossible maneuvers as its prey. Every few seconds light would lance out from one of the craft, but the other would avoid and return fire. They were, Mulder thought, evenly matched. The two agents watched the display with a sense of awe. "That's probably the plane Black Dog Flight escorted," Mulder mumbled. "But why? When they've got the things we saw at Ellen's and Yellow Base, why modify current fighters?" "Hybridization, Scully. Merging technologies . . ." he whispered, trailing off as the fighter let loose a barrage of light, spearing the UFO as it rolled away. The alien craft was consumed in flame. The orange light - the fighter's thrust? he wondered - moved in a more earthly manner, its tail twisting in a victory roll. It dropped towards the treetops and headed for Fort Bayton. "Come on, Mulder. They'll be out here soon, recovering the wreckage." She grabbed his arm. "Why? Why shoot them down?" he asked dazedly, still looking at the sky. He allowed himself to be lead back to the rental. After a moment, Scully said, "They were testing their equipment. Who better than against the original designers?" It felt odd saying that, those words should have come from her partner, the believer. She was the skeptic; however, the line seemed to becoming a little hazy. Being abducted could do that to you. "I think you're right," he said finally. He looked at her, the darkness of the moonless night hiding her save for the dim radiance of her hair. "It's over, isn't it." It wasn't a question, and she knew it. "Let's get back to the motel." They were getting in the car when they heard the crash, several miles away; the wreckage as it tore through the treetops. And only moments later, the whirring of helicopter blades above the forest. They listened for a moment, then looked at each other, information passing silently between them. It's over, Mulder. They won again. I know. They got in the car and drove away. Motel 6 Scully sat in the chair opposite her partner, watching his listless form through heavy eyes. The only thing he'd said on the way back was, "They're all dead. The last eleven." He hadn't looked at her. She wasn't sure if she should be angry, happy, sad, that the abductees wouldn't be returned to die a slow death. A long, lingering death at the hands of the cancer. She didn't think they'd have enjoyed what little would remain of their lives. They wouldn't have had Mulder to help them through each day of headaches and nosebleeds. "We couldn't have done anything," she said quietly. He looked at her; small body curled up in the chair, eyes again worried. Concern for him, when she should be worried about herself. He wasn't the one dying of cancer; a cancer that was entirely his fault - if he hadn't asked her to help with Duane Barry, it wouldn't have happened. She wouldn't have been taken, she would still have those three months. And how many years would be stolen away when the cancer finally took her? But it went further back than that, all the way to her being assigned to the X-Files. If she hadn't stayed on, if he hadn't relied on her, trusted her, she would have left. She wouldn't have spent four years living a non-life, her sister would be alive, wouldn't have experienced all the pain she had. But most of all, he wouldn't be responsible for her death. He wouldn't have killed her. His fault, all his. He couldn't look at her. "I know." His tone was carefully neutral, devoid of any emotion. But she was pretty sure what he was thinking. It could have been her, or Samantha, up in that ship, as light pierced it and ruptured the hull, as it exploded, beginning a fiery arc to the forest below. "Mulder-" she leaned forward, taking his hands in hers, making him look at her. Damn his guilt, he carried it everywhere. It was something he had lived with since he was twelve, on the night they'd come to take his sister. His eyes finally fixed on hers. "Mulder, I-" They both jumped when his cellphone beeped. He disentangled one of his hands and pulled the phone out of his coat pocket, which was pooled on the floor next to his chair. "Mulder," he said hoarsely, still looking at his partner. "Agent Mulder? This is Doctor Lanier. I don't know what to do, this has never happened before - I called the police -" "Dr. Lanier, please slow down. Tell me what happened." He squeezed Scully's hand before pulling it back, giving her a small, sad, grateful smile. He dug his notebook out and began scribbling. Scully raised an eyebrow in question at him. "We'll be right there, Doctor. Thank you for calling me." He hung up and unfolded himself from the chair, giving Scully a hand up as well. "What is it?" "Our abductee seems to have gone for another ride, sometime last night." With a frown, Scully began searching her hang-ups for a clean suit. Seattle General Hospital The eighth floor was a hive of activity, with Carter's room as the center. Blue-suits stood at each hallway, forensic specialists moved to and fro. In the middle of the chaos a plainsclothes detective stood surveying the kidnap victim's room. It was empty, the window wide open. A frown was on his face. It deepened when the two suits in trench coats walked over and flashed their IDs at him. "Who called the feds?" He growled. He didn't like anyone stepping on his turf, interagency cooperation be screwed. "Ms. Carter was part of our investigation, Detective . . ." "Blake," he supplied. She nodded, satisfied. "We were assigned to investigate the disappearance of twelve Seattle citizens, as it was believed the kidnapper was a serial kidnaper from-" It was pure bull, and Mulder looked at his partner, surprised. "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to see the crime scene," he said, interrupting her and retreating before he finished her sentence with 'Outer Space.' The temptation was almost too great, even considering the circumstances. Blake frowned but didn't stop him. He looked at the redhead, Scully, again. "So what the hell do you think happened?" Mulder stood by the window, looking out. A storm front had moved in last night, and Seattle was encased in a bubble of dark clouds and ominous winds. The rising sun's diffuse light was far away and cold. He turned, searching the room for some detail, some small sign of what had occurred. Scully walked in, stood next to him, looking at her notepad. "According to our friendly Detective Blake, the last time anyone saw Carter was at 11:30, bed check last night. The duty nurse was outside at the desk all night, and swears no one came in or out of the her room." "Not by the door," he corrected. She looked at the open window. Looking out, she saw the safety bars, far below. They looked like they'd been ripped off. "No, probably not," she agreed. She looked at her notes again, attempting to keep some kind of procedure at an actual crime scene. "So, we have no idea when she was taken-" "4:00 am," he said, nodding at the wall clock. She looked up. It's hands were frozen at 4:00. Cocking an eye at her retreating partner, she followed him out. Downtown Seattle "What are you thinking, Mulder?" Scully asked, turning to look at him from the rental's passenger side. "I'm thinking that, one: that ship that got shot down last night was attempting to retrieve Carter, but was intercepted. Or two: someone at Bayton took her and she is now dead or being held at the base. I'm thinking we need to go out there and have a look-see." He swerved to avoid a pot-hole. "You're also thinking that while the first downed UFO is probably gone, the one from last night is still at the base." "I considered that as well." "And?" "And I think it likely." "So what now?" "I want to check it out." His hands were clenched around the steering wheel and he frowned. Obviously, he wasn't going to say more. She knew he would ditch her, first chance, to keep her 'safe.' "Tonight, I hope." He looked over at her. "I'm crazy, Scully, not stupid." "So I've repeatedly said." Perimeter of Fort Bayton It was a dark night, with no moon at all behind the clouds. Through the fence, they could see the roving spotlights and random patrols. The area they were trying for was relatively quiet, but a sweep of a single light would give them away. Mulder tossed something at the fence and it clinked, bouncing away. He grinned at her, "Would've been pretty funny, finding two fried FBI agents trying to break in, huh?" "One," she corrected. "You first." Grinning again, he tossed the blanket over the barbed wire; Mulder was up and over, waiting for her. She landed lightly next to him, and they were off. They'd argued about his, Mulder saying it was too dangerous, and she countered with, "Last time you did this, you came back half-delirious and nearly beaten to death. I don't want to miss the re-match, so quit being such a stereotypical male." Her eyes had been steel hard, she was going, and there was nothing he could do to break her stubborn resolve. He had no intention of bringing her sickness into it. She could do her job, he knew she could. That wasn't the issue. Mulder wished she could see that. But if anyone even thought about touching her, about hurting her, they were going to find a very large caliber bullet buried in them. He'd already hurt her enough, no one else would get the chance to add to his sins. The tarmac clapped under their feet, sounding like thunderclaps in their ears. Finally, they were leaning against one of the hangars; Scully was panting for breath. "You okay?" Mulder asked, barely breathing hard. "Okay," she panted. The sprint had taken them over two hundred yards of runway, and he was looking like they'd walked. She was going to have to start jogging with him, this was ridiculous. "Let's go," he said, giving her a minute. He walked quietly to the end of the hangar, looking around the corner. He gestured her forward, and they watched several jeeps drive away from one of the hangars. "Guess they're closing up for the night," he whispered, noting the position of the hangar. Pulling their heads back, they began the slow journey towards the hangar. Far to the north, above the treeline, stars began to move. After nearly twenty minutes of sneaking along the shadows, they'd finally reached the hangar. Its single small window was dark, and Mulder could see nothing through it. He was reaching for the handle to the door, the only entrance other than the massive hangar doors, when Scully gasped next to him. And to the squeal of tires and locking of rounds into place, portable spotlights were lit on them. Spinning around, Mulder could make out six jeeps, their large halogen lamps directed squarely on the two cornered agents. The silhouettes of several dozen soldiers could be seen, their weapons pointed at them. Beside him, Scully slowly put her weapon down, then stood and left her arms carefully at her sides, eyes squinting in the bright light. Mulder left his gun at his side, hand tight around its grip; he shielded his eyes with his other hand. "I think that's far enough, don't you?" A familiar voice called. A back-lit shadow detached itself from a jeep, stood directly in front of one of the spotlights. It seemed to be smoking, one arm stuck in a pocket, the other raising a hand to its mouth. Mulder raised his gun, pointing it at the shadow. The clatter of carbines and handguns being trained on his head followed; his hand was shaking. Not with fear, but with rage. This creature in front of him had been the cause of everything, all the pain and all the hurt that Scully had been subjected to, all the lies- "Really, Agent Mulder," the Cancerman said, "I suggest you put it down. This isn't quite yet endgame." "What have I got to lose?" Mulder demanded, finger beginning the terminal squeeze, stopping only at the breaking point. "Quite a bit, I would think. Though, perhaps not so much, considering how long it has left." The Cancerman seemed content with the situation, as if he was playing a rehearsed role; as if to him, this was a contingency for which he'd planned. "Mulder . . ," Scully whispered, wondering what would happen if he did shoot. They were dead, certainly, but would it change anything? Or would the Cancerman simply be replaced; was there a line of him, just waiting? Were there a dozen Cancermans and Krycecks? Slowly, Mulder began to lower his weapon, then let it fall. Considering all the noise the jeeps engines made, the gun's clattering landing was very loud. The Cancerman inhaled deeply, the cigarette's burning end a bright red in the middle of his otherwise invisible face. He was about to speak when all the lights went out. Scully couldn't see, the lights had effectively blinded her in the sudden darkness. Blobs of light danced before her eyes. The confused yelling of the soldiers, scattered fire upwards. The Cancerman, incoherently yelling orders. She vaguely saw Mulder spinning as something small and hard hit his ribs. She grabbed him, feeling the blood through his jacket, and managed to drag him into the hangar, locking the door behind them. After a quick check, mostly consisting of her blinding feeling the wound with her hands, she decided it was only a graze. They blinked tears out of their eyes, still half-blind. Looking around, they saw the hangar was empty. There were cigarette butts on the ground, the hard concrete littered with half-smoked Morleys. There was a sound outside, a thunderclap, and the light returned, much brighter, so bright is filled the hangar through the small window, seeped in through the hangar's seems. The small arms fire outside increased, joined seconds later by boom of larger caliber weapons. In the glaring light, so bright it was darkness itself, the two FBI agent clung to each other, Scully cradling Mulder, holding on, wondering when it would stop. The hangar began to shake. Fort Bayton The light had snapped off as if by a switch several minutes earlier. Finally, they opened the door to the night. Their guns were still there, but were locked, seeming fused into a single piece of metal. They left them there. The jeeps were also still there; the spotlights had all come back on, but were now pointed at the sky. Shell casings littered the ground. On the other side of the base, several helicoptors - fat troop transports and thin assault choppers - were lifting and flying off, to the south, hugging the trees. They found an open box of Morleys, with only a single cigarette missing. Mulder looked around the base, turning in a slow circle as Scully watched the retreating helicoptors. Something caught his eye; a mass of lights were dancing in a complex pattern to the north. At their center an orange trail was spinning and veering, attempting to disengage and flee. Seconds later, two arcs of light connected and the hybrid fighter exploded. The lights fell into a loose formation and started back towards the base. One shot ahead, heading straight for the forest. Mulder dropped the box of cigarettes, grabbed Scully's arm and began running for the fence. They were scaling the chain-link when the first of the UFOs unleashed a barrage of light on the base. The following explosions sent them stumbling deeper into the forest. Minutes later, they found themselves on a small hill, overlooking the rest of the forest. The lights were following them; moving in what seemed to be a search pattern over the trees, and again they ran. They were deep in the forest's darkness when the light found them. It hit Mulder, knocking him backwards, slamming him into a tree. He groaned and held his wounded side, not moving from his twisted position. Seeing the light strobe the grassy carpet, feeling the vast energies of the machines above her, and seeing her partner's crumpled form as he shivered in the night, something inside Scully snapped. She pulled her back-up weapon out, a small snub-nosed .38 revolver. Pointing it up at the light, she began firing blinding, screaming obscenities. "Leave him alone, you bastards! Leave us alone!" Tears streaming down her face, she continued firing, the shots echoeing in the forest, until the gun clicked empty, the hammer slamming onto spent shells. Still she pulled the trigger. Finally, as if just noticing the lack of recoil, she threw the gun at the light, hoarsely screaming, "Bastards!" one last time. She stumbled to her partner, almost blind through her tears. She held his unconscious body to her; she cried and wished they would just go away. Somewhere else in the forest, there was a thunderclap. It knocked Scully senseless, and, still gripping her partner to her, the blackness rose up and took her. High above, the five lights formed a rough circle and wheeled away. Seconds later, they were joined by another. They disappeared into the dark sky. Sprawled in the heavy forest, the two unconscious FBI agents continued to grip each other tightly, tears streaming down both their faces. It was a long time before they became aware of anything besides each other. Assistant Director's Office AD Skinner sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, his gold-rimmed glasses pushed up on his brow. He fixed his glare back on the errant agents before him. "Agent Mulder, before you left, I recall specifically telling you not to rile up the local Marine life." "Yes, sir. I remember thinking it was a very good pun. Very funny." Skinner closed his eyes again. "According to your report, you were fired upon by several dozen military personnel-" "Actually, sir," Scully interjected smoothly, "I don't believe they were shooting at us." "I agree, sir. The round that hit me was probably a stray. They were most likely shooting at the UFOs." Feeling a massive headache coming on, Skinner dropped his glasses on the desk. "You're both dismissed." They retreated quickly, Mulder smiling at Skinner's sympathetic secretary. In the hall, he said, "I guess I really shouldn't lead her on." "Who, Kim?" Scully asked, feeling the warmth of his hand on her back, in its accustomed place. "Yeah. Everyone knows I have eyes only for you." She smiled briefly. "I'm glad you're taking this all so well. I'm not." "For all we know, that whole thing was staged for our benefit. Or just mine. Your reputation as a skeptic would probably keep any MIBs far away from you." After a moment, he said, "Did you hear?" "About the abductees? Yes." They'd all been returned; they'd been found, crying, huddled together, in the clearing where Alexis Carter had originally been found. There were no scars on their necks, so far no evidence of the cancer. He stopped then, and she turned to face him. "All except Alexis Carter, Scully. She's still listed as missing." His frown deepened, eyes reflecting sudden concern. He grabbed her arm abruptly and pulled her into a disused storage closet. Passerby watched them with arched eyebrows and curious looks, until he closed them out behind the door. "Mulder - what?" he said nothing, pulled a Kleenex from his pocket. She closed her eyes as he cleaned the blood away, taking one of her fears with it. Leaning against the wall as her partner silently worked, she absently rubbed her crucifix. Perhaps, perhaps, her faith wasn't as strong as it had once been. But she still had the strength she'd felt then. The strength, now in the form of her partner, a flow of life they both shared. Mulder would protect her, and she him; as he had just done, as they had done countless times before. "Are you okay?" he asked, dropping the soiled Kleenex into the empty wastebasket. In the darkness of the closet-sized room, he could see her open her eyes and look up at him. She gave him her smile, the one uniquely hers, the one reserved for him alone, and only in rare moments. "Yeah, Mulder. I'm fine." She squeezed his hand, finding hers suddenly wrapped in it. He smiled back, then nodded at the door. Quietly, he said, "Come on. My new issue of Abductee was supposed to come in today, and you know the rumors that'll start if we're in here much longer." He wanted this moment to last, didn't want to break it, but right now, he felt like they had forever. "We've faced worse." Together, she thought. Smiling when he put his hand on her back, she preceeded him out. As long as they were together, the cancer was nothing, the Cigarette-Smoking Man, and his cohorts were nothing, shadows in the woodwork. Mulder smiled, all dark thoughts expunged from his mind. He reveled in the warmth they shared, the soft words spoken. Most of all, though, he knew they were still alive, still them, and still partners. And all that word entailed. And, he knew, they were more. Both sharing the same small smile, they headed for their cramped basement office, both thinking, 'come what may, let it come.' finis. This story was finished at 11:57 p.m., almost two full hours after the season finale of the X-Files, 5.17.97. I apologize for the bit of irony at the end, but future-sight would make us all sarcastic little twits,and I'm certainly no exception. |