Tokens by Mariacomet

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Tokens by Mariacomet

Date: Fri, 05 Dec 1997 00:47:38 -0500

From: Sylvia <[email protected]>

Title: Tokens

Author: Mariacomet

Rating: R (language, adult situations, no sex)

Category: XR

Timeline: Post Gethsemane. Or pretend that Gethsemane never happened. I feel a bit like I’m cheating by ‘leaving out’ part of the episode time-line, but my writing partner and I are already in the middle of writing an exhaustive work which attempts to solve some of the puzzles in the season cliffhanger. In the meantime, I needed a little break from Cliffhanger – ‘Mulder is dead’ – angst.

Spoilers: I’ve tried to incorporate all I know about the characters from all seasons. Yep, Scully has Cancer. Yep, Mulder’s mom has been confronted about Samantha and Cancer man. Yep, Scully has a tattoo. Nuff Said.

Thanks: To Matt, my writing partner for fielding endless questions like : But what about that part? What about that line? Would Mulder do that? But WHAT’S good about it? And as always to Comet Chasers Inc. (Matt, Kevin, Kat, Jason, Jean, Sean, Rob) who put up with my obsessions, frankly humor me a lot, and always support me. I love you guys. (Yes we MIGHT be able to get through one night without talking about the X-files now, y’all.)

((((Hiya folks, I am daring to go into that shadowy, fickle world of Fan fic; Be gentle with me, it’s my first time. To start things off, I have the usual disclaimer. I now take you live to the “End of the Road,” blues club located in Nowhere Junction, Florida where my old friend Blind Dog Watermelon, blues man extraordinaire, will help me out.

(Camera pans to a small smoky blues club in Nowhere Junction, Florida. The room is crammed with fifty seven tables in area space only meant for thirty tables max. At the front of the room, a spotlight suddenly shines on a portly African American with sunglasses, a fedora and a maroon suit. Carefully the gray haired blues man strums his oak wood guitar, and happy with the hollow tuned sound begins to play.)

“I ain’t got no rights. I don’t have permission. I ain’t gonna make no money…for this fan fic submission. Long ago Chris Carter said ‘hey Fox let these X-files live,’ Don’t want to take nuthin, that ain’t mine to give; Yeah, Fox and Chris Carter are the soul of The ‘X.’ David and Gillian (Mulder and Scully) – you know they’re the best. I’m just trying to ease some of my frustration. It’s been four years, Chris, and we still have all this unresolved sexual tension. But that’s all right. Oh yes, that’s okay. Hope no one minds if I take the characters and play. Chris, you know we love ya. Yeah, we do. We think your real groovy. Hope your planning at least one kiss for our heroes if not in the series, then in the movie. Mmmm. Hmmm. Mmmm. Hmmm. Singing them Shippers X-files blues. Mmmm Hmmm Mmmmm. Hmmm. Singin them X-files….Shipppppperrrs….Bluuuuuess.”

A deep guttural laugh from Blind Dog as the crowd begins to applaud wildly. “Thank you. Thank you all very much.” The spotlight dims. ))))

Author’s Notes: Mulder’s mom’s name, as far as I can remember, has never been mentioned in the series. I chose ‘Constance’ because it seemed an irony that the mom of such an inconsistent household would have a name derived from the word ‘constant.’ I probably have her age and description wrong. If I committed any of these errors, please let me know and I’ll see what I can do about updating the story. I also have no idea how many uncles and/or aunts either Mulder or Scully have or what their names might be. That’s improvised as well.

There’s a line in the story where the LoneGun Men call for Mulder ‘collect from Ernest Hemingway.’ I swear I saw that happen in the series, but I also know I read it in a very romantic Fan Fic story called “A Dark Slide of Ecstasy.” Just in case I imagined that any such episode happened, and it was the author of said story’s invention, I wanted to give credit where credit is due. Sorry – the ol’ memory ain’t what it used to be.

As far as I know Mulder’s actual F.B.I issued gun is a discontinued model and is no longer a Sig. BUT I don’t know the name of the actual model he does use, so a Sig it is.

The days of Christmas don’t match up to this year’s dates. Since this is some future Christmas for our two heroes, I kind of made their holiday begin and end on the days of the week that best suited the story. (Sheepish expression)

Archivist’s Note: Normally I remove disclaimers repeated throughout a story, but since this disclaimer is a work of art in its own right it will continue below. I’ve surrounded the further disclaimer parts with double lines to distingush the disclaimer from the story.

Tokens: Part One

“What do you know about mother/son reconciliation’s, Scully?”

Dana Scully couldn’t help it, she smiled at the sound of her partner’s voice in her cell-phone and his familiar non-greeting. She had been sitting at her desk, staring at a various e-mails on the human-geno project. Small frame wire glasses were perched on her nose and her auburn hair was held back in a neat ponytail.

“Is this a hypothetical question, Agent Mulder?” Fox Mulder recognized the subtle lilt of teasing in her voice and felt something inside him warm to it. His long-suffering partner had sense of humor as generous as her heart. It sometimes concerned him that most people only saw the crisp professional side of her nature. More fool they.

Besides that, who else had ever bothered to tease Old Spooky Mulder? People tolerated him because he was proficient in his capacity as a field agent, but they didn’t trust him. Except Scully. He had called her thousands of times, out of the blue, at all hours with impromptu questions and theories and she’d never failed to keep up with him. Instantaneously and it seemed effortlessly she could move into sync with him. Of course, why should she be any different over a cellular connection than she on a case. A wave of guilt rippled over him. “Unlike you, I would like to have a life,” she’d told him once.

Mulder ran his lean fingers over his cinnamon colored hair, in agitation. He was the first to admit what a thoughtless bastard he could be when the chimes of truth were sounding in the distance. He had imprisoned himself with-in his pursuit, locking himself hand and foot to a race in which he ultimately seemed always behind. The search was Mulder’s life. For as long as he could remember he’d made very little room inside him for anything else. Of course, the good doctor, his partner, was remarkable in the fact that she had not stolen from his work. She simply had taken on part of the burden. Fox Mulder had learned not to expect the simplest concession without a high price being asked in return. He’d become arrogant and lazy in his aloneness. Mulder had begun to treasure his solitude as a miser treasured gold. Life took without giving back, the lone truth seeker had been certain of it. Which was why he hadn’t known what to make of the scientific skeptic the bureau had pushed on him. Dana had not only given more than he would have ever asked, but then she’d insisting on giving more. Hell, his little Scully’s eyes shot fire at him whenever she suspected he wasn’t letting her give one hundred percent to him. Mulder had partners before, but hadn’t had a clue as to what the word meant. She’d taught him. The only condition she’d ever put on him was that he try to understand the world through her eyes. It wasn’t an all or nothing proposition. All he had to do was try. It wasn’t a shackle. Instead it had become an unexpected freedom.

Mulder had felt a multitude of emotions in his life, but never gratitude, not before Scully. With-in that development, the X-files had no longer held all of him. Mulder had pushed aside a portion of the guilt and quest in order to make a place in his heart to shield her. He’d never expected that spot to grow so large, yet be so light a burden. His obsessions drove him harder as he came closer to the answers. As the journey asked more of him, he did the same of her. He kept wondering when she would walk away, when the price would be too high. Like her life, Mulder wondered and then shoved thoughts of her illness as far from him as he could. For the life of him, he didn’t know what he’d do without being able to share with her. It seemed he’d learned some of the lessons she’d taught him all too well. “I can call back if…”

Dana’s green eyes widened in surprise and her lips pursed together as if she had just been confronted with a puzzle. Mulder being polite about a late night phone call? All was not well in Mayberry. “I was just reading.”

That quirked his interest and distracted his persistent nature. His hazel eyes moved to the neon clock blinking on his desk. It was past midnight – what would his Scully be reading at this hour? Horror novel, nonfiction….romance? Mulder didn’t pay any mind to the fact that in his head he’d just referred to her as ‘his Scully.’ “Anything interesting?”

“A report on advances in molecular biology and cell cloning using nano-technology.”

“I love when a woman talks dirty to me.” Her full lips quirked upward and she leaned back in her chair, removing her glasses and dangling them in one finger. She could almost hear his mood become darker in the momentary silence. “October 13, 1961 a boy is born in Chilmark Massachusetts.” Scully recognized the flow of his words, he had stepped into his discourse mode. Dana could almost see him in their office, explaining the intricacies of a case, occasionally checking her facial expressions to make sure she was following where he was trying to lead. “His mother and father always seem to have a strange tension between them that the boy can’t fathom until he becomes much older. The more he learns, the more he and his parents become estranged. Until his father dies and the son accuses the mother of betraying all the truths he has come to hold. After two years of little or no communication between mother and son, he check his mailbox to discover a Christmas card inviting him to Christmas Eve dinner.” He paused in his flux of information, waiting for her to ask any questions she might have. “What are you initial thoughts?”

“Mulder, I think you just turned you and your mother’s relationship into a case file.”

“We don’t have room enough in our little basement.” The man on the phone responded. ‘Our basement,’ Dana’s mind lingered over the phrase feeling a small swelling of warmth at his choice of words. Sucker, She taunted herself. Mulder had always thought better on his feet and he rose to go into the kitchen, even though he wasn’t hungry. “I haven’t had what you’d call a healthy family life, Scully.” Scully’s partner opened the fridge and began a pattern of peering and rummaging through the five or six items that lined the otherwise barren shelves. “I could use some input.” A slight smile as he straightened and imagined her listening, head tilted to one side, maybe playing with her glasses. “It was either you or Frohike.”

Dana’s reply was dry but not without amusement. “Did you toss a coin to decide?”

A momentary smile. Mulder shut his fridge and gave a soft exhale of breath trying to push the frustration from him. “I know this isn’t a usual topic of conversation.”

The man was sounding apologetic. Dana wondered why he couldn’t seem to accept that she’d be there for him – work related or not – if he needed her. “I think our conversational range could use some broadening, anyway.”

His eyebrows rose in mock amazement. “Broader than little gray men, flukeworms, and one armed ex-agents?”

“Ohhh,” Scully hummed through her teeth. “You brought up the rat boy. Now you have to tell me more.” Krycek was still a particularly sensitive subject with both of them, but they had via unspoken agreement started making jokes about him in the last five months. Just like they tried to make light of Cancerman. Keep it in perspective or give into hate, Scully thought and she knew Mulder felt the same. Hate wasn’t an objective emotion. It couldn’t help them find the truth.

The man on the other line was silent a long moment weighing his thoughts. His narrow jaw tightened and released. “I…don’t know if I want to face her.”. His voice became a notch tighter. “And I have to say, this late in the game, I question her motives.”

“You think that making peace isn’t her real reason for inviting you?”

A snort from his end and she could imagine his expression twisting into a grimace. “My mother isn’t a sentimentalist.” Mulder’s hair was ruffled and he was prowling around in his favorite Gray ‘Knicks’ T-shirt and boxer shorts. “The approaching holiday season isn’t likely to be behind her change of heart.”

Dana twirled her glasses once and rolled her eyes briefly heavenward. “That’s a rather cynical approach.”

A teasing smirk lined his mouth corners. “Kind of the pot calling the kettle black isn’t it, Scully?”

The forensic doctor wasn’t swayed in her thought momentum. “I don’t think the question is why she’s making the invitation. Do you believe – looking back – that if you don’t go, you’ll be content with your decision?”

His answer when it came was slightly defensive. “Too much has happened. I’m hesitant to take any action at all. It might make the gap even more extensive.” That wasn’t all. They both knew it. Mulder had told Scully little about his family’s past. In fact Mulder knew a wealth of information about her family compared to what she knew about his own. The invisible connection the two partners shared told her that he felt shame on the subject, but didn’t fill in the hows or whys. At times this lack of information frustrated her, but only because she wanted him to lean on her as she did him. Scully respected that he needed space. She hoped one day he would tell her on his own. In some ways, no matter how close their relationship was, they were practical strangers. What Scully knew for certain was that much of Mulder’s personal life was like an unsolved riddle. Unanswered puzzles were intolerable for him. So much darkness in his life and near the root of it his parents and an invisible agenda they’d become wrapped in. “I’m not sure I can forgive her.”

It was more than she expected him to say. “But Mulder, after all you’ve lost, to willingly cut yourself off from your remaining family seems…”

“The best intentions don’t heal all wounds.” Fox Mulder interrupted quietly. He paced back into his living room which also doubled as his bedroom. He halted just near his couch and adjusted the phone closer to his ear. “You’d go. Wouldn’t you?”

He could imagine her eyes meeting his with that endless reserve of patient honesty and integrity. “She’s your mother, Mulder.”

The male portion of the partnership was suddenly calmed and tired all at once. He crumbled onto his couch, moving to lie down, and letting one arm stretch over his eyes. Mulder acknowledged sleep creeping toward him and it was a welcome feeling. Normally sleep was the last thing he was able to do with ease, but Scully always made him feel like it would work out. The loneliness dissipated in the wake of her soft voice in his ear. Lord, he’d love to fall asleep just listening to her soft tones. It was like being mentally embraced. What was he going to do when…

‘C’ word. Cancer. It was like ice lined his veins every time he thought about it. He could never cradle the idea of Scully’s death in his mind. It made him feel panicked and desperate.

“You can have anything: my badge, the X-files, anything…” Mulder had growled at Skinner once upon a time It was three months of hell when she’d been taken from him. When he allowed himself to think about the sickness slowly feeding on her, Mulder felt like it was happening all over again. If he could, he’d reach in his chest and offer his soul to save her. Skinner had proposed the idea that in finding the truth, it might also lead to a cure for her. Mulder wasn’t sure, but he hoped. God help him, he prayed. Mulder was an atheist but he made bargains with God almost daily. Name your price, just let her live. Part of him wanted to flee. Run and hide. Not see, not acknowledge. Bury himself in the work and never come up for air until she was gone or it killed him or both. The truth was that someone else he lov….another person in his life…would be lost and he couldn’t begin to imagine living with that much emptiness.

The other side of him wanted to hold her hand all the way through this time. He wanted her to be able to look into his eyes and know she wasn’t alone. To meet his gaze and see through him the impact she’d made on the world. At least his world, if that meant anything. If she needed him, he’d stay.

“Mulder?” The feminine voice questioned and Fox Mulder realized how long he’d been lost in his thought.

“I’m here.” Mulder closed his eyes and moved to lie on his side, curling a little closer to the phone. “If I wasn’t going to a joyous family reunion, would you have invited me to Ma Scully’s?”

His partner felt the affection in her curl into something more dangerous, a place she didn’t want to tread. The inflection he was using seemed smoky and mysterious. This was the more intense version of her partner that scared her slightly. Because it wasn’t her partner of four years speaking, it was that portion of him that he kept hidden. “You hate the holidays.” Unspoken words hung in air. She’d invited him to her mother’s house for Christmas dinner every years since she’d started working on the X-files. He’d always refused, making up some ‘chasing the aliens again’ excuse.

He shrugged the statement off. Mulder had almost been embarrassed that she’d thought to invite him in the first place. He was content haunting his basements over the holidays, she knew that. Yet he couldn’t deny he was a little touched. Okay, a lot touched. “Yeah…” In his voice was still the question.

Dana felt her lips lift slowly and she set her eyeglasses down near the laptop. “I’d have invited you again.” She reassured him.

“I was going to say yes this year.” Mulder admitted. “Your company and your mother’s cooking? Be still my heart.” Like some other statements that Mulder sometimes made, she didn’t know how to reply. She didn’t try, getting the feeling that any answer would lead in an uncomfortable direction. “I’ll let you get back to your reading.”

Scully felt overly relaxed. As if she’d just come out of warm, soothing water. It was the quiet buzz of his voice washing over her like a massage. God, THAT did bring mental pictures. Sleep, I need, sleep, Dana told herself sternly. She shut down the computer. “Goodnight Mulder.”

“Scully?” She waited. “Sweet dreams.” Then the click of the receiver sounded as he turned off his phone.

-)(x)(x)(-

Mulder’s eyes fluttered open slowly. It was just as well, he hadn’t really been asleep for the last fifteen minutes or so. It was common for him to wake up after a couple hour, but sometimes he pretended that it would be easy for him to just fall back to sleep. Bullshit. Mulder couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept a full eight hours short of being hospitalized or drugged.

He lifted himself into a sitting position and rubbed his eyes wearily. Normally at this point he’d watch one of his ‘special’ tapes. That’s what Scully had called them once – ‘special tapes.’ His eyes filled with light at the memory. Mulder, at the outset, had not bothered to hide that side of his nature because he’d been sure that it would shock her right down to her sensible shoes. It had only amused her. Heck, it amused him too. Everyone who was in law enforcement felt the tendrils of pressure. It didn’t help that Mulder sought out the most defined mysteries, often leading to the most unspeakable motivations of the human heart. It also wasn’t a boon that ‘Ol Spooky’ had been a genius in profiling serial killers for most of his pre-X-files career. Porn was a way to deal with the pressure, like drinking might have been. A crutch.

He toyed with the idea of calling a one of the many 900 numbers he had floating around in his photographic memory. ‘Special friends,’ he supposed Scully would term the women he spoke with at those numbers. Pathetic, Mulder told himself, I’m a waste of space. Speaking of being pathetic…Mulder’s mind drifted toward the subject of his family. If you’d have hugged me more, Mom and Dad, I wouldn’t be such basket case, he thought sarcastically. Mulder rose and moved toward his desk, beginning to canvass through the drawers until he found what he’d known was in there somewhere. A picture of his family when they still might have eventually lived up to the term. Sam sporting a flowing white dress with a ribbon in her hair. Young Fox Mulder in a suit, giving a crooked grin. His father doing what came unnaturally – smiling. His mother…her eyes soft, one hand on each of her children’s shoulders. Fox Mulder felt his teeth clenched. Despite the perfection of the setting – the photo had been taken at lakeside on the vineyard – her up tilted mouth still spoke of sadness. How long had ‘ghosts’ hovered around his family? How long had secrets had a stranglehold on them?

Mulder moved with the photo still in hand toward the couch. He stared at the image, trying to remember a time when he’d trusted in his parents. Perhaps trust had never been part of his family equation. It was easier to remember love. His sister. His father. And even now, yes, his mother. It was plausible that she was a victim as Samantha had been. Or not. Whatever the case, it was certain that Constance Mulder knew more than she was telling. In her silence she was helping keep the truth out of reach. Through regression hypnosis Ol’ Spooky had recalled a scene of her embrace with a man who was not his father; a man with a long face and piercing eyes. The stranger, who was holding Mulder’s mother too familiarly had held a Morely cigarette in one hand. Son of a bitch standing behind and between everything. Dear old mom standing as a piece of the puzzle refusing to help him. Why? She knew what his sister’s disappearance had done to him. Why help them, why help him. That cancer ridden bastard. His temper steadied as he stared again at the photo. His mother smiled sadly up at him.

-)(x)(x)(-

Scully exited the elevator and moved down the quiet hallway toward the basement office. Dana was dressed down for a day at the office, not wearing her usual non-wrinkled business suit with proper feminine yet non-distracting accessories. Today she’d chosen a pair of dark slack and white button down blouse. Over the blouse a dark leather jacket hung loosely. She’d just wanted to stop in and finish up few details with Mulder. What she didn’t expect to see was boxes and more boxes of clutter lining the hallway. The rhythmic clip-clop of her steps slowed and she raised and eyebrow removing a few books on alien abductees. This ceased any doubt that this disaster was her partner’s. She put her hand on the basement office doorknob and turned. It didn’t give. That was odd. She tried again. Locked. She had a key of course but she could hear rustling inside so she knocked.

“Muld…” She didn’t manage to get the word out, her partner appeared shouldering his way into the hall. Mulder closed the door quickly behind him.

The lady gestured to the area around them. “You moving out?” Scully asked with sardonic raise of her brows.

“Spring cleaning.”

She wasn’t buying. “Who or what is in our office that can account for this surge of cleanliness?”

Mulder too had dressed down that day. He stood in beige Dockers and a faded black T-shirt. The shirt was tucked in, but was rumpled. “Our beloved Assistant Director, in his endless effort to be magnanimous, has given us an ultimatum. He feels that the appearance of the X-files could use a little professionalism.” Mulder reached forward and picked some lint off her blouse, but stayed close after doing so, invading her personal space more than was comfortable. “I even assured him that you had color coded all the forms we use so I wouldn’t get confused anymore.” Scully felt a laugh rise in her throat that was part amused and part nervous. He was standing too close for her peace of mind. It wasn’t the first time his closeness had make her blood flow like quick silver in her veins. Or her heart slow in surprise and then race shakily; her mouth dry as her attention dropped almost unconsciously to his mouth… or his hands. She didn’t understand her reaction. It was just Mulder. In a moment, she’d be back in control. The odd reactions to his partner always faded the same way, with the familiarity of her role as his partner winning out. The rest was pushed away, to a portion of her mind that she refused to probe.

“I take it he wasn’t impressed.” Scully took a step back, leaning against the hallway wall, her eyes seeking anything but his face.

“Not so you’d noticed.” Her partner replied, oblivious to her discomfort. Mulder glanced down at the boxes around them and realized there were more than even he had realized. “I was going to store this at my place, but I guess I’ve amassed more than I thought over the last four years.”

Scully started toward the office door again, settling herself in to the idea of a day spent organizing things. Their schedule today included the wrap-up of a case. The doctor had only expected to spend a few hours at the J Edgar Hoover building. She was somewhat used to being flexible where Mulder was concerned, however. “I’ll give you a hand.” He reached forward and put his palm on her shoulder, halting her.

“None of the clutter in our office is yours.” Mulder’s hazel eyes were beseeching her and she couldn’t entirely read the look, but she knew he was asking her to let him do this solo. Scully, as with many of Mulder’s tangents, didn’t understand the importance of handling matters on his own, but she let him have his way. “Your heading to your Mom’s this afternoon?”

“Right.” Scully confirmed. “I’ll be back next Monday.” She’d told him already. Twice. He knew she felt a little guilty about taking more than a day or two off. What he didn’t understand was why. She was getting as good at self-condemnation as he was.

“There’s not much going on anyway Scully.” Mulder told her gruffly. He wished to hell that something had come along. He’d tell Scully he’d handle it and then jump on a plane, content. Anything would be fine with him. Another beast woman, even.

“That’s good because we don’t seem to have an office anymore.”

A slight reproach, but not a harsh one. She’d get over it soon enough. At least he hoped so. Or he was going to give her another football tape for Christmas instead of his current plan. “I’ll have it cleaned up by the time I head to my mom’s.”

A flicker of approval on her face. “So your going then?” Mulder nodded

Her partner lounged his back against the wall opposite her, both his hands moving behind his head as he stretched back. “I got to thinking about when I was younger.” His blue-green eyes captured hers. “Christmas then. When Samantha was with us.” Scully shifted back further against the wall, settling her hands palm up, behind her. “My mother used to try so be so meticulous about wrapping our presents and how they were arranged under the tree.” His full mouth curled upward in an almost fond expression. “She always made sure we had an equal number of gifts to unwrap. Our presents were invariably half necessary items – toothbrush, clothes, notebooks, shampoo. The other half were what we’d actually asked for.” Mulder stopped talking for a moment and shuffled, sliding his fists into his pant’s pockects. A lock of his hair had fallen from it’s neat feathered back position and unto his forehead. Scully groaned inwardly, trying to fight the itch to brush it back from his eyes. “It was her way of teaching moderation, I think.” Mulder and Moderation? The irony in that statement rushed against her desire to be a compassionate listener. It was too late to quell the thought, Mulder had already sensed the path her mind had taken. His own sense of humor shone in his eyes. “Never was it said it’s easy to teach me what I don’t want to learn.”

Slightly embarrassed, Dana let her head fall so her chin almost touched her chest. Apparently before his eyes she had a less than effective poker face. It was personal experience with him that made his teasing remark all the more effective. Her head didn’t rise again until she’d managed to contain the chagrined cadence that had come over her.

His thoughts floated back to the subject at hand and hovered there. “My mother tried. ” Mulder said his voice becoming serious and soft again. “I want to believe that she always tried.”

Scully felt the impulse to lay her hand on his arm and she did. It was an almost impersonal gesture. Casual. Her fingertips lay barely any pressure on his bare arm, lingering there then falling away. She wanted to remind him, if he needed the reminder, that she was on his side. Mulder understood her message as if she’d spoken the words. The connection between them burner a bit brighter.

“Your gift is in my car.” Dana told him, partly to invade the silence that had fallen between them.

“All we have lined up for today is an interview to close out the Parkes case.”

The Parkes girl had been a bright spot in a rather dark year. A missing little girl who’s sister claimed she was taken by the ‘bad ghosts.’ The ghosts proved to be a group of three men, apparently keen of the ability to make illusion. They had been stealing children over a span of ten years for their own purposes. In the end, the agents had found the little girl and three others that could have been her sister in an abandoned airport in Chicago. The children’s hair color, eyes and height had been identical. The motivation behind the uniqueness of these abductions was still undetermined. The kidnappers had committed suicide just as the F.B.I and local law enforcement had stormed the building. Cyanide pills. Even so, it had been good to help reunite three families. Scully was satisfied with standing beside her partner, watching a grateful mother embrace her child. To be able to make a deserving world salvageable again, she had thought, it’s why I do this.

“How’s lunch after the interview sound?” The question distracted her from her thoughts on the case. “Then we’ll call it a day early for once.” It sounded heavenly. Scully was eager to head to her mother’s and start the holiday cheer. Mulder must have sensed that. It was a nice gesture.

-)(x)(x)(-

Dana adjusted the floral wreath on her head carefully. One of her nieces had made it for her and she’d promised to wear it through dinner. Never mind that it was two sizes too small for her head. Her mother had set her to work in the kitchen. Dana had teased her mom, wondering out loud, if her mother expected the entire army to show for Christmas or just the family. Her house was decorated with lights, snowmen, Santas and angels, strewn everywhere and in too much quantity to be tasteful. It was almost gaudy the way her family decorated for Christmas, throwing themselves it full force. Yet something was endearing about it as well. The kitchen was cluttered, filled with the smell of home-made baking. Scully was making cookies, which was only right since she had complained about the lack of chocolate on the menu. It was a dangerous thing to voice a compliant at a Scully gathering. Dana could cook certain things when she choose to. It was true she was no master at culinary providings, but she wasn’t a dismal failure either. Laughter trailed in from the living room. The house had been filled with noise all day. Her spirits were high. Two glasses of eggnog had placed a slight flush on her normally pale cheeks. Everything in the world seemed perfect. Except maybe…

No. She would not think about him. Mulder was fine. He was a big boy. He was getting along without her perfectly. You could bet he wasn’t thinking about her. Mulder was like James T. Kirk, his first and only real priority was the Enterprise. In Mulder’s case, the vehicle was an obsession for the truth, not a futuristic craft, but it was the same idea. The pursuit was his life and everything else was an after thought. Not that Mulder was half as smooth as Kirk, Dana considered reaching in the oven with a mitt and pulling out a cookie tray. He was more like Picard in his intensity. Of course, even Picard had succumbed to the charms of a certain red-haired doctor. Scully became annoyed with herself. What the heck was she thinking about, she didn’t even LIKE Star Trek.

Mulder was probably sitting contentedly in their disintegrated office reading a book on psychic, alien, bigfoot clones. It was this thought, that he was doing anything but wondering what she was doing, that made her will power double. Leaving the cookies to cool, she approached her eldest brother, held the mistletoe over him and kissed his cheek loudly. Bill Jr. made a face at her and then ruffled her auburn hair. Dana surrendered the mistletoe to him and pointed meaningfully in the direction of his wife. Bill took the hint and was in the next instant tapping the shoulder of the woman he married.

Eventually someone insisted on a round of Christmas Carols. At the suggestion, a general consensus of rolled eyes passed between Dana and her brothers, just as it had ever year since they were children. It was all an act. Their father had started the practice and it had become tradition. It wouldn’t be Christmas without it. The family – Bill’s wife and child. Charlie, his wife and children, two aunts and three uncles, gathered round and as their voices rose, Dana found hers joining them. It was good to be home.

After the singing, she allowed herself another glass of eggnog. Mrs. Scully herself was about three glasses in the hole and not entirely immune to it. No one in the family every became slobbering drunk, but it was normal during the holidays to see everyone relaxed enough to let down their hair, figuratively speaking. Other than holidays, the most Dana would allow herself was an occasional glass of wine, but she was Irish after all. Mulder had never tasted her mother’s egg nog. The idle thought made her sigh. She was used to him.

It was only a hour drive, depending on traffic. Why not, invite him? Then seriously she thought, Why NOT invite him? Because that wasn’t the level of their relationship. Was it? Mulder calling her in regards to getting advice about his family wasn’t the normal scope of relations either. They’d never spoken any official boundaries to one another with reguards to their personal life, the ones that were in place had simply appeared over time. Why hadn’t she thought to invite him? Because Dana, she reminded herself, you need distance. A time of separation from the guilt and the theories and the intensity that was Mulder. He was all consuming and impossible. He made a witticism out of everything potentially meaningful. He was likely to show up, look uncomfortable and keep to himself the entire night. Ah what the hell, space was over rated anyway, she decided. Besides maybe he’d come over and surprise her. Maybe he’d loosen up as she fervently wanted him to at times. Maybe he’d…what…hold on where was she going with that train? I want him to be happy, Dana told herself. Correct that. I want us both to be happy. Free from the swallowing suspicion and jagged pain that seems to be everywhere.

Your no prize either. And your running out of time. When have you ever let go and let your feelings have a chance?

Never, she admitted, I’m not even sure when I started learning how to shut them down. Operating via emotions just didn’t seem safe. Scully had embraced logic long ago, finding it was much more reliable and honest than her heart. Holding off on emotions and processing the problem first with her mind was a method ingrained in her since she was a child. It had frustrated Jack, an ex-lover – THE ex-lover, the main relationship she’d ever had, to no end. He would be furious and she would be calm and analytical. Unless he roused her temper. Another throwback to her Irish heritage that normally surfaced when she was the most afraid. Better fury than fear. Better anger than pain. As she’d learned more about the face of the truth in the x-files, she had clutched harder and harder to science. Logic became a defense mechanism.

There were three basic surfaces to Dana’s outward personality. On the first layer she had her congeniality and confidence in place. She was polite, courteous and even friendly. People seemed to like and respect her right off the bat. Then maybe they would get to work with her and they found out that nine times out of ten, she was in professional mode. Not much room for play. Aloof in the intensity with which she pursued her investigations. Unemotional as she conducted autopsies and investigated crime scenes. The friendliness was shed like a cheap coat until she thought to take it out again. She was busy being an agent, firm in her intention to show her capabilities. Dana had fought for the reputation of reliability and loyalty. She’d refused to cower around the notorious good ol’ boy network that the F.B.I still had despite itself. It wasn’t fair that this second level was as far as most people would get to know Dana before writing her off as ‘icy.’ Because if they’d look a little closer, they might be let into the third level and that was where the heart of Dana Scully lived and breathed.

Her family knew this side of Dana. She had a few friends that were allowed in this circle. And of course there was Mulder. Why was it, in the end, all of her thoughts seemed to flow back to him. She didn’t have a life outside of work. That had been going on for much longer than she’d been assigned to her dark haired partner. College had been similar. What little social life she’d had, she’d carved in the fringes. Of course there had been moments of rebellion. Dana had felt constricted a few times in college and broken free, partying with the best of them, trying to somehow make up for lost time. She’d always eventually reeled herself back in. Because it was her nature to like things in her life to be somewhat systematic. Her associate in the X-files division was her opposite in his approach to life. Yet somehow the contrasts between them didn’t seem to matter. The differences made their unit as a whole, stronger. That was why she had become so agitated with him for ditching her again and again to chase after the truth. He had explained that it was for her protection. For her. That explanation had fallen flat in the wake of how powerful a force they were when exploring the possibilities as a team. Their connection was real and special, to much so to be taken for granted.

-)(x)(x)(-

The phone in Mulder’s trench coat rang and he reached for it, noticing before he picked up that the office was looking leaps and bound better.

“Mulder.” He said by way of answering.

“Mulder, it’s me.” His first thought was that something was wrong. It was an eventuality that he almost always felt prepared for. “I was wondering if everything was still quiet.” His shoulders had been tensed, waiting for her to launch into a tale of horror, but now he relaxed.

“There was one sighting that seems fiduciary.” Mulder told her. Great, she thought, he was going to give her that ‘please help me’ tone and she was going to get stuck in a seedy motel on a case during the holidays. The idea should have upset her more than it truly did. “Over a remote arctic location there were reports of an un-identified flying object that was bestial in nature.” Dr. Dana Scully got the distinct impression that he partner was teasing her. “There’s more…” He began mysteriously. “…apparently this creature has a red nose.”

A soft snort as she realized that she’d been had. “Arctic location?”

“The North Pole to be specific.”

“Hmmm.” Scully set her curled palm under her chin, considering, sharing in the humor. Playing with him. It delighted him. “Aurora-borealis lights?”

She could almost hear him smiling into the phone. “Not feasible. It doesn’t coincide with an area that would allow viewing of the lights.”

“A plane?” His partner queried.

Mulder moved into the leather chair behind his desk, leaned back and put his feet up. “No known air traffic has been reported over the area for over three months.”

“In that case, I have one last question.” Mulder waited and now he knew she was smiling as well. If he was any judge of her behavior and he was, she’d probably fought grinning at first. This level of joking was at their expense after all; the way they investigated and argued. Face it Scully, you’re not half the stick in the mud, that you think you need to be at times, he thought. “Were the witnesses to this event intoxicated?”

Mulder chuckled warmly and then dropped his feet from his desk, sitting forward. “Hey Scully – two words meaning work-a-holic. The first word has four letters and begins with a ‘D,’ the second has five and begins with an ‘S.’ ” She wasn’t even going to bother and try to reply to that one. It was just as well. Mulder was throwing stones at a glass house. “What are you doing calling me during your family time?” His voice held affection, but he wasn’t entirely kidding now.

“I wanted to call and check in.”

“I’m fine. The office is fine.” Mulder reassured her. “Go back to having fun.” It was his way of taking care of her. His hazel eyes came to rest on the area he’d cleared away. He’d had to re-arrange everything just to make that space. He’d had to drag his desk a full foot and a half closer to the door. Things would be a little more cramped now, that was for sure. He was perhaps an hour from being done. Part of him wished he hadn’t dived into the task with so much enthusiasm. He had two days before he was getting on a plane and going to Chilmark. He could have used a distraction.

“Mulder I…” Dana idly wondered if there was a plausible excuse to call him over without actually inviting him to dinner. Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea. Mulder seemed content where he was, doing whatever he was doing. Perhaps it was better to leave things as they were. “Oh hell…just come over.”

Fox Mulder blinked one and then again. His next question was for the purpose of clarification. Quickly, his partner repeated her request throwing in something about how there was a ton of food. It struck him as odd that she was asking, but not unpleasantly so. She didn’t sound overtly worried. What, then? Was he broadcasting a loneliness vibe? Am I lonely, Mulder asked himself. Of course he was, that was a regular state of being. Except maybe when he allowed himself to take haven in his partner. Scully had invited him for Christmas and Thanksgiving, sure. She saw him as the world’s original Oliver Twist and she was at her core, a soft touch. But this was different.

Mulder had taken her out for drinks twice. Twice, just for the purpose of relaxing in their entire partnership. It was more than he’d ever offered to any another partner he’d had. There had also been an attempt to take her to a football game with him. The purchasing of the tickets had been spontaneous, a way to see another side of Dana Scully, maybe let her see another side of him. The thought of that offering invariably reminded him of why they hadn’t gone. Scully had almost been killed. A man had tried, had been intent on taking her life. A game in the mind of a maniac. Mulder had driven Scully home that night and walked her in despite the insistence from her that she was fine.

“I just want to take a bath and then try and sleep.” Her eyes had been weak and he knew that she wanted him to leave, afraid she’d break down again in front of him as she had earlier. As much as he respected her, her partner couldn’t seem to make himself go. The maverick agent had felt a need to watch over her. For his own sanity, to be nearby and make sure she was safe.

Mulder tensed, wondering how she would react to his next words. “Exhaustion seems to be contagious. I don’t think I can drive home safely. Do you mind if I borrow your couch?” Everything was in his eyes; his horror at what had almost happened, the realization of how closely his life had become bound to hers, his fear…but in true to form fashion his tone was almost jovial. As if nothing had happened. Scully had seen every thought he was conveying and for once hadn’t argued.

The night had come and gone without incident. Mulder had driven home when she’d awoken and changed his clothes. Later they’d met up at the office and though Mulder thought she should take a few days off, she’d refused. It was the last time they’d mentioned it. Three years later and he still hadn’t taken her to a football game.

At least he’d remembered her birthday this year. The sports fan gave himself some credit for that one. And she’d graced him with a smile, a total ‘Dana Scully melting hearts special.’ The sudden fervor of affection and gratitude in her green eyes had dazzled him. It was so little to act to get that kind of a look of appreciation. Did he really let her know that infrequently how much he…relied on her? He’d changed his priorities minutely in that instant. From now on, no special time in her life was going to come and go without him acknowledging it.

This might be the last invitation you ever get, Spooky. Dana is… No. What are you running from Mulder? What’s really going on? Why not go and be with her? You know you want to. Yet somehow in that reasoning, he felt like he was being asked to face her death. To get even closer to her only to face that he might fail at saving her. Mulder couldn’t. That was his reason now, but he’d had four years prior to her becoming sick.

Phoebe Green had accused him of having a problem with intimacy. He’d given her more than he’d ever given anyone, his time, his commitment…but not his trust. She hadn’t fucking earned it. Every weakness he’d ever let her see, she’d eventually thrown back in his face. But at the time, it had been important to him to try to make it work. Fox Mulder had supposed himself to be in love for the first time in his life. Phoebe was motivated and smart, she was going to be successful. Everyone knew it. She’d intoxicated him, made the flames inside him blaze almost uncontrollably. The relationship had been devouring, not fulfilling. It had burned bright and then burnt out.

At the same time he’d begun his regression therapy and everything had changed. It had altered his life. The memories were unraveling his future and yet defining it as well. Phoebe had been quick to move unto other pastures the first time her lover had mentioned little gray men. Mulder had let her go since his heart seemed full of only anxiety. Everything else was draining from him as he dug more and more. His eyes were open and his scope had widened. It hadn’t been worth it to try and stop her.

When he’d seen her again, the old sparks had flown. So easy to give in, she was willing. It would be an interesting distraction. He’d toyed with the idea. Flirted with it and with her. She was still as beautiful and industrious as ever. Then he made the mistake of comparing her to Scully. Whatever it was he’d had with Phoebe, it was a cheap token of what he was building with his partner. Respect. Honesty. Trust. Scully. Thinking of Dana Scully, Mulder had pulled away from the deep kisses his former flame was assailing him with. He’d walked away from Phoebe and back to his office, where his partner – as usual – was waiting for him.

He’d given in with Kristen when Scully had been taken. Lust. Drunken, absolving lust. He poured himself into it, attempting to forget the loss of his friend and partner. Kristen’s pain had the same depth as his own. He reached out, hoping the sharing of intimacy would bring allievation for both of them. Mulder had wanted to feel alive again. Sane again. He’d wanted – most of all – to feel the sharing of self that he was able to have with Scully. The act with Kristen had done nothing to dim the pain. It had increased the emptiness.

Sex had never been a casual consideration for Mulder. If Kristen had lived, he would have tried to build a relationship with her. Ultimately though he would have failed. Because Scully would be returned and he would be reminded of what it meant to feel something without darkness. Most relationships seemed to require Mulder to divide himself, but his partnership with Scully made him feel complete. Mulder knew how dark his road and life had become. That’s why his walls with her were existed. It was an effort to protect her. Wanting to keep her safe, without shutting her out. Mulder couldn’t give her up, but he wasn’t sure he could let her all the way in.

“I can’t make it Scully. I have a lot to wrap up.” Mulder heard himself saying

Bullshit, Dana thought. It was no one’s fault but her own, she supposed. That didn’t make the surge of disappointment she suddenly felt less of a lead weight than it already was. What was the matter with him anyway? And while she was at it, what was the matter with her? Why did she deal with this impossible person on a regular basis? Dana began to recall what had led to the personal\professional lines they held in the first place. I don’t even know how much longer I have to live. I’m wasting time. Mulder is Mulder. End of story.

“I’ll see you Monday.” Dana said, finding her voice again.

“Can I open my present yet?”

His eager voice almost got her to smile. Almost. She’d handed him the large basketball-sized box. It was wrapped in paper sporting ‘Bill The Cat,’ from Bloom County. It was all she’d had in her closet, save an old roll of silver wrapping paper from a wedding she’d gone to a year ago. Always a bride’s maid, never a bride. Dana groaned inwardly at that little inner voice. Oh, shut up. “I told you.” She reminded. “Not until Christmas.”

“Speaking of which, I did get you a present.” Mulder was proud of himself. He had thought to get her a Christmas present last year as well. What had it been – mittens? Wrong, that was his mom’s present. No, he’d given Scully a yearly calendar of famous woodland areas. It was a gag gift to tease her about all their rather infamous ‘walks in the woods.’ (Last time they’d followed a case in the woods, they’d stumbled on some strange killer insects and wound up in quarantine for a month.) This time, he’d actually put some planning into the whole thing. It wasn’t like him. Frankly he hoped it surprised the hell out of her. He wanted her to smile that smile again. For him. Gee, a bit territorial, aren’t you, Agent Mulder, he taunted himself.

“Can you come by the office some time before Christmas?” Mulder continued. “I’m leaving it here for you.”

Scully contemplated telling him to take a long walk off a short pier. It was fine to ask her to drive forty minutes out of her way, but not to ask him to do the same for dinner? Still, he had that tone normally reserved for finding an alien body. It was a boyish and endearing sound.

“I was going to do some last minute shopping tomorrow morning in D.C. I’ll get it then.”

Mulder mentally rearranged his night. The original plan had been to leave in about five minutes, but nothing was at home that couldn’t wait. He wanted everything to be ready when she came in tomorrow. “I don’t know if I’ll see you. I’m going to hit the Police Cooperative System tomorrow.” Mulder knew she’d want a brief explanation to satisfy her curiosity. He also didn’t want her to believe that he was feeding her line after line so he went on. “There’s been a series of murders in Alabama. Skinner wants me to compose a report showing any viable connections between them.” Skinner had insisted that he was short on staff. If Mulder was going to come in, the Assistant Director was going to use his talents. That was that.

“He thinks it might be the work of a serial killer?”

“If it is, it won’t be our case. He made that clear. He just wants my professional insight.”

The lady sitting on the bed believed that the Assistant Director was making Mulder work, but she still felt agitated. PCS, the Policy Cooperative System could be accessed by any agent 24 hours a day. One of the access points to the system was with-in five minutes of their office. Dana, she chided herself, he’s working. There’s nothing wrong with that. Yet a part of her was feeling grumpy because he hadn’t volunteered to meet with her and give her the Christmas gift himself. She was being petty. It was time to hang up. “When do you leave?” She asked.

“I fly in 1 a.m. on Christmas eve. I come back on 4:00 a.m. Christmas day.” Scully made a tactful comment about getting back to her family. Mulder instantly said his good-byes and let her go. Dana sat looking at the silent phone for a few long moments before standing. Suddenly she wanted more eggnog.

-)(x)(x)(-

The key slipped in the lock easily. Scully pushed open the door to the basement office, instinctively reaching to hit on the lights as she did do. She considered just before light hit the small room, that she should have grilled her partner about where she’d find the gift. Probably his desk…

Her verdant eyes had automatically begun to survey the work Mulder had done. Her brow wrinkled in confusion. He hadn’t just cleaned things up, he’d cleared one corner of the entire office. It didn’t register what that meant at first, not until she saw the red ribbon hanging from the ceiling and a card with her name on it. Scully moved forward and discovered that he’d arranged for her to have a chair like his own. The chair was pushed in underneath a small work area. It wasn’t really a desk. But it was close. Tears pricked her eyes as she reached for the card, pulling it from the hanging ribbon.

Scully, I was right about a second desk. No room. I know it took me awhile. I’m sorry. Will this do? Merry Christmas.

Your partner, Mulder.

Dr. Dana Scully was still holding the card as she emerged from the elevators and saw Assistant Director Skinner round the corner of his office door. Scully’s eyes instantly focused on the ‘Santa’ hat the ex-marine was wearing. Her boss seemed to follow her gaze and he held up one warning finger. “Not a word, Agent Scully.” Then more gruffly. “I signed the request allowing you to take this week off. I didn’t expect to see you.”

“I had a last minute matter to attend to.”

“All taken care of now?” The Assistant Director asked. Dana wondered how he managed to pull off sternness while wearing a big floppy red cap with a ball of white at the end. Mulder as a rule had mixed feelings about the D.A. Skinner HAD shut down the X-files after all. Yet when it came down to it, Mulder had turned to his boss for help on more than one occasion. There was a kind of shared animosity between the two men. They didn’t understand one another. But they in general they were on the same side. For her part, Dana liked Skinner. She respected him and she considered him an ally. The forensic doctor wasn’t sure what his motivations were, or how much he knew of the truth. She didn’t trust him as she did Mulder. Yet Scully also didn’t share all of Mulder’s reservations about the man either.

“I was just leaving.”

“Agent Scully…” He took a step toward her, but still kept his distance. His eyes were unflinchingly on her face. “How are you?” Skinner was asking about the cancer. They both knew it.

Dana searched for an honest answer to the question. “I’m hopeful.” Her voice was quiet and firm. It was as if she was talking about the weather.

It was the best the D.A. could ask for. It was clear she wasn’t going to delve into the subject any deeper. Skinner looked away from her, then tapped the file he was holding against his leg as if he’d made a decision. “Merry Christmas, Agent Scully.” He waved her toward the elevators. “Go on, get out of here.” Dana took the statement for what it was – an order. Well, that was Skinner.

-)(x)(x)(-

Shit. Mulder checked his cell phone battery for the hundredth time that day. It was fine. The thing was on. Last night he’d asked the operator to check his line to make sure it was working properly. Fuck. Why hadn’t Scully called him? Two days and nothing. Nada. She had to have seen his gift by now. He’d wanted to hear her voice cheerful and pleased flowing in his ear. Or even a reserved, ‘that wasn’t necessary’ uncomfortable frame of voice would have been okay. Mulder lifted his carry-on bag over his shoulder and skirted past a slow elderly couple in front of him. He was in a war zone at the airport. People were everywhere. It would have been nice to have heard from his one and only ally before stepping into the line of fire.

Fox Mulder was on his way to see his mother. What had he been thinking of? He couldn’t recall the last time he’d spent more than twenty minutes in her company. And those twenty minutes hadn’t exactly been a walk in the park. Shit. Excuses were something his already swimming mind could no longer take. Even worse were the silence and half-truths that seemed as common to his mother as breathing. His strides had quickened but now were faltering again as he neared the gate to his plane. This was a bad idea. It was worse. It was a disaster waiting to happen. She’d probably invited his secondary family. Two aunts, one uncle, and a slew of cousins. They’d ask questions about his work and he’d see them mentally ‘tsk, tsk’ his answers. Mulder hadn’t been a comfortable member of his family since his sister had been taken. What the hell was he doing? Why the hell hadn’t Scully called?

Screw it, Mulder Ol’ boy. Go get your money back for your ticket. Someone has to want to go to see their family more than you do. Call dear old mom and lie. Make up a case. Maybe you can still swing an invitation to Scully’s for dinner. Except that he’d given his word. Except that she was still his mother. Since Constance Mulder had been the victim of a stroke, he’d felt less able to refuse her requests. Except when she asked him to give up his search. His mother had insisted that letting his sister’s memory remain buried was the best option for everyone.

“Just let her rest,” His mother had told him.

What if she’s alive, he’d demanded. What if I can find whatever was responsible for her being taken?”

Constance had touched his hair. “You can’t. Ever.”

Then another conversation came to him. Mulder had watched his mother wearily, feeling as if his world was falling in around him. Content with that, if it was, as long as he could for once and for all hear the truth.

“Who is my father?” Slap. His mother’s hand had flown at his face. He’d sensed the blow coming but hadn’t cared enough to deflect it. Constance Mulder was indignant. But mostly what he saw in her face was shock. Shock and fear.

The fury at the old secrets reared in him, making his palms become fists. Mulder halted in his path. Maybe he’d just check to see if anyone around the ticket counter looked desperate. Just an inquiry. It couldn’t hurt. He had a few minutes to kill anyway.

-)(x)(x)(-

TOKENS – Part Two

-)(x)(x)(-

Washington D.C. International Airport 12:45 am December 23

Scully was running inside the airport terminal. Fifteen minutes. Her dainty feet moved quickly and her eyes were set firm in the direction of the air side she was going through. She suffered walking through the security gate and produced her badge to explain her sidearm. The guard called her to one side, made her sign a few papers and then called in her i.d. in for verification. Same old, same old. She hadn’t realized she’d instinctively grabbed her gun until the cab had dropped her off in front of the bustling terminal. People were literally everywhere. Happy and frantic, all of them as much in a hurry as she was. After the guard was finished with her, she took back her weapon and i.d. impatiently. She checked her watch. Ten minutes. She knew she’d be cutting this close.

Then she saw familiar form coming toward the same security area with a disgusted look on his face. She folded her arms over her chest and waited. It took another moment before he looked up and saw her. Dark clouds had seemed to hover all about him, but as he saw her, the clouds relented. Mulder looked relieved. He took the two steps that separated them and wound his arms around her, hugging her fiercely.

Dana was stunned by the action. “Mulder?” A tentative pat on his back in answer to his greeting. He didn’t release her as she expected him to. Instead he loosened the hold slightly and buried his face in her hair. As if he was hiding. “Mulder?” Scully tried to inch back from him, but Mulder didn’t let her. Suddenly she felt his chest rumble with laughter, his deep chuckle resonating over her body. He still clung fast, but as she realized that he was exhibiting his abstract humor, she felt herself grin. “Muullllderrr.” Dana’s voice drew out the syllables of his name, trying to get his attention.

Mulder released her, his mouth still curved upward. His head spun for a moment after the contact, her scent lingering, threatening to drown his senses. Her warmth invaded his skin where there’d only been minimal contact.

“Where are you going?” Scully asked, noting the he was going the wrong direction to board a plane. His guilty expression told her volumes.

“I was…exploring my options.” Scully perceived his attack of cold feet as an almost tangible force. That he had considered changing his mind at this crucial moment spoke volumes about his apprehension. But she knew that he’d only been thinking about it. She believed that eventually Mulder would have gotten on that plane. Mulder wasn’t one to walk away from his obligations

Scully reached behind her, grabbing a small black bag and moved toward him. “C’mon Mulder, we’ll be late for our plane.” She said.

He followed her lead and then caught up, his head cocked in a curious expression. “Our plane?” His partner didn’t look at him, but he caught the mischievous tint to her eyes.

Finally just as they reached the gate, he caught her arm. “What about spending Christmas with your family?” His utterance was just above a whisper. His brow was furrowed just slightly and his eyes were soft and sincere. “This is too much, Scully. You don’t know that this Christmas won’t…” He wasn’t going to finish. It wasn’t in him too. But even if he had tried, one gloved finger had risen to brush against his lips, silencing him. Mulder’s mouth parted slightly under the touch. He breathed in the smell of leather as he felt an inner tremble pass through his stomach. Her fingers moved back quickly as if she’d been burned. Something passed over her face that he couldn’t read then she met his gaze with a matter of fact expression.

“Promise me we’ll be back by Christmas day.” Scully said. How the hell was he going to pull that one off? He could give her his ticket and take another flight but he doubted she’d accept that offering. “I don’t care how you do it, just promise me.”

Screw it, he’d figure it out. He’d do this for her if he had to call in every favor from every conspiracy nut he’d ever known. He didn’t hesitate. “You have my word.” He told her and a smile spread slowly over his mouth.

“Then…” His sudden hopeful expression made her feel oddly satisfied. The air around them simmered with the sudden lightening of their spirits. “Let’s go.” She stated quietly. Mulder reached down and took her luggage in the same hand that he had his own. His brand of chivalry toward Scully was unique. He was willing to carry her cargo, and open her door, but only those times that he remembered that she was in fact a member of the opposite sex. At least that’s how Dana interpreted his actions. A sense of feminine appeal curled in her every time he played the gentleman. Still smiling, Mulder curled his free palm into the small of her back as they started toward the line of passengers beginning to board.

-)(x)(x)(-

The drive to Martha’s vineyard was uneventful. Mulder had rented a car and had taken the driver’s seat, just after loading both their belongings in the truck. He was silent the entire drive, lost in his own thoughts. Probably feeling guilty that she was with him too, if she could go by the occasional glance he threw her. Scully just relaxed and tried to enjoy what she could of the scenery. It was still dark, though the sun was beginning to threaten on the horizon. The island he’d grown up on was arguably one of the most beautiful spots in the congenital United States. Mulder almost never seemed to appreciate things like that. Except when it came to stars. He loved star gazing. More than once she’d caught him sitting outside his hotel room, looking upward at the night sky. She loved what moonlight did to his eyes, making them seem gray and murky, touching his hair with a shade of gold. It was difficult not to touch him when he was bathed in semi-light. Harder still not to given in to the desire to absorb his features again and again in her mind. She cautioned herself against thinking that way. It could only lead to the opening of doors best left closed. Dana shut her eyes and leaned her head back against the cool headrest.

Mulder took two series of turns, the final one pulling him down a dirt driveway back to a green and white trim colonial style house. On the house’s front porch was an old well-maintained porch-swing. Plants lined the banister surrounding the front door. Mulder’s car door opened and he started up the five steps to the house. He turned and looked for his partner, with his finger just hovering above the doorbell.

Dana filtered a smile. It was almost funny. Mulder the unshakable was nervous. She joined him on the porch and he rang. Mulder’s arms crossed over his chest and he paced a few feet one way and then the other. No sound came from inside the house. Expectantly Mulder rang the bell again. This both they both waited and listened. Nothing. Another attack on the door chime, this time Mulder heralded his arrival more than once in a repetitive sound pattern. Still nothing seemed to move inside the house. They were both thinking that something was wrong here. It was just after five a.m., Constance Mulder would have no real reason not to be home. No stores were open she could be running errands too.

“Do you have a key?” Scully wondered.

The male agent made a helpless gesture and started down the porch steps. “I’ll check the back of the house, maybe she’s outside, by the lake.”

On impulse Scully reached forward and placed her hand on the doorknob. It opened. “Mulder!” She called and he turned back to her instantly. Scully swung the door open and Mulder strode back to her and then inside the house.

“Mom?” The door opened into a foyer with a living room\study on one side and a small entrance to a large front guest area on the other. Mulder checked both rooms quickly, then proceeded down a hallway, flicking on the light in the kitchen.” Mom?” He called more loudly. His hazel eyes scanned the surface of the kitchen counter, looking presumably for a note. He moved forward also checking the small breakfast table for any notice of his other’s departure. It was barren.

“I’m going to check the garage.” Mulder informed Scully and then turned abruptly almost running into her. He left her there, returning a few moments later, his face impassive. “Car’s still there.” Constance Mulder’s son went back to the foyer taking the stairs that lead to the second level. His mind seemed to be in a whirlwind, moving from one possibly quickly on to the next. Times existed that it was simply better to stay out of his way. Scully let him go up the stairs on his own, thinking that if Mrs. Mulder was still asleep, it would be disconcerting for a virtual stranger and your son to burst in on you. “Mom?” An edge of tension had creeped into his voice.

Scully heard a crash come from above and instantly drew her weapon. “Mulder?” No answer. Scully felt fear slide over her, but she held it back, all but running up the stairs to find her partner. She checked the door first that was half open. Her body relaxed when she saw him safe and sound, standing with both hands clasping either side of a dresser. Scully lowered her gun. The scattered perfume bottles and music box told her that Mulder had shoved the dresser in frustration. Scully’s eyes scouted over the room, the large elegant bed looked slept in but was empty. No sign of any apparent struggle could be noted, but the window to the left of the room just near an expansive walk-in closet was ajar. Mulder’s partner’s instinct was to check the closet for any sign of missing clothes and she did so. If anything the wardrobe seemed excessively full. From this angle the female spotted a bureau and noted through the cracked shelf door that there was a t.v. and v.c.r. there. Scully went on the assumption that if she could see it, so could potential thieves. Burglarly then, it seemed, was not a factor here.

“Nothing looks as if it’s been tampered with.” The woman observed, re-entering the main room and crossing nearer to the bed. “It’s possible that she went for a walk.”

Fox Mulder gave her a disbelieving look. “It’s possible that a sixty-something year old woman who had a stroke less than a year ago, went out walking at five a.m. leaving her front door unlocked?”

Scully was pulling the old, ‘stare through him till he sees reason’ trick. The familiarity of it made him regain the sense of balance that had been teetering. “I just don’t think we should automatically assume the worst.”

“I want to ask you something, Scully.” He raised his eyebrows meaningfully at her. Dana waited for him to continue. “Have you been paying attention the last four years?” Even she had to admit inwardly that perhaps he had a point. Mulder dropped the dry wit and switched into investigation mode. “All right, there’s a flashlight in my car. I’m going to scout around outside. One of us should stay here, just in case.” Scully didn’t need to ask, clearly the latter words were concerning her.

-)(x)(x)(-

Mulder let the beam of the flashlight cut through the remaining darkness ahead of him. The trees near his home were sparse and thin until the edge of the property where they steadily grew thicker. It would be light soon. The air had a slight bite to it, but Mulder didn’t feel it. He was too busy listening and watching. The only sounds this early was his own labored breathing and an occasional cry from a seagull. The lake bordering the east edge of his property had come from a cropping of nearby ocean currents. His mother’s house sat only a quarter of a mile from the sea. Sometimes as a boy he’d been able to catch the scent of salt in the air. Taste the ocean in his mouth just by standing in his backyard looking up at the stars. He reached the fence of his property. Nothing. No sign of life in the woods. His next inclination pointed him toward the lake.

He realized with a start that he’d automatically begun thinking in terms of a place he’d hide if he had just committed a crime. Or maybe a place he’d hide a body? Fuck, he was a morbid bastard. No, he was just playing the part of the Special Agent. The one who’d worked VICAP and then the X-files. The one who had dealt with so much death that it was now a natural assumption in his investigative process. That made him sick. It was his mother he was looking for. As he neared the creek, he heard a sound. A distinct snap in the brush with-in the lake’s water, near the shore. He froze.

-)(x)(x)(-

TOKENS – Part Three

-)(x)(x)(-

The water from the lake just lapped quietly at the shore. In his youth, Fox Mulder and his sister had boated, fished and swam the lake countless times. The only area of the body of water that had remained unexplored was a thick mass of weeds and underbrush that spanned some twenty feet wide and another thirty feet across.

“Don’t go in the weeds, Fox.” Samantha had warned him more than once. Samantha’s imagination had been a fiery thing. She was sure that all masses of large teethed horrors dwelled in the marshy area. Her older brother had once laughed at her fears, and several times had crept through the thick stocks of plant life, just to prove to himself that he could. Showing himself to be unafraid had once meant life and death to him.

That no longer was the case. Nor were the monsters imaginary anymore. His adult life had proven to him that more horrors than he could have imagined as a child did exist. Mulder slowly unholstered his Sig and moved two steps closer to the weeds.

“Anyone there? Mom?” Mulder called. No answer came forth and no noise could be heard in the lake waters. His survey of the water revealed nothing. No unwarranted rippling. No unusual forms in the brush. He knew from experience that the brush was thick enough to hide in. His mind clicked over the snap he’d heard. It had sounded as if something large had made that noise. In the dark, especially under stressful conditions, the mind could play tricks. It was possible that the volume of the sound had been amplified in Mulder’s imagination. “Mom? He tried again. A pause, as his eyes swept over the scene. “Cujo?”

Again no repeat of the snap. Nothing unusual.

“Don’t go in the weeds, Fox.” The memory of the cry assailed him again.

Fuck.

Mulder let one shoe sink into the lake, as he peered down through the thick weeds, trying to see anything. The sunrise had begun to unfurl it’s colors over the sky. It was a matter of luck that it wasn’t the dead of night. The brush was eerie enough as it was. Fog had settled over the lake’s center. The small circle of mist was bound to dissipate in the course of an hour or so. Mulder took another step. Icy wetness soaked through his shoes and socks. Another cautious move forward. Now the water was at his ankles, surrounding his feet utterly. Another foot of so and the shore would bank down sharply, embracing him in water that was waist deep. He wasn’t intending to go that far. Mulder inched around the bank, his movements making the rustling snapping sounds that had heralded him to the marsh in the fist place. He tapped over the ground in front of him and felt the slope begin so he kept moving left instead of forward. His seeking gaze was intent on the water. His movements were slow.

The muscles in his back had tensed and his hand was curled tight around his gun. Still there was nothing usual. He was beginning to think he’d imagined the whole damn thing. Mulder inwardly shook his head at himself. One snap and he was ankle deep in crud, his weapon at the ready. Paranoia was apparently something he was perfecting to an art form. Stupid. His loafers were soggy and his toes had begun to freeze. The odds were his mother and partner were sitting around up at the main house drinking coffee by now. One more time letting his inspection take in all the details of the scene, then he was getting back to the house.

Suddenly something clamped around his ankle and he felt himself being pulled back. Into the deeper water. Mulder struggled but felt his body and head being dragged under. Water was all around him, encasing him in itself. The world became murky, silent and liquid. His lungs burned. Arms were around his midsection, holding him down, not letting him escape the lake’s encirclement. Mulder knew his eyes were open, but it was damned hard to see anything. He jabbed his elbowed back and up over his shoulder. The blow connected and the grip on him slackened enough so that he could fight his way past the surface. His gasp for air was short lived, hands came over his neck, tuning his face sideways back toward the water. But the surprise was over and Mulder’s mind was ready for the move. His hand balled and he left his neck still, but turned his body, punching his attacker’s gut. Mulder felt the hands fall away and he was free again. The agent had no idea where his gun had went to, but he spun and faced his attacker anyway. The creature from the black lagoon was in reality a man with a square jaw stocky tall build. His hair was curly dark and wet. He blue jeans, a black sweater and a military issue black windbreaker.

The assailant threw a punch, connecting with Mulder’s jaw, then rushing the special agent. Mulder felt back into the water again, but this time took the other man with him. They struggled for position, twirling in the water wildly as they did so. Mulder’s temper had begun to seethe. Son of a bitch. His fist swung once and then again, at the man’s eyes and face. Flesh met flesh with the blows. Again Mulder was loose. His hand came around the man’s jacket to bring him to his feet. Mulder threw the windbreaker clad man toward the shore. One step forward and Mulder was striking the square jaw with one soaked through loafer.

“Who the fuck are you?” Mulder demanded and he tugged the enemy upright again by his hair. Bastard. Invading his home. Taking his boyhood sanctuary from him. Always the damn conspiracy. Even here. Even now. Fuck. If this son of a bitch had hurt his mother…If she wasn’t alive…The rage was swelling larger and wilder inside of him. Uncontrollable. Another jab to the intruder’s face. The man fell to all fours. Mulder kicked in the bastard’s stomach, lifting the fallen slightly with the blow. “Where the hell is Constance Mulder?” Mulder reached down and pulled the man up by his upper arms. “You’d better fucking answer me.” He meant the words. He didn’t know what he’d do if the guy insisted on not talking. Where the hell was Scully to rein him in when he needed her? Then amazingly enough, it was as she was there. Just by thinking of her, the anger in him slowed. It was if she had laid her delicate hand on his arm, restraining him. Easing him. His ragged breathing evened out. Fox Mulder shook the man. “I said where is she?”

Not a flicker from the man he was questioning. Crack. The sound was sick and sharp in the quiet morning air. Pain exploded at the back of Mulder’s head and he felt himself fall. Blackness enveloped him.

-)(x)(x)(-

Mulder had awoken unable to move his head. It felt as if it might explode when it did. His grayish eyes flickered open. He was lying on his side in the mud. The agony in his skull switched to a piercing series of throbs. With concentration, it was possible to stumble toward the direction of the house. Mulder’s hand came up to the back of his head and then he checked his hand for any blood. None. Dizziness and pain battled it out for control of him. He coaxed his body, threatened it and in the end simply willed it to get him as far as the front door.

“You might want to call the police.” Mulder called, slumping against the door frame, his brain buzzing harder and harder feeling like it might explode. “I’ve found evidence that was mother was taken against her will.”

Her voice came from just the other room, but he heard her moving. Toward the door. Toward him. Thank God. “What did you find?”

“It’s what found me.” Scully’s appeared in the foyer, her deep blue eyes widened at the paleness of his face. The soaked condition of his clothes. His hand was cupping the area just above his neck. Instantly the doctor in her emerged. She moved to his side, taking his arm around her shoulders and helping him to an easy chair in the living room. His grip pressed tighter to the back of his head as he allowed her to guide him; the pain was worse when he moved. “I was doing all right Scully, till the second guy showed.” His mouth curled in a sheepish expression. It was embarrassing at times to face her after he’d been beaten. Fox Mulder wasn’t a male chauvinist but he still had his pride for pete’s sake.

“Be quiet and stay still.” Dana ordered, a surge of affection was threatening and she barely fought it off. He really was impossible. Scully bent over him, her mouth pursed forward. Their bodies were perhaps half an inch apart. He could feel the warmth of her and he was freezing. Her fingers sank deeply into his hair as she began probing over his scalp. Mulder kept his body motionless, his head hung in submission. Methodically, the pads of Scully’s fingers moved and pressed over and over. Finally she located a bump just above his neck. The knot was the size of a golf ball and tender to the touch. Mulder flinched but otherwise remained immobile. Her breath brushed over his face as she tilted closer, pushing his face to the side slowly so she could examine the injured area. His eyes fluttered shut. She had the most gentle hands.

Mulder had felt electricity twang through his body in her presence before. He denied it, choosing to joke rather than let his imagination have free rein. It was just Scully in doctor mode. His thoughts in the direction of Scully were closely monitored by him.

It was just Scully with barbecue sauce on her chin. Purely a co-worker taking his hand to comfort him. Only his partner smiling at him, making him feel as if he was the only man in the world.

She was drawing away, his body noted before his mind did. His eyes opened and sure enough she was moving toward the closet in the foyer. Mulder heard her rummaging and then a few moments later, she was back, holding a blanket under her arm.

“Here.” She said and wrapped the quilted thick covering over him. “You don’t seem to have a concussion, but I want you to stay still for awhile.” Mulder huddled into the blanket, gratefully. “You need some dry clothes.” The injured man reported where she could find some and she started off in search of them.

“Scully?” Mulder questioned and she halted. “The police.” He reminded.

“I know. In a minute.” Scully gave him his privacy as she returned with an old sweater and jeans. Mulder could hear her in the kitchen talking with the police, explaining the situation. He slipped the navy blue Oxford sweater over his head and sat back down in the chair. His eyes shut as he remembered his mother’s sad smile forever captured in the only family photo he possessed. He realized that he had to do something or the feelings of guilt would be too much. Too late. Too late again. Mulder rose too quickly and felt the world spin as dizziness washed over him again. He steadied himself and maneuvered into the kitchen, taking up the keys for the rental car.

Scully pivoted toward the sound of keys clinking and her mouth tensed at her upright partner. “Mulder…”

“I’m going to go up our drive and then take a lap around the nearby roads. I’ll only be gone a few minutes.”

Dana Scully put up one hand to instruct him to wait, then went back to answering questions into the phone. “What’s the address here?” Her voice was terse and no nonsense. Mulder answered her and then leaned back against the kitchen counter. The doctor finished her conversation with the police and quietly set down the phone. “You’ve suffered a head trauma. You need to be under observation and you need to stay quiescent for at least two or three hours.”

“My mother’s safety may be in serious jeopardy.” His annoyance was becoming a slow burn inside him. He could see her own irritation filtered through the Scully logic meter. Sometimes he hated how methodical she was.

Dana drew in a deep breath. She understood that the idea of doing nothing was driving her partner mad. “Risking aggravation to your injury isn’t going to help anyone.” Scully insisted, her eyes fiery despite her resolve to be compassionate. “The police are on their way.”

Mulder’s wound had begun to throb and he was feeling faint again. Yet he stayed on his feet, stubborn as he ever had been. “I’ll be gone five minutes.”

She moved around him to block his path. She reached forward and touched his chest, stalling him, the pressure of her fingers barely perceptible. “Mulder, you can barely stand, let alone drive.”

“I can’t just sit here.” The injured man growled. “I’m not like you.”

A disbelieving look crossed over her face. Her hand fell away automatically as she eyed him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Mulder glowered down at down, not caring how she felt. Not caring about anything except getting out of the house and searching. How much time had gone by? It ticked off in his head. They’d arrived about forty-minutes ago. It was a lifetime. Long enough to cover tracks. Time to get his mother off the island. Out of reach. Scully had become a brick wall in his way. The instinct to go – go anywhere – do anything to try to finding his remaining family member pumped through him like blood. He was unable to deny the urge. “Get out of my way, Scully.”

“Mulder,” She pushed her anger down again, becoming reasonable. “When the police arrive, I will take the car and go look myself.” Her crystal blue eyes watched him carefully. His face didn’t gentle, as it sometimes did when he was considering her words. “But for right now someone needs to watch you.”

His expression was hunted, as if he was a caged animal backed into a corner. “Your making me lose more time that I already have.”

The volume of her words became louder to match him. “Your allowing your emotions to dilute and unbalance your actions. When the police arrive, I’ll help you…”

Her calm usually his balance now enraged him. “I can sit here for hours and that’s not going to change the fact that my mother’s gone.” He stepped closer to her his eyes blazing. “I need to go now.” Mulder would never hurt Scully, even when she was standing in his way, but he had the incredible urge to hit something. “Look, you can stay here and analyze all the proper behavior and protocol you want. Some things can’t be solved by placing yourself in an emotional bubble.”

Dana realized how childish it all was. She dropped her chin and walked around him, moving back toward the living room. A moment later she heard the door close and the engine of their car start. The lone occupant of the house wanted to throw something. To go after her partner and shake some sense into him. Instead she pushed her feelings down and set about taking Mulder’s abandoned blanket and folding it into halves.

Dana wanted to kill him. Idiot, she thought out against her traveling companion. Her mind splayed her feelings out as if they were cards and she picked out, processed it and then tossed it aside. That process occurred over and over until all she had left was her tranquility. This incident was too much like Samantha’s abduction. Memories were pushing at Mulder, driving him with his demons, past his capacity to control them. It didn’t help that his relationship with his mother was so unresolved. Mulder couldn’t bear to accept that he might have failed someone he loved in any way. Guilt already weighed his shoulder heavily. How much more could he take without crumbling? Dana understood the patterns at work. It clicked into place like a formula and she began analyzing what actions might be required of her in the near future. To understand was to be able to begin to plan for all the contingencies. In experiments, nothing reasonable could be left to chance. Her immediate concern was dealing with the local authorities.

-)(x)(x)(-

…24 HOURS EARLIER…

(This is NOT a move just because Chris Carter did it in the season premiere. But I want to make it clear that we are temporarily going back in time for purposes that will be disclosed later. The present day story will continue after the past is made clearer.)

The House Of Constance Mulder
9:45 A.M. December 23

Constance Mulder was eyeing the table speculatively when the phone rang. Constance was in her fifties rapidly heading down the hill toward sixty. Her hair was curly and white, she would not use hair dye, but she did keep it styled short and fashionable. Mulder was coming. Not Fox. Mulder. Her son. Her only remaining child. The invitation had been issued as a token. In his youth, she had invited him to each and every family event out of habit. Mulder had refused to be present at such occasions since he was seventeen; old enough to drive away and escape. The family gatherings were always rather quiet, strangely solemn. No one mentioned the absent dark haired boy or the disappearance of his sister. In many ways she could comprehend her son’s avoidance. In many ways, it broke her heart. Constance had given up even the pretense of including him when the quest to find his sister had become embodied in the X-files. It was in direct confrontation with everything she had strived to protect him against. The omission of inclusion was a silent protest. A battle of wills between them that she was bound to lose. Yet neither of them could forsake the pride long enough to give up the battle. Constance was trying to keep him safe from himself. Mulder didn’t seem to understand the way it tore at her to see the pain in his eyes as he asked…even pleaded with her for answers. She had lost her daughter to the truth. It had taken the life of her estranged husband from whom she’d been separated for years. Before that, it had stolen her own innocence. It would not take her son. The truth may claw and devour it’s way through every member of the family, devouring them whole, but it could not have Fox.

This year she had mailed him a card asking him to come. Ending the battle. Wanting peace. It was perhaps too late and therefore an impossible request for her son to grant. The doctors had confirmed her heart was weakening. The x-rays had shown small abnormalities with-in the heart’s main cavern. Nothing to be concerned with the hospital had assured her. But she knew differently. Connie Mulder knew the course of these particular abnormalities like the back of her hand. She’d known the ins and outs of them for some thirty-five years. The process had begun. The small bumps over her left ventricle tube would grow until they clogged the steady flow of blood. Nothing. No procedure or drug would be able to moderate or stop the inevitable. Mulder’s mother had only a few months to live.

Death was hardly a subject of fear for her. Yet time becoming an obstacle was not a matter of little consequence. She had not sent for Fox to tell him of her death. It was not her intent to bring more pain on him. Dana Scully was dying. That burden was enough. She was also not intending to unburden herself of the secrets she had kept for so long. The tales of what was known to her would die with her. Constance Mulder had simply wanted to tell her son that she loved him. Words she hadn’t spoken in over twenty years. Samantha was taken and the mother had become a tool in her son’s guilt. Confessing love while allowing the knives to twist in him seemed like the ultimate hypocrisy. So she said nothing. In her soul all the unspoken “I love you’s,” had become “forgive me’s.” Eventually her fears had made her actions dedicated to one purpose; saving him. The motivation was the direct opposite of the end result. Mulder hated her.

His acceptance had been abrupt over the phone. He’d detailed his flight’s arrival time and told her he’d be only staying the night. It had been too surprising for her to do more than thank him for calling. In hindsight she realized that she had been too silent again when she should have said…more. Old habits died hard. For now there were arrangements to make. Her son would be arriving home in a little over nine hours. Six people would be coming for dinner including Fox. She was having the main dish catered and had changed the size of the turkey twice. Constance would be preparing dessert herself, but she had left most of the side dishes in the hands of her two sisters. Cooking was something to take joy in while a daughter had been there to pass her knowledge too.

Constance lifted the phone to her ear answering with a ginger greeting. She assumed it was the caterer or one of the relatives. It even crossed her mind that Fox might call to dodge the bullet he’d decided to bite.

“Connie,” A male voice called into the line. “They’ve perfected it.” The elderly woman felt her heart stop and then begin striking against her chest in agitation. She knew this voice. It was one from her past. “You have to come.”

“It was my understanding,” Constance began as calmly as she could. “That the notes of the project were lost.”

“They don’t have all of it, Connie. I took what they need most. “

Connie didn’t know what the man’s state of mind was but he sounded breathless and desperate. “Robert, you know that this isn’t safe.” Her phone had been tapped on and off via various sources for years.

“I can assure you that it isn’t safe at my end either.” Robert insisted.

Obligations came to her. Her son. Her family. “Can you find shelter for a few days?”

Robert knew she was asking him to wait. To go somewhere and try and hold on. It was impossible. “Have you forgotten what they’re like?” The caller asked angrily. “You made promises to me. To us. If they get this…they’ll be on the right track again.” His voice hissed in her ear. “You more than anyone should know that.”

Mrs. Mulder checked the small gold watch at her wrist. One minute, she estimated since the conversation had began. Almost enough if someone listening wanted to initiate a trace. “I’ll meet you at the old hotel. Do you remember?” His answer was a hopeful affirmative. “I’ll be there soon.” Her hand firmly hung up the phone and she covered her eyes with her fingers. One minute. That’s all it had taken for the world to fall apart. She moved to the kitchen window, turning the cold water knob on her sink and pulling water to her face, letting the cold focus her mind. As she opened her eyes, she saw the black van just up the dirt drive to her house, half camouflaged by bushes. A trickle of horror ran over her. It could be the F.B.I Or the D.O.D But there was one group of men she feared more. Whoever they were, it was likely they’d been listening. Without moving quickly, she splashed water on her face again, pointedly ignoring the van. The kitchen was spotless but she wiped the counters anyway. It was a ploy for time. As long as she didn’t act, she didn’t believe they would. Five minutes later she turned out the kitchen light and headed to the stairs.

Eventually they would come for her. But even faceless men had red tape to get through. By the time they arrived she intended to be gone.

-)(x)(x)(-

The Office of Assistant Director Walter Skinner
1:00 P.M. Dec. 23

Skinner tried the door to his office and wasn’t surprised to find it unlocked. He entered and saw that the light was on and behind his desk sat a long faced man in a unimaginative gray suit. The stranger was tapping his Morely cigarettes on the end of Skinner’s ‘Thanks for Not Smoking Sign.’ The eyes of the two men held and a wordless conversation of threats and dares ensued.

“I had taken today off.” Skinner said finally and closed the door behind him. “My private time is not something I give up lightly.” Skinner crossed to stand before the oak wood desk, his stance definitively hostile. “I thought I made it clear that I wasn’t helping you and whoever the hell you represent anymore. “

“Do you understand yet, how it was that we shackled you?” The Cigarette Smoking man held kept his face impassive. Everything about him seemed to be gray and colorless. His hair, his eyes, even something about his skin as if he was constantly lighted by the edge of light instead of the head on brightness. “You obeyed us first because of duty. You knew us to be your superiors. You followed our directives even past the bounds of your own morality.” A raising of his thin shoulders as if the details held no importance. “Now you will obey because we have the means to destroy you.”

Walter Skinner had never been partial to threats. “I think you had better tell me what you want, so I can refuse and head home.” The F.B.I official consulted his watch. “You have five minutes.”

“You think your safe because of what you know?” A laugh broke from him, if sound the pale ghostly man made could be termed as such. “You know too much. But so do we.”

“What do you want?” The loathing poured from Skinner in droves, his words were slow and tempered.

“Mulder may soon ask assistance on a personal matter. If he does, I want you to inform me immediately.” Almost a smile from the rather infamous figure. The cigarettes tapped on the sign again. “You are to extend to him any help he requests as expeditiously as possible.”

The official’s jaw set. “Why couldn’t you tell me this over the phone?” His ‘superior’ made no attempt to answer him. Skinner cursed inwardly. Why was it always secret on top of secret with these people?

The Morely smoker seemed almost indifferent to the question. “I have found that giving you orders in person tends to eliminate confusion.”

“That’s it?” The former marine didn’t trust a word. Snakes crawled on their bellies as was this nature, and this man lied as was his. “Your associates want me to help Agent Mulder?”

“Associates?” Cancerman rose slowly, brushing past his nemesis and choosing to take a stand at the room’s dead center. “What makes you believe this is not solely for my own purposes?”

“You never act alone.” Walter Skinner set his palm on the back of the now empty chair behind his desk. “That’s what keeps you in power.”

“Power is not the only result in question.” Emotions had been taken from the speaker long ago, much as blood is drained from a corpse after death. But life touched these words. The past was in his eyes.

The Assistant Director came around the desk slowly, eyes glittering with an edge of hate. “Why don’t you tell me what this is really about? Then I’ll make my decision.”

The gray man relinquished the desk, and started toward Skinner. His eyes were cold, but radiated nothing but truth. “This course of action is systematic. A precaution. The rest is nothing you need concern yourself with.”

“While Agent Mulder is one of my men; he is always and will always be a concern of mine.” The ex-marine insisted.

The thin older man remained as he was, his arms at his side, his eyes quietly meeting those of the man before him. “Then that is something we share.” A pause. “I suggest you don’t test me in this particular matter.”

The two men’s gazes had locked again, as the horn of two obstinate bulls might. “This is about his mother isn’t it?”

A flicker of surprise flashed over Cancerman’s face, but it passed quickly. The cigarette smoking man left without another word.

-)(x)(x)(-

Abandoned E.G.A.R.D (Eastern Government Animal Research Division.) facility 1:07 P.M. Dec. 23

Connie Mulder waited in the cab till a lone man approached. This had not been the best area years ago, but now most only a stillness remained to this portion of the city. The two story office that had once housed E.G.A.R.D was empty. No more cages. No scientists bustling in and out. No cars or security constantly in the parking lot. The product of a less politically correct age, now left alone. Yet it had taken it’s toll before it had died. The warehouses and former factories for two blocks in either direction of it were now as lifeless as it was. In life, the building had been the keeper of pain. The place was haunted with the past and it was eerie just to sit outside. Connie could understand why the businesses near by had taken up residence elsewhere. The place was haunted, if not by actual ghosts, then by secrets. She knew. Some of those secrets were hers.

The Have-Cure Hilton. Robert Bornes had invented the nick-name. It had stuck and become almost folklore. Robert had been one of four scientists assigned to Connie’s department. For some reason, though she’d been made the head of her project, certain conditions had been leveled regarding who she could chose to work with her. Robert was the only married man they’d allowed. Her bosses had accepted him only because his wife was also a scientist and would be with him on the project. Mrs. Mulder had never questioned their age and demographic stipulations. She was honored to have ascended to her position. She’d believed in what they were doing.

Robert had been the strongest meter for her ambition she could find and she’d chosen him purposely for that particular talent. The man was purposely put in the role of being the conscience of the project. It was easy to become callous when trying to heal. It was a strange irony. Somehow the end result and the pursuit of it dimmed out the rest if the world. Bornes was a strong opponent of using animals for any kind of research. Yet he loved science and he made concessions to that end. Bornes had fought her tooth and nail for every animal they used. He’d insisted on developing better computer programs, improved testing devices, anything to fight the death of another helpless creature. Bornes had not been her equal. In most matters she had been able to bend him to her will. She remembered the many times he had plastered table after table in the lab with baseball cards in his monthly attempts to trade with other employees at E.G.A.R.D. Finally the leader of the Great White Island Project had forbid him to bring his collection anywhere near the building. He’d argued furiously but had given in. That was Robert. Yet his words had a way of staying with her, staying with all of them, long after he’d spoken them. That was also Robert.

The Have-Cure Hilton was a reference to the way the government would throw money at any potential cure for certain diseases no matter how far fetched. Further, Robert had insisted that any animal that came there was there to stay. A permanent guest. Till death do them part. It was a cynical and brutal thing to say. It was also the truth. Robert was loud and arrogant. He refused to tone any part of himself down for any occasion. No one had truly liked him in their department. Except his wife. Outwardly she seemed a cold calculating woman. Yet Connie had seen her husband’s smile cause a warm and all encompassing change in her on more than one occasion. Sally Bornes was the person Mulder’s mother had assigned to be the visionary of the group. Sally made up for her lack of any discernible warmth with her ability to grasp a larger picture and unfurl it clearly.

Robert, Sally, Matthew, Angie, Connie…the Great White Island Project.

The lady paid the cab driver and started toward the front of the desolate building. The walking figure slowed as he saw her, then in the next instant was moving more quickly. Robert Bornes was a burly man with a small goatee and long shoulder length hair. Other than the gray in his dark beard and hair, he looked much like the man he’d been when she’d procured him out of graduate school. His smile was slight, but the relief in his golden eyes was palatable. “Thank God.” Connie noted the black circles under his eyes and the bruise of his left cheek, almost hidden by the beard. His hands were trembling as he reached forward and took her fingers in his own. A gesture showing his fear, asking her comfort. Connie had not at the outset of knowing him, thought he would ever be her friend. Despite the occasional brilliance and morality he exhibited, she found his tirades a bore. Yet extreme experiences had a way of binding people. The Great White Island team members had become forged to one another and that bond had never been, could never be broken. Robert and Connie were the last members of the project still alive.

“What’s happened?” Connie asked, releasing his hands.

Robert lifted his large shoulders in almost a shrug and bobbed his head toward the doorway of the E.G.A.R.D building. She followed him as he pushed open the door. Nothing of the inner shell of the labs remained. Only a series of empty shelves, lots of broken glass and some charred wood scattered here and there. The walls were crumbled and cracking. The place no longer looked stable. Years ago a fire had raged through the building. It had ceased and destroyed everything with-in, but had done little to the exterior. “Do you remember what this place was like?” Robert’s voice was husky and overly-loud as it always had been. “I was surprised you remembered what we used to call it.” Bornes had buried his hands in his coat, a thin looking corduroy thing with patches at it’s elbows. Despite the fact that it was freezing and he had very little protection from the elements, his wide brow was damp with sweat. He turned over an old crate and sat down with a soft groan.

“Robert?” Connie asked in concern.

“Don’t insult me by asking what’s wrong.” The man almost looked amused. No, Connie, thought, she hadn’t been going to ask. She knew. It was the same malady she suffered. “Three strokes later and the kid is still ticking.” Bornes set his hand over his heart and patted there twice before letting his hand fall again. “Let me rest a moment.” His eyes shut and he reached inside his jacket, offering her a manila envelope.

The former head of the project, drew the contents out of the envelope carefully as if they might bite her. Her assessment of what she found was spoken in a quiet voice. “By taking this, you’ve only stopped a portion of the whole.” Her gaze on his was frank. “You’ve risked our lives for nothing.”

A flinch. “I’ve bought us time.” His blinking was irregular and his body unusually tense. The signs of pain were on him like a badge, yet the determination and morality was stronger. “I need your help to hide what I’ve found. So that if anything happens, you can make arrangements.”

“How many times do I have to tell you – all of you – that I don’t to be involved.”

His dark eyes sought out hers. He could sense her fears, her desire to refuse him. “You’ve helped us before once or twice, as I recall. ” Her former employee pointed out. “Like with the weapon…”

“And I told you then that it was the last time.” Connie insisted, handing the envelope back to him.

“Is it my fault I know you better than you know yourself?” A half smile played over his lips and then was gone, replaced by a gaze more probing. “Did your husband ever tell you the whole truth?”

“I never asked.” The reply was instant and without regret. “I knew my part. What I had done. That was enough to know.”

Bornes swallowed, his Adam’s apple rising and falling slowly as he kicked at a piece of debris. “I couldn’t walk away. That’s why I stayed with them so long. I wanted to know why.” His foot plucked at another piece of glass, moving it slightly. “I know enough to unravel everything.” His head shook back and forth as if he was saying no. “Still so much I didn’t find out.”

Connie held up her hand suddenly. “Not another word.” She ordered. “I’ll help you.” Her decision was firm but reluctant. “I’ll go with you and help you hide this. But I don’t want to know your secrets.” Her hazel eyes so much like her son’s were deceptively strong. Yet the fear was there, as alive as ever.

“You were the one who put the pieces together back then.” Robert sounded amazed at her rejection. Suddenly he was chuckling. “I was never more impressed with you than when you lit the damn match to this place.” He struggled to his feet. His breath was coming in and out unevenly. “We have to go.” Borne’s hand came around her elbow gently and they moved outside together. “My car is on the next street.”

“Robert,” Her curiosity had been nagging at her. She still didn’t want to know the whole picture, but her mind was still that of a scientist. “Why did they re-open the experiments after all this time?”

“Timing is everything, haven’t you realized that yet?” Robert Borne looked to her almost distractedly. You burnt this place at a time of political awareness. It wasn’t feasible to pursue certain avenues when they were so sensitive. Not on a large scale, anyway.” Their footfalls followed them around a street corner and she could see a dark sedan in the distance. “Animal experimentation was becoming a relic. They kept a few centers open to give the crusaders an object to focus on.” Another ginger laugh. “We did them a favor by destroying this place.

“Then what’s changed? Why now?”

“The clones.” Borne said softly as if it were a subject that could only be spoken of in a low voice. “Or I should say the knowledge of their development by the masses.” Another shrug, even as his eyes scanned the street. “A new era is coming. One that will make life much simpler for your old cigarette smoking friend and company.” His brow wrinkled with worry and disgust. “The last thirty years have been an era of awareness.” Connie wasn’t going to ask. He’d already said more than she would have liked. Yet despite herself, she couldn’t stop him from speaking again. “The new era will be dedicated to removing the guilt.”

They had reached the car and Robert opened his side and slide in, waiting for her to do the same. Connie still could hear his words and felt a sick twist of revulsion and fresh horror rise in her. Such a wave of emotions had only swelled over her once before. It had lead her to call her team together and make a promise. It had been the motivation behind a burning match, dropped in a trail of gasoline. This time she would do nothing save keep an old promise. It would end there, she promised herself, thinking of her son. Robert was sick and the past would die with him. Promise or no, she intended to let the secrets they buried this night remain buried forever.

Golden Crest Hotel, Brookridge Dec. 23 2:51 P.M.

The forest stretched on endlessly in the distance, rolling down into a deep valley and then rising into a series of mountains. The trees were still thick with leaves, tough their coloring was darker, almost a gray shade of green, or brown and dry, ready to give up the cling to life. White like blanket, covered the world, stilling it, making the silence deafening. The snow was little more than flurries at the moment, but beyond the parking lot, Connie judged the ground to be a good three or four feet thick with the white powder. Tonight, the weather men were predicting even more. Connie let the curtain she was holding back, fall closed again before turning to face Bornes.

He was lying in bed on his side, his face flushed with pain, sweating soaking into his shirt and hair. Robert peered at her. “Kid’s still here,” Coughing racked his body after he spoke. But despite the pain of it, Robert went on. He never was able to keep silent for long about anything. “Doctor gave me pills finally. Damn things don’t work.” Another fit of coughs washed over him. Connie helped him lift his head and handed him the water. “It’ll pass.” Bornes reassured her. “Always does. I’ve had this fits…” A deeper choking sound came from his chest before he continued. “…for months.”

“This weather and the altitude probably isn’t helping.” It was almost a nag, as one she might give her son.

“I know these mountains.” Bornes replied and lifted his head at just an angle where he could sip at the glass of water. “My wife grew up around here. There’s….” He pushed himself into a sitting position. “An old Indian cave. It was where Sally and I first…” His lips spread in a mocking smile. “You never were one to like the gruesome details, so I’ll spare you. We camped out here for part of our honeymoon too.” Robert’s breathing was easier now. “Most of our vacations. Sally said she felt safe here.” His chocolate colored eyes glowed with old remembrance and love. Connie remembered that about him. He’d been utterly devoted to his wife. “It seems right to use this place to hide the nails to those bastards’ coffins.”

“You’ve always been overly smug. If they never find this formula, it won’t stop them.” Connie withdrew to a dull yellow chair near the hotel room’s window. They’d drawn the curtains when they’d checked in, but the light still spilled inside, bathing the room in half-shadows.

The large man rolled over unto his side, his eyes fluttering shut. “There is the garden and there are the weeds and rodents within.” He told her quietly. “But always…always there has been the gardeners.”

Bitterness rose in his old friend, a tide of the past and the present crashing inside her. “Your associates, like you, talk a good game. Nothing ever comes of it.”

“Our goal has never been to stop the Consortium, Connie.” Robert was watching her now, smiling gingerly. “We understand our place in things. We strive to give others the necessary tools, not use them ourselves.” He turned his head, his eyes on the ceiling as he spoke. “I believe that when the time comes, your son will be instrumental in the reversal that will take place.”

“I hate your friends for involving him.” Hate was not a word that she used lightly, in this case the word was totally accurate.

Robert chuckled immune to her fury and shook his head. “He involved himself.” Another burst of laughter. “We hardly go recruiting. And if we did, we wouldn’t exactly have had to twist Mulder’s arm.”

It was dangerous to taunt her on such a subject. Connie was tempted to walk away from him there and then. “I resent that you enticed him into the devil’s den and then left him in isolation.”

“The hell we did.” Robert’s eyes flashed as his mood changed abruptly. His tone was agitated. “We’ve lost two good men looking after your son.” The bearded former advisor gave into another barrage of coughing. “We kept him as safe as we could without revealing ourselves. But we’re not gods. We do what we can.” His breathing had become gasps and now steadied. “You stay here.” He insisted and swung his feet to the ground. “I need to get a compass and some other supplies. There’s a store just up the road.” Bornes marched toward the door, taking the envelope up and slipping it inside his jacket. “I’ll take this – if you decide you want out, they’ll be no further obligation on your part.”

Outside he opened the trunk and lifted the covering where the spare tire lay. His eyes were sharp, listening for the door behind him. Connie wasn’t pursuing. Inside the small area where the tire lay was another manila envelope, identical to the one in his jacket. Robert switched the two envelopes and swung the trunk shut. The car started easily. It was an added risk using his personal vehicle while on the run. But his dark sedan had never failed him and it made him feel safer knowing this car was the one he was relying on.

The store was a half a mile away. As promised, he purchased two flashlights, a miltary issue ditch shovel and a compass. He also procured a third class mail box and stamps. The clerk took the cash Bornes handed over without a second look. Robert was whistling ‘America the Beautiful’ as he placed the bag containing the mail goods under the spare tire area then rounded the front of the car and got in the driver’s seat. A minute later he was pulling into the hotel parking lot. His eyes were fixed on the door of the hotel room and he wondered idly if his former employer would still be there. He’d been gone no more than five minutes. Sometimes that was all the time in the world. He reached into the back seat, pulling a light blue carryall bag towards him as he moved back to his room. The door was unlocked, Robert noted, just as he’d left it.

And in the same way, Connie was still sitting in the small yellow chair. “I’m a woman of my word.” She told him by way of explanation.

Robert sat on the bed, laying his burdens next to him. “Connie.” He addressed her gently. “It’s not the promise. I know you think you’ll do this and then I’ll probably keel over and die and that’ll be that.” His frankness startled her and it was a struggle not to look guilty. “You aren’t doing this for me.” His fingers folded in his lap before him. his eyes were peaceful and certain. “You help because you understand; the greatness of this country is not in what is, but what it can be.” His eyes probed, examining for any sign of a disagreement. “Because of that…despite your fears, your always going to do your part.”

“Your wrong, Robert. I’d sell both our souls to keep my son safe.”

Bornes pursed his lips and let his eyes fall to his folded hand. “I don’t think so.”

Constance Mulder knew that Bornes believed what he was saying. His presence was becoming more and more familiar as it once had been. When he believed something, he couldn’t be dissuaded. She was tired and felt that if she had the opportunity, she could go to sleep and never re-awaken. Fox was home now. Her mind didn’t want to consider what he must be going through. Without meaning to, she’d hurt him again.

Or perhaps he hadn’t come. Maybe he’d refused her invitation after all. Her sisters and brother also crossed her mind. Evan was a bear when all was well, much less when it wasn’t. They’d never had the closeness that siblings were supposed to. In many ways before she’d married William she’d been very alone. Yet she had refused to be unhappy with her lot, projecting instead an impudent sense of humor and passionate spirit in everything she did. Connie had always had acquaintances by the bushels. But not friends. Emotional intimacy was something that had always seemed to elude her. After her marriage the solitude had only eased in moments. Her husband and herself by silent agreement had refused to discuss his work or any aspect of their pasts. It left too much unsaid. William Mulder had eventually turned to drinking and sitting for long hours in his study with the door locked. He wasn’t a drunk; nor was he a violent or irresponsible man. William was a good provider, filling the role of father with dedication, but no true understanding of the position.

“Shake hands like a man, Mulder.” William Mulder had come home from a location unknown, back after disappearing for three days. No explanation was ever offered for where he had gone, or when he’d be leaving again. One night in a great while, he simply wouldn’t come home, and his wife would be left waiting until he finally did re-appear or she received notice of his death. Five year old Fox Mulder had heard his father’s voice in the foyer and had come running, diving for him. Through the boy’s youthful eyes, the man had been transformed into a being that was daring and mysterious; someone more than mere mortal. His father’s absentees were easily explained in the child’s worshipful imagination. His dad was simply a hero, that answered everything. William had set him back and extended his hand instead. “Firm grip. Eyes on mine.” Then with approval. “Good.”

Connie had thought at first that the distance between she and William would pass. She noticed his withdrawal immediately, but told herself that a recent mission was bothering him and eventually he would work through it. Her desire to comfort him conflicted with the belief that dark secrets were what was tearing at him. Secrets best left unknown. She had placed the fear in a position over the love without meaning to. When the realization came of the damage this had done, her attempts at soothing him were met with stony silence. William had never once tried to talk matters through with her, leaving the walls in place, rather than daring beyond them. Over time, they had learned to stop needing one another. The emotional barriers became comfortable. Despite everything, her love for him had been unfaltering, so in her heart there had still been hope… until Samantha…and then everything she had ever felt for him withered away. Only Fox remained.

“Say, do you remember my baseball card collection?” Bornes asked suddenly. A rueful expression on her part. Of course she did. Robert was searching through his overnight bag and produced a large book that looked to be about two hundred plastic pages long. His grin was boyish as he began flipping through it. “I started this when I was ten.” He pointed to one cherished card, then another. “Willie Mays. Ty Cobb. Even….” He tuned several more pages and showed her another picture. “The Babe.” His fingers all but caressed the page as he sighed happily. Robert closed the book, but kept it in his arms, as if it were a child. “This thing, some clothes and the formula were all I took from home when I left.”

“I’m surprised you’ve kept at it all this time.”

A raised eyebrow. “Even a Conspirist needs a hobby.” He winked and wore a ‘devil may care’ smirk. She didn’t return his good cheer. One slip and it would all fall apart. She could lose all she’d ever strived to protect. Apprehension held her captive and the future taunted her as if it were an enemy. Bornes darted his eyes to the window and the dwindling light. “We’re burning daylight.” With some difficult, he came to his feet. Coughing immediately over came him. Constance rose and checked his brow, then stepped away sighing.

“Your in no condition for this.”

“My body will have to wait it’s turn to rest.” Robert replied obstinately.

“I’ll go.” The voice was silent but firm. His eyes met hers. She watched the questions sort themselves in his mind. ‘Can I trust you?’ ‘Why this sudden change of heart?’ Connie said nothing nor did she look away and finally Robert nodded.

“I’ll draw you a map of where to find the cave.” Robert moved toward the hotel dresser and searched for paper and a pen. “I can drive you to a certain point. It’s a three mile hike from there.” Connie accepted the words without comment. Her heart was certainly more weak than it had been in her youth, but she was fit otherwise. As long as she kept an easy pace, the hike should pose no real problem, even in vigorous country. Without another word he collected his car keys and supplies. “I’ll wait for you at the drop you off point. I’ll circle every half hour until you arrive.” He opened the automobile and waited for her, before starting the car.

Constance was riffling through the bags, she fished out a flashlight and the military ditch shovel. It was second nature to her to check her equipment as she did so she found that the flashlight was defective. Even by shaking it, no light was produced. Robert saw her struggled and reached in the bag, taking out the flashlight he’d purchased for himself. “Always have a contingency plan.” Robert told her. “Speaking of which…” Her old friend leaned forward and pushed the button that opened his glove box. Connie watched and wasn’t entirely surprised that a revolver lay inside. Robert lifted it up and pushed it towards her. “Here.” His dark eyes finally revealed a trickle of anxiety. “Just in case.”

McKinley Gas Station December 23, 3:14 P.M.

Robert Bornes checked his watch and then the gas gauge. His coughing fits were back, but in his view it hardly mattered anymore. It wasn’t easy to open his door and stand but he managed it, moving to his gas tank and opening it.

“Sir,” Came a voice. A younger man in overalls and a dirty T-shirt was approaching from the auto-repair portion of the gas station. His deep green eyes were narrowed in concern and Robert felt the gasping convulsions of his chest wash over his again. “That’s some cough.”

“Yes.” Robert agreed almost pleasantly.

“I’ll pump the gas for you, sir.” The mechanic said kindly.

Bornes smiled his gratitude. “I’ll go pay then.” Slowly he moved to the front office and inside. A female clerk at the register greeted him haphazardly and they both waited for the total on the gas tab to appear.

“Ten thirteen.” The clerk announced and Robert dug in his pocket for his wallet. “Will this be cash or charge?”

Robert was watching the flakes of snow tumble to earth, his attention then drifting toward the rising mountains and beyond. “Credit.” His attention returned to her and he flipped out a small card of plastic on the counter. “I’m out of cash.”

The clerk took up his credit card and ran it through a small multi-colored machine, punching in the amount she was charging and then waiting. Bornes watching the green neon pad of the machine dial and connect, as if it were a mesmerizing dance, and when the charge went through with no further incident, he nearly chuckled. Thanking the clerk and fighting another uprising of coughs, Robert made his way outside.

“You take care of yourself sir.” The former scientist hadn’t put away his wallet and he opened it now, taking out a five dollar bill. The man in overalls initially refused, but his customer pushed the issue. “Go on and take it, son.” The mechanic hesitated, but then conceded.

The older man’s eyes were on the mountains again. “This is beautiful country isn’t it?” Bornes’s eyes lingered where they were and then he turned, thanking the attendant again. A moment later the young man was folding the money into his pocket as the dark sedan drove away.

I-16 Highway, Brooksridge Dec. 23 7:45 P.M.

Connie had checked her watch every five minutes for the last hour. Damn Robert anyway, she’d only taken two hours to complete all of what he’d asked of her. She’d been waiting for over two hours and the temperature had dropped twenty degrees since the sun had all but disappeared over the horizon. She wasn’t afraid for herself. The road she stood near was well traveled. Connie was simply as irritated as a wet hen. Constance had expected Robert to arrive to pick her up come hell or high water. Her mind refused to go over the darker possibilities of why he might not have come. She consulted her watch one last time before looking over her shoulder and noting several trucks coming down the highway toward her. The hell with Robert. Connie lifted her shovel in a kind of wave, trying to signal for help. The first truck passed her by, but the second slowed and came to a halt beside her. Hitch-hiking wasn’t a safe practice, but neither was waiting around all night as temperatures continued to drop. Constance chose the lesser of two evils.

She had the truck deposit her just outside the lobby of the hotel, instead of near her room. You can never be too careful, she noted to herself. The muscles in her legs were beginning to stiffen and it would be good to feel the warmth of room’s heat. Robert’s car was there, parked in front of the room. Idly, she considered that he’d simply fallen asleep. He had seemed quite ill earlier. Yet that didn’t ring true to what she remembered of the idealist’s nature at all. Her steps quickened despite herself and then she stopped her eyes widening in horror. The door to their room had opened and two men in gray suits had emerged, closing the door behind them swiftly. Connie had nowhere to go. If they looked her way…But they didn’t, intent on their purpose of walking through the parking lot toward a white Ford Taurus. They drove away without a backward glance.

Wrapping her hand in the bottom of her jacket, Mulder’s mother turned the doorknob to Bornes’s room and felt it give. Robert was lying almost peacefully on the bed. The only indication that anything was amiss was the red splotch slowly growing wider and wider on his chest. Blood. He’d been shot, or stabbed perhaps. Still careful not to let her fingers touch the door, she shut it and knelt by the man’s side.

“Robert?” Connie whispered and felt for a pulse. Nothing. His skin was icy. She pressed her ear to his shirt, just over his heart, but the reassuring pump wasn’t there. He was gone. She suddenly felt every second of her age, and holding back a sob, leaned forward to rest her brow on the cool bed sheets. It took all of her strength to rise again and dig through her dead friend’s pockets. Her shoulders slumped with relief as she found his car keys. Constance touched Robert’s cold hand with one of her own in farewell. Letting her fingers fall back to her side, she clutched the keys tightly and fled.

-)(x)(x)(-

TOKENS – Part Four

-)(x)(x)(-

(WELCOME back to real time. The past is over. The present is now.)

Chief Lynda Thompson was the first female police chief in the history of Chilmark. Lynda was just in her forties and her sandy blond hair was long and placed in a frazzled bun at the back of her head. Her uniform was a size too large, to make up for her decidedly scarecrow like body. Still she carried her badge and her gun with authority. Scully had been dealing with her patronizing tone for three hours and was growing weary of it. Besides Mulder still wasn’t back and whether she wanted to be or not, she was very concerned.

“Did you send an APB to the airport as I requested?” Scully asked, her calm cadence threatening to fall any second.

“Now, I told ya ma’am,” Ma’am , Dana noted. Scully had told the chief to call her Dana about twenty times. “I’ve got no grounds. No one saw her in any danger. Fact is, we know she left town alone in a cab and went to the airport.”

In the beginning, Dana and Lynda had seemed to see eye to eye. The chief had seemed concerned and efficient. A search had been conducted of the Mulder’s property. The only suspicious discoveries made were the tire tracks of a ford van and Mulder’s Sig, still water logged from the lake. Lynda Thompson had then insisted on interviewing the residents of the nearby houses. It had paid off. Constance Mulder’s nearest neighbor had told a story of Connie coming to her home at about 11:00 a.m. Connie had asked to use her friend to use the phone, saying hers was out. She needed to call a cab so she could go to the airport and collect a family member who had just flown in. The neighbor had explained that the woman seemed tense but otherwise nothing was wrong. No one was with her. It was with that revelation that Scully had noticed a decided cooling in Chief Thompson’s pursuit of the case. Dana knew why, short of the attack on Mulder, the chief no longer considered there to be a case.

“So your refusing?”

A glimmer of irritation from the older woman. “No…no…I figured I’d flash Connie’s picture around the airport later on myself.” Lynda seemed to view Dana as a young pup compared to herself. She didn’t give a darn what kind of badge the red haired lady had. Lynda had never been impressed by titles. “I just don’t see that a mobilization of my whole force is in order. That sounds like what your asking for. We’ve got no cause to think a crime has been committed.”

One more appeal at reason, Scully told herself. “You told me you’ve known Connie Mulder for years, is that true?”

“Known OF her.” The police officer corrected. “The Mulder’s, like quite a few folks tend to be private.”

“In your opinion is this characteristic behavior one might expect from her? To leave abruptly with no message to where she might be with her family coming to visit?”

“Mrs. Mulder always seemed like a nice lady. I don’t know what she’s gotten involved with, but it’s a damn shame.” The chief shrugged that away, settling her palms over her gun belt. “But I have an entire town to protect. I’m not going to send my boys on some wild goose chase.”

That was it. The last three words drummed into her temper like thorns. “An F.B.I agent was assaulted.” Dana growled. “Do you think the bureau takes attacks on their personnel lightly?”

“Miss,” Lynda began, not backing up. “I’ve got four men trying to find who attacked Mr. Mulder. Don’t you accuse me of not knowing my job.”

“What I know,” Scully retorted, her chin rising with her anger as she stared ” Is that the bureau will investigate this assault and if they do your level of cooperation will be reviewed as well.”

“Now that sounds like a threat.”

Mulder’s partner felt her teeth clench. “Not at all.” It wasn’t smart to alienate the local authorities. Dana knew that legally the chief was correct. The other woman was going by the book. In another time, she would have applauded that resolve. But since being partnered with the bull headed alien chaser, she had learned that ‘the Book ‘could be as much a hindrance as a help. Sometimes shortcuts were not only easier but they were necessary. “I’m asking for some lee-way till we establish with certainty that Mrs. Mulder is in no danger. “

Chief Thompson shook her head in the negative. “You’d think the F.B.I would have taught you folks that the law doesn’t try to predict the future. It deals with what is, not what might be.”

The temper was in total control now. Gone was the cool examining logic. “Tell me,” Scully countered fiercely. “…if Mulder had been killed, would you be more willing to give me a fucking break?”

The chief pointed a finger at her menacingly. “Nobody talks to me that way.”

“Scully,” Came a familiar voice from the doorway of the house. Mulder. Dana turned, her eyes moving over him greedily, making certain he was all right. Her partner seemed exhausted. But he was safe and sound otherwise. Mulder’s tired gray eyes moved back and forth between the two women. They had been toe to toe in his mother’s living room. Outside two more police officer’s were searching near the lake. One of the men had told Mulder that earlier the upstairs bedroom had been dusted for prints. “I didn’t find anything.” Mulder replied to the unspoken question now in Scully’s eyes.

He approached the two women and moved one hand to the small of his partner’s back. Scully tensed but didn’t pull away. The earlier conversation was till in the air between them, Mulder knew. But the touch was to help her temper not to declare a peace.

“I’m Agent Mulder. My mother is the one missing.”

“Agent Mulder,” Lynda began her tone overly-civil and crisp. She was ignoring Dana entirely now “I’ve got to say it wasn’t smart for you to disappear for three hours after a report of a possible kidnapping.” Lynda’s turned from him. “James!” She hollered and the sound of footsteps headed down the stairs a moment later. “One of my officer’s will take your statement. After that I was hoping you’d come to the station and help us compile a sketch of the men who attacked you.”

“Do you mind if I have a word with my partner first?” Mulder asked quietly.

The chief shrugged. Mulder motioned for Dana to follow him outside. They brushed past the officer coming to take Mulder’s statement and headed outside. The wind was not as icy now and Fox Mulder watched the trees dance back and forth instead of looking to the woman beside him. “Do we have to go over the part in the F.B.I manual on playing well with others again?”

No reaction from the petite woman at his side. Mulder had been going for a smile from her, or at least a tension breaker, a sign that everything was okay. A hint that he had been forgiven. Instead Dana’s face was a wall of impassiveness.

Damn. He’d been sure that she understood that his words had been a product of a desperate mind. Occasionally Mulder was reminded that it was possible to take Scully’s ability to forgive for granted. But this…surely this wasn’t one of his larger lapses? Why then, the grudge? He hadn’t necessarily even been in the wrong. His words had been harsh. Hurtful. But she’d been…what? Reasonable? The confused man nearly laughed out loud. Might as well get mad at a bird for flying. His temper had been broiling and she had been an easy target. Dana was so…calm. In control. When it felt like the seams were coming apart to be faced with a logical rite of do’s and don’t was frustrating as hell. Scully had only been trying to look after him. As he would have for her.

“Where were you?” Scully questioned. Her stare merely took him in, it didn’t see him. She was looking through him. Mulder hated when she did that. Thank God, she only accomplished that particular look, as if he was some sort of unimportant abnormality, when she was truly furious with him, which was rare. Her shoulders were hunched forward, her small mouth thin. He could almost hear the question ‘Why did you drag me out here? I was fine.’

Your always fine, his mind grumbled at her.

“I was searching.” The car had been hard to manage for the first hour. His head was throbbing as if it were about to break open. Mulder had pulled to the side of the road twice, uncertain if he could go on. The driver had managed on guts and determination. Eventually the pain had begun to fade, leaving only a slight ache when he moved too quickly. “And I stopped to see an uncle of mine.” Mulder went around to the trunk of their rent-a-car and opened it, hoisting two photo albums from the inside. “I was thinking that maybe the key was to do a profile on my mom. I was considering going through the old family albums and seeing what I could come up with. If there was a place or a person that seemed to stick out.”

“Mulder,” His partner wasn’t sure where he was going with this. She was examining the photo albums. Both looked old and worn, the smaller of the two had a tear. They were thick, full of plastic slots of pictures, encased in a deep colored leather binder. “A neighbor saw your mother leave town in a cab this morning. Alone.” She measured his reaction to what she’d said before going on. “The sheriff feels that she may be in some trouble and is evading pursuit.”

The man who’d been her partner four years didn’t look surprised. In fact, there was grim relief to his face. “That goes back to what I was saying.” He chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully, gazing down at the books he held as if they were holy artifacts. “I’ve never thought about it before. It never struck me as odd. But I’ve never seen photos of my mother before I was born. No wedding pictures. No childhood’s most embarrassing moments.” Mulder closed the trunk and started back toward the house. “No records of her job history.” He climbed the stairs to the front door and the hesitated turning back to his partner. “I’ve been through our house top to button. And I’ve never thought twice about my mother’s lack of a pictorial past until today.” His strong thumb stroked over one of the books slowly. “I’ve never seen them because they weren’t here. My uncle had these. I think I’ve exchanged maybe ten words with the man my whole life. He and mom aren’t close, though he does always show up around the holidays.” Scully could practically hear his mind working, his tone was curious and distracted. “But he had these.” He drug his eyes to those of the lady before him, letting her share the questions as they formed in his head. ‘why would Mulder’s mother let a man she wasn’t particularly close to, keep something so personally valuable?’

“And you believe that those books may hold the key to your mother’s disappearance?”

A half smile. “Actually I hope I’m wrong.” That was an understatement. If he was right, a huge Pandora’s box might be on the brink of opening. This being about the past could ultimately lead on a road to Samantha and perhaps the consortium. But those people didn’t let things lie. They played for keeps. Mulder wasn’t sure he could protect her, if it was them. Wasn’t sure he could find her, if they had taken her. After all, how long had he been looking for Samantha? “But…it’s a possibility.”

Dana understood, saw his fears and shared them. Her sky-blue eyes were a mirror of his own. They were in sync again. “Mulder, the local law enforcement don’t have the means to do a through record search.” Scully had debated calling the bureau five minutes after the police had first arrived. It wasn’t because of any incompetence the police had shown. Rather it was because she had realized that a small force like the one at Martha’s vineyard were going to be limited in what they could do. Yet she felt odd going to a higher level without Mulder agreeing to it. His family had a murky past and the evidence was the consortium had plenty of eyes and ears hidden in the F.B.I. to take advantage of a time of vulnerability. Her protective instincts had risen and so she’d waited.

“I’d like to call Skinner and ask for a listing of any banking or credit card activity from your mother’s accounts in the last seventy-two hours.” Mulder’s partner went on. “I also want to see if we can pull her phone records.”

Mulder nodded. “Okay, but no details, Scully. Not over the phone.”

“I’m supposed to get Skinner to agree to letting us use the F.B.I. resources and not tell him why?” She folded her arms over her chest and let out half a laugh. “How do you expect me to pull that off?”

“I have faith in you.” Her partner answered, distractedly. “Oh…Scully….” Mulder hesitated and then took in a deep breath. “There’s one more thing. I intended to endeavor to get you a plane ticket back on Christmas day…”

Scully’s expression thawed slightly. “Mulder don’t worry about that…”

“You can use my ticket. It looks like I won’t be needing it.”

Scully halted, her mouth hanging open slightly. “What?”

“It was a nice gesture, you coming here. But this looks like it’s going to take a few days. You should go be with your family.”

“I hope this doesn’t have anything to do with the difference of opinion you witnessed between the sheriff and I?” Her stare was condemning. “Darth Vader has more congeniality than that woman.”

Fox Mulder held back a laugh. “No. I…I..just think you should be home now.” The crossed arms over her chest pulled a little tighter and her thin face seeped back into that unemotional mask. “Mulder, I can’t go deck the halls while your mother is missing.”

Mulder opened the door to his mother’s house and nodded for her to go in before him. He closed the door behind them before speaking again. “I carry around enough guilt for three lifetimes as it is. I don’t need this hanging around my neck too.” He gently brushed a silky lock of hair back from her face. Mulder drew away slowly. “Go home, Scully.”

Go home. Leave me alone. Get out of my way, Scully. The words that he’d thrown at her under a million different circumstances reverted in her head. Oh Mulder, she sighed to him silently, when are we going to get past this? “If that’s what you want.” She didn’t bother to look at him as they rejoined the sheriff and her deputy.

Mulder’s eyes were weary from staring at pictures, letting the details from images soak into his photographic memory. Several things struck him about the photos. His mother’s eyes had been vibrant and undisturbed until half-way through the second photo album. Connie Mulder had apparently once had a sense of humor if some of the poses she’d taken were any indication. A good portion of the photos were candid shots of fun, of a laughing dark haired young woman who looked as if the world were her oyster. His mother.

The Great White Island Project – The Queen and her court. That was written on a 10 by 12 photo halfway through the second book. With that picture, Constance’s lightness had seemed to begin a transition. Mulder looked at the photo of his mother in a long white lab coat standing beside a large burly man who’s arm was draped around a much slender woman. Nearby, another woman was giving the camera a mock salute. Finally in the back stood a blond haired man with a conservative haircut and thin framed eyes glasses. Mulder moved a magnifying glass over each face and concentrated. Nothing came to him. It was frustrating. He wanted to go and talk to Scully with a sudden intensity. He was out of possible answers, feeling that there was a trick he was missing, but having no idea what it might be. Scully always saw things with fresh eyes.

He, the sheriff and Scully had gone to the airport earlier, showing Connie Mulder’s picture to baggage handlers and ticketers. It had been chaos trying to locate all the employees to be interviewed on Christmas eve. Most people had the night off. Mulder saw to it that anyone potentially pertinent was called at home. No one had remembered Connie Mulder. It had been a shot in the dark anyway. The day before Christmas eve and the day of, every airport in the country had wall to wall people. Another long shot was checking the computer systems, again it was a speculation that didn’t yield any further information. Mulder had known it wouldn’t. His mother was smarter than that. The sum of money she’d withdrawn from her checking account could get her a one way plane ticket to eleven other states and sixteen cities instate. Assuming she’d paid cash and given a false name and address no way existed to narrow the field of where she might have gone.

Scully had barely said two words the entire time. In fact there was a definitive silence hanging between the two partners. They didn’t try and talk about it. Mulder wondered when they were going to learn to open up instead of waiting for tension to blow over. Yet he couldn’t seem to make the first move. It wasn’t pride. He was simply afraid he’d make things worse. Mulder hadn’t meant to hurt her by telling her to go home. It wasn’t usual for him to be selfless with regards to his partner. When his nobler instincts arouse, she seemed to always become furious. He was trying to do the right thing. It was damn hard to ask her to go.

Mulder felt like he was walking on the edge of an abyss. As if any moment he may kick over the wrong stone and discover something that would swallow him whole. His balance between his investigative self and the twelve year old who’d lost his baby sister was precarious at best. Her very presence steadied him. Made him feel focused and know who he was and what he had to do. Yet instead of her understanding, he was now on the wrong end of a cold shoulder. Mulder had never had an easy time with words. He wanted to explain more thoroughly but that would make him delve into telling her how much he needed her. He didn’t want to think about that, much less talk about it.

Mulder removed the picture from the album and moved quickly down the stairs. The sheriff had set up a phone tap as a precaution and had left two men at the house. Scully was on the phone in the kitchen, pacing back and forth as she spoke.

“No credit card activity? So the money she withdrew from her bank account seems to be the only fluctuation?” Scully’s small hand was massaging her neck as she walked. The woman on the phone noted her partner’s appearance with half a raised eyebrow. “Have we had any luck with the phone records yet?” Whatever the answer was, it didn’t sound positive. “I understand. No I won’t be here.” Mulder glanced up sharply, wondering if he was detect a slight resentment in her tone. She’d turned her back to him. “You can talk with agent Mulder. Thanks for your help.” Scully set the phone back on it’s cradle and pivoted back to face Mulder.

“You ever heard of the Great White Island project?”

A blank look. “Should I have?”

“I’m not sure.” Mulder handed the picture he’d been holding to her. “There’s about ten pictures of my mother and one or all of these people in the back of one of the photo albums.”

“Mulder this photo looks to be about twenty years old.”

“Closer to thirty, if the date on back is right.” Mulder observed. Dan let her yes slide over him. He was tired. It was near four in the afternoon. He’d been staring at the pictures for hours.

“Do you recognize any of them?”

“No. None of them seem familiar.” Her partner answered and leaned back against the counter beside her. “I have two hunches at this point. One that whoever is after her is in effect trying to get to me.” Scully opened her mouth to dissuade that thought. To note that he wasn’t working on any cases at present. His mother had always been placed outside of the circle of the elusive truth. It was as if she was being protected.

Mulder didn’t give Scully a chance to voice her arguments. “Sometimes in these cases, the victim has been recently involved in nefarious activities. But given my mother’s health condition and personality, I’d say that’s unlikely. Mom once grounded me for three days because I was given back incorrect change and didn’t say anything.” His smile didn’t have his normal humor, instead it was tinged with regret. “There’s also nothing in the house to suggest any kind of lifestyle change. So my second guess is that a secret she has kept from her past is coming back to haunt her.” Mulder felt almost buried by the heaviness of those thoughts. He reached out a hand and touched the cross at Dana’s neck with his thumb and index finger. The clasp had turned so that it was showing and he moved the chain so that the small circular band of gold was once again hidden behind her fiery hair. It was an excuse to touch her. Dana wanted to lean into him, to give in to the sudden desire to press against him. Her breath fluttered away from her mouth. “This Great White Island thing seems like as likely a place to start looking as any. There may be more possibilities, but the two hunches I have seem the most likely so far.”

“Do you want me to have the Bureau run a check on the project?” She ran her tongue over her suddenly dry lips, wetting them quickly. Thank God my mind is still here even if my body is dialing 911, Dana thought.

“No.” His eyes rose from the cross as he flatly refused. “I’m gonna call our three very own ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future and see if they can come up with anything.”

Her pink lips quirked upwards briefly, but then she was all business again. “At this point, your mother’s only source of income seems to be a two hundred dollar withdraw from a local ATM just before midday.” Dana’s slim fingers drummed on the counter top briefly. “They’re having the usual trouble cutting through red-tape, but they should have the phone records by tomorrow.” She tilted her head to one side, looking thoughtful. “Skinner was unusually responsive. He acquiesced to everything and he even offered to fly down himself.”

An incredulous look. “Please tell me you told him no.”

“I did.” His partner confirmed. “After I picked myself off the floor.”

Mulder didn’t respond to her last words. “Two hundred dollars won’t get mom very far.”

Suddenly the door chimes to the house rang. Mulder headed toward the door, flinging it open. He knew that his partner was behind him. Could feel her warmth near his back and took comfort in that. Standing in the doorway stood were tow women who looked to be about his mother’s age and were holding large containers in their hands.

“Fox!” Cried the first woman and her hazel eyes surveyed him in surprise. Behind the women a man who was only slightly younger was making his way up the steps, a cane in one hand, yet another covered dish in the other. All three of the visitors were dressed in their holiday best. The two ladies wore long simple dresses, one was floral patterned, the other was a dark royal blue. The man with the cane’s suit was gray and silk. His white hair was fashionably styled and combed.

“Aunt Josie. Aunt Grace.” Mulder murmured in greeting and reached forward to unburden the first woman.

Scully mimicked him and unloaded the dish from the second woman. “The family?” She whispered to Mulder.

“The family.” He confirmed.

Fox Mulder was decidedly uncomfortable as he guided everyone past the two police officers in the living room into the kitchen.

“What the hell is going on here, Mulder?” The caned guest exclaimed. Mulder’s eyes swept over his aunts and uncle. He pulled out chairs at the breakfast table for the two elderly women. His hands dug into his pockets. He didn’t seem to know what else to do with them.

A memory came to him. “Dad, I don’t know what happened to Samantha….” He shoved that away.

“Mom’s missing.” He told them softly.

-)(x)(x)(-

“Believe.

The faith in my eyes is not a lie. If your soul is weary, then why not drink of me.

The river struggles Against the rocks of you.

Take your fill.

My trust will not drown.

This is the way of us

In the summer…

Forever breaks the ground and blooms.

This is the truth of us

And in the winter…

Hold my hand and help me watch the moon.

This is…

This is…

I don’t dare mention love…”

Scully purposefully clicked off the radio. Her fingers drummed on the steering wheel, agitated. It was dark – just after one thirty a.m.. Christmas. Merry Freaking Christmas. Well, she’d be home by mid-afternoon. That should make her mom happy anyway. She, herself was fuming. Without meaning to, she glanced at the empty seat beside her. The co-pilot chair was normally her place. The car felt very empty. Very silent.

There I go again. Thinking about him. Worrying.

He hadn’t looked good. Her inner ear had felt his heart shaking as he’d faced his family and told them the news. In his eyes that ring of guilt. He blamed himself and in doing so was inviting his family to do the same. His hands had been thrust deep into the pockets of his jeans, his chin lowered slightly. Her partner was reliving it all over again. She could see the boy he’d been facing his father and mother trying to explain that his sister was gone, taken, and that he hadn’t been able to stop it. That he’d tried, but it hadn’t been enough.

Only now it was his mother. Scully had been standing behind him, but had moved directly to his side as the aunts and singular uncle had begun firing their questions. Helping him answer them as best she could. Her eyes calm and resolute. Determined that if they were going to attack his spirit that they’d have to deal with hers as well. Me and you against the world, Mulder.

Or maybe not. He’d sent her away. Dana considered herself to be a capable woman. A talented doctor. A good daughter and friend. An above adequate F.B.I agent. But being dismissed by Mulder tore her apart. She needed him to need her just like she…whoa…Warning. Danger, Danger Will Robinson. Her fingers curled into a fist and rapped the dash, stinging her hand, but not truly hurting it.

Two hundred dollars. Connie Mulder had nearly two thousand in her checking and quite a bit more in savings. If necessary she could have even gotten a cash advance on one of her seven credits cards. So why had she taken so little? Scully assumed that Constance Mulder knew enough not to leave any kind of computer trail. After all her husband had worked for the D.O.D and Mulder was an agent, the families of governments officials tended to learn a few things. Even so…just two hundred? If she was truly on the run, then it seemed ridiculous not to have cleaned out her bank account.

Scully was returning the rent-a-car’s keys when she noted the sign at the desk. “Borrow a Convertible for just $60.00 a day.” At first what she had read did nothing but dwell in her mind, tingling there suspended until another thought matched it. At the airport, she found her eyes scanning from the plane ticket counters to the rental car stations.

The idea had never occurred to her that Connie had taken a cab to the airport only to rent a car. Her feet began moving, toward the area where a row of pay phones sat. Her hands pried open a phone book and began skimming over the pages. Dana knew what she was looking for. It would be something close by, a local business. Not a major chain. Major chains had massive computer systems that were interlined. But a rental car site that was only local might have one computer, two tops – it would be harder to trace. Nearly impossible in fact. She found three potential locations and headed back toward main entrance, ready to hail a cab.

Dana, what are you doing, she asked herself, Mulder told you to go. Her wrist lifted and she checked her watch. She had over an hour.

-)(x)(x)(-

If it was possible to sound sheepish then Byers was doing a good impression of it. “What do you mean, you don’t know?” Mulder asked, his cell phone against his ear. “You don’t know and that’s it? This is a first.”

“Great White Island project?” Mulder could hear Frohike questioning in the background. “Sounds like a Klu Klux Klan rally.”

Mulder heard the unspoken leader of the Lonegun Men make an attempt to block out his colleagues comments before speaking again. “I didn’t say we hadn’t heard of it. Just that we don’t have any information on it that’s readily accessible.” Byers and the two others exchanged a few words. “Hang on.” He instructed and then after a short pause. “We’ll call you back. What’s the number there?”

-)(x)(x)(-

Mulder paced the length of the hallway toward the foyer then back toward the kitchen waiting. The police were still there but their had been no suspicious phone calls. The caterer had called saying they were running late. They had delivered a massive bird and bread, but no one had felt like enjoying the meal. Mulder had told the two officers to enjoy it if they wanted to, which they had. Now both officers were sipping coffee exchanging different sections of the newspaper. Uncle Evan was tight faced, seated with them. The two aunts had retired to the guest bedrooms an hour ago.

The phone rang and the police automatically started the tape recorder and picked up. “Hello?” Mulder entered the main room, his arms crossed over his chest, listening as the policeman spoke. The young officer looked blatantly confused suddenly.

“What?” Mulder asked.

“Collect call to Ernest Hemingway.” The officer reported and Mulder strode to the phone, grabbing it from him.

“We’ll accept the charges.” The agent told the operator. “Byers?” A reply in the affirmative. Mulder motioned for the cops to shut the tape recorder off.

“It was a project run out of the E.G.A.R.D building into the late 1960’s.” The caller began without preamble. “The whole lab was various projects involving animal experimentation. Apparently a senator got a lot of static in the mid sixties about it and promised to shut it down.”

“It was a campaign promise. Probably would of never happened.” Mulder heard Langley comment.

“Anyway,” The man in the phone began again with a soft sigh. “He was spared the trouble. According to the police reports the whole lab was set ablaze by some radicals in 1966. The lab was deserted all expect for about two hundred various animals. No animals survived the fire. But autopsies to several animals showed they’d all been put to sleep prior to the event. The animals included dogs, cat, rats and monkeys – apparently all had undergone extensive experimentation as some were mutated.” Byers’s normally quiet tone had an excited tinge. “There’s a Connie Mulder on the employee staffing list. She worked at the place for nearly six years.” A sound of the phone being muffled. “Why didn’t we turn this up when we ran a background check on him?” Mulder couldn’t hear the reply. “Hey Mulder, she was a biochemist.” Mulder hadn’t known. Whatever career she’d aspired to before he was born, she’d been a housewife and mother afterwards. He’d been aware she had gone to college but not that she’d finished. What did that say about what kind of son he’d been?

“The whole show was military.” The bearded Long Gunman went on. “But the thing is mentions of the project can be found in recently un-classified military documents dating as early as 1949.”

Mulder had been taking in all the information when his eyes became locked on the newspaper one of the police detail had been reading. His knees almost buckled. He kept the phone to his ear, but his full attention was on the picture that the front page was showing. A small square photo of an older man with long tied back hair and infectious smile.

Byers didn’t notice anything unusual about Mulder’s silence. “There’s a small paragraph here about a group of prisoners from Sing-sing being offered the chance to submit themselves to tests on the project in exchange for early release. Three men accepted. No record on who they were or what…”

“Hold on.” Mulder said. He set the receiver on it’s side on the coffee table and then was storming up the stairs, moving into his mother’s room. His flipping through the photo album was almost frantic. Mulder found the Great White Island picture he’d showed to Scully and set it and the newspaper side by side.

The agent was looking through the magnifying glass, double checking himself. The glass fell away and he drug a hand through his hair, his mouth hanging slightly open. Robert Bornes – former advisor to the Department of the Secretary of defense dead at age 56. Victim of an apparent gun shot wound to the chest.

Mulder fumbled for the phone by the bed and lifted it to his ear. “You got anything on a Robert Bornes?” Mulder asked his friend abruptly.

The sound of a typing keyboard and then Byer’s answered, “He’s on the employee list too.”

“E-mail me anything else you find.” Mulder all but ordered. “Gotta go.” The agent plucked the picture from in it’s slot and carried it and the newspaper down the stairs. He approached the nearest cop, still scanning the paper. “Brooksridge. That’s about three hours from here isn’t it?” The police officer nodded. You have a map in your car?” Mulder asked.

-)(x)(x)(-

TOKENS – Part Five

Thanks: Sean, for keeping me laughing. (Mulder’s Christmas Gifts – the Top Ten list. ) Also to Tony, who answered a distress call and gave a discouraged writer a second wind.

I’m not going to do my usual Nowhere Junction, Florida disclaimer here. For continuity sake, I thought I’d note a few things. Firstly – as far as I know – there is no such place as Brooksridge, Massachusetts. There’s no I-16 highway and probably no McKinley’s gas station. If there really is any of these places anywhere, please be assured that it’s a TOTAL coincidence. Robert Bornes is my own creation. So are E.G.A.R.D and the Great White Island Project. If anyone wants to use them, please let me know your gonna. That fair? Most everything else belongs to or is derived from original concepts owned and created by C.C. and his minions. (Big smile)

-)(x)(x)(-

To: F [email protected]

From: Anon@Doe\John.net

Subject: Great White Island Project?

Mulder,

The following attachment is from Langley. He managed to access the prisoner records in the Sing-Sing database. He cross referenced the years of the Great White Island project and came up with this file. We’re rooting for you.

Byers

P.S. Langley says that the prisoner on this record was found hanging from a make shift rope three weeks after this report was made, a victim of what was ruled a suicide.

Downloading

attachment ……………………………………………

Date: April 19 1965

Prisoner I.D. 057216

Prisoner Name: Green, Laslo

Social Security Number: 949-13-5407

Convicted on: April 10, 1962 on charges of assault and battery, as well as rape. Psychological evaluation written by Ian Stortz

This was my first meeting with the patient. I remain convinced, as I was when I first read the case, that Mr. Green suffers from a social psychological disorder; most likely Schizophrenia. Although when the patient was first incarcerated he was a model prisoner, it is my belief that he was simply able to repress his malcontent behavior due to the relative stability of the environment around him. During the riot three months ago, the stress of the instantaneous change in outside stimuli brought his sickness to the forefront and has resulted in a continuing deterioration of his mental health.

I was brought in on the case at the request of the Warden Delmar. Mr. Green has been disturbing other prisoners by alternately screeching and crying at all hours of the day and night. Green has moments of calm and almost lucid behavior, but during this time he relates a tale of government conspiracy and ‘testing.’ He first came forward with this explanation after a guard witnessed him murdering two fellow inmates during the above mentioned riot. The patient claims that this guard as well as several others are one of “them.” He also maintains that they inject him with ‘poison’ each night. The record indicates that the patient has several times been injected with a mild sedative since the death of his fellow inmates. I believe this to be a rational and warranted step.

Mr. Green has detailed the following, and I will record it so that a full evaluation may be made of his mental state. He claims just over six months ago that he and inmates Morgan and Timmons were called into Warden Delmar’s office and introduced to members of the FDA. No record of any such meeting exists. The patient states that during this meeting he, as well as the other men, were offered the opportunity to take part in a government experiment on aggression. In exchange they were offered an early parole.

According to Green, he was then moved to another ‘prison’ where the FDA injected each of the prisoners with ‘the poison’ before cell count each morning. Again, upon checking for any corroboration of this story, I must state that the Warden’s bed check accounts show that at no time were any of the three men missing from Sing-Sing. The patient goes on to state that the second week of this process, he began to have traumatic nightmares. He states that one night he would dream of being home and that he’d never committed his crimes and the next night his dreams would relive the trail, this time with the sentence being the electric chair.

At this time Green says he was returned to Sing-sing as were the other men. A few weeks later, they were taken to the government installation again. Green says that he and some of the others protested. That he’d begun to feel exhausted and that he would lash out at others for no reason. He states that while in government care, he attacked two guards for talking too loud.

His events of the riot do not acknowledge a riot at all. Rather he says that himself, Morgan and Timmons were taken to what was promised to be the last test.

In his own words, the prisoner states,

“The stuck us in a room. It had no kind of windows or doors. No way out we could see. We just woke up there. We couldn’t tell what time of day it was or nothing. It scared the hell out of us, just being tossed in like that without anyone telling us. The room was just about the size of a shed, except it was solid steel. We were in our skivvies. They’d undressed us. It was embarrassing, but mostly it was freezing in that room.

The only thing in there except us was this fold out table, like the kind you play cards on. On the table was a card deck, and three knives. Not Buck knives or switchblades, but the kind stick pin that you make in prison when you got a score to settle. The home made kind. Me and Timmons set to playing cards and the whole time Morgan is pacing and pacing and muttering to himself. It seemed like he was too loud, ya know. I told him to stop and he told me to go to hell and I wanted him dead. But I just swore at him. Then Timmons stepped in and was screaming at both of us. We were shoving each other you know. But we started playing cards again and I thought it was done. Later the whole fucking thing started all over again. The next thing I know, somebody…Timmons, maybe was reaching for a knife. I was furious that he’d try that shit with me. So I grabbed one too. It was funny, because I really wanted him dead. I kept stabbing and stabbing even when he was down. Then I went for Morgan. It was the fucking poison. It made me do it. I know it sound like I’m telling a reamer. Me and some of the boys used to sit and tell reamers, but not this. I couldn’t make this up. I tried to tell them when they came and brought me back to prison. But no one would listen. Nobody believes me. I hate it. I hate this place. Your staring through me like I’m not even here. The warden knows. So do the guards. Why won’t anyone believe me?”

The guard who witnessed the attack on Morgan and Timmons reports finding Morgan and Green arguing over cigarettes. He states that he saw Green stab the other man and then subdued Green with mace. Timmons was apparently dead at the scene. This incident, the guard reports, happened at the prison during an uprising where the death toll of prisoners was fifteen. Neither the warden, nor any other prison official or document has even been produced to corroborate any of Green’s tale. At this point I must conclude that the entire story is a complete and utter fabrication, the product of a delusional mind.

It is my recommendation that Laslo Green be moved to a state mental ward as soon as possible, however, I see no hope for his recovery at this time.

-)(x)(x)(-

Scully exited the cab as it came to a stop before the Mulder’s family home. Under her arm was a file and with-in it contained the license plate number, and make and registration of the small red Accord that Mulder’s mother had rented. Her second guess had paid off. The small rental office had been gracious with their help after she’d flashed her badge and explained the case was concerning a missing family member.

As the clerk had stated, ‘No one should have to go through this. Especially at Christmas.’

Two policemen were standing up the drive, making a mold of the tracks there. The I.D. on the tires had already been determined to be that of a Ford van. Mulder suspected the vehicle had held his assailants. “Agent Fox Mulder?” Scully asked the officers, wondering if her partner might be off investigating a new lead that had developed in her absence. She wasn’t looking forward to the confrontation awaiting her when she faced him again.

One of the officers shook his head slightly, conveying he wasn’t sure where the agent was. “Try the main house.”

Scully’s heels sank in the mud as she stalked toward the front porch. A light snow had fallen earlier but now had melted over the ground turning it to slush. She was careful on the stairs and opened the front door without knocking. The closest sounds of movement were in the kitchen and Dana peered in quickly. She didn’t find Mulder, but a bemused expression settled over her as she recognized Chief Lynda Thompson sipping at coffee. Of all the people to run into again…

“Hello Sheriff,”

“Agent Scully,” Lynda Thompson returned and then suddenly grinned. “Bet you didn’t expect to see me again.” The Chief didn’t let her answer. “I thought we’d maintain a watch on the house and phone for a couple of days.” Her expression was kind but nonchalant. “Just in case.”

Mulder’s partner dropped her eyes in an appreciative gesture, acknowledging the Chief’s actions. “Have you seen Mulder?”

“Agent Mulder drove to Brookridge just over an hour ago.” Lynda offered Scully a mug, and held the coffee forward, but Scully declined. “There was a lead there he wanted to check into.”

That Mulder was gone didn’t surprise her, but as she talked further with the Chief, she began to get the picture that her partner wouldn’t be back any time soon. That was frustrating. “Chief Thompson, this is the License and registration of a Rental car thought to be connected to this case. I’ll be running it through the State Police Cooperative, but I’d like your men to have a copy as well.” Lynda nodded and met the agent’s eyes confirming understanding of what had been asked of her. “And Chief…” A wry smile. “Merry Christmas.”

A brief laugh as the Chief took the file. The words had been an olive branch. “To you too, Agent Scully. To you, too.” The atmosphere in the kitchen was suddenly respectful and even friendly.

Dana reached inside her trench coat and dialed Mulder’s cell-phone number.

-)(x)(x)(-

Mulder sat on the hotel bed. The police report was scattered in front of him. One gunshot wound to the chest on the body of Robert Bornes the reports stated. No one heard it. No one saw anyone strange around the hotel. A clerk at the store nearby reported remembering Bornes coming in and buying some items. Mulder had questioned her himself. She knew that the former advisor bought several items, but the only ones she remembered were flashlights. Two flashlights.

Bornes had checked into the Golden Crest hotel, where Mulder was now staying, using the alias of Vincent Baines. Apparently the man had come in alone and had paid for only one night. Examining Bornes’s registration card, Mulder found a blue sedan listed under vehicle as well as a license plate number. Running the plate revealed that Bornes was using his own car. The auto was missing from the scene. Mulder had shown pictures of his mother around town, but no one recognized her. The federal agent had hounded the detective in charge of the case to rush the results of the fingerprint exploration. They’d found two sets of prints. But the second pair was badly smudged. Comparison showed the second print could belong to Connie Mulder. But not conclusively. All in all it had been a wearying and worthless day.

Too late, too late, too late…

Mulder shut his eyes tightly, shoving the thoughts away. He was still in clothes Scully had brought him after he’d been injured. He hadn’t gotten sleep the night before. He felt like hell. What was worse was that his mind kept tripping over itself, refusing to work properly. Mulder was emotionally and physically exhausted, but it didn’t matter. He needed to keep going. Something had to be in these files that he was missing. His path seemed to be at a dead end. He wasn’t certain where else to look.

A shower. A change of clothes. Then maybe he’d prowl around outside, seeing if the cool air would refresh his investigation. Mulder moved outside to his mother’s car, which he’d borrowed, and opened the passenger door. The bag on the seat that he automatically reached for was familiar, but the large box wrapped in cartoon wrapping paper threw him for a moment. Then he remembered. Scully’s present. It was Christmas day. He gathered both the box and bag and returned to his room.

Fresh from the shower, his chest still damp and a towel around his waist, he found himself facing the box again. Scully. Mulder had told her to take the rental car and had retired to his mother’s albums and a report on all the Ford vans currently registered in the state. The van lead was an impossibly long shot. Yet Mulder was nothing if not persistent. He’d sat in front of his laptop and run name after name through the F.B.I systems. Nothing had turned up. By the time he’d finished, it had been after two a.m. Scully had left without a word to him.

Mulder sat on the bed, next to the present, eyeing it as if it might explode at him any second. His fingers inched forward and finally he was tearing at the wrapping. His motions were careful, his fingers felt clumsy. Inside lying on a pile of white tissue was a card. That didn’t surprise him. Cards were the most common way for Scully to acknowledge a holiday, birthdays…even anniversaries. She always remembered and Mulder always got a card. It had been that way since the beginning. Christmas and Birthday cards were accompanied by small gifts. A leather bound edition of Hamlet last year for Christmas and for his birthday, a statue of Elvis. Mulder opened the card.

Mulder,

A couple of weeks ago I was having trouble sleeping and I found myself watching a marathon of the old Untouchables series. As an agent, I’m aware of the historical fact painted beyond the fiction, and that the facts are almost never as perfect as they outwardly appear. Yet as I watched Elliot Ness and his men maintain an uncorrupted vigil against Capone, I thought of you.

I have a particular fondness for classic mystery movies, dating back to when I was a child. I know you’re cognizant of my campy horror film ‘fixes’ but I’m uncertain I ever told you about this.

Since I met you, the portrayals of James Cagney, Humphrey Bogart, and Kurt Douglas as hard boiled detectives and G-men have often placed your image in my mind. The characters they created are flawed, but determined. Rough around the edges, but passionate. Undisciplined, but in every way that counts, virtuous. They hold fast to their pursuits, refusing to let any power dissuade, corrupt, or overtake them. I hope you never lose that side of yourself.

If we are separated by any manner of means, whether natural or unnatural, my legacy to you is the vision of the man who is my partner and my trust in him. I will ask only this – stay as you are. If you can manage the trick of that, then I believe, as in the olden days, the good guy will win in the end.

Merry Christmas, Scully.

Mulder carefully set the card to the side, handling it so carefully it seemed he thought it might break. He searched under the tissue, seeking and finding his present. A grin fought the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. Scully had gotten him a black fedora, it was inner lined with silk, made in New York. A charcoal band framed the inner rim of it. Rising to his feet, he went before the bathroom mirror and set the fedora on his head. His smile widened and he shook his head at his own reflection. So this was how Scully saw him.

Mulder removed the hat, placing it upon the bureau as he padded back to the bed. He reached for the card, skimming over it again. What she’d written was very un-Scully. Death – the threat of it – could do that to people. She didn’t normally discuss her feelings, anymore than he discussed his own, but when she did it was always written in her perfect flowing hand writing. Scully had let him read letters that she’d written to him in her journals, just after she’d learned about the cancer. If Mulder ever mentioned what was written with-in the card or the journals, it would embarrass her. His partner may be a bit of a softy deep down, but that didn’t mean she wanted it broadcast. In Scully’s eyes, he supposed, she was simply being as efficient as usual. Wanting him to understand once and for all – just in case…The reminder of the cancer bit into his heart stubbornly and churned with his many guilts regarding his mother.

How many people did he have to lose?

Mulder suddenly felt the strangling of aloneness. He leaned his back against the bed’s headboard, pulling a pillow to him, hugging it against his chest. It was cool and soft against his bare skin. Scully, he thought, I’m sorry. His muscular arms tightened around the cushion as he tried to imagine her quietly reading to him, as she had once during a stakeout. His concentration allowed him the sound of her voice in his ear. It soothed him, just as it always did. Mulder’s head lulled to one side as his eyes drifted shut. Sleep almost had him when his body jerked him awake.

No rest for the weary, he told himself, get up. Mulder rubbed slowly at his eyes and grabbed for his clothes. After he was dressed, he moved to the table beside the front window and turned on his laptop. He had to be missing something.

A knock came at his bedroom door. Mulder pulled the curtain open just far enough to look outside. He moved to the door, unlocking it, greeting the detective standing there by name. “De Anda.”

“I’ve got the results on the fingerprints Agent Mulder.” The detective informed him. ” He produced two copies of a finger print and showed them to the agent. “The F.B.I field office in Massachusetts put a rush on it. It looks like we’ve got a match with your mother.” Mulder’s expression didn’t change. This result was expected. “I don’t know if we would of been able to I.D. it if you hadn’t guessed the second prints were hers. Her prints aren’t in any federal or local data bases.” Mulder snorted. More secrets. “Agent Mulder…” The other man hesitated. “When we do find her, we’ll have to question her about what took place with Mr. Bornes. You understand that?”

A mouth corner lifted briefly. “When we find mom, I think I’ll have a few questions for her myself.”

“We also have state troopers keeping a special eye on the roads you suggested.” He rapped Mulder’s shoulder. “I’m sure it’s just a matter of time.” The man was about Mulder’s age. The special agent had asked via F.B.I channels for the larger police force in the neighboring county to send a few men in to assist. Skinner had also sent over a team from the Massachusetts F.B.I field office. The detective though not able to keep a poker face to save his life, had a reasonable amount of experience in dealing with missing persons. He was not the cynical sort, but he was no daisy in the wind either.

“Detective De Anda, I was going to ask…” Mulder was cut short by the sound of his cell phone ringing. His trench coat lay abandoned on the bed, and it took him a moment to reach into the pocket and answer. One uplifted hand indicated to the Detective that he should wait a moment. “Mulder.” A long pause. “Hello?” Mulder definitely heard someone there.

“Mulder, it’s me.” Came the reluctant voice of his partner.

“Scully, I was just about to head out…” His tone was abrupt, but it wasn’t meant to be. He imagined she was calling out of concern. Mulder didn’t deserve that from her. Didn’t have time to be cared about or maybe even the desire. That’s what he told himself.

“Mulder,” His partner interrupted. “I have records of a rental car registered to your mother. It was leased the day she disappeared.”

“We ran a full computer check and nothing showed up.” The surprise registered in his voice. “How did you come by this information?” After all they’d been through together, the question wasn’t unreasonable.

“I made a few inquiries. The car was rented out of a local business near Martha’s Vineyard.” Scully reported. She was speaking slowly as if measuring her words. She was holding back, or trying to. Mulder could feel it. “The place wasn’t computerized, Mulder. It would have never shown on up on the F.B.I systems.”

His mind mulled over that. His mother had made her path seem painfully obvious and Mulder fallen for it. In his mind’s eyes he’d seen her on an airplane headed to heaven knew where. That was before he’d learned about Bornes and E.G.A.R.D. Mulder had underestimated her. It struck him that he had no idea who the woman who’d raised him really was. So far he’d been considering this from the angle of what would his mother, the housewife would do if she was in trouble. He’d been so close to picture, he hadn’t seen the whole thing. Again, he motioned for De Anda to hold on. “I’m confused Scully. I’m well aware that your how resourceful you can be, but when did you have time to find out all this?”

A heavy sigh. “I missed the plane back, Mulder.”

“What do you mean you missed the plane? ” Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Scully had missed Christmas with her family. Because of him. No, because she had to have things her own way. Just like always. “Scully, I asked you specifically…”

“I was finding out crucial information. I have the license plate and the make of the car.” Mulder grabbed for a pen from the top of his abandoned coat and wrote the information down on the back of the finger-print results. “I’m headed that way.”

“Scully…”

“You can read me the riot act when I get there.” Click. The line went dead. The male agent looked at the phone a long moment before grabbing his trench coat and slipping it on and depositing the Nokia back in the inside pocket.

“Detective De Anda, I need to ask for a ride to the house of Sally Bornes father. Would that be too much trouble?” The detective shook his head. Mulder handed the other man the paper he’d been writing on. “Can you fax this over to the Massachusetts field office and have them spread it over the wire? Also run it with your local men.” Mulder opened the door, allowing the police officer to exit ahead of him. A moment after the door had closed behind them, the door re-opened. Mulder walked back inside. He plucked his fedora off the night stand, tugged it on his head and then headed out again.

-)(x)(x)(-

Mulder and Detective De Anda were standing near a large map of the local and interstate roads. Scully entered and Mulder acknowledged her with a nod. She’d arrived just over an hour before. Her partner hadn’t said much in greeting. Mulder had abandoned the fedora just before she arrived. Somehow it seemed too telling to be caught wearing it.

The small town sheriff’s office was like something that might have been in an old western. It was all one room. A desk took up one side of the office where the sheriff normally sat. Two jail cells stood empty in the opposite corner. Both were immaculate and showed no signs of ever having been occupied. A scattering of file cabinets, a fax machine, a computer were placed against the wall nearest the door. Cords were everywhere, complements of the equipment both De Anda and Mulder had requested be brought in. Two more fax machines, another computer, and a scanner were now resting on the floor or on whatever space had once been cleared. “We just got a report in that a rental car with the same tag and make that Mom rented was left overnight in a grocery store parking lot.” Mulder informed her. He gestured to where a series of four red pins had been placed in the map. “The store manager noticed the car had been sitting there most the day when he closed up for Christmas Eve. He asked a police friend of his to run the plate and make sure it wasn’t stolen. We got lucky…The policeman was going to check on the car again today, but it was gone.”

Scully approached the map. “She’s doubling back.” This statement was not made to her partner, as much as in his general direction.

“Look at this trail, Scully. All consistently upward. Before an hour ago, everything led me to guess that she was heading onto the mountain back roads. A good place to hide.” Amusement twinkled in Mulder’s eyes. “That’s the way she wanted us to think. Like I said, we got lucky.” He made a brief introduction between his partner and the officer in charge of the case. Scully gave the other man a polite handshake and a half-smile. “You notice there’s two major intestates near where she left the car.” Mulder followed one of the intestates he had indicated with his index finger. “We used to have a summer home up here. We sold it years ago, but my mother knew the people who bought it. As far as I can remember they also use it as a summer home. It’s been years since I’ve seen the place.”

“I was telling agent Mulder that it’s going to be difficult to spread our resources to cover the interstates. If his guess about where she’s headed is wrong…”

“I’m right about this.” Mulder stated firmly. “I’m going to request a helicopter from the Massachusetts Federal Bureau. If I leave with-in the hour, I should be able to be there before she is.”

Mulder had crossed his arms over his chest and Scully mimicked the action unconsciously, leaning against the file cabinet next to him. Things weren’t right between them and they weren’t really talking. “Do we have the authority to do that?” Scully asked, whispering.

‘We,’ Mulder noticed that she’d said. He shrugged, tilted his head closer to her ear. “We’ll see.” No warmth colored the words and she felt weariness cover her. She’d driven cross country to be there and she was tired of his attitude. Tired of everything Mulderish in fact.

Mulder’s body language spoke volumes of impatience as he began making calls regarding the helicopter. It took him a good fifteen minutes and six transfers but finally he looked to her, triumphant. “We have a ‘copter. It’ll be here in about forty-five minutes.”

His consideration swept over her, noting that she looked as drained as he did. Mulder produced the key to his hotel room and offered it. I’m going look through the old diaries that Sally Bornes’s father gave me. If you want to freshen up, go ahead.”

De Anda offered to drive Scully back and she started to the door, then stopped her hand on the door handle. “Do you plan on coming to get me when the helicopter arrives?” She tried to keep any accusation from her face. “Or should I start driving now so I can keep up and beat the traffic?”

Mulder stuffed his fingers in the pockets of his black jeans as he eyed her. It was hard not to be impressed with someone that stubborn. As bullheaded as I am, Mulder told himself. Suddenly his patented wry expression was in place. “Can I flip a coin?” Then to the detective. “Do you mind if I borrow your car?” De Anda shrugged, noting the tension between the two agents and not wanting to get in between them. He flipped Mulder the keys.

When he and his partner were in the car and on their way, Mulder glanced at her. “What happened?” The words were careful, trying to probe without attacking her.

Her temper was gathered and she began picking it part, trying to discard it. The method of controlling her emotions had begun. “I found a lead and I pursued it with due course. End of story.”

So much for avoiding another argument. “You missed Christmas with your family.” Mulder growled. “I always get to be the bad guy with you. Are you under the impression that it’s a fun role?” He realized that the words were far more revealing then he’d intended. Still they seemed appropriate, he let them stand for now.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about when you were abducted. And when your sister died. And when you lied about the M.J. file. I’m talking about right now.” Mulder could see the pain lining her staring countenance. Such deep hurt. Had he put that look there? Mulder felt his heart tear slightly. He was poison. No matter his intentions, he was always cutting her apart. Fuck. Mulder squared his shoulders. He was feeling uncomfortable. He was discussing feelings and that had never been easy for him. “If I could find the time to get a ticket for you, I’d put you on a plane tonight.”

“Mulder maybe you haven’t noticed, but I’m a grown woman. I can decide when to stay and when to go.”

Mulder granted her the briefest of leers. “I noticed.”

Scully bowed her head, refusing to watch him anymore. “What are we, Mulder? Are we co-workers?” By the look of it, the abrupt question stunned her as much as it did him.

Where had that come from, Mulder wondered. Scully was…Scully was…what was she? Scully was Scully. Hadn’t he given her the damn desk….work area…whatever. How could she not know how much she was a part of him? Better question – why couldn’t he tell her?

“Are we friends?” The words were like a sucker punch, knocking the wind out of him. No, not the question, the doubt that lingered in the question was what halted everything else but the sound of her voice. “We almost never see each other outside of work. We rarely talk about personal issues. You’ve never dropped by my apartment unless it’s about a case.” She was battering him with the truth, with hurts that she hadn’t even realized were inside her. “You find any excuse to refuse invitations to my family’s house.”

He was on the defensive. “We both know our work leaves little time for normalcy.”

“I don’t even know what your favorite color is.”

“Where is this barrage coming from?” Mulder pulled in front of his hotel room, and found himself staring at his partner. “I was under the impression that you knew; I’ve understood you to be my best friend…for a long time.”

The words effected her, because she felt the same. Because Fox Mulder didn’t throw words out like that lightly. Yet she kept her spine straight, the curve of her mouth echoing her stern, somber mood. “I’ve never asked anything of you, but I can’t keep up with the contradictions anymore, Mulder.” She held up a hand, halting him before he could speak again. “Either I’m a part of your life. Or I’m not. Either your a part of my life. Or your not.” Scully opened the car door. “Decide.” She got out of the automobile and slammed the door behind her.

-)(x)(x)(-

William Mulder had once told his wife that the most brilliant criminal committing the crime of a lifetime could be halted in his tracks by carelessness behind the wheel of a car. He’d pointed out that Ted Bundy may have eluded police for much longer if he hadn’t been such a lousy driver. The serial killer had been stopped twice for running stop signs. The second traffic violation had eventually led to his incarceration. So as Connie Mulder drove, she adjusted the cruise control to just five miles per hour over the speed limit. She kept her focus on the road.

The rental car was still half filled with gas. That was a boon. Making stops at this juncture was a bad idea. She’d deposited Robert’s car in a road side cafe. Connie had then taken a cab to the supermarket where she’d dropped off her rental car a day and half ago. She’d started on the interstate but had veered off the first chance she could to an old back road that would get there if not more quickly, at least more carefully. No other car seemed to be on the road but hers. Connie hadn’t been to the old summer home in over seventeen years. Yet she wasn’t concerned, she had a memory much like her sons. She still knew the way. The people who’d bought the house from her years ago tended to winter in Florida. It was a certainty they wouldn’t be there. Connie was also sure that one way or another she could break into her old home. Her intention was to seek shelter before deciding the best way to proceed.

Suddenly a state trooper on the side of the road loomed opposite her. It was still a ways ahead. Connie fought a surge of nervousness and struggled to keep driving as casually as possible. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel and she punched off the cruise control, slowing her speed back to the limit. She refused to look at the trooper as she passed him. A full minute passed before Mrs. Mulder allowed herself to glance in the rear-view mirror. The state trooper was pulling from the shoulder and onto the road after her.

It doesn’t mean anything, she insisted to herself. Yet the black and gray car was speeding up, moving as if to catch up to her. Then the lights flashed on, red and blue flickering against the darkening sky. Hell.

What to do? Her mind swirled. The little rental car was not going to beat a state trooper. Besides this was a two lane highway. How hard would it be to block it off if they believed she was trying to evade? It might be just a mistake on the trooper’s part. A broken tail light, something small. Maybe he had clocked her when she was five over. Connie felt she had few choices. Her eyes fell to the gun sitting on the seat beside her. No. Not that way. She pushed it carefully to the floor of the passenger side.

She pulled her car to the shoulder of the road. The trooped pulled behind her, lights still flashing. He emerged from his car, a tall lanky man with a mustache. His approach was slow.

“Ma’am may I see your license and registration?”

Connie Mulder put on her best disheveled grandmother face. “Oh dear, I’ve never been stopped before. Did I do something wrong? I had all of my Christmas presents stolen from the hotel…my purse too. I’m afraid I don’t have anything.” Her voice trembled effectively. “I’ve never come to Christmas dinner without presents. This has been the worst day.” Then suddenly a movement caught her eye. Two men in dark blue suits had been in the trooper’s car. She hadn’t seen them until now.

“Mrs. Mulder,” The state trooper addressed her politely. He nodded to his companions and opened her door. “If you’ll come with me.”

-)(x)(x)(-

The cigarette smoking man almost sauntered into the large conference room. The large oak table inside was barren save for the presence of one man. At times the table and the chairs surrounding it were filled, the room crowded. The world waited on the men that normally came into this office. History was made and changed by the men who sat in the seats surrounding the table.

“I have heard,” A Russian voice boomed. “That our friend has been recovered.” The barrel chested man seated at the table looked somewhat like a pit bull, his jaw chubby and round. His expression serious.

“As I told you she would be.” Replied the former. “I knew that if anyone knew how to find her it would be Mulder.”

“That’s why you contradicted my orders that Mulder be taken?” The Russian asked.

Cancer Man pulled out a chair at the direct opposite end of the table as his fellow Consortium member. “Not contradicted. Merely delayed. Mulder needed time to work.”

“The formula is one of our more important projects.”

The smoking man blew smoke across the tabletop. The gray of smoke still matched him well. “Agent Mulder and Scully will insure it’s return.”

“And Constance Mulder?”

The gray men rose to his feet and paused. “What of her?”

“We feel…perhaps a lesson is in order.” Cancer Man said nothing. “You disagree?” The Russian observed.

“She doesn’t need anything except a reminder.” He answered. “I suspect I can kill two birds with one stone.” Again he exhaled a stream of smoke. “We still need her for the reasons we always have.”

“And you have no personal incentives in this matter?”

The cigarette smoking man wasn’t offended. It was a struggle to keep the surprise from his face. A lack of dedication had been inferred before on the subject of Mulder and Constance, but never had it been out and out stated. “Of course not.” Without another word, the arch-enemy of agent Mulder drifted to the door. “Leave it to me.”

-)(x)(x)(-

The chopper touched down and ducking low, Mulder and Scully scurried out from beneath it’s twirling blades. When they were safe, the helicopter lifted again, kicking up dirt and leaves as it made it’s upward.

“I don’t see her car.” Scully shouted above the noise. Her eyes had begun scanning the area. The house itself was in a clearing just at the edge of a series of valleys. It was more cabin then home really. Less then a quarter of a mile to the front back and sides, the place was surrounded by forest. ‘Again with the forest,’ Scully grumbled inwardly. The helicopter, that was just a figment in the sky now, headed back to the field office. Skinner had told Mulder that some fellow agents would be coming to join them as soon as it could arranged.

Mulder started toward the house, checking the doors and windows. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s home.” Mulder looked at his watch. “I think that she may ditch the car up the road and hike in. There are a few worn trails. It’ll be dark soon. You up for a walk?”

Scully eyed the nearby greenery apprehensively. “Right.”

Her partner patted her shoulder lightly, conveying sympathy, but not daring to suggest she stay behind again. “C’mon.”

An hour and a half later and Mulder’s mood was much darker. He’d broken into the house, using a rather large rock and some muscle. The heat was on but he still felt a icy chill drifting over him. No sign existed of his mother. He was staring outside the window. What if Ol” Spooky guessed wrong? His fingers massaged into his brow, smoothing the worry lines there.

“Mulder, listen to this.” Scully was stretched on the couch, her eyeglasses helping her peer at the seeming endless journal that Sally Bornes had kept during her time at E.G.A.R.D. “In theory, what we have settled on accomplishing is redirecting aggression. Aggression in itself is neither good or bad. It reacts with an individuals desires and goals. It can be argued that great sportsmen and sportswomen are such because they play aggressively. The influx of human desires into our work also tangles with human will. If we can play the violin to soothe the savage beast, as Robert says, how are we sure we aren’t putting him entirely to sleep.” Mulder had turned toward his partner now, his head bowed as he listened. “We must then be able to read one aggression from another and then chemically create an effect where certain kinds of aggression are subdued. Like white blood cells fight off infection.” Scully stopped reading, her eyes questioning, waiting for his opinion. When he said nothing, she concluded, “It seems scientifically plausible.”

“It seems overly simplistic.” Mulder countered. “Out with the bad thoughts, in with the good.” His chuckle rumbled in the silence. “C’mon Scully.”

His partner set down the journal. “As a psychologist I would think you’d be in favor of such an invention. Surely you can see the benefits of being able to manipulate violent impulses?”

Mulder dropped his hands to rest on his hips. “What I see is the danger of experimenting in an area which we are relative babes in the woods.” He told her. “I’m in favor of fully learning to utilize the mind, but this is alteration not development.”

“Some people would say the same about heart implants and skin grafts.” Scully pressed and sat up, smoothing a hand over her hair, straightening it.

“Maybe.” Mulder answered and he approaching, taking a seat on the couch next to her. “But this experiment was developed specifically to counter intense aggression which always leads to some sort of physical manifestation.”

“Such as violence.” She was trying to read his mind.

“That’s rather limiting.” He countered. “High-level aggression is expressed through a variety of corporeal avenues.” His voice lowered to a whisper purposefully. “Even sex.”

Scully averted her eyes. He always looked at her so intently when talking about ‘the deed,’ with just a flash of spark and humor lurking in his eyes.

Mulder shot her a grin. He fell back into his discourse mode. “Consider something: if it’s possible to manipulate little Johnny from wanting to beat up the other boys and girls, isn’t it possible that he can be manipulated in just the opposite as well?”

Their eyes had locked and for some reason the contact was electric. This was Mulder and Scully at their most basic, their intellects locked in battle. The believer and the skeptic, each taking a part and holding ground against the other. It was the joy and frustration of their partnership.

Suddenly headlights outside caught the agents’ attention. Mulder immediately went to the front door. Two cars, both white Monte Carlo’s were coming up the drive. “I guess Skinner’s reinforcements finally got here.” Mulder told his partner. Sure enough, as the cars parked, six men in dark suits approached, the first showing a badge to Mulder. Fox Mulder moved back from the door enough so that the other agents could come inside. He shot his partner an amused look as drab suited man after drab suited man poured inside.

“Agent Mulder?” Called one of the agents. “Would you mind showing me any vantages points. I’d like to establish a watch tonight.” Fox Mulder lifted his trench coat from the chair it had been lying in and lead the agent and another man outside. Mulder’s flashlight cut through the dark as he pointed out several clearings. The men with him asked a few questions but otherwise took his suggestions with-out comment. As Mulder lead them back to the house, his flash light flickered over the Monte Carlos and centered on something he wasn’t expecting; a white Ford van. He stopped his tracks, a feeling of betrayal and anger filling him. An instant later when cool metal was placed against his head, it wasn’t entirely a surprise.

“Agent Mulder,” Said one of the pseudo-agents who’d been accompanying him. “If you’ll come with us.” Mulder was shoved forward and ordered to keep his hands up as one of the men with him opened the back of the van. “Get in.” Fox Mulder stepped up and in, turning briefly to the house as he heard more footsteps approaching. Scully was coming, and she had a gun trained on her as well. Mulder continued his climb into the van. He was pushed into a sitting position and one of his captors secured a pair of handcuffs around his wrists.

“Who are you?” Mulder demanded. “Where are you taking us?” No one made any attempt to answer him. Scully appeared in the van’s doorway. Her blue eyes were narrowed. Irritation. Maybe some fear. But she was in total control. She sat down beside her partner and raised her hands as she was told to. Steel cuffs were closed with a ‘snap’ around her wrists. “I said ‘who are you?’” Mulder asked again. One of the men had removed a syringe from a white cooler and now was flicking it.

“Stay still please.” The man with the needle ordered as he took hold of Scully’s arm and shoved her sleeve upward.

“No!” Scully twisted away. The pseudo-agent grabbed her and back handed her across the face.

Mulder lunged to his feet and started at the man, throwing his body into him. Hands seemed to shoot out from everywhere, grabbing at Mulder, holding him back. He kept coming as best he could. Finally the butt of a rifle was rapped against Mulder’s head. The blow was only meant to stun, not to drive into unconsciousness. It was enough to make Scully’s partner stagger slightly. The hands fell away from him, but a gun nozzle was suddenly in his face.

“All right!” Dana shouted and moved to Mulder’s side, holding her hands before her partner, trying to end the confrontation.

“Agent Mulder, I suggest you don’t try that again.” The man with the gun warned.

The van doors were shut and the engine rumbled to life. Mulder’s head was throbbing but he didn’t give a damn. At the moment, his hazel eyes were murderous and his attention was focused on the one who’d struck his best friend. “Touch her again and I’ll kill you. Do you hear me? I’ll kill you.” Dana was pulling at his arm, squeezing there gently, willing him to back off. Mulder relented. She was right. The odds weren’t remotely in his favor.

As he sat he groaned softly and touched the back of his head. “The same spot.” He grumbled. “The same fucking spot.”

Scully bit back a smile. “You know Mulder,” She confessed as she checked this latest wound. “Sometimes I get the feeling that people just don’t like us.”

She’d succeeded in making him smile and then he was laughing softly. The low rumble of it seemed to course through her body again and again. She loved that sound.

“Let’s try this once more.” The agent who’d originally introduced himself to Mulder had taken up the needle. “Agent Mulder, we’re taking you to where your mother is. This is something to make you sleep.” His fingers worked at the buttons on Mulder’s cuffs and rolled the sleeve upward. Slowly his eyes on that of Connie Mulder’s son, the man pushed the injection into the skin.

Mulder said nothing but shut his eyes at the serum drained into him. Scully this time accepted the needle in her own arm with no protest. The interior of the van was dark. Three of their captors sat across from them, their guns at the ready. Mulder felt his eyes begin to grow heavy. He felt a small hand curl around his. Dana’s way of telling him that no matter what they were in this together. Mulder pressed closer to her warmth just as sleep overtook him.

-)(x)(x)(-

TOKENS – Part Six

Thanks: To Jason, the great wrap ‘em up guy. Also…two weeks ago I had an extreme attack of writer’s block. Four little elves sent me e-mail to encourage me and to them I owe the rest of this story.

(Heh, heh, heh. You really didn’t think you were gonna get away without a disclaimer did ya?)

-)(x)(x)(-

Mulder was climbing stairs. The stairway had large marble steps, each step long enough for several people to negotiate at once with no trouble. A large brass banister separated the stairs, presumably one side of the stairway was to be used for going up, and the other should be using for going down. Fox Mulder was ascending. The white marble he was moving on was scuffed and worn from overuse. Mulder wasn’t sure where he was headed. It was an uncertain idea at best, but he thought that a train station was waiting for him at the top, or perhaps an airport. Something that would take him somewhere else, to a new place. As he rounded the first flight of stairs and discovered another, he became a boy again. Young Fox in an ironed suit, his small legs moving rapidly, his eyes stubborn but innocent. The child that he once was reached the top step and turned.

Another flight of stairs, just the size of the first

It occurred to him that there should be other people here, but it didn’t seem entirely odd that there wasn’t. His composition had changed again, he was older, somewhere near his real age, but his hair was longer than it should be. A small diamond earring protruded from his left ear. He was clad in a leather jacket. His face wore an insolent smile. It came to him that this was who he was to Skinner This was what the D.A. saw when he looked at him.

Mulder’s pace was still the same, still quick and untired. Energetic. He rounded a third flight of stairs. Again he changed. Mulder’s hair was the right length again, but uncombed. Unchecked. His Knicks shirt and boxer shorts kept in compliment to his sloppy appearance. Still he moved upward.

The fourth flight – finally – this he was the Fox Mulder most saw, except now on his head was a black fedora. His suit was dark and his tie a wild splash of colors. The trench coat he wore moved behind him as he continued up.

Suddenly a figure came from nowhere, moving in his way, up near the top of the stairs. The agent halted, looking up in surprise. Dana. She was standing there one hand on the railing and another on the wall, spreading herself over Mulder’s side of the staircase. Stopping him. Her gaze was fixed and determined on his. Her red hair perfectly fashioned, her white business showing not a crease.

Mulder took up his movements again, determined to challenge her. He needed to keep going. He would convince her or bully her to let him continue on. Whatever it took. Suddenly Scully pressed back against the wall, allowing him to let him pass if he chose. Mulder started to proceed beyond her, but when he reached her step, he found himself stopping again.

Mulder turned to her, his eyes searching hers. He reached out a hand to her. “Not without you.” Her fingers rose and curled around his. The distance between them closed. Mulder’s breath felt heavy in his chest as he looked down at their interlinked fingers. His attention flicked up to her smiling eyes. With his free hand, he reached forward and stroked the side of her face. Her skin was so smooth, so soft to the touch. Mulder drew her closer to him, feeling Scully mold perfectly against his body. His mouth suddenly was just a touch from hers. Their breaths were mingling.

He felt his eyes close as he took in the feel of her, the scent of her. ‘We’ve been waiting for this.’ It was a loud thought that echoed in his head.

‘Yes.’ It wasn’t a spoken reply. Rather he felt the word in her breath. Or perhaps Mulder was reading her mind. He couldn’t be sure.

All he knew was in that moment he surrendered. He bent his head and covered her lips with his. It was just a brush of their mouths together. It was fleeting and gentle contact that was almost chaste, yet it changed everything. Scully drew her head back first, wrapping her arms around him. It was the embrace of a friend, but that was all right. It was a reaffirmation of all they were together, not a denial of what the kiss had meant. Dana Scully held so many places in his heart: his best friend, his partner, his love. And that was all right too. Mulder felt a grin spread and spread over him. His arms came around her as well. His heartbeat and hers were loud in his ears, and one word kept reverberating over and over in his thoughts – Together.

-)(x)(x)(-

Scully opened her eyes feeling sleep slide away from her. Her body was sore from sleeping on the ground, she noted as she took in her surroundings. Mulder was curled nearby, his eyelid movement marking that he was deep in Dream State. Scully pushed herself upward. They were both lying on a steel floor. She pushed the fogginess of sleep from her. The walls around them were metallic as well and glinted with the room’s soft fluorescent light.

It was freezing. A reason existed for that, they were both half-naked.

Mulder was clad only in white boxer shorts. Scully’s blouse and shirt had also been removed. Only her undergarments remained. Great, she thought wryly, just great. Come on now, she encouraged herself, you and Mulder are both adults. No reason to be shy. Between his video collection and Phoebe Green, it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before. Scully, as well, wasn’t exactly a virgin. That didn’t stop her eyes from running over his bare chest again and again.

Dana had seen him shirtless before. She’d seen him naked before for heaven’s sake. He’d been injured or sick and she’d been able to shield herself with clinical detachment. Or at least she thought she had, but each time Scully’s dreams had turned erotic for weeks. The powerful sexual images had disturbed her at first, until she’d analyzed the situation. It was normal for two people that worked in such close quarters and extreme situations to – at times – feel attracted to one another. Nothing to worry about, she had assured herself. The dreams had gone away and it had been a relief. She hoped this wasn’t more fuel for the fire.

Still she gritted her teeth, not looking forward to his eyes moving over her. “Mulder?” Scully called. The man didn’t stir. Scully leaned over and shook him. “Mulder.” She had to give him credit. He may not sleep all that often, but when he did, he slept like a log. A lock of hair had fallen over his eyes. His jaw line was relaxed, his mouth parted slightly. Mulder looked peaceful and vulnerable, yet there was something about the sight that was utterly male. Who was she kidding? There was something about Mulder that was utterly male, period. She almost didn’t have the heart to wake him. Almost. Dana shook him again more insistently.

Mulder jerked awake, instantly tensing, his breathing ragged. His eyes on her seemed uncertain for a moment, then he was studying the room around them. “Any idea where we are?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” She answered honestly .

“It’s cold.” Mulder noticed and then he realized much more. His mouth went dry. Black lace Scully, his eyes seemed to say as they surveyed what she wearing, I wouldn’t have guessed. Mulder took his time looking, purposefully trying to get under her skin.

Scully felt a flush come over her face and folded her arms across her stomach defensively. “Mulder…” That large devil may care grin had spread over his face. Dana felt her cheeks burn.

“You work out, don’t you?” Mulder asked, teasing.

He stood and offered her his hand, pulling her up beside him. They both broke the physical contact quickly. His eyes were trained instantly on a small fold out table that was set mid-room. On the table, as per Laslo Green’s story, rested as deck of cards. The frightening thing was that Mulder and Scully’s service pistols also lay there, side by side. Scully looked to her partner and feeling her eyes, he turned to her as well. A silent message of fear passed between them.

-)(x)(x)(-

“Connie.” The man made a quick motion with his pack of Morelys and removed a cigarette. “Please sit down.”

Constance Mulder was overly pale, but otherwise everything about her was defiant and livid. She refused to acknowledge his gesture toward a chair. “Why have you brought me here?” The small office was the size of a storage closet, just enough for two chairs and two desks, not much more. Since she had been ‘apprehended’ she’d been treated with kid gloves. No handcuffs. No blindfold. On the drive, they’d offered drinks and food several times. They had called her ma’am or Miss Mulder. It had all been very civil. Of course, her captors had also refused to tell her anything about where she was going or what would happen to her there. Connie had a good idea that she knew what she was in store for. She’d even suspected this meeting between herself and her ‘old friend’ might occur. Yet it was impossible to adequately prepare herself mentally to face this man. After all this time, she still recoiled at the sight of him.

“I wanted to let you know how your experiments have progressed over all this time.” He replied easily.

The old jousting match had started. Half-truths and truths batted around between them, their wills clashing for control. “Surely you don’t think I’m interested anymore.”

“Come now,” A lighter clicked open and he toyed with it for a moment before lighting the flame. “…deep down their must be some portion of the ambitious scientist you once were.”

“People change.” Her head was held at the angle of a monarch, proud and confident. “Some people, anyway.”

“As you know the formula’s emotional inducements make it impossible for the carriers to stay awake for more than ten hours at a time.” His tone was conversational, still, but he was trying to head somewhere with this.

“It’s too bad.” Connie felt her heart flutter in her chest. The stress of brave front was costing her. Since she’d been taken, she’d felt a slight pressure in her breast. Connie had been fighting to ignore it, but it was getting more and difficult. “Making someone more aggressive also makes them useless ten to twelve hours out of ever day while they sleep to maintain the effect.” Reminding him of the drawbacks of the formula was her pleasure. You and your organization aren’t perfect, she was telling him without actually saying the words. If no national rules applied to the Consortium then at least some scientific ones did.

The cigarette smoking man waved her words away. “The drug effects not only the patients waking state, but his subconscious mind as well. In the imperfect formula as we continue administering the drug, the subject’s dreams became more and more manic.” His tone lowered, again letting her know that his words weren’t just for her illumination. Something deeper existed that he was trying to convey. “The build-up is gradual, till the dreams pendulum are swinging at random from ultimate happiness and unspeakable horror. The emotions eventually created are so powerful that the patient may begin to go insane, developing any number of social maladies. It was an unfortunate side effect.” He leaned back in the chair he was seated in, crossing his legs comfortably. “Of course, in the final formula we have effectively countered this problem. The subject’s dreams are now emotionally even; they are much more peaceful.”

“Peaceful?” Connie countered. “Or controlled?”

A brief smile. “All this time and I was never sure you knew.” The shadowy figure drew from his cigarette. “It’s an interesting discovery. The censoring of dreams leading to one of the keys to sublimation of human will.”

Pins and needles were bouncing up and down her body. It was harder to breathe. She didn’t let the pain show. “Human will doesn’t interest any of you.”

“No.” Cancer man agreed, pursing his lips in thought. His gray eyes were lit with an ember of the respect he’d always had for her. Connie Mulder understood the game. She had simply refused to play. “We are the great chess players. It’s far more profitable if most things remain as they are now and have always been.”

“You’ll never get me to give you what Bornes stole.” The woman told him softly. “You know that.”

The cigarette smoking man was nonplussed by the words. “I would never presume to try to force you into anything, Connie. You know that.“Mock sincerity at best held in his face. “I was hoping Agent Mulder and Scully could convince you.”

Her eyes shut and then she shook her head. “What have you done?”

“Merely taken Mulder and Scully into custody.” Cancer man said easily. “For their own protection.”

“I want to see them.” It was not a request. She fought the shock at his actions. Hadn’t she known he would do this if it came to it? Hadn’t she always known?

“Of course.” He rose and moved toward the room’s solitary door, knocking. It was opened instantly by a man in military uniform. “Take us to the viewing room.”

-)(x)(x)(-

“I said ‘No’ Mulder.” It was the dangerous, ‘don’t push me’ voice that was part warning and part promise. It was still cold in the room. She was rubbing at her upper arms trying to keep the blood circulating.

Images of running his hands over her taunted his mind. Geez, Mulder, control yourself will ya? He couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off her. He was trying. It was like a fever had taken hold of him. She seemed immune. Of course she was. She wouldn’t chose him, not in a million years.

Mulder was far too unpredictable for her taste. No, Scully wanted a nice guy with a Volvo, bland ties and wrinkle free fucking suits. Someone who didn’t argue with her. Someone who would place her on a pedestal and treat her like a damn princess. Someone with a white Volvo station wagon, automatic seat belts and dual airbags. Control, he ordered himself. His reasoning was a mess. His ideas were tumbling over him erratically

“Scully,” Mulder began carefully. “If you were the tool in my death, or a serious injury to me – could you live with that knowledge?”

“In certain circumstances.” Hypothetically it was an easy question.“If you were not cognizant and it would help another…” The words stuck in her throat. She was lying. To him and to herself.

Before when she’d believed him to be dead, she’d tried to go on, to be strong. The way she always was, the way that Mulder would have expected her to be. She hadn’t been successful. Not entirely. Not really. Outwardly she’d seemed like she was coping, she knew, but inwardly she’d felt like she was being slowly driven out of her mind. His eyes hovered before her everywhere. His smile blinked into her consciousness at random moments. The scent of him lingered in their office. She kept forgetting that he was gone, and had started to call him…It was like living in a nightmare.

Dana had slept in his apartment the first night after the train car had exploded, trying to cling unto him in some way. Finding in the end, not his warmth, but an emptiness she wasn’t sure she could recover from. Her sobs had been muffled as she turned her face into the leather of his couch. Scully, for the first time in her life, wasn’t able to formulate the proper strategy to face tomorrow. She didn’t have her partner there to argue or advise her. No plan of action was enough to bring him back. The insanity of that was enough to make her feel as if the core of her was being removed stone by stone. If she was the instrument in his death…

“But we’re not talking about helping another.” Mulder replied. “We’re talking about murder.”

“Mulder – this – we don’t know that they aren’t manipulating the information you have.” That ‘let’s be reasonable’ attitude was back.Mulder felt as if he was going to explode if she did that one moretime. Sometimes she was a fucking robot. He frowned. That wasn’t fair.Were they really standing in their underwear having one of their debates? It all seemed too surreal suddenly. “Leading you on a journey of paranoia, the end of which is indiscernible.” Scully’s eyes met his. “If we surrender our only means of defense as you suggest, we might also remove our only means of escape.”

Couldn’t she ever just let him protect her? Hell no, balls of brass Dana Scully was…He shoved his thoughts away. “If we’re set upon by outside forces, then fine. But if they manage to turn us against one another…”

Scully saw his point. She understood his reasoning. She simply didn’t want to give up her gun. That was idiocy. The guns were their protection, as much as there was any safety in circumstances where everything had been organized against them from the first step. Mulder was trying to be practical, she simply didn’t care.

“Are you suggesting that they have the ability to make us shoot one another, Mulder?”

“After all we’ve been through, can you tell me that they don’t have that ability?” He gritted his words and felt his jaw clench. Why the fuck couldn’t he be in there alone? He needed space, but there was none to be had. Mulder began to pace, feeling too much energy brimming inside him to remain still anymore. Why the fuck didn’t they take him and only him? Another thing for little miss perfect to blame him for. Why did her skin have to seem so damn inviting? The black lace made her look incredible. Her proportions were perfect. The matching bra and panties hinted at everything but revealed nothing. It was driving him crazy.

“I don’t know.” She admitted softly.

The admission brought him back to himself. “I’m… asking you to help me choose the lesser of two evils. ” Two evils. As a Catholic, the concepts of good and evil had been forged in her for as long as she could remember. Disposing of the bullets and becoming totally vulnerable to their captors or taking the risk that the aggression drug would force one of them to hurt the other. Would she rather place herself in the position of having her life taken, or taking a life?

Scully considered that for a long moment. Finally she gave a solitary nod and started for the table, her decision made. “We’ll get rid of the bullets.”

It had been his suggestion and she was agreeing, yet Mulder jerked as she started reached for a weapon. Her with a gun and him without…no. Scully saw and her eyebrows lifted. ‘Suddenly you don’t trust me with a gun, Mulder,’ she seemed to asking. Mulder forced himself to relax. She hesitated, still watching his reactions. She hated the mistrust she’d read in his eyes. Mulder did his best to hide his feelings, moving up beside her and taking the second gun, quickly. He lowered his gun nozzle to the ground, waiting for her to do the same. They both began firing. After two shots, Scully stopped and examined the floor. Nothing. Not a mark. Even in the most indestructible room in the world – A Fort Knox safe came to mind – there should have been something.

“Mulder, stop.”

Her partner paused his finger on the trigger. His stare followed hers and then he removed the clip from the weapon in his hand. Blanks. Scully examined her own clip, then twisted, throwing it against the wall on the opposite side of the room as hard as she could. The act shocked the hell out of Mulder, who winced. Scully didn’t notice, still fuming. “They’re playing with us. It’s just a game.”

Mulder sank to the floor, sitting cross-legged, the gun still held lightly in his right hand. “Fuck.” He muttered softly. He tossed the Sig away from him.

Scully seemed to have regained control of her temper. “I guess we should be grateful we’re in no immediate danger.” Her inspection of him was unconscious, moving down his neck and lingering over the small tufts of hair at his chest. His stomach was muscular and rippled slowly in and out with his breath. Mulder didn’t seem to notice her hot stare and if he did, he didn’t say anything. Her fingers pushed through her hair shakily as she tried to concentrate on anything…anything but her partner.

“Well…” Mulder said finally. “I guess the question now is, do you know how to play gin?”

-)(x)(x)(-

Walter Skinner answered his office phone on the second ring. He was expecting an update from Agent Mulder or Scully and they were already an hour late reporting in.

“Assistant Director Skinner.” He answered. It was an agent, one of the ones on loan from the Massachusetts field office. The man was irritated and it took Skinner a moment to understand why. Three agents were at the cabin that had once been Connie Mulder’s summer home, but Mulder and Scully were nowhere to be found. Clearly, someone had been there, but whoever they were, the place was deserted now. Signs of four cars marked the road up to the house. The automobiles, like Mulder and Scully. were gone.

“If you had that much personnel assigned to this sir,” The loaned agent was saying. “Then I fail to understand why we were called in.”

“You said one of the tire treads looked to be that of a van?” Skinner questioned, ignoring the man’s statement. “A white van is wanted in connection with the disappearance of Agent Mulder’s mother.”

“I’m sorry sir.” The arrogance was gone from the voice, replaced with a sincere concern. “We haven’t had time to have a complete briefing on the case. We were hoping Agents Mulder and Scully would help fill us in.”

Walter wasn’t insulted at the man on the phone’s attitude thus far. It was likely that Spooky Mulder’s reputation was once again preceded him. Skinner believed that nine times out of ten the people in the field were good soldiers. He gave them credit as their due. “Trace the tracks and send them to the Chilmark P.D. If we have a match, I want to know as soon as possible. Also call your office and tell them to have more men on stand by. If that van is identified we may have a serious situation on our hands.”

“Yes sir.” The agent’s tone had become much more respectful. “And it’s too dark to do more than a preliminary search now, but we’ll comb the woods first thing in the morning.”

A moment later Skinner hung up, shutting his eyes tightly afterwards. He didn’t know for certain Mulder and Scully were in trouble. He couldn’t be sure that if they were, he had somehow inadvertently helped placed them in danger. It was not a time to second guess himself. Fox Mulder was, nine times out of ten, a huge pain in the ass. He was constantly defending the agent’s actions to his superiors. Walter didn’t understand the man, didn’t pretend to. The truth was though that he respected him. Cared about him. Even admired him.

Scully too, had her moments were she was insubordinate. Her flaw was the far reaching depth of her heart and how much she gave a damn about her partner. About the job. So, in that, too he felt a large amount of respect. More than that, he liked Scully. She was quite possibly one of the strongest persons he’d ever met. They both were. Which was why he’d done what he could to protect them. He came to his feet abruptly and grabbed his jacket from the coat hanger, putting it on as he moved out of his office.

“Sir?” His secretary received little more than a glance.

“Can you contact the main office and tell them to have a helicopter on standby?” Skinner requested tersely. “I may be flying out with in the next two to three hours.”

“Yes sir, but…this just came in for you.” Walter stared at the package she was proffering.

“Who’s it from?” Skinner reached for it, intending to tuck it under his arm and be on his way. Maybe his ex-wife had decided to give him something for the holidays after all.

“It had no return address.” Skinner hesitated. Maybe it was a practical joke gift from one of the departments. He really didn’t have time for this. The D.A. found his fingers tugging at the third class mail covering anyway. It might be business related. Skinner slid the contents of the package out and found himself looking at a leather book. Curiously he began flipping through the pages. Baseball cards.

Lots and lots of baseball cards.

Skinner had watched his share of sports but really hadn’t what he considered a fan for quite some time. He turned to the front cover, wondering if there was a signature, giving him a clue as to who had sent it. ‘Merry Christmas from an old friend,’ was written there in bold black marker.

Skinner neither seemed pleased nor displeased at the receipt of the package. Uncertainty and a shadow of regret marked his expression. He slowly closed the book.

-)(x)(x)(-

It was the second day the Connie Mulder had been brought to the viewing room. The first day upon seeing her son pacing in his boxer shorts while his partner stared moodily at the wall had shocked her. Her heart had clenched and she’d thought it was never going to start beating again. Guns, she noted, seeing the table, there were guns in that room. She had done this. Dear God, not her son. Not this test. The cigarette smoking man, seeing her clutch at her chest had insisted that she sit down, had even helped her to a chair, one of his slim arms anchored around her waist. Connie had been ashamed at her inability to hide her weakness, her failure to show strength when it might be the one thing that would help Fox.

They’d sent her away to rest. But today she was here again, facing a man she’d once thought of with deep affection, now a face she hated as much as that of her dead husband.

“Was it necessary to take their dignity?” She growled. Connie felt her hands alternately go numb and regain feeling. Sharp pains rising and fading in her heart were almost constant. She was growing used to them. She let nothing show. Another lesson from the man she’d married – never try and negotiate from weakness.

The cigarette smoking man regarded the scene idly. “I assure we haven’t gone to all this trouble for amusement’s sake.” He puffed lightly on his cigarette. “Original test subjects were always left to a bare minimum of dress in order to allow a perfect sense of vulnerability. The added stress factor always proved to speed up the results of the inevitable.”

Mulder and his partner were lying on opposite sides of the room, their backs turned to each other. Presumably they were both deeply asleep. Two men in white coats pushed through an opening that had suddenly appeared under the table in the room. The scientists approached, injecting each agent with a small syringe and then moving back toward the room’s solitary opening. Connie could hear no sound from the room she was watching, but her son’s face suddenly contorted and she could see his lips moving. Samantha’s name. He was calling for his little sister.

Mrs. Mulder spun toward her nemesis, maintaining her composure even an as icy hatred thundered through her. “You really should cut down.” Connie Mulder noted, nodding at the Morely. “Those will be the death of you.” She’d have been the death of him if she had her way at that moment.

A slight smile, trickling admiration for her spirit. “They don’t look like they’re resting very peacefully, do they? We can continue treating Mulder and Scully with the imperfect formula, until any such time that you believe telling me where the real formula is might be…beneficial.”

Two words bit from her lips. “You promised.” A long time ago, a lifetime ago, this gray man had sworn that her son would be safe.

“I promise I’ll allow nothing to bring you to harm.” The younger version of the man before her had said, laying his hands on her shoulders.

Connie Mulder, some twenty years younger had pulled away. “I don’t care what happens to me. You protect my son.”

The cigarette stopped, hovering before his lips, as he too, remembered. “I’ve kept my word.” He answered softly. “If we discontinue the treatments soon, there should be no permanent effect. But…that’s up to you.”

She gave no immediate answer. She pivoted again to look in on her sleeping son and tears filled hers eyes. Constance kept her head held high, even as the sharp pains started once again. ‘I’m sorry Robert,’ she told her old friend brokenly in her mind over and over, ‘I tried to tell you.’ The pain in her heart stopped suddenly as if it would be leaving for good and then it leaped all at once. Constance Mulder jerked with the force of the impact of the searing pressure ripping over her. The world spun out of control from under her. She tried to gather a breath and couldn’t. The floor met her body and she clawed, trying to find her way up again.

“Connie?” A voice from the distance. Her heart was being ripped apart, her lungs being crushed, she was sure of it. “Connie.” More insistent now, the voice, but she had no energy to answer.

She was being lifted, she felt herself being carried, probably by two men. She imagined the hands helping her belonged to men in military uniform. Other than her old ‘friend’ everyone else she had spotted had been clothed in fatigues. It seemed an eternity till she was laid down. The mattress beneath her was soft and warm. She wondered where her son was. He had come to her once before when she’d been sick. The memory of what had happened to her returned. She tried to open her eyes once again but couldn’t. Nor would her arms and hands move when she willed them to. The ripping agony still spread over her, twisting her elderly body one way and then the other. Fingers, cold fingers pressed at her pulse points. Metal touched over her chest. A pinprick in her arm. The world faded away.

Cancerman stood watching as the doctor gave her first one shot then another. Outwardly, as always the man was calm, but his mouth was clenched tightly. The doctor turned to him as the patient began to fall into a drug induced sleep. “Well?”

“The stress of this…” The doctor searched for a polite word. “…situation is effecting her heart. She should be all right if she rest for a few hours. However, the longer she’d exposed to this level of anxiety…”

“Thank you doctor.” Replied the former, his eyes never leaving the sleeping form on the bed. “That will be all.”

-)(x)(x)(-

“Will you stop that?” Mulder’s attention jerked to his partner. “The pacing.” Dana elaborated. She had been playing solitaire for over two hours, not saying a word to him. She had looked to be in deep thought, stewing, about something. She never talked it out. She could be furious with him and she’d just sit there all calm and composed. Mulder hated that. He remembered once when he’d had the M.J. file and she’d been drilling him with questions, that he’d wanted to slap the calm disbelief from her face. He felt the same way now. Fuck. The drug…the drug…the drug, he reminded himself. Mulder couldn’t hurt Scully. Wouldn’t.

“Mulder are you listening?” Fuck. Shutup Scully, his mind shouted, shut the hell up.

“Sorry.” He managed and brought himself to a standstill, his fists rolling and unrolling as he tried to push out the anger. “It would help if you didn’t just sit there.”

His words were too close to something else he’d said a few days before. Her thin bare arms crossed over her chest, as one of her eyebrows raised. “What else do you expect from someone in an emotional bubble?”

Mulder’s teeth clenched. “Don’t start with me, Scully.” He warned.

They had been there for what, three days? The snapping matches between them had become more frequent during that time. They both knew the cause and they were both working hard to contain themselves, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. Without meaning to, his eyes settled on and followed the curve or her thigh. Did she know what watching her on her knees, her teeth digging softly into her lower lip as she looked at the cards, was doing to him? He’d been staying as far away from her as possible, but the distance wasn’t enough. Mulder had even retreated to a corner, sitting there with his eyes closed. He’d been pretending to be asleep.

He could still hear her, the rustle of her movements overly loud in his ears. Her quivering intake and exhale of breath. The soft hum she made when she stretched. The sound of her hands rubbing quickly over her arms and legs as she tried to keep warm. If that wasn’t bad enough, the scent of her subtle floral perfume would catch him every now and again. It had been three days and the scent of her was still as sexy as it always had been. Not that she fucking noticed. Or maybe she did. Maybe she knew exactly what the hell was happening to him. No. This was Dana Scully. The one who wouldn’t see him as a potential…anything – ever. Which was right. They were partners.

That was fine. But what the hell was he ever going to do if she became involved with someone. An image drilled in his head of Dana lying in her large bed, waiting with eager eyes as a lover came to lie beside her. It broke his heart and made him feel like killing his partner all at once. It was make believe. Dana Scully didn’t have a lover. But she might one day. He cursed under his breath.

“Did you just say something about a Volvo?” Scully asked.

He grunted an answer. Grunts. Now they’d sunk to a primordial level of communication. Scully’s deep blue eyes had widened as she watched him. For the last three days an innocent sense of surprise had come over her each time she looked at him, as if she was a child again on Christmas morning, and he was gift long wished for. Mulder. She sat thinking of the million times she had watched light fill his eyes when he shared a joke with her. The few memories of his rough voice crying out her name when he was worried filled her ears. She could see him absently sipping coffee that was hours old as he read file after file. He was disorganized and obsessive and nuts….

And brave. She’d seen him willingly throw himself into hell for just one more answer. To save just one more life. Guilt ridden, if putting everything on the line wasn’t enough and he failed. Gruff, if he succeeded. Always ready to go on to the next key, the next case. He was passionate about everything in his life. He’d once talked her to death for an hour about a hamburger (the perfect hamburger, as he’d called it) that he’d eaten in a greasy spoon. Mulder always listened first and picked apart later, she secretly liked that about him. She liked the way he was ready to buck the rules and dive head first into uncharted territory. She derived joy from arguing with him, not because of the fight itself, bit because they were consistently unable to out reason one another.

She loved…(loved?) She loved his dedication. The way she knew that if he made a promise, he’d kill himself trying to keep it. His attempts at levity when situations looked liked they couldn’t get any darker had been a source of balance for a long time. Mulder was Mulder. Errant knight with a rusty suit of armor and not a clue in his head, maybe, but a knight just the same.

God, she wanted to touch him. To massage the soft muscles of his shoulders and trail her fingernails lightly down his back. So many times he’d had the look of a lost boy, his brow wrinkled and his eyes arched upward with sadness. If she pressed her lips against his forehead, could she kiss the pain away? If she pressed her lips against his chest, just over his heart beat, could she ease the guilt there? Dana ached to trail her fiery hair against his stomach, caressing there as she lay listening to the sound of his breathing.

She bit back a moan. What the hell was she doing to herself, letting her fantasies go on that way? Five years and he hadn’t made one move. On doctors who investigated roaches, or slut detectives in back water towns, or delusional vampire wanna-bes but never on his partner. Why the hell not? Dana wasn’t vain, but she knew that on some terms she could be considered pretty. Mulder, the same man who was putting the children of the staff for Adult Video Digest through college, had never made one pass. Nor had he ever suggested one date. Why not? Why the hell not? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had opportunity.

Dana wanted to use a tactical knee to the groin maneuver on him suddenly. She could see a scenario of hitting him for all his ignorances unfolding in her mind. <Slap> Look at me. <Slap> LOOK at ME. <Slap> Never seen me as a woman. <Slap> All those dreams. <Slap> All those hotel rooms with adjoining doors. <Slap> All those little flirting touches. Scully, what are you wearing? <Slap> If there’s root beer in there in might be love. <Slap> Phoebe Green. Detective White. Kristen. <Slap> KristenKristenKristen. <Slap> Jerk. <Slap>

He respects you, she snapped at herself sternly, ending the daydream. Mulder was her friend. Her partner. The rogue agent that had cajoled her into breaking half of the regulations she’d once held in affinity with the Bible. The same guy who made her heart beat triple when he leaned too close.

He’d also kept her from seeing her sister when she’d been dying.

That hadn’t been his fault.

She’d rushed to his hospital bed instead of going to see the man claiming to have a message to her from her dead father.

Mulder hadn’t understood why she had refused to go either.

The partner who kept ditching her.

He’d promised not to do that again.

Poor little Queequeg.

A monster had eaten him, probably an alligator, not Mulder.

The man who’d put himself in danger. Time and time again. Her fingernails bit into her hand as the anger swirled higher and higher. Making her worry. Running after his ghosts.

“Do you want to plan gin again?” Scully was asking not out of any fierce desire to play the game, but because talking made the anger easier to bear.

“No.” Mulder had walked over to the table and was now tracing his fingers over the gun there. As they’d slept, some mysterious force had somehow come in the room and set the guns in the same place as when he and Scully had first been imprisoned. The clips too had been returned to their original position.

“You were complaining because I was just sitting here.” She reminded.

“I don’t want to play a fucking game of Gin!” Mulder shouted. “But this would be easier if you would talk every few hours.” Then with a large dose of sarcasm. “If it’s not too much trouble, that is. I realize your very busy.” He gestured around the room. “Things to do, people to see.”

“I thought,” Her patience was shaky. She was wearing the patented pained expression that she always did when Mulder was being difficult. Mulder hated that look. Fuck, he wanted to shoot at her. Point a real gun with real bullets at her and fire, maybe missing just to the left of her head. To scare her. To rattle her unshakable cool. To prove that she was a damn human being and not some sexy as hell dream come true, looking at him as if he were a pesky insect. “That silence was better than the alternative of attacking one another.”

He made a soft sound, trying to cling onto her words and drown out the thoughts playing over him. “The quiet is driving me out of mind.”

She sat back on her haunches. “I’m doing my best to not let this situation get the best of me, Mulder.”

She always gave a hundred percent and he always pushed for more. She acted rationally, and he accused her of being limited. She used the benefit of her scientific training to offer a hypothesis. He insisted that that was too afraid to believe what her own senses were telling her. She believed in God, and he threw out statistics on how humans typically invented gods to explain phenomenon. Dana Scully was a doctor and had geared years of training toward that goal. She was logical and careful because that was who she was. He acted like that side of her was a nuisance as often as he embraced it as a help. Scully supported him and defended him through thick and thin. Trying her best. Mulder always had a criticism. Her best was never good enough.

“So am I.” He insisted.

“Fine.” Scully knew that she was beginning to seethe. Lord, I want to hit him, as hard as I can…no holds barred. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know.”

Her voice rose. “Well, this was your idea. Make a suggestion.”

“Fine.” If she wanted him to pick a topic, then he’d damn well pick. “Tell me your deepest, darkest sexual fantasy.” That had come out of nowhere, Mulder hadn’t meant to say it much less think it.

“You must be kidding.” She answered dryly.

“C’mon Scully.” His eyes had become light pools of fire, his voice was mocking. “I’m just trying to understand my partner a little better. Help me out.” He practically purred out the last words. It made her think of a lion emitting a low growl, ready to pounce of it’s pray. It was exciting and dangerous all at once.

He’d spoken on purpose, trying to make fun of her. Teasing her like he always did. All those little innuendos and sly flirtations. All talk. no action. Dark clouds loomed on her face threatening a fierce storm. “All I do is help you, Mulder.”

The lust on his face was blinked away. “What?”

“You heard me.” She came to her feet, ready to meet him if he started towards her. “Help me find the aliens, Scully. Help me break the rules, Scully. Help me chase after things that are as based in science and reality as the Easter bunny.”

He did approach, gun still in hand, his fingers flexing around it. “If you weren’t so closed off from everything except your little lab and your laptop, you’d understand what I was trying to do.” They were a few feet apart. Mulder wanted to grab her…shove her into the wall and then…Stop it, he ordered himself. “But you don’t, do you?”

“Which hypocrisy am I supposed to understand?” Scully was pure fire, her temper at the reins. “Believe in aliens, but not in God. Believe in conspiracies but not in science. Believe in every dark shadowy figure in the mist but not in your government.”

“Dammit,” He had to get away from her or he didn’t know what he’d do. Mulder tromped toward the table. He looked at the wall, trying to fight the fury. Trying to stay on top, ride it out, get past it. But it kept coming. “You know exactly why I react the way I do.” He hit his chest with his palm, not caring that he hit too hard. The pain was refreshing. “I’ve never hid anything from you.” Lord, he was gonna hurt her. Do something horrible. Can’t. Can’t. Not Scully. I’d rather die myself. Please. Maybe that was it, embracing the hate not for her, but for himself. He’d been called a loser. By a man who’d taken his place and by his own inner demons. He should have just ended it years ago. Once and for all. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it. The rage kept spreading it coils farther and farther throughout him. “What the hell do I expect from Little Miss Perfect? It must be such a hardship stuck down in the basement with Ol’ Spooky.” He was trying to direct the aggression inward, away from her. It only worked partially, but it was all he could think of to do. “You must have fucking wished for me to die when I was in the arctic. You must have knelt down and kissed Skinner’s ass the day he closed the X-files.”

She’d moved in front of him and struck him with all of her might. The culmination of her fury ebbed with the shock that she’d slapped him. Lord, what was she doing? This was Mulder. It stunned her, the action she’d taken, how far out of control her emotions had led her. She was glad that the ammo in the guns were blanks. What would she have done if…Mulder lifted his hand to return the blow. She readied herself for the strike.

Can’t hurt Scully, Can’t hurt Scully. Can’t hurt Scully.

Mulder spun from her and pointed the gun at the wall, pulling the trigger. He’d wanted the loud noise to bring him a sense of relief. He’d needed to do something. Yet as he fired the third shot, he saw the unmistakable mark of bullet holes. Scully was moving past him, walking toward the steel he’d fired at, tracing where the bullets had become embedded. Her eyes flew to Mulder’s. They’d switched the ammo in the guns; it was live now. Mulder let his attention move to the gun in his hand. The grip felt cool, the weigh felt right. She’d fucking hit him.

“Give me the gun, Mulder.” Scully implored him, seeing the darkness that was threatening in his gaze.

“No.” The answer was abrupt and firm. “You don’t want to tell me your fantasies, maybe I should tell you mine instead.” Mulder said, an evil gleam in his eyes. Scully should have been worried about herself. She should have rushed for the other gun. He looked ready to kill her or…Instead all she knew was what it would do to him, if he acted on the poison they were feeding him. Everything became clear. Mulder was hers, whatever that meant, and there was no way in hell that they could have him. Aggression was a primarily selfish emotion, the placing of his being above her own had temporarily taken it’s power. “Since we’ve been in here, I’ve been having the most unprofessional thoughts. It’s strange. I’ve never thought of you that way before, Scully.”

She couldn’t believe that. Didn’t want to believe for her pride’s sake. She offered half a smile. “Mulder with all your talk about truth…”

His breath expelled in a hard push. “I never thought of you that way!” He yelled, his voice echoing around them. Please, Dana, just…just… He shook his head, his eyes traveling over her. “I never let myself.”

He was barely holding on. Talking was helping him. It was a venue of communication and it was easing the aggression. Scully could hear a soft clicking. He was playing with the safety, snapping it on and off and on and off. It made her shudder. She forced herself to concentrate on Mulder and only Mulder. She had to keep him talking, help him with the anger. “I don’t understand. Why?”

Mulder shook his head and paced one way and then the other, holding the gun up near his face, the nozzle pointing just past his head toward the ceiling. “My mind is full of dark rooms. With Samantha, all I had to do was protect her the horrors out the world. But now the danger comes from me too. My lack of sight, my obsessions drown me and in the end I let them drown you.” Not her…I’m a fucking waste of space.

“I’m not Samantha.” Scully said, talking softly as if to a child. “I made my choices, Mulder. And I’m not dead yet.” She lifted her hands and approached him as slowly as she could. He wouldn’t look at her. She could feel the inner battle he was fighting.” Samantha’s not even a real person to you anymore. She’s almost a religion.”

Mulder whirled his head toward her, halting her as he flexed his fingers around the gun. “How many things in my life have been untouched, by conspiracy, lies and mistrust?” He crushed his fingers in his hair as hard as he could, trying to gather his wit with the pain. “If I let myself, I can see myself touching your pale skin. My hands cupping your ass. My mouth on yours.” He shut his eyes, the fantasy taking hold of him for a moment. With a sound of derision, he struck out his fist as at the wall nearest him. It didn’t help, the image of her against him still held on. Why not? Take the gun and force her to show him all of her. Force her…no. His fist lashed out again, harder, finally his mind allowing the thoughts to disperse. “Even in my mind, It would be a sacrilege.” His breathing filled his lungs in gasps, his chest working over time to keep up with the erratic beat of his heart. “You want me to admit I want you?” Sometimes so much it takes everything to rein it in, but I know the dark halls inside myself. You want to look down those halls with your skepticism and your little flashlight?”

Another step toward him, a cautious step. “It’s all right Mulder. It’s natural to have those feelings.” Her eyes were on the gun.

“Natural?” A hard laugh. “You don’t know where my mind would go left unchecked.” He waved the gun at her, using it as a pointer. “I can see you Dana. Tied up. Gagged. Blindfolded. It wouldn’t be sweet or slow or loving. Do you understand?” More pictures in his mind. Sweet in their intensity. He’d never have her that way. The bitch…He began hitting at the wall again and again, now with both hands, gun and all.

“Your hurting yourself.” She was just near him now, hesitating on whether or not to reach out and touch his back. It was too soon. Scully couldn’t be sure how he’d react. “Mulder,” She called out loudly, “Your hurting yourself.”

Her voice was pleading for him to stop. He could never refuse that tone from Dana Scully. Mulder’s eyes fell to his knuckles, on both hands small lacerations had formed and they were bleeding. “I’d give anything for one kiss. Just for one untarnished by the dark. One pure thing.” He looked over his shoulder, his eyes seeking out hers. He needed to know he wasn’t alone. “Have you ever thought about us, Scully?”

She’d never lied to him. She didn’t start now, despite the volatile nature of the question. “I’ve had a couple of dreams.” Two steps separated them. She took one. ” Sometimes I watch you. Just for a second.”

“What do you think about, when you watch me?” He whispered, his mood seemed gentled by her proximity as well as her soft voice.

“Mostly I try to understand you.”

“I think you understand the important things. ” He told her, honestly, rotating toward her again. “You know…more than anyone.”

She closed the last amount of physical distance between them. She could reach for the gun now, she thought. Scully believed that for now he was in control again, but she had to be careful. Dana touched his chest instead, just over his heart. The caress was like fire searing over Mulder’s skin. Their bodies were brushing together lightly, sharing warmth. She was so close he felt intoxicated by her nearness. He wanted to take her face in both hands and crush her mouth against his own. He backed away, shifting his body one way and then the other, like a caged animal with nowhere left to go. Her fingers rose and she feathered them over his still reddened cheek. Her face lifted to look into his. “I’m sorry.” An apology for the blow.

His fingers caught hers, stopping the motion of her hand. He was watching her mouth, studying the curve of her full lower lip. “It’s not fair, Scully.” Mulder whispered, his voice husky and soft.

“What isn’t?” Her voice was as quiet as own. She wanted to look into his eyes, but they were hooded.

“You.” His voice was little louder than a breath. “Your too beautiful. Too smart. Too good.” His thumbs was tracing over her fingernails. That slight touch was enough to make her want to throw herself at him. She bit her lower lip.

“I’m just me.” That made him smile. Everything but the feel of her drained away from him. The pads of his fingers were running over the small veins at the back of her hand.

She agreed with him. It wasn’t fair. That his touch was so electric. That they were just partners. That she loved him. What? She what? Dana Scully almost drew away, should have drawn away. Mulder was the last person she should chose to fall for. Yet it was happening. Had been happening for as long as she could remember. One more little shove and she’d be gone. For good. That was the problem with the kind of feelings that she’d been fighting for her partner. Once fully realized, they tended to stick around for the rest of a person’s life. True love, Scully mused, wondering if the overly used term was trite. Was that what was happening here?

True love. Two people meet, they feel a click, a sense of destiny and then they give into it. She had felt a click with Mulder, but she’d never considered it romantic. True love was for fairy tales. It didn’t happen to realists like Scully. Or maybe it did. Maybe for people like Scully, it just took a good while to overtake all the inner walls and open into full bloom? Or maybe it just was about faith. Believing yourself to be capable of loving someone forever. Scully knew Mulder as well as she knew herself. She could love him like that. If she let herself.

Dana Scully’s gaze was filled with a glow that Mulder didn’t understand, but that none the less made him remember everything she was to him. “Scully…” In one swift movement he opened his gun, removed the clip, and pressed it in her hand. He pulled back, away from her, to the corner of the room. Protecting her as always, even from himself. Dana let herself look from him to the clip in her hand and then back again. An act of faith, his giving her the ammunition to his gun. They had been able to avoid disaster this time, but how many times could they cheat fate? How long would they be held here? What if next time the aggression pushed at her even harder? How long could she hold back? She was the one with all the power now. Mulder as always, understood the meaning in her frightened look. “You believe in God.” Mulder said. “Do you think He listens?”

“Yes.”

Mulder was smiling even though it was the last thing he felt like doing. “Maybe now would be a good time for you to test that theory.” Humor, wry sardonic humor, trying to push away the darkness. “In the meantime,” He nodded at the clip. His face was alive and still with sincerity. “I trust you with my life.” The man who had been her partner for five years slowly turned his back on her, facing the wall. Mulder moved carefully to his knees. Tears filled his eyes as he let his forehead fall forward and rest against the cool steel.

He heard her move behind him. “It’s all right.” She whispered, sinking her fingers into his hair and soothing him as if he were a child. She kept stroking his hair gently, not sure what else to do, afraid of what was to come. “It’s all right.”

-)(x)(x)(-

Twenty-four hours Connie Mulder had been resting. Her condition had steadied, but not truly improved. Cancerman watched as the doctor he’d personally requested be on standby checked her over again.

“Based on her original condition, I would have thought she’d be well out of the woods by now.” The physician reported. “But she’s very weak…there’s not much we can do for her here.”

The gray man gave a nod and dismissed the doctor. He sat down heavily in the room’s lone chair, his hands folded before him in praying poise as he stared at the mother of Fox Mulder. Cancerman stood and moved to her side, calling her name once and then again. “Connie.” Her eyes fluttered open. “We’re going to move you to a hospital.”

“Fox…” It was hard to form the words.

The man hovering above her, nodded. “Still here.”

“How long…” Her mouth was overly dry, her lips sticking together.”…have I been asleep.”

“A day.”

“The formula…” Mentally she calculated the results that years ago had been second nature. Normally the formula reached full fruition in about a week, depending on the dosage.

“Yes?” The cigarette smoking man lifted a pitcher and poured a glass of water, raising it to her lips. Letting her have a sip, waiting and then letting her drink again.

She drank two cups before she spoke once more. “What are you…offering for it? A momentary resbit for…my only child?” She forced the words out. The talking scratched her throat. Energy was in short supply but she kept herself awake and alert. “Until…until…his partner dies slowly while he…watches and it destroys him?”

The gray man lowered his eyes, hiding them from her view. “You want a cure for Scully?”

“I don’t believe you…” A body racking cough attacked her. “…have the authority.” It was a challenge, but he didn’t rise to it. Instead he remained motionless, waiting for her to go on. “But you can help Mulder… to discover it…you can let him cure her.”

The cigarette smoking man was amazed by her. She lay, possibly dying and there she was trying to negotiate for the best deal. It was no wonder that he’d loved her so long ago. “That process is already in place. Does that surprise you?”

It wouldn’t have at one time, it did now. She reached out and grabbed for the gray man’s hand, insisting he give her his full attention. “Save my son.” So similar to words she’d spoken to him years before. His eyebrows pinched together, almost a sad expression. Another nod from him and he reached to pour another glass for her. She refused

“We have a bargain then?” He asked.

“There’s a map. Bornes’s car. The Tick-Tock Cafe. Near Rhode Island.” Another series of coughs.

Cancerman squeezed her hand. “Mulder will be fine, Connie.” The reassurance was all she had and she clung to it as best she could as everything seemed to fade away. Sleep surrounded her once again.

He waited till he was outside of the room, to reach for his pack of Morely’s and pull a cigarette from his pack. The slow clip-clop of Cancerman’s shoes carried him into the makeshift office they’d assembled for him. The phone number he dialed when was seated behind his desk was not one that people called frequently. More often than not, it was the other way around. The phone rang and orders were given. That was all. The men at this number had people to answer the phone for them, always careful that their masters weren’t disturbed by triviality. Cancerman waited for the man he’d been calling to come to the phone, lighting a cigarette as he did.

“I hope all is well.” Came the loud Russian voice. A politically correct order for a status report, but an order none the less.

“Constance Mulder has given me the location of a map to our objective.”

“Good.” The Russian answered in approval.

“Her heart is weak.” Cancerman noted. “Without immediate medical care she may die.”

A long pause. “I believe our associates will feel more secure if the formula is in our hands and authenticated before releasing her.” He made a soft ‘tsk’ sound into the line. “Yet if she dies, we may lose the key.”

“I recommend that we make arrangements to have her arrive at the nearest hospital.” An indifferent tone lined his voice. So carefully casual. “Agent Mulder and Scully have fulfilled their purpose. I see no reason for their continuance in our program.”

“And if she’s lying?” A very ‘to the point’ question for the barrel chested figure that dolled some of the world’s greatest lies out with ease.

“We’ll always know where Agent Mulder is. As long as we do, we’ll be able to reach his mother.” Cancerman idly flicked ash from his cigarette into an ashtray. “Of course, the final decision is yours.”

The Russian seemed to weigh those words. Responsibility could be a very dangerous thing. “Very well. I think our associates will be pleased.”

“I wonder. ” Cancerman countered. “Bornes was a very clever man. Clever enough to fool us all for a long time. “

“What do you mean?”

The gray man shook his head, took a long drag of tobacco and then crushed the cigarette into the ashtray. “I’ll let you know when we have recovered what was stolen.”

-)(x)(x)(-

TOKENS – Part Seven

-)(x)(x)(-

The sound of a male voice screaming her name had woke Special Agent Dana Scully. She knew the voice, Mulder – pain – yelling, frantically calling to her. Instinctively she reached for her gun, only she found it was absent. Scully realized that she was in a hospital gown. The room she had been laying in was white and sterilized. A small plastic bracelet was around her wrist. She took in her location as a matter of course but she was moving swiftly out her room’s door and down the hall.

“Mulder?”

“Miss,” A large bearded man was suddenly beside her grabbing at her arm. “You shouldn’t be out here.” Scully heard the yell again and then she saw the form of her partner being restrained by two men. Mulder was kicking at them, straining against their intent of holding him back.

“Mulder!” Scully broke into a run. Mulder’s hazel eyes widened as he saw her and his struggles became wilder.

The female agent felt herself being grabbed from behind. In other times, she might have tried to reason with the orderly trying to hold her back. Or try to explain who she was to the one who were keeping Mulder from her. But she was incapable of it now. All she knew was that she had to get to Mulder. That it was imperative that she and he not be separated. Another pair of arms were grabbing her. “No! Mulder!” She struck out, her hands connecting with flesh. She was a mad woman: hitting, scratching, pulling hair. Unable to control the rage inside her, screaming like a banshee for her partner, even as they dragged him away. “Mulder!”

Suddenly a figure came forward, a man smoking a cigarette watching the scene with a detached interest as it unfolded.

The dream ended and Dana’s eyes bolted open. She could feel that her brow was cold with sweat. The dream had been a reality as she recalled. All except perhaps the presence of the smoky figure at dream’s end. That image she couldn’t verify wasn’t a total fabrication of her subconscious. Scully tried to lift her hand to smooth away the perspiration from her face. Her wrist refused to move. Her eyes jerked downward. Leather straps had been buckled over each hand. No. No. She tried to jerk her body upward, but found herself retrained there as well. She couldn’t move. She lifted her chin and gazed down at herself. Four thick leather straps were holding her body. Two more were on either wrist and another set held in her feet. Please, no. She bucked against them, trying to get loose. Any part of her. Trying to move. Nononono…

Please. “Help me!” Scully cried out. “Help me!” Again she contorted against her bonds but no relief came. No freedom. Helpless. No. Her voice echoed down the hallway beyond the closed room, but outside a nurse simply shook her head and went back to reading ‘People Magazine.’

Mercy Hospital Psychiatric Ward Providence, R.I. December 29

Dr. Sam Adler had been head of the Mercy Hospital Psych Ward for ten years. He was considered an expert in his field and highly respected by his colleagues. The level of success he’d attained in just forty-one years of life made him reluctant to use the term ‘I don’t know.’ Sam had graduated Suma Cum laude from Yale University. He’d written two books on psychology, one a marginal best seller. He was continually sought out as a lecturer or contributing magazine reporter. His lists of achievements told that he was a master of answers. If a question existed that he didn’t know the answer to definitively then he could give an excellent hypothesis. Yet he’d used the term ‘I don’t know,’ two times in the last five minutes while being question by the stiff balding man who’d introduced himself as F.B.I Assistant Director Walter Skinner. Sam was about to say the three little words again.

“I don’t know how the agents got here.” The doctor admitted as he stared at Skinner over the top of his desk. “No one does. Near as we have ascertained, the records containing their admissions were typed into the computer by a employee that does not exist.” Walter Skinner shifted in his chair, and lowered his head briefly. The doctor knew annoyance when he saw it. Well, the Assistant Director could be no more annoyed than he was himself. “For all intents and purposes, they just…” A pause before the word as if it was uncomfortable to use. “…appeared in two separate hospital rooms in our psychiatric department overnight.”

“You said that when Agent Mulder awoke he attacked an orderly.” Skinner noted wanting to get to the facts.

Adler nodded gravely. “Agent Fox Mulder awoke demanding to see his partner. His condition was described as dangerous hysteria.” Sam Adler had never been one to pull his punches in giving his opinions. “In other words, he was completely out of control. An orderly tried to calm him, assuring he could see Agent Scully, that she was fine but that I wanted to talk with him first.”

“Agent Mulder didn’t accept this information?”

“No.” Sam had accepted the injury of his people when dealing with violent patients as a given. His voice reflected as much. He regretted the incident but it hadn’t surprised him. “When the orderly tried to stop Agent Mulder from leaving his room, your man reacted with harmful intent.”

The deep grooves near Walter Skinner’s mouth pivoted downward in concern. “How seriously was the orderly injured?”

“Lacerations around the face and chest. A cracked rib. Two other hospital workers arrived on the scene shortly or it could have been much worse, I suppose.” One loose F.B.I agent with training and fury on his side, Skinner thought, it could have been MUCH worse. “Unfortunately Agent Scully apparently heard the commotion and reacted in much the same manner as her partner. They kept screaming for one another and fighting our people until we sedated them.” Dr. Adler knew that the other man wouldn’t like the next piece of information. Often people didn’t like hearing that drastic measures had been take for the good of the patients. “I don’t want to lie to you. They’ve been placed in complete body restraints.”

Walter felt himself tense. It was a humiliating picture to think of, Scully and Mulder held down like animals. But how many things had he been forced to do when he’d been in the military for the good of his men? He wouldn’t second guess the doctor for now. “You said there was trace evidence of chemicals in their blood stream.”

“An unidentifiable chemical, yes. I’m afraid it’s another mystery instead of an answer.” The doctor pressed his fingers before him in as steeple and re-checked the report on his desk. “They both have traces of the drug in their system. Their arms bear evidence of recent puncture marks, but none of the consistent needle abuse that we see from drug addicts.” Adler gave a large shrug. The D.A. gave nothing away, and the other man sighed. “But I guess it’s your job to determine the hows and whys. The good news is that the chemical – whatever it is – hasn’t stayed in their blood streams. It seems, in short, that their mental condition is temporary.”

That was the first bit of good news Skinner had heard in days. He let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding since the pair disappeared. “Can I see them?”

A nod. “They shouldn’t be able to harm anyone now.”

“When will they be released?”

Adler didn’t need to check the report for that answer, but did so out of habit. He always liked to be sure of his facts. “Safety dictates that we keep them seven days for detoxification.”

Walter Skinner stood and slipped his hands into his pockets. “I don’t have that kind of time. I’m taking them into custody.” Dr. Adler avoided the F.B.I man’s gaze. He didn’t feel that it was in the best interest of the two patients, but he also recognized that his duty as an administrator was to help the D.A. as much as he could. “I need to be able to speak with them and then I need to be able to move them. Can you give them something to help me do that?”

A ginger smile from the Psych Ward department head. “The question is… how lucid do you want them?”

-)(x)(x)(-

Fox Mulder felt as if the world were excessively heavy. The air that he took in and exhaled, the simple blinking of his eyes and the temperature in the room around him seemed to weigh more than usual. He was in the hospital. He couldn’t move but he wasn’t sure exactly why. They’d woken him just over ten minutes ago. He’d asked them about Scully. Actually, thinking back, all he’d been able to do was say her name. He remembered vaguely seeing her, no, seeing a glimpse of her earlier as he fought desperately to reach her. But now he felt none of the urgency that he had before. Relaxed was an apt description for Mulder’s state of being. Very relaxed.

“Agent Mulder?” A voice. A familiar voice. Mulder blinked slowly and turned his head. Skinner. Idly, he wondered what he’d done this time.

“Sir.” Mulder greeted. His voice sounded slurred to his own ears. “Scully?”

“She’s all right.” Skinner reassured him.

“That’s what they keep saying.”

“I’ve seen her.” Skinner walked to the door and shut it, taking a chair and pulling it closer to Mulder’s bedside.

“I can’t move.” He tried just for the heck of it. Nothing. He lowered his chin, looking down at himself. Leather straps buckled over him, all over him like some strange kind of shroud. How the hell had that happened? Mulder knew he should be more worried about this development, but he couldn’t gather the energy.

“Do you remember the events of the last three days?”

Fox Mulder nodded but his eyes were more vacant than his boss would have liked. Skinner hated this, seeing the rebellious agent seeming so damned lost and unfocused. The D.A. had seen men in the field gripped by shell shock, they had the same absence of spirit that Mulder now exhibited. “We were taken.”

“Do you know what they gave you?”

“Something…” It wasn’t fitting all together in Mulder’s mind. He knew. Bit and pieces kept fading in and out. “It seemed in line with something…the Great White Island Project.”

“We found reference to that on your e-mail system.” Skinner reported. The agent gave a boyish look of surprise and confusion. The D.A. didn’t know his passwords, did he? “You were missing under unknown circumstances. If we invaded sensitive areas, it was out of concern for your safety.” The other man went on to explain. “The Great White Island Project of which your mother was head was dedicated to fighting Aggressive tendencies and ending violent crime.

“Great White…” The clue finally fit into place with the restrained agent and he almost smiled, “Like the shark.”

Walter wasn’t sure what the hell Fox Mulder was talking about. It wasn’t the first time to be sure, but this time at least Mulder had an excuse. He was going to have a talk with the doctor about the amount of medication Mulder had received.

“I think your mother may have been manipulated when she was head of that project, Agent Mulder. I think the danger which she now finds herself is a direct result of that manipulation.” He took a moment, wondering how much Mulder was ingesting of what he was saying. “Agent Mulder… She was admitted to a hospital in Washington D.C. – one of the finest Heart research centers in the country – just over twenty four hours ago.” Mulder flinched and bit his lower lip hard to keep the pain of those words back. “About the same time as you came to be here. She’s suffered another stroke. Her condition is serious.”

Mulder shut his eyes. Not even the drugs kept that information from stabbing into his heart. “Will she live?”

“The doctors have given me no assurances.” He admitted reluctantly. “But I believe she’s in the most capable hands she could ask for.”

“I want to see her.” Firm, insistent words. More than that, a promise. Drugged or not drugged, the agent was saying, get me out of here or I’ll do it myself.

“You will.” The D.A. was placed in the position once again of the reassurer. It wasn’t a role he played he comfortably. “You and Agent Scully will be taken to D.C. as soon as it can be arranged.” Mulder’s nod was quick as his eyes focused intently on the ceiling. The mention of his mother’s conditions had pulled him out of the sedative fog.

Skinner had no way of knowing had long the sudden coherence would last so he went on. “There is more…” This part was critical that Mulder hear and understand. Yet Skinner found the words sticking in his throat. “Your mother has been protected for some time now for reasons I have yet to ascertain. But I believe that should she recover from her illness, she may still be in grave danger.” The D.A. swallowed he bowed his head a moment over his folded hands before continuing. Regret, a hard ball of it had formed in his stomach. “I told you once that I walk the thin line that you keep crossing. They came to me. I thought I could use these men’s motivations to my own advantage as well as yours.” Mulder had turned his head to look at his boss and found the other man’s dark eyes saddened but unflinching in responsibility. “In doing so, I now find myself in a position where my…arrogance…may have helped placed your mother in harm’s way. I want to atone for my miscalculation.” Skinner straightened and splayed his hands on his knees as of he were about to push himself to his feet. “There are people who might be able help her, but it would require extreme decisions. And this choice would have to be made immediately. She’s in no condition…” The words hung in the air.

“Who are these people?”

“Friends.” Skinner replied. “Of a fashion.”

It was his decision, Mulder knew. Whatever solution Skinner had in mind, it was a chance. Chances were few and far between at times. If Skinner was right, the luxury of refusal no longer seemed available. They could put his mother in a safe house, but the very forces running the government from the shadows would then be in charge of her protection. The biggest truth was that Mulder himself could no protect her. He was in condition and even if he was he wasn’t sure he could have. His heart and gun – probably Scully’s as well – against faceless men who used murder as a causal tool.

“Do what you have to.” Mulder said finally. “Just keep her safe.”

“Are you certain that you understand what I’m saying, Agent Mulder?” Skinner had to be sure.

“Do what you have to.” Mulder repeated softly.

-)(x)(x)(-

St. Jude Memorial Hospital Washington, D.C. December 30

Mulder massaged his neck and emerged from his mother’s room, looking for his partner. “Pill time.” The male agent noted, seeing her lithe form draped over two chairs in the hospital waiting room. Scully arched an eyebrow and noted that Mulder was motioning toward his watch. His partner reached in her purse and removed a bottle, taking two pills for herself and then handing the bottle to him. “Breakfast of champions.” Mulder noted and then popped the pills in his mouth and bent over the water fountain washing them down.

“Has she woken up?”

“No.”

Connie Mulder had been asleep since the agents arrived five hours before. The pills they were ingesting had been a matter of habit every eight hours for the last two days. It made everything seem like it was a dream, but it also kept the pair of them from beating the tar out of every one and each other. Three chairs had been placed directly outside Constance Mulder’s hospital room door. It had been a matter of course that two agents had been guarding the room since she had brought there. Whether they were truly guarding his mother or there to make sure he and Scully didn’t flip out, Mulder couldn’t be sure. For the time being the two guards were down the hall drinking coffee. Scully removed her legs from the seat beside her, keeping the trench coat that she’d used as a makeshift blanket around her. Mulder took the gesture as an invitation and sat down beside her heavily.

“How are you?” She asked, her eyes concerned.

Mulder found that he had no ability to fit the right words on the heated anguish broiling inside him. He let her see it all in his eyes, that churning of buried wishes and regrets. “My father’s last words to me were a request for forgiveness.” Mulder settled one arm around her shoulders loosely as if he needed the connection to her. “Do you regret not having the opportunity to speak with your father before he died?”

“I saw him just a few days prior to his death.”

“But you had no knowledge of what was to come.” Mulder responded, his eyes were probing for something, some emotion from her. Scully wasn’t certain what he needed to see. “All your actions were based on an ideal of timelessness. Do you regret what you might have said if you’d known?”

She shook her head. “I try to say all those things Mulder. I try to tell them – my family – as much as I can.” She peered into face, open and truthful as always. “When my sister died, I felt that I had cheated death by making her bear burdens that were mine to carry. I would have never wanted that. If anything I would have chosen just the opposite.” She swallowed softly, forcing away the reminders of those memories. “But she knew I loved her. That was why I was able to…find some peace in it.” That and the presence of her loyal partner, Scully amended silently. Thank yous and Your welcomes hadn’t been part of their relationship for a long time. The words were expressed in so many other ways.

“My family has never been very good with communication.” Mulder admitted slowly. He reached up a hand to rub the back of his neck, feeling the main strain of his tension manifest itself there. “There’s so much in the way.” Mulder was being as open with her as he knew how to be. He’d never talked like this about his family with her. “Some words have always been a struggle for me. I don’t know that she knows. Or that I do.” She wanted to tell him that his mother would be fine, but as a doctor she knew the words were may be untrue. She wanted to close the emptiness she knew he was feeling, but that was beyond her.

Mulder watched her a long moment and then leaned toward her, dropping his face to burrow in her shoulder. It was what he’d been wanting to do for hours, but hadn’t been able to let himself. Her thin arms wrapped around him, even as his own encircled her. Scully felt strength flowing from him and was no longer sure who was doing the comforting. Maybe they both were. He was afraid and she shared his fears. She knew this kind of loss. The potential death of a parent and the impossibility of filling the holes that such a death left behind. The uniqueness of the parental bond was not meant to be lost and so it remained beyond death, even when the means of it’s expression were unwilling or unable to be continued.

Tears filled her eyes. She didn’t know what to say to comfort him. There were no words. Mulder’s arms slackened and he leaned back enough so that he could look into her face. Mulder could count the times he had seen her cry on one hand. Her tears were rare, like flawless diamonds. He brushed near the corner of her eyes with his thumb, working the tear drop into his skin with his forefinger. His gaze never left hers. All their losses were conveyed and shared in that moment. So much lost. But then in the sharing, so much hope. Mulder leaned in and kissed her brow, hovering near her, cradling the comfort she gave deep in his heart.

Scully felt the words ‘I love you,’ pound inside her. It was as if some part of her believed the words would provide a salve for the inner wounds he now bore. She said nothing. It wasn’t the time. She was his friend, the rest could be put on hold for a while. In the end, the two partners sat silently, unable to move away from each other’s side but lost in their own thoughts.

-)(x)(x)(-

Arias Government Experimental Program Washington D.C. exact location unknown January 2

Cancer man watched as the smaller man in the lab coat drew an eyedropper from a vial of liquid and lay a drop in a small plastic container. “We’re going to do a chemical analysis now sir.” The scientist reported. The gray man gave a nod and the young man in the lab coat, punched a few keys on a computer and started to insert the testing case into a small scanning area.

The scientist’s eyes were on the screen. “This shows to be vastly different from the ingredients of the Aggression serum now on file.” Was his first comment. “Some of the chemicals are the same, but they seem to be there as passive chemicals, having no real place in the solution that’s been formed.”

The cigarette smoking man said nothing, choosing to wait as he often did, to see the end result. He was not comfortable in this lab. His place was making plans and moving mountains. Being here reminded him too clearly of far more humble beginnings. He had never been a scientist himself, but he’d been in charge of monitoring the ones that were to be used. In many way, his specific skill was creativity and providing solutions. Both skills went hand in hand more often then not.

“The final analysis is coming through… the computer should tell us of possible applications of this formula. What we’re specifically looking for is something that’s a stimulate that could work with…” The man trailed off, his eyes widening.

The gray man saw the flash of fear and approached. “What is it?”

The results had arrived on the screen, the smoking man could see them scrolling, waiting to be acknowledged. The young man in the lab coat seemed to have lost his tongue. “Sir, this…” The scientist back away and let his superior look at the screen. “According to the computer, this is a proactive formula to combat athlete’s foot.”

“What?”

“Some of the composition is the same as the Aggression formula, as I said, but the added chemicals are reacting in such a way that the computer determined their use as a drug that…” In the distance , some where near the back of the room, a phone rang. Both men ignored it and it was left to another of the scientists to answer the call.

The gray man’s mouth set in a thin line. He turned away from the underling, rubbing a hand over his chin. “Athlete’s foot?” He asked.

“Yes sir.”

A hint of a smile. “Bornes.” Cancer man commented as if that explained everything.

“Sir,” Came an interruption. Another young man in a lab coat, holding before him a cordless phone. The smoking man gave the telephone a measured look and took it up as it was proffered to him.

“Yes.”

An English voice, not a Russian one. That didn’t entirely surprise him. This man was far more stylish then their co-worker. Far more tactful. “I am calling to let you know that Connie Mulder died just an hour ago. I thought you might like to be informed.”

“Yes.” One word, clipped and agitated. The man drew away from the workers and moved to a private corner with the phone. “I appreciate the information.”

“We consider this loss am unexpected set back.” Returned the other man.

“We knew this day would come.” The smoking man answered easily.

“When can we expect the formula’s return?” A business-like question but there was anger behind the voice.

It was a moment of decision. “The formula we recovered from Connie Mulder is a fake. Utterly useless.”

The line simmered with energy charged silence. “And what comfort can we derive from this news?”

A calm controlled reply as always, with a hint of egotism. “I remind you that the feeling was that I had personal hesitation about this matter.” The smoking man smiled into the phone line. “It was not I who directly had responsibility for this matter.”

The Englishman was as proficient at playing the game of intrigue as the cigarette smoking man. “This does not exonerate the need to know the location of the completed formula as soon as possible.” His voice managed to sound pleasant and condescending at the same time.

“Can I assume that your doubts in my loyalties have been permanently put to rest?” The man on the other side of the phone, his superior made no attempt to answer. Cancer man hadn’t expected him to. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’m sure you will.” A warning. Then the line went dead as the call was disconnected.

-)(x)(x)(-

Fox Mulder realized somewhere on the drive that the new year had begun. It was odd, he normally considered that time was somehow stopped in his little world. He didn’t mark the birthdays or the years because inevitably it reminded him that there were limits even he could not break. He’d been driving for hours. Technically both he and Scully were in Skinner’s direct custody. Mulder and Scully were both due to endure five days of quarantine in the morning. The pills were running in low supply and Fox had been feeling edgy. Five days of detox wasn’t something he was looking forward to, but he understood the necessity. But for now, he had pressing business. Skinner had tried to talk him out of it, saying it was unwise, but Mulder had insisted.

But as Mulder neared his destination, a cold dread began to cover him. The kind of dread that came with facing a reality that was hated, a loss that was unstoppable. Loneliness could drive men mad, he was convinced of it. Each time it reached for him, and tried to choke him, he wondered about his sanity. About his life. But then he found a reason to keep going, to continue.

Mulder reached for his cell-phone, one hand still on the wheel as he drove. The phone rang and the female voice of his partner picked up. She was at a hotel safe house for the time being. Till Mulder returned and they were taken into a more conventional location for two agents that had been drugged.

“It’s me.” Mulder said softly.

Mulder. She hadn’t expected to hear from him. “I thought you had a meeting.” Scully told him, cradling the phone with both hands.

“I’m almost there now.” He replied and checked a street sign. A long drawn out silence and for the first time since she could remember the quiet held a discomfort. A nervousness. “How ya holding up?” It was then that Scully suspected the reason for the strange tension. Could Mulder be embarrassed about what he’d said … what they’d both admitted? Scully still hadn’t been ready or willing to sort out the entire matter in her mind. To face what she did or didn’t feel. Certainly an attraction was there, but that knowledge, although once safely buried was not surprising. If Mulder wasn’t handling what she HAD admitted, then what would he do if she dared speak about what else was going on in her mind.

Scully glanced at the other agent in the room who was acting as her chaperon. “I no longer have the desire to climb the Empire State Building and swat at airplanes.”

She’d teased a smile from him. It was normally something he did for her, making her smile despite herself. It surprised him that she had the power to do the same for him. “Sounds like a good sign.” He’d turned unto a side street and was watching the street numbers now. “The dreams getting better?”

“Easier.”

“Me too.” They hadn’t once talked about their dreams. She woken him up while in confinement screaming in terror while in the thick of sleep. He’d had his own nightmares to deal with and hadn’t been able to provide much comfort. Mulder wasn’t sure which was worse. The journey into his deepest fears where he prayed to wake up but couldn’t. Or the gift of his most secret fantasies then being forced back to consciousness and the realization that it had all been an illusion. In the last day Heaven and hell while he slept had begun to calm. Although he still woke up feeling he’d run an emotional marathon, he no longer wondered if he would survive falling asleep again.

“Listen, before I left, I put in a request for three days leave after we get out of Detox.” He couldn’t have told her that before several hundred miles separated them, she wondered. Mulder and his secrets, she thought but held back her aggravation. “I thought…I need some time. ..”

“I know.” Scully found it strange. In general, Mulder coped with loss by burying himself in the work, not by leaving it. Just like she did. But maybe this way was healthier. “I understand.”

“I gotta go. I just… wanted to hear a friendly voice.” Mulder muttered gingerly.

“Mulder?” She said, stopping him before he hung up.

“Yeah?”

There was a lot to say and yet nothing immediate came to mind. She settled on, “Good luck.”

Fox Mulder turned off the car engine and returned his cell-phone to his pocket. From the seat next to him, he pulled took his black Fedora and set it upon his head. He was at the E.G.A.R.D building. The place he now believed had begun everything for his mother. His trench coat hung unbuttoned over his white collared shirt, red and gold tie and black dress slacks. His shoes crushed debris as he moved toward the building and then inside.

She was waiting for him there. The woman who had raised him. She still looked so pale, but a healthy flush lined her cheeks. Bags were tight and hollow under hers eyes and around her mouth a dozen more crows feet seemed to have sprung since the last time he’d seen her. Mother and son stood regarding each other, leaving a few feet’s space between them.

“Hello Mulder…” Constance Mulder said finally. It was a start.

“How are you, mom?” Mulder reminded her of a boy called to the principal’s office, certain that he’d done something wrong, but not sure what offense to apologize for.

“I…I’m sorry I didn’t get to tell you Merry Christmas…Happy New Year under better circumstances.”

It seemed such strange statement in light of recent events, but his mother had never been one to forget the details. Her regret was sincere. “Me too. But anyhow are you, mom?”

Her son still had so much life inside him. His eyes blazed with it. She was proud of that. “Tired. That’s all. I have medication and a nurse. How was my funeral?”

How many mother’s had the opportunity to ask their son that question, Fox Mulder wondered idly. “Well attended.” That would be an important fact to her and that was the truth. The morning of the funeral had been overcast and chilly, but all of the family had made the journey. “Your plot is next to Sam’s…I didn’t know where else…”

“Two empty graves.” Connie felt a bitter humor soaking her mood. “It seems fitting.” She folded her hands before her, wondering if words would ever come more freely between herself and her son. But wishing that the future would bring change was no longer her luxury. Time had been a relatively kind master, despite her abuse of it, but even it’s generosity could not last forever. She feared that she had reached an end to the moments she would be allowed with her son. Not merely because of health but more importantly because of circumstance. “I wanted to say good-bye. The help that was given to me has it’s price. I have to leave. You won’t where I am.”

Skinner had used the word extreme in context with the decision Mulder had been faced with. This possibility had occurred to Connie’s son, but it didn’t ease him that his prediction had been accurate. “Will you be safe?”

“As much as I can be.” She faltered, watching her beautiful son struggle to be strong. “All this time I’ve kept in plain sight. Hoping they would focus on me and not you. Wanting to watch after you. For you not to be alone. But I…I’m tired of letting them use us against each other.”

Tears came to him and he gave a solitary nod. Then he couldn’t keep the polite veneer anymore. It was too late for that. He asked the question that had been in his heart as long as he could remember. The one he’d always been afraid to ask. “Do you know what really happened to my sister?”

Connie Mulder choked back a sob, her jaw clenched tight. No more lies. “Yes.”

His lips parted and he looked up at the charred ceiling, trying to get his bearing before he went on. “Will you tell me?”

She didn’t look away. She wanted to turn from him and the piercing judgmental stare, but the anger he aimed was rightfully hers to bear. Who else was left? “I can’t. Not even now.” This refusal as all of the other burdens she carried in regards to the past, ripped at her soul slowly, refusing to be quick. Dragging on and one with the ticking of the silence. “You should give up the X-files and be safe. That’s all I ever wanted for you.”

“I can’t do that.” That was the way it always was. This stalemate. The one that had been going on for years.

“Not until it kills you?” Tension lined the accusation. The righteous anger of a mother against a child putting himself in danger.

“Not until I find the truth.” Mulder was defiant as always against anyone suggesting he walk away from his life’s quest. “Why is it always so easy for you to walk away?”

“It was never easy.” Constance Mulder spat the words at him. Self-anger, the same type that mirrored his own face from time to time. He knew it well. “Do you think I don’t want justice? As much as you do?” It was like being physically struck, these words. “More.” The past had a new clarity, a new perception. He’d sacrificed his life to the truth. But she had sacrificed the truth…for him. He’d always considered her to be weak, but now for the first time he saw her strength…and her love.

Mulder felt the tears squeeze from his closed eyes. “I’m sorry.” He pressed his hand over his face, trying to fight back the pain, trying to hide it from her. He wanted her to feel free to go, content that this was what was best. Mulder had wanted to spare her the guilt of leaving him behind.

Connie Mulder rushed forward then and gathered him in her arms, as she’d failed to do so many times when he needed her as a child. Her small hands came about his face and she looked into his eyes, letting him see the pain and the love there. Guilt had held her from so much and if not guilt then fear. But now love stood and conquered them both. “I love you.” She whispered and then her own sobs broke through.

Mulder, her only child, was suddenly the comforter. “I love you too.” She realized that she’d rarely allowed herself to show weakness. She’d felt a compulsion to be the strong one, to hold all the loosing ties together for the sake of her family. Yet in those rare moments that her constraint had waned, always, her son had been by her side. And in that she knew he forgave her, without his ever having said the words. Still clutching her son tightly, Connie Mulder felt at peace for the first time in nearly thirty years.

Smiling as best she could, she pulled away. “Please try and take care of yourself.”

“I’ll do my best.” Mulder knew it might be good-bye but couldn’t bring himself to say it. His hands slipped in his pockets as he watched her. “Whatever you believe I feel, don’t ever think that I haven’t known your motives.” A final offering of understanding.

“And I know yours.” Connie Mulder touched his cheek, smiling slightly and then whispered a goodbye. Finding the strength to walk from him was the hardest thing she had ever done. She let her footsteps carry her quickly, knowing that this was what was best, taking comfort that finally all of the important words had been said.

Constance Mulder left her son in the deserted warehouse she’d worked in during her youth. Mulder stood there long after she’d gone. Finally he sank onto a crate as the tears rushed over him again. Mulder removed the fedora from his head and let himself cry.

-)(x)(x)(-

“Hi.” Mulder lounged against her door frame. It had been two weeks since she’d seen him. When after his scheduled three day absence, Skinner had reported he’d requested another three days, it had concerned her. She’d called his home phone, not his cell phone. She didn’t want to invade his personal space, she just wanted to express her friendship. She’d left a message on his machine and he hadn’t gotten back to her. “I’ll be back in tomorrow. But I thought you might be worried.” Her hand was still on the door, she still hadn’t moved but rather continued to stare at him with that surprised expression. “Can I come in?”

“Yes.” She moved back from the door and walked inside, feeling him behind her. When she heard him sit down, she pivoted toward him again. “Are you okay Mulder?”

“As soon as I get over the feeling that I’m all alone in the world, I should be fine.”

“Mulder…”

He cut her off. “We haven’t had a chance to talk about what happened. Some of the things we said.” So that’s what this was about, Dana realized. While in Detox they had both been unusually untalkative. Mulder had tried to act as if nothing was wrong, making wry jokes at every chance, but they were filled with weak humor at best. It had become increasingly strained and uncomfortable to be around him. Neither had dared to breach the subject or what was wrong, or even that something was. “I am more resolved than ever in my pursuit of these men who act as puppet masters, then reveal in immunity . I am committed to finding their deceptions and exposing them.” It would have been easy for Mulder to write off what had happened as a result of the drug. Easy, but not honest. Scully deserved more than his taking the easy way out. “My life can’t truly go forward until that happens.”

Scully took in his words, understanding the full effect of what he was saying. And it was logical. It made sense. It appeal to her sense of metal safety. She’d been taking apart her feelings for days trying to put them back together in such a fashion that she was no longer in love with him. She’d even considered that she was truly in love with him but it had come out of the excessive conditions of the ‘prison,’ and thus would fade in time. Only it wasn’t true to say that she’d fallen in love during her confinement with her partner. She’d simply realized in that moment feeling that had been there for a long time. The aggression that had let lust run rapid in her mind had also uncovered other long buried feelings as well. Yet she couldn’t quite bring herself to deal with all the implications of loving her partner. For one of the first times in her life Dana Scully was afraid…not of monster or mutants or conspiracies but of surrendering herself to emotions she couldn’t control. “I agree completely.” Dana said firmly. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe the feelings would fade in time. “So if we are attracted to one another, we simply ignore that side of our relationship.”

Mulder was relieved and thanked the heavens once again for Dana Scully. “If the attraction exists, it isn’t a new issue. We simply go on as we have.” That wasn’t all he’d come to say. In truth the hard part was far from over.

“Okay, I’m glad that’s settled.” Scully said.

Good. So was Mulder. Kind of.

He got the feeling he was about to be dismissed and he wasn’t ready yet. “Wait. I want to tell you something.” He shot her an apprehensive glance. “I’m afraid if I don’t say all of this now…I’m not very good at…” If Mulder didn’t say it now, he probably never would. That’s what he was trying to say. “I spend all my off-work hours pursing any lead, any clue that might lead me closer to the truth. Occasionally if I’m feeling particularly self generous I’ll watch a basketball or a football game, but that’ s it.” He came to his feet and started toward her, his hands on his hips. “I told you that I have a life. What I meant was, I was content that my life is my work. I told you too that there’s nothing more important to me than my search. That’s not…” The quality of his voice became a notch more husky. His words no longer rushed forward, instead becoming still and slow. “This relationship between you and I has become the most significant in my life.”

Scully’s arms had risen, crossing over her chest. His admission was making the fear build and her heart flutter all at once. She didn’t like it. Moreover, there was no need for this. They were partners, of course they cared about each other. “Mulder what I said in the car. I was angry…”

“Let me finish.” Mulder insisted gently. He needed to say this. Felt that she needed to hear it. So she knew. So there would be no mistaking exactly what she was to him, what they were to each other. “The benefits you’ve given to me, of knowing you, I can never repay you for.” Scully was desperately trying not to let him get to her. Lest she do something stupid. Reveal too much in her eyes. “So,” He wore a genuine ‘Mulder half-grin’, slightly self depreciating in nature. “If you need me to tell you my favorite color or come to your mother’s for Christmas or jump up and down or anything…I will.” Oh heaven her heart was lost. It was really, really lost. “I’m not very good at it, Scully, but I’ll try.” His fingers moved from his hips to burrow into the pockets of his jeans. “I’ve lost…” His father, his sister…his mother. “The cancer. I’m wondering what my reaction will be if I lose you too. ” He raised his hands, halting her from speaking again. “So I need…I need you to promise me that you’ll fight.”

“You already know that I will.” She whispered. She could feel his opening of his vulnerable center to her. He was offering to lay down all he had, all he was capable of, all on the basis of her word. Mulder was a brave man, but this was a special kind of bravery. He stood before her offering more than he’d ever given anyone, a place unique to her and her alone, knowing that as the days passed she may fade away before his eyes. And Mulder, despite all of his strength and knowledge would be helpless to stop it. Yet Mulder was ready to look into that abyss, committed to it. He just wanted her to be there with him. “I’ve told you that.”

“Say it again anyway.”

Her arms uncrossed and fell to her sides, the last defense she had, gone. Given up willingly. She moved forward until she was in front of him, staring up into his steady gaze. “Close your eyes, Mulder.” Her partner may have questioned that request on any other day, but he didn’t today. “Put your hands behind your back.”

Again, he obeyed, but his lips twitch upward. “Am I under arrest?”

She smiled. Ever that sense of humor. That was her Mulder. Scully felt nervous pricks all over her body. Slowly she rose on her tippy-toes, her eyes intent on his face. She wasn’t even sure what she was looking for. Permission?

“I promise that I’ll fight.” Shutting her eyes at the last possible moment, she leaned her mouth up to his. She felt Mulder jump slightly at the contact, then his mouth melted against hers. The kiss was tentative, no pressure at all really, just a touch. Not taking or demanding from the man she loved, but rather trying to give to him. Reassurance. Commitment. A light in the darkness, courage in the fear. Dana Scully said she loved him with that kiss and knew that he probably didn’t understand.

Mulder felt his mouth tingle, felt hunger burn inside him. His instinct was to slide his arms around her and crush her tightly against him. To hell with his earlier words about keeping things the same as they had been. He wanted force Dana’s mouth open with his tongue and taste the sweet crevices that lay with-in. His fingers itched to slide over her, exploring every part of her softness. He trembled with the urgency to feel her bare flesh moving against his. But something held him back. He kept his hands where they were. He yielded to her, letting her guide this dance. Emotions washed over him, flowing from deep inside of her and Mulder knew what it was touch purity. Dana Scully had a temper, a tendency to repress emotions, and a propensity to second guess herself. She wasn’t perfect, but her feelings for Mulder were. She drew away long moments later brushing another kiss over his scratchy cheek. His hazel eyes pried open slowly, as if he was wondering if the whole thing had been a dream.

“Mulder…your not alone. I just needed to show you.”

An incredulous expression crossed his feature. The half smile was back in full force. That was some display, Scully, he thought. “Ah…thanks.” He kept staring at her. “Scully…”

“Mulder, you might want to check your e-mail if you haven’t.” She had retreated to a position near a small coffee table. “There’s been several – what can only be called occurrences – that are believed to be supernatural happenings in a small town in Wyoming.” She was closing the topic of what had just happened. “I’ve been sending you the case information, but I know that with your mother…”

So that’s the way it is, Mulder thought. He wanted to explore this, whatever the hell had just happened, but Scully was shifting gears on him. She was going back into Special Agent, ‘just his partner’ mode. Fine. Okay, Scully, we’ll play it your way…for now. “I’ll look at it the first chance I get.” Mulder said and started toward her front door. He turned back suddenly looking over his shoulder. This wasn’t the way he wanted to end this night. He’d said too damned much. They both had. It seemed to him the least he could do was make a show of good faith toward his promise. “You like the ‘Blues,’ Scully?”

“The color or the music?” She shot back tiredly. What was he up to now?

Mulder sauntered back towards her. “The music that is the soul of the south, the heartbeat of the unfettered.” His eyes smiled into hers, invitingly. “What we’re talking about here is a saxophone breathing into a smoky, crowded room. A guitar strumming a rhythm passed down since men have been men and women have been women.” He jerked his head toward the door, meaningfully. “There’s a club I know of. Not far from here. It’d give me a chance to wear my hat.”

His mentioning of her Christmas gift was the deciding factor. “So this is an invitation?”

“This is an opportunity.” He countered, then he approached her, wriggling his eyebrows once. Almost an exact Groucho Marx impression. “We can be there in twenty minutes.”

“Can I have ten to get ready?”

He rubbed a hand back and forth over his chin, considering the request. “You talked me into it.” Mulder went to her couch, totally relaxed waiting for his best friend to show herself again. Things were the same, but they were totally different. Impromptu hang out sessions, forced holiday meals with Scully’s family, and talking…really talking to each other. That was the way it was going to be from now on. The personal professional lines and had blurred and rather than being threatened by it, he looked forward to discovering where it would take them. He thought of his mother and wondered if he’d ever see her again. Then he wondered about his system. Scully’s appearance stopped that train of thought as she smiled warmly at him. Mulder returned her grin and chivalrously offered her his arm. If there was one thing he was beginning to believe, it was that there was always room for hope.

-)(x)(x)(-

The small group consisted of five members all seated in couches and various chairs around a large t.v. monitor. This meeting had an informal feel, which was nothing new to this group. Each member was as eccentric and eclectic as the next, conforming to no set code of dress or appearance. A man in glasses with a wild head of white hair and small thin rimmed glasses had the look of Einstein but was dressed with the same slickness as a big league lawyer. The door to the room opened and a portly lady wearing a sunflower dress entered with a tray of glasses and a pitcher balanced between her hands.

“Tea?” The Einstein look-a -like asked. She chose to respond by pouring him a glass and then setting the refreshments to one side of the room. “Thank you.” It was a sentiment echoed by several others in the room. “Are we all here?” They were. “Let’s begin.” He opened a cabinet, revealing a v.c.r. inside and quickly touched the ‘play’ button. The lawyer then moved away from the screen finding himself a seat quickly. The t.v. flickered to life.

A moment later came the face of Robert Bornes, a man known, if not liked by all those assembled. “I know…you thought you’d never have to look at my ugly face again.” Bornes began, chuckling. “You can consider this my last will and testament.” A concentrated look of regret passed over the image of Robert Bornes. “I apologize that I will no longer be with you in our expedition.” A pause and then the figure of Bornes shifted slightly in the leather chair he was seated in. “But I assume that the new member you have procured will more than fill my shoes.” A soft sincere smile into the camera. “Hello Connie.” Connie Mulder wasn’t surprised by this greeting as others in the room were. She kept her eyes to the screen as the tape continued.

-)(x)(x)(-

The cigarette smoking man had been standing before the grave for a long time. He had not bothered to attend the funeral. It might have provided an interesting show of force to do so, but he’d decided there were more effective ways to make such a display. Life had dealt him an average hand of cards at it’s beginning. But he had reshaped the deck and now possessed the power to be a player. Still questions rose at times about the avenues he’d chosen. And the ones he hadn’t. He drew smoke into his lungs and let it stream from him, the past choking his mind for a few more sweet moments before he put it behind him.

He still hadn’t recovered the formula. Whatever Bornes had done with it, there seemed to be no immediate trace of it’s where abouts. It was a disappointment. Most men feared failing the consortium. Certainly it wasn’t a healthy habit, but for now the group of power needed the gray man’s services. A time would come when they didn’t and for that occurrence Cancer man had already made preparations. That time, however wasn’t now. For now, the blame would fall on his Russian comrade. All in all, the formula was just a cog in a greater machine. It’s loss, whether it be permanent or temporary, was only one portion of the planning the future. There was much more to do, an endless number of things to set into motion.

Cancer man slowly leaned down and set a white rose on the grave of Constance Mulder, then turned and moved away, not once looking back.

The End

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