Life While They Live It
Part I- Saints and Poets
by. Paul Wartenberg

COPYRIGHT: Once again, let me state for the record that I am poor.  I am
not making money off this.  Mulder, Scully, and additional characters are
owned by Chris Carter and Co., and I hope they know that it would be very
nice if they don't sue me for this.
I'd also like to ask Thornton Wilder, author of "Our Town" (the play, not
the episode!  Sheesh, no chickens appear in this story at any time, all
right?!?!), not to call his lawyer about this...

RATING: Romance, but nothing naughty.  There is vulgarity, but it's Scully
saying most of it so we're cool about it, right?...oh, and hopefully a
good-sized serving of humor (at least it was funny when I wrote it...) ;-)
SUMMARY: Post-Gethsemane.  What if Mulder DID commit suicide?  What if
Scully's cancer was incurable?  Then what could possibly explain why
Scully is back in high school?...


EMILY: Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it?  Every,
every minute?
STAGE MANAGER: No.  (Pause) The saints and poets maybe...they do, some...
--Our Town, Thornton Wilder.


        "Dana Katherine Scully!"
        Scully lifted her head from her desk, shocked to hear her name, to
hear that voice.  No, she thought, her eyes opening wider in amazement to
see something she hoped never to see again.  Oh, GOD no...
        A nun stood next to a blackboard, sternly tapping a yardstick into
the palm of her hand, while all around Scully sat teenage girls struggling
to control their giggling over her apparent fate.  And it wasn't any nun,
it was Mother McCree, math teacher and one the students voted "Most Likely
to Break Your Ass" five years straight, presiding over her twelfth grade
pre-calculus at the School of St. Baptista of the Tennis Elbow.
        Scully quickly realized, for reasons beyond explanation, that she
was back in high school.  Catholic high school.  Hell need not know any
other form of torment.
        Mother McCree cleared her throat, and her foreboding stare across
the room put a swift end to the tittering of the other girls.  "Miss
Scully, would you be so kind as to tell us what you were dreaming of
during my attempt at providing a sound education?..."
        Scully blinked, wondering if she should, if she even could begin
to explain all that had happened in those fifteen years, those chaotic
passionate times in college, those hard hours working her way into the
FBI, those last four years of journeying into the shadowy world of
monsters and conspiracies.  If those years could be a dream, or was this
the dream?...
        "Miss Scully."  Mother McCree's calm voice was more terrifying than
any thunderous shout.  "I know perfectly well you weren't paying
attention.  Just as I know perfectly well that you can't answer the
question I just posed to the class."
        Uh-oh, Scully thought.  If she remembered her class well, whenever
Mother McCree posed a question and no one answered the whole class would
be punished, sometimes in ways too horrible to describe.  It was worse on
the student who was directly asked, since the other students would give
that person Hell for making their day miserable.  Give an answer give an
answer give an...  "The answer is 42," she rattled off a wild guess, not
even knowing where it came from.
        The nun's eyes briefly opened wide with shock before composing
herself.  "Miss Scully.  I know a lucky guess when I hear one.  You may
have saved the class from an embarrassment, but you are most certainly
going to pay for your indiscretion..."

        Scully walked the halls of her old high school, once again a proud
(actually indifferent) student of St. Baptista.  This can't be a dream,
she pondered to herself.  It's too real, too vivid, and in the case of
Mother McCree's class too painful.
        She thought back (or was it forward?) to what she knew was her
real life, or what was left of it.  She remembered college, her decision
to go into medicine, her family's objections to the FBI, her life with
Jack Willis, teaching pathology at Quantico, that fateful day in Blevins'
office and that trip to the basement, Mulder, oh God Mulder, and all the
fun they had.  She also remembered the events of her abduction, those
women sitting so calmly in that Allentown house, those last few days when
Mulder's obsession drove himself to suicide and her final, mournful trip
to the hospital...
        She certainly remembered that physics thesis she was so proud of.
She had considered the possibilities once before about time travel and
found them limited at best.  Absolutely none of them involved traveling
back into one's own life and re-living it from the same perspective.  Oh,
she saw that t.v. show Quantum Leap, but that came later, and was just as
implausible.
        Could I have died?  Scully realized.  Her cancer had grown worse,
had spread to her blood and from there to her body, and all that was left
was the dying.  Could my life be flashing before my eyes?...
        Considering the intense detail of McCree's class she would say no.
She accepted that her life wasn't really flashing at this point.  More
like pounding down a muddy path.
        Her faith came to her at that moment, or at least her upbringing.
Even with all her scientific skepticism, she could conceive of the
possibility of an afterlife.  Have I died and gone to Heaven? she asked
herself.
        No, she answered herself.  Heaven would include a tub of cookie
dough ice cream.  This is high school.  The Other Place.
        An arm draped around her shoulder, and she turned to a tall blonde
with soft Nordic features.  Sylvia.  Her closest friend since Scully's
family moved from San Diego to Annapolis only three years before.  Her
smirk warned of an oncoming joke.  "Dana, Dana, Dana.  Sleeping in
McCree's class is a Fifth Level of Hell offense.  You would have been
better off tearing apart your textbook right in her face."
        "I didn't really plan on it."  Scully's terse glare underlined her
trepidation.
        Her friend pulled back a bit, picking up on the distressing vibes
Scully radiated.  "Something's wrong.  Even when you're in trouble you
normally get a wicked grin on you."
        "Sylvia," she muttered, hanging her head low as a sign of secrecy.
"What year is this?"
        Her friend glared at her.  "Jesus.  You're out of it today, aren't
you?"
        "Depends on the day.  And the year.  Which is?..."
        Sylvia shook her head.  "April 2, 1982.  If you need the exact
time just check your watch."
        "April 2, April 2," Scully muttered.  Why would this day be so
important?  Why come back now?...
        "If you've completely forgotten," Sylvia wrapped an arm around her
friend's shoulders, "This is a Friday, which means we have a Saturday of
pure partying coming up.  I hope you are prepared..."
        "Sylvia," she muttered.  "I think I have to tell you something..."
        The blonde stopped, her grin changing to a scowl.  "What's wrong?"
        Scully started to speak about the sudden...change in her life when
she stopped.  She reconsidered her friend for a second.  Sure, Sylvia was
with her through thick and thin, still were friends all the way into
adulthood, but she was (compared to Mulder, the Lone Gunmen, Skinner,
Pendrell, Max, Missy, and maybe her mother) completely normal.  The
paranormal meant nothing to her.  Her grasp of time travel barely covered
the concept of daylight saving time.
        Scully noted their position in the hallway and pointed a thumb
behind her to the row of lockers containing number 1121.  "I think I need
a change of hairstyles.  Let me check my locker mirror, okay?"
        Sylvia rolled her eyes and stormed off.  Scully shrugged, reached
for her lock, and set the dial to 24-34-16, popping it open and staring at
her old artifacts: the combs, the trashy dime store novels, the small
pictures of favorite celebs including a ripped photo of Robert Smith.
        She stared at the tiny locker mirror, taking in an image she
thought was lost forever to her yearbooks.  She checked out her face,
spotting the small birthmark above her lips that she would remove later in
college, noting she wore too much make-up like teenagers were wont to do
in this era, and with a horrible shock of recognition tasking herself for
that terrible hairstyle she had regretted her entire adult life.
        Okay, so, I'm back in high school, she thought.  It could be
worse.  Could be middle school...
        A tall, imposing body gently leaned against the nearby lockers.
"Hey there, Red.  Is this a bad time to kiss you?"
        Scully's eyes widened.  Marcus, the twelfth grade love of her
life.  She turned, glancing into his chiseled good looks and deep blue
eyes.  She remembered this moment with aching clarity, as one of those
moments of youth that so clearly marked a path into adulthood.
        With hindsight, she could still see how any girl would have fallen
for him, how he could make you melt with a word or a glance.  That hard
chin with soft cheeks, the perfectly angled nose and those eyes like the
ocean, and the long, lithe body.  With hindsight, she also remembered what
he did to...
        "So," Marcus whispered, lifting one hand to caress her arm.  "You
said you had to check with your folks and everything..."
        "My folks?"  Scully played along.
        "I know they're worried about the prom, about what we're doing
afterward with the bonfire and everything..."
        "The prom."
        "Yeah, and you know, it could be a very special night for both of
us..."  He tugged gently at the collar of her Catholic school girl
uniform, hinting at the promise of physical intimacy.
        Scully arched an eyebrow, considering her options.  She knew how
this was going to turn out, and yet did she have that right to alter
time?...
        "So?" Marcus smirked, leaning in like he would kiss her.  "Should I
expect a reply any time soon?"
        "Time," Scully whispered, then nodded to herself.  "I'm just
wondering if you need to wait for an answer from Andrea, that's all."
        His face fell about as far as the floor.  "What?"
        "Don't act so surprised."  Scully calmly grabbed her science and
history notebooks, quietly enjoying the sudden torment she was inflicting
on him.  "I already know you and Andrea have been doing it for the past
three months, and you were only waiting until prom was over and until you
probably scored with me to tell me about it.  Probably so you could see
that wounded scarred look on my face as my heart broke."
        "Wait, I mean, wait, how did you?..." he stammered, blind-sided by
her bombshell.
        "Marcus," she sighed with an understanding only time could teach,
"you may be...you may have been...the twelfth grade love of my life, but
I'll be damned if I let you walk all over me like that."
        She slammed the locker shut and shoved her way past him.  "It's
over.  And go to Hell."
        Marcus stood there, desperately struggling to find some reply,
some vicious comeback to salve his shattered ego, but it was too late as
she kept walking, her back turned to him and a smile across her face.

        "You turned him down?!?!"  Sylvia's shriek echoed through the
crammed bathroom.
        "He was cheating on me."  Scully wrinkled her nose in disgust.
"What should I do, lie there and take it?"
        "But that ruins everything."  Her friend was about to break into
tears.  "You know damn well Burrwood and I can't afford our own limo.  We
needed you and Marcus to pay the rest of the rental."
        Sylvia banged her back into the nearest wall. "Now I'll never go
to the prom."
        "Good."  Scully wiped the rest of her make-up from her face,
actually grateful that money wouldn't be wasted on a limo doomed to
destruction in that forest-consuming bonfire.  "It's an overrated
experience anyway."
        "DANA!"  If Sylvia ever came close to killing anyone, it was now.
"It's the most romantic night of our lives!"
        "Really?  Out of all the other nights to come?  We have more years,
you know."  Scully suddenly found herself questioning what she just said.
Sure, they were all going into adulthood, indeed Sylvia would have a more
romantic night after her wedding to her college boyfriend.  But something
else nagged at Scully, the fact that...her abduction...her illness...how
much time did she have?...
        "What...has...gotten...into...you." Sylvia glared at her, more
angered than concerned.
        Scully shrugged, offering up the most plausible excuse.  "I guess
Marcus has me ticked off right now.  Maybe I need to chill."
        "Maybe.  Maybe you need to go cruising for a new stud."  Sylvia
suddenly smiled, as if she'd solved the problem in one fell swoop.
"Saturday night we will paint Annapolis red, white, blue and aqua!..."
        Aqua?  Where'd she get aqua?  Scully grinned, deciding at that
moment to just go with the flow and stop worrying about future events.
She'd already changed her future by dumping Marcus, and she had more than
enough time to alter a few other things as well...

        Lunch break gave Scully some time to walk about the old stomping
grounds.  She recognized the favorite spots and forbidden areas, like the
secret alcove behind the St. Gonzaga statue and the clique hangouts like
South Bend for the football players and Heaney's Corner for the would-be
Irish poets.  She spotted friends long gone, having followed their own
paths far from here.  She wanted to stop a moment to say something, but
what could be said?...  The school itself seemed smaller now, not as
overwhelming as it once was.  Time does that.
        The noise of a growing crowd distracted her, and she turned to see
a familiar sight from high school: bullies picking on a victim.  She
glanced through the shrinking spaces of the crowd as more people blocked
her view, but she could see and hear that this was not any victim but her
brother.
        Charles was once again getting the worst of it, once again by the
self-appointed tough guys at St. Baptista.  All five of them had
surrounded her little brother and were pushing him back and forth between
them, waiting for the moment for him to either fight or flee, at which
point they would pound him into the ground.  These five were well known
throughout the school and the local churches.  After all, they were the
Choir Boys.
        She knew these jokers, probably better than they knew themselves.
It surprised her (only a little) when she returned to her tenth year
reunion, when she was still teaching at Quantico, to find that all of them
had served time, and two of them were regular troublemakers in various
Bureau investigations.  Not that they were especially dangerous or
deserved to make the Most Wanted lists: they kept trying at big scores but
came off so ineptly.  They made for a light and rather entertaining read
during the subsequent weekend at the office.
        Scully pushed her way through the crowd and stepped into the
circle, grabbing her brother and keeping him to his feet.  She stared
about, gazing at the brutal stares coming back to her, anger at her
interference flashing in their eyes.  Good.
        "Barry," she nodded to the beefier one, who stood about a building
taller than her.  "Think you can take care of a petite girl quicker than a
scared freshman?"
        Barry grunted, probably because one syllable words were too hard
for him to remember.  He considered his options, using his right fist or
his left fist, then opted for both, swinging them down hard toward her.
        Hard, but slow.  Scully countered, adjusted, and moved in for the
attack.
        It wasn't fair, she thought as she struck quickly at various parts
of Barry's body, hitting so fast he had no time to block her.  I'm back in
time with greater wisdom, I've spent years learning self- defense, and I
know fighting methods these guys haven't heard of.
        However, she smiled to herself as Barry fell to ground inside of
ten seconds, I am having fun.
        "Shit, what did she do to him?" gasped one of the Choir Boys.
        She turned to face the one who spoke, noting it was Scott, the one
serving time, well, will serve time for assault and drug charges.  "Care
to learn?"  She grinned.
        Scott was shoved forward by Jacob, who grinned maliciously with
the recognition of a challenge.  Jacob, the dangerous one, the one with
working brain cells.
        Scott stumbled, clumsily swinging a fake jab with his left before
reaching with his right.  Scully grabbed the right fist, holding it while
she measured her blow straight against Scott's chin.  He fell in two
seconds.
        Arms quickly seized her from behind, Daniel holding her left side
and Vince holding her right.  It made sense they would work together: they
both end up in the slammer for a series of botched bank robberies.
"Alright, little girlie," Vince hissed, leering at her.
        A fist nailed him in the cheek.  He turned to see Charles standing
in a pathetic boxing stance, begging to be demolished.  Vince let go of
Scully to focus his attention on her brother, which was a mistake because
she turned to give Daniel the most painful knee-to-groin move ever known
in school history.  Every guy in the surrounding crowd groaned in
sympathy.
        Scully glanced up to see her friend Sylvia staring back, mortified
and/or embarrassed by her behavior.  Sylvia turned to the nearest girl and
shrugged feebly, "She just found out, um, her boyfriend cheated on her.
Probably needs to beat up on guys, ya know?..."
        Shoving Daniel out of the way, she turned to watch Charles
struggle with the larger and more lethal Vince.  Vince was swift where her
brother was slower, and Charles was doing his best to duck and dodge.
        She sensed something to her right, and quickly pulled back as
Jacob's fist barely missed her face.  Scully turned to face him, jumping
back a bit for room to maneuver.  He stood in a perfect fighting stance,
holding himself as anyone trained in martial arts would do.  "I should
have known a Navy brat would have some fighting skills," he nodded to her.
"It's a good thing I'm a blue belt in Tae Kwan Do."
        "Better change that to black-and-blue ass," Scully nodded in reply.
        He moved first, coming in swiftly with a few jabs before launching
a high kick right at her head.  Scully blocked the leg, holding it with
one arm while swinging a blow at the exposed thigh.  Jacob blocked that
blow by reaching in with one arm, and shook himself loose from her grip.
He turned, faster than she expected, and landed a painful blow to her
shoulder.
        All right, then, she gasped to herself.  Finish it.
        She blocked his next punch and swung a high chop to his neck.
"I'm..."
        She turned quickly, slamming a blow to the left serratus anterior.
"Having..."
        She lifted one leg high enough to carry the momentum of her other
leg, which connected right on Jacob's nose.  "Too..."
        She punched with her left, hitting him full in the face before he
could fall out of range.  "Much..."
        Jacob, nose bloodied and gasping for breath, fell before she could
make another hit.  She stood and gasped, taking a moment to chill.
"Fun...," she sighed.
        "Ahhh!" Charles screamed, getting her attention.  Vince had
succeeded in seizing him by the throat and used his grip to hold her
brother down as he pummeled his chest.
        "Vince," Scully snarled, slowly walking toward them.  "Do you want
me to finish this?"
        "No," an authoritarian voice bellowed from the crowd.  "We will."
        An army of nuns stormed through the ring of spectators, which
suddenly filtered away into the halls and classrooms.  Mother Judith, whom
Scully's older brother William was able to prove once played for the
Cleveland Browns, glared at her with the righteous indignation only nuns
would know.  "You, my dear, are not having the best of days, are you?"

        Standing for a long period of time was not one of her strengths,
both at Quantico and at St. Baptista.  Scully twitched one of her knees...
        "Danny," Charles whispered to her from the other side of the desk.
Only Charles could get away with calling her that.  "You okay?"
        "I'm cool like Fonzie," she smirked back.
        "Eh?"  Charles was having a hard time believing what had happened,
since he had never seen his sister perform like an action figure.  It also
sounded like Scully was talking in some slang, but something he never
heard of.
        She nodded sympathetically and leaned in to whisper, "It's from a
Tarantino movie."
        Charles scowled and nodded slowly, obviously unable to grasp what
she meant.
        She sighed and twitched her knee again.
        The door connecting the dean's office to a small washroom swung
open, and Father Loreau wiped his hands as he strode into the room.  He
wore the traditional padre outfit of black clothes and white collar, which
meant serious trouble.  Loreau preferred to lounge about in casual
clothing, changing into his uniform only when he needed to perform his
duties to the school and to the Church.  He didn't like to waste his time
changing clothes.
        Father Loreau muttered to himself as he sat down at the desk.  He
flipped open the files he had requested on these two: the frayed and
overstuffed folders on the Choir Boys were noticeably wobbling on a nearby
table.  He read Dana's file first, noting a few things before turning to
Charles's papers.  Without glancing up from the desk, the priest spoke in
his direction.  "Could you explain to me what happened in the hallway,
Charles?"
        Charles stammered, pointing in various directions while not really
saying much.  Scully nodded and remembered the first time he had
complained about Jacob and the others, and how worse it got for him.  He
wasn't about to play stool pigeon again.
        "Charles." Father Loreau finally looked up.  "I know perfectly well
those older boys were picking on you.  You can stop stammering now."
        Scully's brother glanced at her, one corner of his mouth turned
upward in an "oh well" expression.
        "You, on the other hand..." The priest turned to Dana with an
angered expression.  "Miss Scully, if you could be so kind as to explain
yourself..."
        She glared back at him.  "I was standing up for my brother.  If
you want to yell at anybody, do it at the Choir Boys."
        "I'm not yelling," Father Loreau stated curtly.  "And I sympathize
that you were watching out for your own.  But what you did, frankly I'm
shocked.  You resorted to acts of violence which I as a Man of God cannot
condone.  This one boy, Scott, has a broken jaw, and the one you finished
off, Jacob I think, has two broken ribs and a nose so bent out of shape
he'll need it broken just to be re-set."
        The priest tapped the folder.  "This wasn't self-defense.  This
was overkill, and I get the feeling you wanted it that way."
        "I wasn't...I didn't mean to promote violence," Dana noted,
glancing askance.  "But I was doing what was right.  Sometimes I just have
to kick ass for the Lord."
        She didn't regret for a second what she just said, even as Father
Loreau's eyes widened in shock.  Charles didn't help any when he leaned in
with an explanation.  "I think she got that from a Tarantino movie..."
        "Dana...Katherine...Scully," Loreau finally whispered.  "I would
think this school, that your faith, would teach you better ways of serving
God."
        She stood quietly.
        The priest turned to the mile-high folders next to him.  "My
problem is that I know all too well how dangerous those boys are.  In some
respects what you did was a blessing, since it gives me an excuse to
suspend them, even if it's for a short time.  I've been getting too many
complaints about them, from the students and the parents and now even the
teachers.  They've even threatened one of the nuns with..."
        He shook his head.  "However, I cannot condone what you have
contributed to this...display of violence.  And I most certainly cannot
condone this attitude you have developed about...`kicking ass' as it
were."
        "Are you suspending me, Father Loreau?"  In a small way, Scully
would have wanted that.  To get away from school and do some research,
find out what had happened to bring her back into her earlier life...
        "No."  The priest tapped the folder.  "There are other disciplinary
marks on your folder but not the kind that would add up to suspension.  I
also know that suspension will keep you from the prom, and I know like
most of the other students that you would want to enjoy that moment.  You
most certainly qualify for detention, however..."
        Damn.  Staying after school.  Consuming all her time...  "Sir,"
she stated in a soldier's tone.  "I want to volunteer for library work."
        The priest nodded.  "I don't see why accepting a proposal you made
would be proper punishment..."
        "For the rest of the year."
        Father Loreau blinked.  "Detention never lasts that long, Dana."
        "Yes.  But lengthening it like that would be punishment enough."
        The priest thought it over.  "Very well.  Starting today."
        Scully smiled to herself.  This way she might get some research
done...
        Father Loreau nodded at Scully's arm.  "Should get that treated."
        She turned to see a trickle of blood dry on her arm, just beneath
the sleeve.  Jacob did have a habit of wearing too much jewelry.

        The nurse's office was one of the scarier places in school.
Rumors swirled throughout the girls' bathrooms about Nurse Fielding,
stories that shocked the prim virgins and amused the bad girls.  Scully
did know the truth, of course, having remembered when she spotted Fielding
at a college rally flirting with a sorority sister, but her coming from a
future when lesbianism was more in the open lessened the pressure.  She
knew Fielding was a civilian to begin with, since few of the nuns had her
level of training, and had learned from her sorority sister that she was
constantly fearful of losing her job, which paid better than some of the
other nursing positions in the area.  Local wealthy families spared no
expense for a good Catholic school.  So she stayed out of trouble and in
the closet when it came to the St. Baptista students.
        Fielding still had a habit of looking at the prettier girls
though, and nodded at the young redhead as she checked the red streak
running down Scully's arm.  "No make-up today?"
        "Just a phase," Scully stated flatly.
        "Hmm."  Fielding picked on the neutral vibe and quietly backed off.
"It looks like the cut occurred higher up the arm.  Roll up your sleeve,
okay?"
        Scully complied, feeling an itch a little further up underneath
the clothing.  The sleeve was stained with a long red streak going further
up, close to the shoulder blade.  "Looks like it cut the skin but not the
shirt," she noted.
        The nurse nodded and turned to the cabinet.  "There's more blood
than I'd like to see in a scrape.  I'm going to need a good look at your
shoulder, so please remove the shirt."
        Scully flinched just a little.  Sure she was enlightened, but
still, Fielding wasn't really her type...
        Fielding glanced over her shoulder, her smirk indicating she knew
of the rumors.  "I don't bite.  I'm only going to treat you."
        She complied, turning around to place the shirt on a nearby chair.
She noted the long cut on her shoulder, not deep into the flesh but long
enough to explain all that bleeding...
        "Oh, my God," Fielding gasped, pointing to Scully's lower back.
        Scully turned her head, glancing at what horrified the nurse.  If
anything proved she had traveled through time, this was it.
        There was no other explanation for the snake tattoo to be on her
body fifteen years ahead of schedule.

        Scully stormed into the house, late from her after-school stay at
the library and upset when she realized computer access to the Internet
was impossible since the school wouldn't get a McIntosh until 1993, not
pausing to reflect upon the scenery about her.  Her mother still lived
here, and hadn't changed much of the surroundings in fifteen years.  She
was in a bit of a rush actually, to hurry upstairs to her room, to
re-establish her identity here and to figure out where to proceed.
Somehow, she needed to contact a quantum temporal physicist, hopefully one
or two could be found in College Park, and see if they had any technology
to scan for...
        "Hey, Starbuck," a deep voice intoned down the hallway.  "How did
your day go?"
        Scully stopped, her jaw dropping with shock and realization that
she was back in time, back home, and that her father...
        She turned slowly, hoping to keep the tears from flowing down her
cheeks as she watched Captain William Scully stand from his chair, the
same chair she would take with her to college and to her own apartment,
with a book on naval history under one arm, walking out of his den toward
her with a concerned look on his face.  "You know, Dana, your mother got a
very unusual call from school today..."
        "Oh, daddy," she whispered, wrapping her arms around him. "I'm
sorry, I'm so sorry..."
        Captain Scully stood there, confused by his daughter's emotional
reaction.  The phone calls, one from the school and the other more
mysterious, were worrisome but he knew his child, knew she had a reason to
fight those boys, knew her well enough to wait for her and tell her that
all was forgiven...
        "Daddy," Scully whispered, wanting to tell him so much, how much
she missed him, how much she had gone through, all the pain that had
happened these past...future years...
        He patted her gently with his free arm.  "Dana, everything will be
fine.  You're not in trouble or anything.  In fact, I'm curious to know
where you learned kickboxing..."
        She quickly pulled back, staring up at her father.  "Missy.
Melissa's still here."
        "Of course."  He nodded up the stairs.  "It's still early for her
evening jaunts, and her boyfriend's not here yet..."
        Scully tore herself away from him, turning to head up the stairs.
She thought of something, turned back around to give her father a quick
hug, turned again and raced up the stairs.
        Captain Scully watched her take the stairs three steps at a time,
a puzzled look etched across his face.  "Watch your step, Starbuck.  And
if you're going to talk to her, see if you can tell her this latest beau
of hers looks like he's on the FBI's Most Wanted list..."

        Scully stormed into Melissa's room, then regretted it as the
powerful scent of incense overwhelmed her senses.  She realized her
sister, having returned from her freshman year, had developed her new age
interests by now.  An oversized poster of Stevie Nicks covered the window,
while beads and scarves dangled overhead and across the dressers.
        "Dana?"  A muffled voice came from the bed.  Melissa kicked away
the comforter that had covered her sleeping form, and she stood, casually
dressed in a loose-fitting blouse and ankle-long skirt.  "Is something
wrong?"
        "Yeah, the air conditioner," Scully muttered, then quickly
regretted it.  She wasn't here to cut into her sister.  Not now...
        "If you're here to complain about something..." Missy crossed her
arms.
        Scully sighed to herself.  There had been an ongoing argument
between them, not just one issue but in general.  They were close once,
but as Missy grew into womanhood while Dana remained a young girl, their
differences drove them apart.  They never said their goodbyes when Missy
went to college and never said their hellos when Missy returned for this
semester to re-think her future.  After her abduction in the future, the
rift healed some, but then that incident with the digital tape...
        "Well?"
        Scully nodded to her sister.  "Melissa, I want first of all to
apologize for absolutely everything I have ever done to offend you."
        "Did you and Charlie make a wager or something?" Missy's eyebrows
went about as high as they could go.  Dana Katherine Scully rarely
apologizes for anything.
        "No..."
        Melissa noticed something odd about her little sister.
"Something's changed, hasn't it?  With you...within you, I should say..."
        "You could be right."  Scully nodded, moving close to place one
hand on her sister's shoulder.
        "Can you have an open mind about what I'm going to say?"
        "Dana," her sister smiled.  "I am a princess of open-mindedness.
One look at my healing crystal should tell you that..."
        "I mean, absolutely anything I tell you, you would have no trouble
accepting?..."
        Melissa's concern showed in her eyes.  "This feels like a crisis
of the soul for you, Dana."
        "It's...not the soul."  Scully rolled her eyes and smiled.  "It
does take a leap of faith, I assure you..."
        "Well, tell me."
        Scully took a deep breath, then told her.
        When she finished describing not only the concept of time travel
but some of the basic chronology of what happens the next fifteen years,
her older sister blinked a few times and sighed.  "Dana, I have to admit,
it will take more than a leap of faith to accept an extreme possibility
like that..."
        "Okay.  Check this out."  Scully turned and lifted her shirt to
reveal the small of her back.  "How long do you think it took for me to
get a tattoo like this, and do you know of any tattoo parlors between here
and school?"
        Melissa stared at the snake marking.  "I admit, I haven't seen
that before..."
        "Missy, there's something else I have to say."  Scully dropped to
the bed, wondering how she can proceed.
        "What would that be?..."
        She considered the perils.  She could warn Melissa of her death,
but could it be averted?  Scully always felt the conspiracy had killed her
sister by mistake, that they were after her for the tape.  But what if?
What if they killed Missy to get to her?  Who's to say they wouldn't kill
her another way?
        To hell with alternate possibilities, she finally decided.  You
already know of one history, and you know that must never happen...
        "Missy," she whispered.  "The FBI, when I work for them, I'm going
to uncover a very nasty secret, one that other people, people in power,
would want hidden forever.  One night, they'll come to kill me.  But
they..."
        Melissa sat next to her sister.  Scully tried to make eye contact
but couldn't.  "Melissa, they kill you instead."
        Melissa looked at her, gazing as if she could see into her.  There
had been times when she felt she knew of things beyond normal
understanding, not so much pure knowledge as it was a feeling, something
physic.  She had seen it in their mother, how she responded so quickly to
her children even when they didn't show their pain.  She had seen it
within herself, which lead to this spiritual path into the new beliefs
strengthening her talents.  She had even seen it in Dana, in those rare
moments of rebellion her little sister enacted between her staunch acts of
loyalty to her parents.
        She felt it now, that spiritual understanding, and it told her
Dana sincerely believed what she said.  No, not even a belief.  A Truth.
These things she mentioned were a part of her life, the one yet to be
lived.  It sent a chill down Melissa's spine, exhilarated by the moment of
spiritual connection and terrified of what the truth revealed.
        "I believe you," she whispered, placing her hands on Scully's.
"Dear God, Dana, what happened?  How did you end up back here?"
        "I don't know," Scully whispered back.  "This isn't how I imagined
time travel would be.  It's like something...someone, is setting me up
somehow, making me re-live my life.  I need to find out what's going
on..."
        "Okay."  Melissa nodded.  "It's good you told me.  It's good to
have someone to trust.  Should we tell?..."
        "No!"  Dana shook her head forcefully.  "Mom and Dad would never
understand..."
        "You sure about Mom?"  Melissa's arched eyebrow hinted at the
suspicions the Scully children had about their mother.
        "Well...Mom might accept it if not understand it.  But she'll tell
Dad..."
        Her older sister nodded.  "You're right.  Dad wouldn't buy it..."
        "Still, it'd be nice to...well, if there was some way..."  Scully
turned pensive, staring at the floor.  Dad...
        Melissa leaned in, sensing her sister was holding back.
"Dana...what about Dad?"
        "Oh."  She shook her head, shaking the thought from her mind.
"Nothing."
        Her sister frowned.  She could sense it.  "Well.  We'll just have
to see how things turn out the next few days.  Maybe give you some time to
figure out how this time travel situation started."
        "Okay," Scully smiled, then started tugging at her hair.  "There's
one other thing I have to do now..."

        Melissa shook her head.  "You know, you do look better with your
hair straight like that."
        Scully sighed, combing down the wet hair.  "I'm going to have to
let this grow, then maybe see if I can get it cut close to the head, have
it hug the neck, maybe in a heart-shape..."
        "I don't know if that's the fashion for this decade..." Missy
rolled her eyes, arching her eyebrows in the traditional Scully style..
        "With luck, I'll start a trend."
        Scully turned from her dresser and collapsed onto her bed.  They
had moved from the bathroom where they re-worked Dana's hair into her
bedroom.  She took a moment to familiarize herself with her old
surroundings: the posters of Siouxsie and the Banshees, Dead Kennedys and
Patti Smith, the signed CBGB posters garnered in her weekend forays into
the New York punk scene, the stuffed animals cluttering her furniture.
Ah, yes, pretty in punk, Scully smiled to herself.  I wonder if "Repo Man"
is out yet...
        "Did you keep any of this stuff?" Melissa crawled onto the bed next
to her.
        "Not really.  Some of it I lost in college to an evil roommate from
Hell, the rest of it..." she shrugged.  "I outgrew."
        "Okay."  Her sister tapped her crystal.  "So what else happens in
the future?..."
        Scully arched an eyebrow.  "I'm not going to tell you which
boyfriend to marry..."
        "Not that!"  Missy giggled.  "I mean about history in general...you
know, what happens to the world..."
        Scully rattled off what she could remember in chronological order:
that Vader was Luke's father and that Leia was his sister, the Middle East
terrorism, the rise of the Yuppie, the global domination of MTV, the
arrival of the Terminator ("If you see someone shaped like An-nuld chasing
me, then we're all in big trouble," Dana smirked), the cola wars, Live
Aid, the decline and fall of the rock bands Journey and Van Halen,
Iran-Contra scandal, Dan Quayle, Bush's wars, the fall of the Berlin Wall
("Get the airline tickets now," Dana noted.  "That is one street party no
one should miss."), Tiananmen Square, the fall of the Soviet Union, the
Seattle music scene, President Clinton ("Who?" Missy asked), killer
viruses, computers, the Internet, and fan fiction.
        Dana reached over to hold Missy's hands.  "And you promise, you
SWEAR, that in April of 1995 you will stay the hell away from me?  Better
yet, that you'll leave the country and hide in a bunker somewhere?"
        "Relax, Dana," her sister smiled gently, nodding.  "I'll remember."
        The doorbell echoed through the house.  "Oops.  My date's here,"
Missy grinned.  "Should I tell him?..."
        "No," Scully gasped, grabbing her sister by the hands.  "The fewer
who know about this, the better.  The last thing I need is a visit to the
nearest Bedlam..."
        "Dana!" Her father's voice boomed up the stairs.  "It's for you."
        "Oh, God, it's probably Marcus."  Scully sighed, sliding off the
bed onto the floor.  "Probably come crawling on his hands and knees."
        "And you don't want to see him do that?" Missy smirked.  "Girl, you
have got to develop a sadistic streak..."
        She shook her head, giggling at her older sister's suggestion.
"I...I don't want to deal with him right now..."
        "Starbuck."  Her father's voice was close to the door.  He knocked,
gently opening it to make sure he wasn't interrupting.  "It's a little
odd, but there's a gentleman by the name of Mulder here to see you."

END PART ONE
TO BE CONTINUED


--
Paul Wartenberg -------------------------- | -----Web site---------
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-----or vill...@icanect.net ------------- | -----But always-------
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-----Journal of Useless Information------- | -----Keep visiting!---
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From: z004...@bc.seflin.org (Paul Wartenberg)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: REPOST: Life While They Live It pt.2
Date: 21 Nov 1997 15:46:04 GMT
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        Again, I'm just reposting this for those who may have missed the
earlier post...



Life While They Live It
Part II- Angels Unawares
by. Paul Wartenberg

COPYRIGHT: Once again, let me state for the record that I am poor.  I am
not making money off this.  Mulder, Scully, and additional characters are
owned by Chris Carter and Co., and I hope they know that it would be very
nice if they don't sue me for this.
I'd also like to ask Thornton Wilder, author of "Our Town" (the play, not
the episode!  Sheesh, no chickens appear in this story at any time, all
right?!?!), not to call his lawyer about this...

RATING: Romance, but nothing naughty.  There is vulgarity, but it's Scully
saying most of it so we're cool about it, right?...oh, and hopefully a
good-sized serving of humor (at least it was funny when I wrote it...) ;-)

SUMMARY: Post-Gethsemane.  What if Mulder DID commit suicide?  What if
Scully's cancer was incurable?  I know, that pretty much ruins the Redux
episodes and all of season 5...Then what could possibly explain why
Scully is back in high school?...


Be not forgetful to entertain strangers,
For thereby some have entertained angels unawares
--Hebrews 13:2


        Fox William Mulder stood at the door of the Scully residence,
accepting the risk he took to come here.  For all he knew, even when he
called earlier, the Dana Scully he sought could still be a high schooler,
completely unaware of the future in store for her.
        When he awoke to find himself back in 1982 Oxford, he at first
considered it was all a trick by CancerMan's friends involving
hallucinogenics.  By the third self-induced electric shock, he disregarded
that theory in favor of him suffering an intense nightmare, a terrible
"what if?" scenario of how his sister's disappearance would drive him to
an obsessive search for aliens and that final, empty moment with a gun.
        The only problem with the nightmare excuse was the bullet scar on
his shoulder, where Scully had shot him during the digital tape incident.
Also, dreaming up someone like Scully would be damn near impossible.  That
left time travel.
        If Scully was still an eighteen year old, could he even explain
the concept of time travel?  That was a good possibility: after all, she
must have had some interest in that when she considered her thesis...but
what reason would she have of trusting him?  For all she would know, he
was some punk college student pulling a prank...
        It didn't help matters to see a large and very threatening German
Shepherd sit there in the hallway, teeth glaring in its frozen sneer.  He
knew Scully came from a dog family, but he never pictured them being so
big.  So he stood there, nervously waiting.
        Footsteps came from the stairway, and the dog moved out of the
way.  Mulder glanced up to see someone he hadn't seen since...her death...
        Melissa didn't seem much different in her past as she did when he
first met her.  She still had that crystal hanging from her neck, and her
long skirt and oversized flowery blouse suggested a gypsy- esque fashion
sense.  All that was different was her hair length and youthful
exuberance.
        Mulder raised one hand as a friendly gesture, wondering to himself
why Dana didn't come down.  Apparently all was for naught...
        "Hello," Melissa smiled, measuring up this stranger.  "I was told
not to call you Fox..."
        Mulder's eyes widened as he remembered her saying this before.
Scully was Scully.  She knew.
        "Is...Dana okay?"
        Melissa nodded, tilting her head back to the stairs.  "She's back
in high school, so she has to resolve her hair problems."
        "So she told you."
        "And it seems you're in on it, too."
        Mulder smirked as he whispered.  "Well, I'd have to, otherwise I'm
here twelve years too soon..."
        "A-hem."  A deep voice coughed some concern over toward the kitchen
hallway.  Captain Scully, doing his parental duty, was sizing up this
newcomer Mulder calling on his youngest daughter.
        Melissa glanced between her father and Mulder.  Sticking a thumb
in Mulder's direction, she replied, "Pen pal from England.  From a school
project Dana did.  I think you got a memo on that, Captain sir."
        "And what project would that be?" the elder Scully stated as he
placed his book under an armpit, arms crossed and noticeably not buying a
word of it.
        Mulder reacted quickly, remembering something Scully mentioned
when they hunted Big Blue in Georgia. "Loch Ness sightings.  That's what
we wrote about, her and me.  I helped on her paper as a primary source,
since I was doing research as well.  Um, I'm just here to say hello."
        "Just in the neighborhood."  His arms dropped to his sides.  "So
we've never met."
        Mulder nodded slowly.  "No, I don't think we ever did, sir."
        "Daddy."  Scully stood halfway down the stairs.  She was dressed
casually in a Led Zep t-shirt and jeans.  Her hair was still wet, but her
straightening it made her look familiar, like she did when they first
met...
        "Giving him the fourth degree, sir?" she saluted as she finished
her way down the stairs.  She turned and offered Mulder a handshake.  "So
we finally meet...Mulder, was it?"
        Mulder shook hands with her, formally acting up for the benefit of
the parent.  "Do you prefer Scully or Dana?"
        "Dana will do."  She turned and grinned at her sister.  "I think
there's about four or five other Scullys here, so let's not get
confused..."
        Mulder nodded, then stood there, a bit uncomfortable, unsure of
how to proceed.  His glance to Scully indicated they needed to speak in
private...
        She nodded once, picking up on the signal, and turned to her
father.  "Dad, I'm taking him upstairs.  I promise I will keep the door
open, and we will observe the rules."
        "What would the rules be?" Mulder whispered to Melissa.
        Missy leaned in with a wicked grin.  "If you kiss her you die.  If
you touch her, you die.  If you make any lewd or seductive statements or
gestures, you die..."
        "If I sneeze in her general direction, I die?"
        Her grin widened.  "The key element is the `you die' bit.
Remember, daddy's a card-carrying member of the NRA and is not afraid to
prove it..."
        "Did you explain the rules to him, Melissa?"  Captain Scully lifted
his head slightly.
        Missy nodded.
        "Good."  He walked to the den and resumed reading the book in his
possession.
        "Mr. Fox Mulder, if you would be so kind as to follow me..."
Scully lifted a thumb toward the stairs and headed up to the bedroom.
        Mulder proceeded to walk up the stairs, but stopped when a low
growl came from behind him.  The German Shepherd wasn't about to let this
stranger go anywhere in the house.
        "Buddy."  Scully growled back, turning about to stand close to her
partner.  "He's in the tribe, so be cool."
        The dog whimpered and backed off.
        Mulder pointed at the German Shepherd as they headed up the
stairs.  "Buddy.  Good name for a dog."
        Scully shrugged as she whispered.  "Poor thing, he passed on
before we met.  Name was Billy Budd, actually."
        He scowled as he followed her up the stairs.  "I think your family
needs to read other literary giants, Dana.  There's nothing wrong with
Dostoevsky..."
        She led the way into the second floor hallway.  Mulder glanced
down to one end, spying upon a young teen's face sticking his head out the
door.  The teen, obviously Scully's little brother, gave him a once-over
before letting out a loud "harrumph" and closing his bedroom door.
        "Welcome to my domain," Dana announced, swinging open her door.
She kicked a trash can over from near her desk, using it to prop the door
open.
        Mulder shrugged as he stood next to the bed and turned about,
glancing at the teen Scully's lifestyle.  Posters of her favorite bands
mixed with teddy bears, the room covered with debris, shocking him
somewhat since she seemed so...hygienic during the years he had known her.
She never told me she was a punk girl, he marveled...
        A cough came from behind, and Scully turned to see her sister.
Melissa smirked, pointed at Mulder, gave a thumbs up and quietly mouthed
something a lot like "he's gorgeous".
        Scully glared back a "not what you think" scowl and shooed her
away from the door.  "So...um, Mulder, you must have flow in from England
today.  How was the trip?"
        Mulder glanced out the open door, picking up on Scully's idea of
keeping up appearances.  "Oh, the peanuts weren't salted.  Again."
        Scully leaned in close to whisper.  "Any theories yet on what's
happening to us?"
        "Time travel, obviously.  Too detailed and prolonged to be
hallucinations.  But the exact specifics, well we're just going to have to
figure that out on our own."  Mulder pointed to the doorway.  "Is Melissa
the only one you told?"
        She nodded.  "And you?"
        "Didn't tell a soul."  He shrugged.  "You're the only one I could
trust with this..."
        "What's the last thing you remember before coming here?"
        "I remember that last night we...when you told me why you were
given that cancer, when the alien's body was taken and Arlinsky was
killed.  I remember holding my gun, and..."  Mulder finished off his
sentence with a forlorn look.
        "Good."  Scully nodded for a second, right before she pulled back
and swung her fist right into Mulder's face, forcing him onto the side of
the bed.
        She leaned in to keep her snarl from being overheard.  "You son of
a bitch!  Your suicide was the last thing I needed to take with me to my
own death!"
        His eyes widened in shock, not from the punch from the revelation
of her demise.  "Dana...I, I'm sorry..."
        She plopped down against the bed next to Mulder. "The last thing I
remember is Mom holding my hand.  Some of the doctors were talking about
the radical surgical procedures they put me through, and I was enough of a
doctor to realize the treatment didn't take.  I...felt so weak...so hard
just to draw my breath.  Poor Mom, the look on her face...like she could
feel the pain through my hand..."
        Mulder sighed, rubbing his face and letting the pain there
subside.  The pain in his chest, though...
        Scully stared at him with infinite sadness.  "Why?  That's all I
have to ask of you..."
        He shrugged, looking away from her.  "It was my fault.  I didn't
warn you."
        She leaned a little closer to him, waiting for a more specific
explanation.
        "That first day, when we met."  He glanced at her briefly before
turning away again.  "I had no reason to trust you and no reason to warn
you.  When it became obvious you weren't on the agenda against the
X-Files, I should have warned you then about the people we were up
against, about how far they might go to keep their secrets.  I especially
should have warned you after what happened to Deep Throat.  But..."
        "When I signed on to the Bureau, I knew their were risks..."
        "These were risks no one would have accepted, Scully..."
        "I can take care of myself, Mulder..."
        "No."  Mulder stared at her, his eyes locking with hers.  "You
couldn't."
        She sighed.  "It was not your fault.  You weren't the one who
abducted me and you weren't the one who gave me cancer.  I wasn't blaming
you for that when I told you.  I wanted you to know the truth, that they
hurt me to hurt you."
        Scully placed a hand on his shoulder, her eyes reflecting a hint
of grace. "I just...was angry that you let them get to you like that.
Like you surrendered."
        "What of them hurting you?"  His whisper could barely be heard.
        "You know what?" she stated with an arched eyebrow firmly raised.
"It doesn't look like they did.  Like God pressed the reset button and
gave me... gave us a second chance to kick ass."
        Mulder smiled at that, and Scully leaned back against the bed, her
shoulder rubbing against his.
        "Did you warn your sister?"
        Scully nodded firmly.  "Think they'll be ramifications within the
time line?"
        "It's a little too late for that, all things considered," he
smirked.  "I don't think I ever visited the inner sanctum of Dana Scully's
teenage bedroom..."
        She grabbed a pillow and whacked him across the head with it.  "If
you tell anyone of what you saw, you're a dead man..."
        He kept his chuckling to a minimum.  "Deal."
        "Any other potential changes?"
        "Well, other than placing certain bets on a few Super Bowls...
There's about a hundred or so things we could alter..."
        "How can we do something with the X-Files when we're not in the FBI
yet?"
        "We're not completely helpless."  Mulder tapped his head.  "We do
have the advantage of time..."
        "So what will you do in the meantime?"  Scully pulled on her hair
with one hand.
        "Best thing to do is to start investigating."  He stood and offered
a hand to help her to her feet.  "There's a few people I think I can
contact..."
        "How can that be?"  She smirked.  "I don't think the Lone Gunmen
would buy your story, and Pendrell's probably not even born yet..."
        "You'd be surprised.  Frohike once told me he had contingencies to
deal with time traveling friends.  And there is someone else..."
        "A-hem."  A soft knock on the door got their attention, and they
turned to see Scully's mother standing in the doorway.  "Dana, can you
introduce me to your new friend here?"
        "Oh."  Scully lowered her head as she raised her eyes toward
Mulder, a familiar mock expression of concern.  "Mom.  This is Fox Mulder.
Mulder, this is Mom."
        "Mrs. Scully," he nodded, reaching out to shake her hand.  "It's
good to finally meet you."
        She shook hands with him even as she arched an eyebrow
skeptically.  "If I heard it correctly from your father, Dana, this young
man's come all the way from England."
        "That would be true," her daughter smiled.
        "Do you have any family in the area?"
        Mulder scowled briefly.  His father was working for the State
Department in D.C. but mostly traveled from Massachusetts to wherever he
needed to go.  His mother was up north as well, but considering how he had
just left her in the future he wasn't ready to confront her yet.  "No, not
really..."
        "Well, you could always stay here, Fox.  Dinner's almost done, and
we have a guest room available, if you'd like."
        Scully kept her shocked expression hidden from Mulder as she
wordlessly mouthed "Mother!" to her parent.
        "Oh, uh, I already paid for a hotel."  He raised both hands in a
gentle refusal.  "I'm fine, Mrs. Scully."
        She nodded to both of them, giving her daughter an extra-long
glance with a wordless "he's gorgeous!" before turning from the doorway.
        Mulder missed Scully's mother giving a vote of approval, already
grimacing as he turned to his partner.  "Fox.  Damn, I think she's always
going to do that to me."
        "Mulder.  There's nothing wrong with your name."
        "You try living up to a name like 'Fox' as a teenager."
        "You try going to Catholic school."
        "...Alright, you topped me on that one."  Mulder pointed to the door.
"I gotta get going.  You going to be okay?"
        Scully shrugged as she glanced at the room about her, a soft smile
on her lips.  "I'm home, Mulder.  I'm home."

        Mulder stumbled down the stairs, looking to avoid Billy Budd as he
came bounding up the stairs.  At first he was worried the German Shepherd
was finally going to use him for hunting practice, but the dog pushed past
him like he wasn't there and raced into the bedroom next to Dana's.
Melissa's voice echoed down the stairwell, "No, not the incense!
Noooo..."  Mulder shook his head and hurried away from the potential
disaster area.
        He made it as far as the front door before a deep voice stopped
him in his tracks.  "Excuse me, Mulder, but if I could see you in my
reading room for a moment?"
        Ack, Mulder thought.  The father.  Not a good time to reveal he
has a problem with authority figures...  He shook his head as he slowly
walked to his doom, finding Captain Scully sitting in his chair.
        "Will you be visiting often, Mr. Mulder?"  He continued to glance
at the book although it was obvious he wasn't reading.
        Mulder grimaced, but answered truthfully.  "There was some
research that Dana and I would like to work on..."
        "Step inside, Mr. Mulder," the elder Scully stated- no, ordered- as
he stood from his chair.
        So this is it, the young man thought.  I'm going to die...
        Mulder stepped quietly into the den, not much surprised by what he
saw.  The rows of well-worn books on one wall explained the literary
interests his partner inherited from her father, and the work table
covered with model kits, train tracks and figurines echoed from the one
case involving the Piper Maru.  He stood there at the doorway while the
older man faced the bookshelf.
        "I would like to think I'm a good father."  Captain Scully placed
his book back among the other titles.  "I may not express my love or
concern as well as I should, but I do care."
        "Sir."  Mulder stood at attention as best he could.
        "I look at you.  I see a man just starting in his life, unaware of
the promises and pitfalls that await him..."
        Mulder tried his best not to laugh.  Any sign of disrespect now
would end his visits here, if not his own life.
        "...and I don't mean to lecture."  Captain Scully stared at him,
noticing the levity in Mulder's face.  "I admit, I've said this to more
than one boy..."
        "I understand you're a father who's looking out for his youngest
daughter," Mulder nodded, doing his best to be serious.
        "How well can you understand?"  The elder man stood closer to the
younger, with a certain menace.
        Mulder shuffled his feet, uncomfortable with the situation.  "Sir,
I can assure you I'm not here to do anything wrong.  I don't, I don't want
to interfere with how your family is or anything..."
        "Why are you here then?"
        "I...there's a situation that I have to address, sir.  And Dana,
she had, has, some insight on it..."
        "She hasn't told me anything about a problem."  The elder Scully
had crossed his arms again.
        Mulder gulped.  "It's a secret."
        "I don't like secrets, not within my family, and not with my
youngest daughter..."
        "Sir, I can assure you, there's nothing wrong..."
        "Let's not argue in circles."  Captain Scully remained calm, which
added to Mulder's discomfort for some reason.  "Are you going to see Dana
on a social basis while you're here?"
        Mulder raised both eyebrows, as if he considered that option for
the first time.  "Well..."
        "Am I making this uncomfortable for you, son?"
        "Well..."
        The elder Scully coughed a bit.  "Mr. Mulder, I may want to
protect my daughters but I don't own them.  I try to be firm but fair.  If
they want to see someone they like, I have few objections.  All I ask for
is good judgment on their part, and so far, thankfully, they haven't
betrayed my trust.  But I most certainly care for their well-being.  My
daughters know to be careful, but you..."
        He placed a firm hand on Mulder's shoulder.  "I want your word.  I
want your word you will take good care of my Dana."
        Mulder stared back, wondering how to tell Scully's father how hard
that could be.  She didn't say she had warned her parents of future
events, of how she would work on the X-Files, how she would risk her life
on more than one occasion, how he had already failed to protect her
when...they came to...  While he wanted so much to change the future how
can he be sure he...they succeed?  How could he give his word when he
might not be able to keep it?
        "Yes, sir," Mulder whispered, knowing full well how easily his word
could fail.  "I promise."
        The elder Scully prided himself as a military man to be a good
judge of character from the ensigns of his command to the other officers,
Captains all.  In his job, he had to be.  He saw something in Mulder's
eyes.  Not fear, not deception, not what he saw in the other boys who
called on his daughters.  It was concern.  A knowledge of...something,
that Dana had some value to this young man, of something other than love,
something deeper?  Something stronger?...
        A knock at the door interrupted them.  Mrs. Scully poked her head
into the den.  "Hon, dinner's about ready."
        Her husband nodded.  "Thank you, Margaret."
        She smiled at Mulder.  "Are you sure you don't want to stay?  It's
some chicken fettuccini Alfredo..."
        "I'll be fine," the young man returned the smile before glancing
back at the elder Scully.
        The captain let go of Mulder's shoulder.  "All right, then."
        Mulder offered a handshake.  "Thank you for having this chat with
me, sir..."
        He shook his hand.  "Will you be back this weekend, Mr. Mulder?"
        "Perhaps, there are a few other things I have to do..."
        "Very well."  The elder man showed him to the front door.  "I
suppose I'll be seeing you again..."


April 3, 1982
Late morning

        Scully had forgotten how comfortable her old bed had been, an
old-fashioned down-filled mattress that felt softer than her apartment's
foam-filled slab.  She almost missed breakfast, the usual overload of
blueberry pancakes her father cooked served with way too many slices of
Canadian bacon.
        Scully had chided Mulder from time to time on his inability to
cook, and it had surprised her partner to learn that Captain Scully was a
certifiable chef.  Scully's dad, by virtue of growing up without microwave
ovens and relying on himself whilst stationed overseas, taught himself the
basics out of simple survival.  He later learned a talent like that
impressed the hell out of women, especially his wife:  It was the first
thing that attracted Margaret to him.  Shockingly, he never trained either
of his daughters to cook, but he made damn sure both his sons knew the
difference between a skillet and a chafing dish.
        Jack Willis, Scully fondly remembered, also wasn't too bad in the
kitchen, or at least wasn't afraid of trying.  If only Mulder learned a
nice stir fry dinner, she once noted wistfully early in their partnership.
I might have married him.
        Breakfast went about the same as she remembered it: Dad busy in
the kitchen, Mom figuring out the chess puzzle in the newspaper, Missy in
absentia due to her late night activities, Charlie constantly hopping from
the table to watch the early syndicated college sports programs, a lot of
talking going on and not much listening.  Except for her, except for now.
She silently took it all in with rapt attention.
        She watched, listened, waited, and sadly noted how quickly
breakfast flew by.  Before she knew it, Charlie was out the door, heading
off to baseball practice and yet another afternoon attempt to form a rock
band with his buddies.  Mom scooped up the dishes and cleaned them off.
Dad vanished from the kitchen, heading as always to his den to complete
some unfinished hobby.  Dana, for once, remained seated at the table.
        Missy stumbled in with her clothes haphazardly wrapped around her
body, late as always.  "Hey, Dana, did I miss anything?"

        Most of her morning chores were simple: pile everything together
for laundry and do a quick dust-off of the furniture.  The yard work was
always left for Bill, who groused about it every time he came in from the
Academy.  It was his fault: he never showed up for the vote when his
siblings assigned themselves their house chores.
        Scully sneaked a little closer to her father's den, glancing
through the open doorway to see how he was doing.  It was about this time
he had switched hobbies, taking his fill of model airplanes, and began
work on an elaborate train set.  Not a simple styrofoam set either, but
carved from wood and hand-painted.  The wood pieces were already carved,
shaped into the hills and town buildings that would cover the table.  All
that was left was the painting.
        The den's window was wide open, letting through a soft, slightly
chilled April wind.  It blew across the table, which took up almost half
the room, and sent the scent of oils and paints past the door and into the
rest of the house.  Captain Scully stood at one end of the table, small
containers of paint to one side and a pile of unfinished wooden pieces to
the other.
        "Everything okay, Starbuck?"  He had heard her footsteps, having
known her sounds all her life, and hadn't bothered to turn around.
        Scully knew her father wouldn't have turned, always focused to the
job that was in front of him.  "I'm fine."
        "Can you come in for a second?"
        Dana nodded quietly and walked up to the table.  She watched as
her father delicately held a small figure, a train conductor, between his
thumb and forefinger while tracing the tip of a paintbrush across figure's
hat.
        "I know we don't talk much," he started, lowering the brush into a
jar of water, cleaning it for the next color.  "But I'd like to talk a
little about..."
        "...About Mulder."  She smiled, wondering how she could ever explain
Mulder.
        "Right."
        "I guess he didn't...explain himself..."
        Captain Scully shook his head.
        She sighed.  It was difficult to lie to her father in the first
place, and there wasn't much of a cover story for Mulder to use.  What
could explain his being here, other than the truth?...
        "He's, well, going through some personal problems."  Scully blew a
strand of hair out of her face.  "His sister was...abducted when he was a
child and he hadn't gotten over it.  He came back from England to do some
research and resolve his issues, and when he told me of his plans I
offered some moral support.  Truthfully, his showing up was a surprise..."
        "That Mulder fellow."  Her father gently brushed a dab of red onto
the figurine.  "He seems a bit, well, spooky, don't you think?"
        His daughter laughed, appreciating a joke only she seemed to know.
"Nailed it on the head, Ahab."
        "Still, losing his sister, I suppose something like that could
depress a young man..." Her father glared at her.  "Does he have anything
to do with what happened to you yesterday?"
        "Oh, no...he wasn't here yet..."
        "Odd that you've never mentioned him before."  He cleaned the brush
a bit, dabbing it into the blue paint container.
        She picked up a piece of unfinished house, the roof and windows
yet to be glued into place.  "I...I wasn't sure how you'd respond to it.
It might have been a bit of a shock to know he was a college boy."
        "With you," he sighed, with just a hint of resignation, "it's
getting harder not to be shocked..."
        "Daddy..."
        "I'm not being flippant."  He took a second to stare at her before
resuming his brush strokes.
        "Dad.  This is...who I am."  She couldn't express it any other way.
        Dana spotted a clean brush and picked it up.  It was a wide tip,
just perfect for painting the side of a model house.  "Okay if I color
this for you?"
        Her father took a second to re-focus himself.  "All right then.  I
think that one's supposed to be blue with white trim."
        "Aye aye, Ahab."  She smirked and saluted sloppily.
        "Getting back to things," her father glared again.  "Just how well
do you know this boy?"
        She paused.  "Pretty well.  It's hard for him to talk about his
sister..."
        "I'm not asking about his family.  I'm asking about him."
        "I can trust him with my life."  She brushed a long, dark stroke
against the wood, glancing only briefly at her father.  "There's...no
other way to describe that.  Maybe...well, like I've known him, for a long
time..."
        "Do you think you love him?"
        "No.  It's not THAT serious."  She grinned.  "Not until he learns
how to cook, anyhow..."
        He nodded to the building in her hand.  "Don't overdo it, Dana.
Keep the brush strokes even."
        "Okay."  She pinched one edge of the model while turning it around,
keeping the brush smooth along the surface.  "Can I help you paint the
rest of these things, Captain sir?"
        "Just as long as you keep the colors straight, sailor."


Washington, DC
FBI Headquarters

        It took a phone call to his father to wrangle a visitor's pass for
Saturday afternoon, and even then the elder Mulder wanted to know why Fox
had returned to America without even a preceding note or word of warning.
        Mulder told his father nothing, that it was simply some research
he needed to do first-hand.  He wanted to tell his father more, such as
his concerns over Sam's abduction and the evidence pointing to his own
father being involved.  He wanted to accuse him, confront him, rip him for
all those years of guilt and uncertainty he had forced onto his son.  But
this wasn't the time.
        He waited with a secretary who didn't much seem to like being in
on Saturdays.  She muttered to herself most of the time about having a
tight-ass for a boss and her desire to find a job where the office stays
locked the whole weekend.  The phone thankfully rang, and she answered and
confirmed what she heard before turning to the young man.  "Section Chief
Skinner will see you now."

        Mulder stood at the doorway, waiting for Skinner to turn away from
the folder that currently occupied his attention.  He took a moment to
recognize the photo of Skinner's wife Sharon at one corner of the desk, as
nothing else seems to have been retained when Skinner moved up in rank.
        Skinner himself appeared as he always was, except for a hairline
that had yet to move up, although a thin spot was starting at the crown of
his head.
        The older man finally stood, measuring up Mulder with little sense
of curiosity.  Skinner had worked hard, was still working hard, to be
where he was within the Bureau.  Unlike some who had gone through the
Violent Crimes division, he had little talent for the insight and instinct
needed to solve cases, but he had the organizational skill and initiative
to see things through.  Even regarding his own experiences with the
unknown, he had no time or interest in mysteries, so he viewed this as
just one more job on the schedule.  "Mr. Mulder.  I'm well aware of your
request for seeing me this day."
        "Yes, sir."  Mulder considered whether Skinner could be trusted to
be told, but he checked himself with the reminder that not everybody could
accept or even understand temporal physics.  "I was hoping I could ask you
a question or two, perhaps..."
        "Consider yourself lucky I work some weekends."  Skinner returned
to his chair, waving a hand for Mulder to take one of the seats across the
desk.  "And I have a pretty good idea what kind of questions you may
have."
        Mulder glanced at the file on the desk as he took a seat.  He
recognized the file number, one he had accessed on numerous occasions,
despite Bureau policy that would have barred him from reading it.
Samantha's kidnap file.
        Skinner tapped one hand on the file.  "With regards to your
sister's abduction, I know it has been almost a decade, but there have
been people working this case..."
        "If I can mention something about that file..."
        "Are you here to add to the testimony you've already given, Mr.
Mulder?"
        He nodded.  "Actually, to tell you that entire file is a lie.
It's worthless."
        The section chief's hardened expression immediately went rock
solid.  "I can assure you the FBI can determine what's worthless and
what's not, Mr. Mulder.  As I asked, do you have anything to add to your
testimony?  If you do, procedure requires a formal hearing..."
        "I have nothing to add directly."  Mulder nodded a bit.  "But I
know someone who might shed some light on the case."
        "Who would that be?"
        "A friend of my father's.  His name is unknown since he works for
some branch of the government who keeps such knowledge clandestine, but
you might be able to find him."
        Skinner placed both hands on the desk.  "I'll need something more
specific than that."
        Mulder rattled off the address that Skinner ironically provided
him in another lifetime.  "Here in D.C.  900 West Georgia St.  I remember
seeing the address regarding him, and I think he...once lived there.
Maybe he still is."
        Skinner leaned back into his chair.  "Are you saying that you had
witnessed this man in the act of committing the crime or in some way
admitting to it?"
        Mulder shook his head.
        "Then how can you say he's involved?"
        "I know," was the reply.  "I know because he's always involved."
        "That's not much of proof, Mr. Mulder."  The section chief tapped
the folder.  "This is an office of investigation, and in this profession
we have to rely on facts.  Even if you're willing to make an official
statement on this, I can't accept it without hard evidence to back it up."
        "There might be hard evidence already here."
        Skinner tilted his head slightly.  "I thought you said this file
on your sister was worthless."
        "It is.  There are other files that work better."
        "What cases are you referring to, Mr. Mulder?"
        "The X-Files."
        Skinner rarely smiled, a force of habit to maintain a professional
demeanor.  This time he couldn't help himself.  "I don't know how you've
learned of that old legend, but the X-Files are a myth.  They don't
exist."
        "Don't they?"  Mulder leaned in to whisper.  "All stories have at
their core a truth.  Those files existed before, long enough for FBI
agents to spread tales about them, and someone may have gone through a lot
of trouble to keep them hidden, but they're here."
        "And this...man, the one you claim abducted your sister, you think
he has something to do with these...`files?'"
        "Perhaps.  If you find those files you might find his fingerprints
all over them.  And if you find those files you might see how they relate
to my sister's case."
        Skinner leaned back in his seat, thinking things over.  "I'm
sorry, Mr. Mulder, but I have neither the manpower nor the authority to
look for these X-Files, especially since I'll have little justification to
do so."
        He stood up, moving to one side of the desk.  "But I can assure
you we will continue to work on this case.  I'll see about...following up
on this friend of your father's."
        "Thank you, sir."  Mulder stood up and shook hands with the section
chief.
        Skinner waited until Mulder got to the door.  "By the way, how did
you ever hear of the X-Files, Mr. Mulder?"
        The young man paused, thinking quickly.  "I could tell you, but
then there wouldn't be any hard evidence to back it up."
        Skinner scowled as Mulder left, then turned to the phone and
placed a call to the archives department.  Perhaps it was time to see if
there was any truth to an old tale.


Annapolis

        "Dana!"
        Scully turned to her mother, who stood in the hallway.  She
blinked, spotting a clock and noting how much time had flown.  It was
already late afternoon.
        Much of the small train town had been finished in that time,
brightly painted homes and shops populated by a silent crowd of tiny
figures.  The time, of course, had meant much more than that.
        Dana had spent her hours painting and talking, mostly talking.
She and her father found each other doing something they hadn't done
since...well, it was something they had never done at all before.  They
talked: about all the things he had done, both in the Navy and in his
youth.  About all the things she wanted to do, and all that she hoped for.
        There wasn't any arguing, which surprised Dana.  Before, when she
changed her mind about her professional future and went into the FBI, her
father barely contained his disappointment, which came from him as a sort
of cold anger.  Now, she had mentioned some of the things she thought
would be good life choices, and she received calm opinions on each option
she offered.  Perhaps, this time they were options and not decisions,
giving him a chance to see the possibilities his daughter sought for
herself rather than assuming it was some expression of rebellion.
        Scully now took a moment to answer her mom.  "Is something wrong?"
        "Oh, no.  It's just one of your friends is here.  Sylvia, I think."
        Dana mouthed a wordless "Oh."  Sylvia meant one thing.  All night
party hunting.  With a shrug, she placed down her paint brush and strolled
out to the foyer.
        "Dana," Sylvia purred as her friend stepped into view.  "Are you
ready to destroy this town?"
        "Not really.  I couldn't get ahold of that plastique I had hoped
for."
        "Let's start over.  Dana, you ready to go out and mess with some
men's libidos?"
        "Ah.  That."
        Sylvia tilted her head a bit.  "More specifically, the libido of a
man that will take you to the prom?"
        "Ah.  THAT..."
        "Danaaaa..."
        "Sylvia..."
        "Dana, this is a Saturday night, in the state capital, home of
sex-starved Navy plebes and St. Johns grad students.  Where there's a pool
hall at every corner and river view too romantic for words.  Where it's a
perfect Spring evening with the right kind of wind to send the scent of
your perfume down every street.  When it's a time to find some small
adventure that can change your life and speak anew the power of love.
When it's a moment to say yes, you're a teenager and yes you're too young
for that beer bottle in your hand and YES that your boyfriend probably
broke most of the statutory laws..."
        She actually found herself weighing her options.  Normally, an
offer by Sylvia to run ragged through the night in search of thrills could
never be refused.  Having returned to her youth, Scully was intrigued with
the simple idea of being young, with all its enthusiasms and
possibilities.  And compared to all the work she pushed herself through in
that older life, it would be good to enjoy whatever fun she could find.
However...
        "Um, Sylvia, I kinda hafta go check about that..."  She pointed a
thumb back to her father and turned to go ask.
        "Dana?"  Sylvia's shocked expressions was quickly becoming her
theme for the weekend.  "When did you ever have to beg?  To get out of
here?  To go and rip this town into shreds?"
        "Ever since I kicked ass in school.  I AM in a bit of trouble, you
know..."
        "Since when has something like THAT ever stopped you from crawling
out the window?..."
        Scully shot her a look.  "Things change, sometimes."
        Her father had finished painting the figure of a very young girl,
giving her some dark hair and a white dress, and had moved onto a horse,
one leg raised in mid-trot.  He didn't turn as his daughter stepped slowly
into the den.
        "Dad, um," she whispered, bothered by her own anxiousness, actually
wondering why she was worried Sylvia would overhear her.  "I know I kinda
asked to see about helping you today with all this..."
        "Starbuck."
        She paused.  "Well, daddy, I know you might be worried, that you
ARE worried that..."
        "That's a friend of yours in the hallway."
        "Well, yeah but..."
        "You can go."  He interrupted with a whisper and nothing more,
nodding to her now with silent understanding.
        She smiled, and reached over for another hug.
        "Get going, Starbuck, before you ruin your rebellious reputation,"
he jokingly growled.
        "Aye aye, sir."  She tried another sloppy salute before heading out
and heading up the stairs.
        She didn't notice her father staring at her as she left, a mixture
of concern and tenderness etched into his face.  He sighed, remembering
the impulse of youth and the things he had missed in his time.  He found
himself sometimes envying his children even as he warned him, even as he
worried for them, and still...
        He put aside his regrets, and continued in his work.

        Scully finally patted down her outfit and sighed, making a mental
note that fashion in the early '80s was, well, not very fashionable.
Trapped between the garish '70s and the Miami Vice period, there wasn't
much a girl could wear.  She settled on the standards, blue jeans with a
Talking Heads t-shirt.
        "Girl, that is no way to show off."  Sylvia paraded about in one of
her outfits, having brought over a few sets to try and balance with
whatever Dana wore.  The full body dress was one of those urban New Wave
three-piece ensembles with too much plastic and not enough flexibility.
        "I'm sorry, Sylvia, if you think I'm dressing down," she stated
mockingly.  "I want the man of my dreams to see pass the clothing and love
me for my mind."
        "Can't you borrow something from your sister, maybe?"  Her friend
posed for a mirror in the corner, making sure there weren't any tears in
her too-tight clothing.
        "Are you kidding?  I look too much like Stevie Nicks as is..."
        "Well, too late anyway."  She dragged Scully toward the mirror.
"We are primed and ready to get you a prom date."
        Scully grimaced to her reflection.
        "You," Sylvia tapped her on the shoulder.  "Are going to get a
boyfriend who will worship you body and soul."
        "Ooh," Scully grinned.  "Someone who will be a good man who'll
bring me much happiness and lots of puppy dogs."
        "Dana, please, don't raise your standards that high."
        They both laughed and headed for the door.  The sun was just
beginning to set in the west, orange and purple hues lighting up the
skyline.  Even with this head start into the evening, there was still a
lot to do...


END PART TWO
Part Three coming up as soon as I can get some sleep...


--
Paul Wartenberg -------------------------- | -----Web site---------
z004...@bc.seflin.org ------------------- | -----Still works------
-----or vill...@icanect.net ------------- | -----But always-------
http://members.icanect.net/~village6       | -----Being upgraded---
-----Journal of Useless Information------- | -----Keep visiting!---

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From: z004...@bc.seflin.org (Paul Wartenberg)
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Subject: NEW: Life While They Live It pt.3
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        At last, this is complete...now to finish the twelve remaining
parts...ack...;-)


Life While They Live It
Part III- Never Quite Sane In the Night
by. Paul Wartenberg

COPYRIGHT: Once again, let me state for the record that I am poor.  I am
not making money off this.  Mulder, Scully, and additional characters are
owned by Chris Carter and Co., and I hope they know that it would be very
nice if they don't sue me for this.
I'd also like to ask Thornton Wilder, author of "Our Town" (the play, not
the episode!  Sheesh, no chickens appear in this story at any time, all
right?!?!), not to call his lawyer about this...
CONTINUITY ERROR: As of "Unusual Suspects", it's been established that
Mulder didn't go to Oxford until 1983.  Unfortunately, this story already
has Mulder coming back from Oxford by 1982.  DAMN!  I wish they'd sent me
the memo on this one...:(
RATING: Romance, but nothing naughty.  There is vulgarity, but it's Scully
saying most of it so we're cool about it, right?...oh, and hopefully a
good-sized serving of humor (at least it was funny when I wrote it...) ;-)
SUMMARY: Post-Gethsemane.  What if Mulder DID commit suicide?  What if
Scully's cancer was incurable?  I know, that pretty much ruins the Redux
episodes...Then what could possibly explain why Scully is back in high
school?...


In my age as in my youth, night brings me many a deep remorse.  I realize
that from the cradle up I have been like the rest of the race- never quite
sane in the night.
        --Mark Twain


Annapolis
Franklin Street Hall
April 3, 1982
7:08 PM

        This place really wasn't Scully's first choice to start the
evening.  But then again, old Trent's Tavern had their reasons for barring
Sylvia and herself from the premises.  At least it looked like this place
hadn't heard of them...yet...
        Sylvia ordered her usual, a huge pitcher of the bar's best beer.
In this place, it was some import Scully was able to translate as "This
will make you very drunk and quite possibly blind."  Thank God for those
German language classes at U. of Maryland.
        "It's a good thing I'm driving tonight."  Scully leaned over the
pool table and made her shot, bouncing the 9 ball into a corner pocket.
"I don't think you can handle German beer."
        "Beer is beer," Sylvia groused.  She was upset she wasn't carded
here, and considering all the trouble she went through for a fake ID it
was a shame not to show it off.  "Besides, I'm surprised you're going
sober tonight.  I've seen you drink sailors under the table."
        Dana smirked, grabbing the glass from her friend and taking a swig
of the beer before handing it back.  "Whatever makes you happy.  But I
should tell you, what you've witnessed was a trick.  I spied daddy
teaching it to Bill once, and trust me it doesn't work if you don't have
any lemons and tabasco sauce handy."
        She returned to the table and measured her next shot.  "Plus, if
I'm on the hunt for boyfriends, I'd like to be able to see Prince Charming
without an alcohol-induced haze blocking my view."
        "La de da," her friend smirked, watching Dana bounce the cue ball
with a bank shot knocking the 10 ball into the far corner pocket.  "It
doesn't work if you spend too much time with the pool stick and not enough
time measuring up the meat market."
        "La de da," Scully returned the smirk and intentionally missed the
next shot.  Handing off the stick to her friend, she then started glancing
about the bar, scanning through the smoke and poor lighting to measure up
tonight's crowd...


Baltimore
Same time

        Mulder tried his best to remember the fifteen-odd locations that
Frohike once told him were his rotating offices.  Being a rogue cable
operator and underground communications hack wasn't something one
advertised, so finding him proved to take the whole afternoon.  Frohike
didn't seem to be in Washington during this time frame.  With luck,
Baltimore would be the place.
        Mulder knew that Byers and Langly had yet to meet with each other,
although Frohike once joked he and Langly were fighting about their "kung
fu" for years.  Frohike also let slip he was into time travel theories on
more than one occasion.  At least he might be of help.
        The first two places here were occupied by other businesses, so
apparently they weren't abandoned yet for Frohike to use as cover.  This
third place, however, out along the pier nicely out of the way of traffic,
was perfect.  Especially since there were six beat-up VW wagons out front.
        He found the main entrance simple enough.  The door with the
overstuffed trash cans made it too obvious.  He knocked once, then three
times, then kicked the door twice for good measure.  It wasn't a special
knock-knock code.  Frohike had been harassed enough over cable theft to
know if the oppressors were coming for him, they wouldn't have the manners
to knock in the first place.  He just needed to make sure his pounding
could be heard.
        "I know you don't know me," Mulder muttered to himself, preparing
for the moment.  "But trust me I need to see you, regarding something you
might be interested in.  I know you don't know me..."
        The door barely opened, an eye spying through the slim breach.
The eye blinked almost in surprise, and Mulder tried grinning his most
amiable smile.  "Hi, I know you don't know me..."
        The door swung fully open, and Frohike stood there with shock
across his face.  "Jesus, Mulder, what the hell are you doing here?!?!"


Annapolis

        Frank Neelson was a full-fledged freshman from St. Johns, studying
liberal arts until he could find a better degree for the perfect career, a
new member of the Sigma Alpha Epsilon frat house, an ace lacrosse player,
a Stones fan, and a mind-bogglingly dull person.
        Scully found all this out inside of two minutes, which made the
next fifteen excruciatingly painful.  Sylvia did nothing to help,
preferring to stay near the pool table and flirt with another St. Johns
frosh while her friend over at the bar went slowly mad listening to Frank.
        "So there I was, running down field with about five Harvard guys on
my butt," he droned, stopping for a second to sip his beer.  "So Steve, I
mentioned my roomie already, Steve comes over to set up against the
goalie..."
        She nodded, silently planning to bump her shoulder into the next
person who walked by, hopefully spilling beer onto her shirt and giving
her an excuse to go to the bathroom and crawl out the window.
        "...When this Harvard guy just ups and throws the stick between
Steve's legs, tripping him up..."
        Stop him, Scully screamed within her mind.  Shut him up.  Walk
away.  Be rude as hell, just get out of here!  "Excuse me.  I've got to
settle an argument with my bladder."
        "Excuse me?  What?"  Frank's blinking, clueless stare followed
Scully as she practically ran for the bathroom.
        She slammed the door behind her, shoving herself against it as she
struggled to keep from screaming her head off.
        "Man," Dana finally whispered under her breath.  "Ed Jerse may have
been psychotic but at least he was fun..."
        A knock at the door induced Scully to open it.  Sylvia poked her
head through the opening.  "Frank was dull?"
        "Painfully dull.  Do me a favor and kill him quickly."
        "No can do.  My parents would never approve."  She grinned
wickedly.  "You might approve of this one guy I'm chatting up."
        Scully rolled her eyes.  Frank was the fifth guy Sylvia found for
her, and the fifth one Scully couldn't handle.  The first one, Greg, was a
pre-Goth poet wanna-be; Ken at least was brutally up-front about his
intentions, but "Let's go out to my car and see how you can handle the
horsepower" didn't suggest much of a romantic nature; Paul was a rather
dense history major who showed a high intellect but seemed about as much
fun as a wisdom tooth extraction; and Leo, sweet Leo, was utterly
incapable of finishing a coherent sentence.
        "Okay, Dana, his name is Josh, he's a part-timer at the college and
actually has a rock band..."
        "Sylvia."  Scully shook her head.  "This isn't working."
        Her friend pushed her way into the bathroom and closed the door.
"I'm forcing it, aren't I?"
        "I think you're a little more desperate about this than I am..."
        "But Dana, we've got these plans, ya know?..."
        "Look."  She patted her friend on the shoulders.  "The night is
young.  There are other places to trash.  And I think there's still enough
time to line up some poor victim to be my prom date.  But it's not that
high a priority.  The primary mission of this evening is to have fun."
        "Are you?"  Sylvia glared at her.  "Having fun, I mean?"
        "Not here."  Scully reached for the door and swung it wide open,
letting the smoke, country music, and smell of beer waft into the
bathroom.  "Let's cruise."
        "But you always wanted to date a bass player," her friend whined as
she was gently shoved out into the hallway and toward the nearest exit.
        Frank tried getting Scully's attention as she sped through the
growing barside crowd.  "Uh, did you want to hear about that game against
Georgetown?"
        She didn't even look his way as she hurriedly pushed Sylvia as
fast as they could go.  "No way.  Not even if I live another fifteen
years..."


Baltimore

        Given the year, Frohike certainly looked younger than Mulder had
remembered.  His fashion of business shirts and bow ties had yet to shift
to a consistent Deadhead style, and his age had yet to reach the mid-life
stage, so many of the wrinkles and grey hair had yet to show.
        "Old enough to drink yet, Mulder?"  Frohike poured into a small
glass something blue from his flask.  He obviously hadn't changed his
taste for certain beverages.
        "Do I need to show some ID to verify?"
        The older man arched an eyebrow as he handed the glass to Mulder.
"Still wet behind the ears, though."
        Frohike lifted his flask in a swift salute.  "Cheers."
        When they finished their respective drinks, the Lone Gunman's
expression turned sour.  "I know I'm not supposed to see you until '89, so
what the hell happened to you, Mulder?"
        The young man shrugged.  "I'm not sure.  Time travel, obviously,
but I'm uncertain as to the actual mechanics of this event."
        "Is that why you're here?  Looking for information?"
        "Well, you said time travel was a hobby of yours..."
        "I never said that..."
        "You always said that, especially with a glass of bourbon in your
hands."
        Frohike scowled, forcing a skittish memory to work.  "You may be
right..."
        Mulder finally let a thought of his own work into his head.  "You
recognized me..."
        The older man shrugged.  Mulder almost let the glass slip from his
hands before grabbing it again and placing it atop a work bench.  "Of
course, it happened to you, too.  You've come back through time..."
        "You should have picked up on that immediately," the Lone Gunman
shook his head.  "Sheesh, considering you're an Oxford grad..."
        "Well, I hadn't graduated yet, in fact I'm missing a few final
exams to be here."
        "I think, didn't you mention the last time around that you slept
through those exams?"
        Mulder shrugged.  "Yeah, but at least I showed up.  At least that
kept my grade point at minimum requirements instead of the `Incompletes'
I'm bound to get now."
        "Anyway..."
        "Yeah, right."  Mulder wiped his chin.  "If we can stay on track, I
thought you said you were into theories on time travel..."
        "Well, just the basics."  The older man took another sip from his
flask.  "There's two standard concepts on time travel.  One is where time
is a straight line, and nothing changes on that line.  What has happened,
what is happening and what will happen have already been determined.  Even
if you could travel through time, that journey has already occurred, and
any attempt to change the time line will actually create the events you
were trying to change.  As a result, no paradoxes can be formed and the
universe remains stable.  It's like noting a future event for yourself is
actually a past event for someone farther in the future, an already
established outcome."
        "Like saying an uncarved marble block has within it a statue yet to
be sculpted," Mulder nodded.
        "Indeed.  The second standard theory is that more than one time
line exists."  Frohike took another sip.  "In this, each different time
line is its own reality, even though you as a person only experience one
such reality.  When you come to a point in your time line where a choice
is to be made, multiple realities could be accessed at that point although
you'll end up choosing one.  This theory states you can return to that
point and choose another route, effectively creating a new time line."
        Frohike paused to catch his breath.  "This is where things get
tricky.  One hypothesis accepts that the old time line still exists, it's
just no longer observed.  So any paradoxes time travel could create simply
won't occur, allowing you to contradict something you already did in the
old time line since it never really happened in the new time line.  The
other hypothesis is that the old time line is still observable, that any
changes you make to the new time line will react to events made in the old
and create paradoxes that will cascade into time eruptions, devastating
every other choice along both time lines until reality itself is
destroyed."
        Mulder's scowl indicated he just got lost.
        Frohike sighed, and started over.  "Let's say you travel in time,
and for some reason you end up killing your grandfather before he's old
enough to have children, meaning your mother would never be born and
therefore meaning you would never be born."
        "So how could I go back to kill him?"
        "Exactly.  You've created a paradox.  The first hypothesis will
accept your existence as a reality and simply continue down the new time
line, even though you now have no birth date.  The old reality still
exists, it's just no longer observed.  Quantum theory, actually, something
involving Schrodinger's cat or a red ball or something.  The second
hypothesis will not accept your existence, at which point you wink out of
reality as well as alter any other actions and inactions you may have
committed in your lifetime, leading to more paradoxes until at some point
the universe itself winks out of existence."
        "Stepping on a butterfly in the Jurassic period?"
        "Exactly.  Nice to see Bradbury is still required reading around
here..."
        "But that's not what I meant."  The younger man shook his head.  "I
want to know the actual mechanics.  How you can physically travel through
time."
        "Impossible."  Frohike replied.  "To observe any change in the flow
of time, you'd have to approach the speed of light, requiring too much
energy and generating too much heat.  You'd have to enter a gravity well,
like one created by a black hole singularity, but then there's no way
you'd get out of it."
        "Take a look.  We're both doing something impossible, then..."
        "I know, I know, we're exceptions to the rule."  The older man
tapped his flask, disappointed it was emptied so quickly.  "It's sorta
like that t.v. show.  We've traveled within ourselves during our own
lifetimes.  We must have changed at a quantum level of reality somehow,
but how that happened I have no clue."
        "Okay, then.  Why am I here, now, in this time?  What makes 1982
anything special to my life?"
        "I can't explain your life, Mulder."  Frohike seemed to be oddly
agitated.  "I don't have much of an understanding about why I'm reliving
my life..."
        "How long ago did you come back to your life?  How long have you
been you?"
        The older man stopped, thinking back.  "It was my...  It was a
long time ago.  I've spent a lot of those years reliving my past, and let
me tell you it...was fleeting.  Things I regretted once I regretted
again."
        "What did you do?" Mulder whispered.  "I mean, when an opportunity
presented itself to change what you regretted?"
        "The same thing I did before."  Frohike sighed.  "Sometimes no
other option presents itself, despite what theorists might hypothesize.
Some things can't change."
        "I refuse to accept that."
        "What about...?"  Frohike became a tad anxious.  "Scully?  Did you
see her?"
        "Yeah."  Mulder nodded.  "She's like me...like us.  She came back
through time, too."
        The older man appeared shocked, as if this was unexpected or at
least unacceptable.  "What have you done?  I doubt you were supposed to do
that in your previous life time..."
        "It's too late to consider that.  Some things CAN change..."
        "Aren't you worried about...making things worse than they already
were?"
        "The only thing I'm looking to change," Mulder nodded in all
seriousness, "is revealing the truth this time, no matter the cost, though
the heavens may fall."
        Frohike blinked, taking his glasses off with a shaking hand before
sliding them back onto his face.  "I wouldn't recommend that, Mulder.  It
cost you the last time and it'll cost you again."
        "I'll worry about that...You DO remember what happened to me..."
        Frohike didn't reply to Mulder's statement.  "What about Dana?
What will it cost her?"
        Mulder didn't answer too quickly, letting his regret come close to
the surface.  "I want to make sure it doesn't cost her anything."
        "Well.  A teenage Dana Scully."  Frohike paused, an obviously
wicked thought gleaming in his eyes.  "Do you think I...?"
        "Forget it.  Her dad will kill you."
        "Nuts, not another old man with a gun..."
        Mulder arched an eyebrow at that one.  "Frohike?..."
        "Just a blast from my past.  Been there, done that, you know..."
        "...The usual."  The young man grinned.  "Can you do some research for
me, then?  I'd like the specifics on what's happening to us."
        "Gee, Mulder, you've got a lot of time on your hands."  Frohike's
anxiousness didn't seem too easy to hide.  "If you want to figure out why
you're here and threaten your own existence in this reality..."
        "There's...another problem I'd like to solve."  He grimaced.  "My
sister, remember?  I need help with this problem, and I think you're the
only one who can answer it.  I'll owe you on it..."
        "Promise?"
        Mulder raised two fingers.  "Special Agent's honor.  Can I count
on you?"
        "Possible.  Definitely need some time on it, though..."
        Mulder smirked.  "Time enough for time, eh?  Okay if I make a
call?"
        "Calling family?"
        "I've...actually talked more to them than I need to right now."
Mulder struggled within himself briefly, keeping down the urge to confront
his parents too soon.  First, he needed a weapon to shatter their silence
and...and...  "I'd like to call Scully about a few things..."
        "Don't forget to tell her I'm buff."
        "...Especially to warn her about you, that's for sure..."


Annapolis
The Pier
Armadillos

        Scully found it difficult to move once again, this time stuck
against one of the foyer poles as a swarm of Midshipmen, formally dressed
in their starched white uniforms, pushed their way into the dining area.
        They must have just escaped from a campus event, she thought.  Not
enough time to change into their civvies and make it back for curfew,
especially if they planned on passing out at any point during the evening.
        "Ooo-kay!" Sylvia shouted into Scully's ear, doing her best to be
heard over the Bob Seger music.
        "What?!"
        "We've got some eligible men in the building tonight!"
        Scully had practiced her eye rolling within two lifetimes, and so
by now had perfected it to a fine art.  "Sylvia, the last thing I need to
date is a Middie!"
        "Why not?  You're dad's in the Navy, your brother's going to the
school right now!  Hell, he can even warn us which jerks are the
`Go-Down-On-Me-Now' bad apples and which are the `I-Love-
You-So-Let's-Wait-Until-We're-Married' demigods!"
        "Sylvia, trust me on this one.  Being in a military family doesn't
mean I want to be stuck in one.  I'd prefer to meet someone who's outside
of the family business, okay?"
        Sylvia did some eye rolling of her own.  "You had a perfectly good
opportunity to date a bass player, Dana!..."
        "Red!"  A large manly hand pressed against her shoulder.  Scully
turned in time to get wrapped up in a huge bear hug.  "If you're here for
the beer better let me buy!"
        "Billy?"  Scully recognized the hair stubble on the back of her
older brother's head.
        He pulled back, keeping his hands on his little sister's
shoulders.  "Damn, what'd you do to your hair?"
        A younger midshipman, apparently one of Bill's company compadres,
tapped him on the shoulder.  "Hey, Bill, mind an introduction?"
        "Hell, yes!"  He playfully shoved the guy back a few inches before
breaking out in a deep baritone laugh. "This...is my little sister Dana.
Dana, this is Keith.  He and I kick ass for the rowing crew."
        "Well, Bill, you might remember Sylvia."  Dana waved to her friend
standing behind her, taking a moment to measure up Keith.  He stood
shorter than Bill, a little under six feet, and his face still showed a
few acne scars from his just-completed puberty.  His wire-rimmed glasses
were reasonably fashionable, and his broad shoulders hinted at an athletic
figure.
        "Oh, yeah, I remember," her brother nodded.  "She owes me for that
six-pack!"
        "Ha!" Sylvia grinned.  "Not in this millennium!"
        Bill shook his head as he stared down at Scully.  "You know,
speaking of kicking ass, what's this about you at school?"
        "Oh, God, not now."  She waved that off as best she could.  "Right
now, I'm just interested in getting some buffalo wings..."
        "Great!  Let's get a table!"  Bill worked his way into the crowd
and barked at a group of young Middies, more than a few of them Plebes of
the low order, sitting in the far corner.  They all stood as one and ran
for the men's bathroom.
        Keith smiled gently at Scully as he waved one hand ahead of them
to clear a path.  "The benefits of rank."

        Five minutes into the conversation, Scully found herself bored
again.
        Keith had a pleasant voice and demeanor, and thankfully some sense
of humor, but all he did was talk shop.  Engineering.  Marine Sciences.
Astronavigation.  If he'd talk about it in German, she'd at least try some
of the foreign lingo to keep things lively.
        He finally shut up when Bill elbowed him, who had spotted and
recognized the warning signs of disinterest in his sister's eyes.  "So,"
Bill spoke up, keeping his hands wrapped around a beer mug.  "Why don't
you ask Dana about her new hair style?"
        "Oh."  Keith actually seemed eager to do so, turning to her with a
certain puppy-ish look on his face.  "Um, I take it you've done something
with your hair."
        Scully froze, suddenly flashing back to another bar in another
life, that dumb eager look on someone else's face.  Pendrell...
        Her reaction was strictly involuntary.  She stood, practically
knocking the chair out from under her, leveling her hands to her waist
trying to retain some composure.  "Excuse me, I...  It's a little too warm
in here."
        Both her friend and her older brother watched in shock as she
stumbled out the restaurant's door.  "Aw, jeez, it's not her time of the
month again, is it?" Bill groaned.
        "She's your sister," Sylvia growled at him. "You should know."
        "Uh-uh.  With two sisters, I found it was best to ignore that sort
of thing..."  Bill stopped when Keith elbowed him.  "What?"
        "Don't talk about your sister like that," the younger middie nodded
toward the door.  "It's obvious I gotta work on my conversational
skills..."
        Outside, Scully did her best to catch her breath, which was
difficult considering the constantly moving crowd surrounding her.  Damn,
she thought.  Why did I let that get to me?...
        The pier lights had finally switched on as the last wisp of sunset
light faded in the west.  The crowd moved to its own pull, with pockets of
people standing along the pier's edge and in the middle of the street
while others sped their way to the nearest beer hall or awaiting yachts
where parties were underway.
        I've got to go back in, Scully tried to resolve within herself.
No need to let Keith suffer.  He's not too bad an egg, but the way he
looked at me was so much like...  And I didn't even recognize that look
the first time around.  I had to find out afterwards, when it was too
late...
        She found herself suddenly trying to settle her feelings for a man
from another time, someone she was sure was now enrolled in a kindergarten
school somewhere.  Pendrell, the unquestioningly loyal co-worker whose
devotions were innocently unrequited.  Could he and I ever?...she
pondered.
        As she thought through the emotions bouncing about her mind, she
caught an image out of the corner of her eye.  Wait a second...
        The man walked along the edge of the pier with an assuredness that
could sometimes be frightening.  His appearance was obviously younger, his
looks not yet haggard, and still...  It was only when he stopped a moment
to light his cigarette did Scully confirm his identity.  She could barely
keep her voice below a whisper.  "Oh, my God, CancerMan's here..."
        He let out a puff of smoke, content that the cool open environment
would allow him to enjoy this noticeable vice.  His coat was draped over
one arm as he paused briefly to glance about, as if he were aware...
        Scully turned, keeping her back to the man.  A thought in her head
reminded her that this was in the past and he would have no idea of who
she was.  A second thought reminded the first thought that this was
bleeping CancerMan and had a nasty habit of knowing too much and ruining
one too many lives.  A third thought brought up the possibility that since
this WAS CancerMan and since he COULD know everything, he could recognize
her hair color anyway, but the first two thoughts beat that thought back
into the far corner of her id.
        When she turned again, he had moved on, heading around the pier's
corner and going further back to the boat docks, towards a poorly-lit
yacht far past the other boats.
        She measured her options.  She was supposed to be enjoying her
first night as a resurrected teenager.  She should go back and apologize
to Keith for her behavior.  She ought to ask Bill to teach that sobriety
trick to Sylvia so her friend could stop asking her about it.  She
should...
        She followed him, discreetly.  Keeping the crowd between him and
her.  The smoke from his breath made it too easy to keep track of him.
She finally ducked into the doorway of an ice cream parlor as he walked up
onto that yacht and proceeded into disappear into its interior.
        She counted one other person, a rather large man with a crew-cut.
It took her a second to recognize the features, but she remembered him and
what he had done to Deep Throat and Mulder during that Purity Control
incident.
        I could be the crap out of him just for old times' sake, she
pondered.  However, she considered his duty on the ship's deck as a
bodyguard and considered the odds of him being heavily armed.  There had
to be another way onto the yacht...
        A loud splash into the nearby waters broke her concentration.  Her
eyes adjusted to the darkness out on the waters to see a figure swim
toward an empty speedboat.  Laughter bounced its way between the other
boats secured to the pier.
        Scully stepped to the edge of the pier, getting a good look at a
young man pulling himself into his boat and tipsily fell to its floor.  He
kept laughing even though he obviously got hurt.
        "Excuse me!" she shouted in his direction.
        The man turned in her direction, his head bobbing a bit more than
it should.  "Oh, yeah, hi!  Who are you, sweet thing?"
        "Are you drunk?"
        "Oh, yah!"
        "Can you do me a favor, then?"
        "I's aims to please..."
        Scully pointed to the yacht.  "Go up alongside that boat and ask
about bee husbandry."
        "Which boat?"
        "That boat."
        "That boat?"
        "That boat."
        "Okay."  The young man paused.  "Why should I do that?"
        "Because it's a very drunk thing to do."
        Scully always had a knack for figuring out the logic of any given
argument.  The drunk nodded whole-heartedly as he revved up his boat
engine.  "Good answer, good answer..."
        She moved slowly along the edge of the pier, hoping the Crew-Cut
Man didn't pay too much attention to her.  She kept an eye on the boat as
the young man haphazardly moved to the far side of the yacht.  "Hey,
buddy!"
        The guard didn't pay attention at first, but the drunk's loud
protests quickly drew him to the railing to stare down at this brash
gate-crasher.  "Go away."
        "Hey, man," the drunk insisted.  "Tell me what the hell bee
husbandry is..."
        Scully ran as swiftly and as quietly as she could up the ramp onto
the boat, listening to the guard's growing belligerence.  "I am armed and
willing to shoot you..."
        "Well, I'm drunk and I'm feeling no pain!"  The young man's
laughter covered the entire pier.
        The Crew-Cut Man didn't turn in time to see Scully sneak toward
the front of the yacht, although he had a suspicion there was someone
standing there just a second earlier.  He shook his head, pulled out his
gun and added the silencer to its muzzle before aiming it down at the
drunk.  "Start swimming or start motoring," the guard snarled as he pulled
the trigger.
        The man's aim wasn't at the drunk, but at the boat itself.  The
shrapnel ricocheted against the young man's legs, who suddenly found his
sobriety returning.  He revved the engine and sped his boat away from the
pier.
        Scully moved alongside the port side of the ship, spotting a
location next to a low window to what must be the below decks.  Shadows
flickering through the drawn curtains suggested people in this room, while
the whispers hinted at the size of the gathering.
        One voice quickly rose above the others, silencing them.  She
waited and listened.
        "...Am aware of the delicacy of this meeting and apologize for the
delay," a deep voice announced.  "But a problem has arisen in our
cataloging department."
        "The SEP?" someone asked.  Scully remembered that as the Smallpox
Eradication Program.  Something the conspiracy was using to catalog
everyone.
        "One of the catalogers has seen fit to interrogate the
administrative arm about alternatives to certain aspects of the agenda."
        "I take it he's here?"  That was CancerMan's voice.
        Thudding and bumping echoed from the meeting room.  Through the
curtain she could see the shape of a man struggling to stand. "If I may
speak..."  The voice was familiar, but she couldn't place it just yet.
        "Nothing has stopped you before," a dictatorial snarl answered.
        "The viability of the project is all I seek," the man continued,
his passion steeling his voice.  "I am aware of my lowly position but even
from there I have learned of some concerns."
        "And who would be speaking these concerns."
        The pause was brief.  "Others.  Some in my position, some in other
branches of the project.  There is a concern of the methods being used to
achieve the end goals.  That perhaps too strong, indeed too violent a
method would bring attraction of those outside the project still in a
position to destroy it."
        "And yet you do not object to the project itself."
        "I owe my existence to the project."  Scully finally recognized the
voice.  "I owe it not only of my work but also of my protection.  However,
I also owe humanity for...personal insight.  For that reason, I had sought
a better, safer way.  And I have reason to believe it will work..."
        "Have you ever considered that this project has already dealt with
the possibilities of retribution?"  The Smoking Man's voice seemed oddly
calm.
        "Even considering the reach of this organization, there is always
the chance our actions would be discovered by those who won't understand,
and who could be in a better position to destroy all the work than you
realize."
        "Are you questioning our decisions?"  This voice sounded familiar
as well.  Scully's memories floated back to a mass grave and empty train
cars.  "I can assure you, no one else has."
        "I am not questioning.  I am stating what needs to be said.  I can
assure you, there are others who want to.  Some with suggestions as well
on how to proceed more subtly and safely with the project.  Otherwise, too
many people will die, needlessly."
        "There is nothing to consider," the Italian's voice carried across
the room.  "And there is nothing else to be said regarding you and the
others.  They will be found despite your reticence..."
        "How can you?  When some of them are here beside you?"
        The room almost erupted into shouting before a calmer wave of
whispers bounced from the window.
        "That is not the only point I think should be raised here."  The
Smoking Man's voice silenced some of the whispers.  "A problem has arisen
in the FBI that warrants our attention."
        "The FBI?"
        "Yes.  It seems someone is requesting a search on certain files,
which I had worked so hard upon hiding."
        "Who?"
        "Mulder's son."  That name brought more whispers.  "He has returned
from England and has somehow learned of his sister's...involvement with
those files."
        "As you can see," the prisoner's voice rose above the new whispers,
"the possibility exists.  If you could only hear my plea of adaptation to
the plan..."
        "Silence him."  The menace underlying that voice stated its lethal
intent.
        A firm grip seized Scully by the shoulder.  Damn, she thought as
she turned as quick as possible.  I stayed in one place too long.
        Her turn allowed her to swing hard and high, considering the odds
that the Crew-Cut Man was the one trying to capture her.  Her blow landed
squarely on his chin, and he flinched slightly from the pain.  But not
enough.
        Scully tried to position herself for another attempt but the
Crew-Cut Man's response was too fast.  Pain exploded across her entire
head as she collapsed against the side of the ship.

        She awoke in a well-lit room crowded with a dozen men all staring
at her.  She flexed her arms only to feel bonds wrapped about her wrists.
Her ankles also felt tightly secured with rope to her chair's legs.  Okay,
Scully, she thought to herself.  Play this right and you might get out of
this alive...unless they play that song from Steeler's Wheels and someone
starts dancing with a switchblade handy, in which case sing like you're in
a bloody opera...
        Three men stood in that room.  The Crew-Cut Man positioned himself
before the doorway, apparently the only means of escape.  The second man
was someone Scully had never seen before, although his stares became
quickly discomforting.  The third man, bound in chains yet remarkably
calm, was Jeremiah Smith.
        All the others remained seated, including two Scully had met
before.  The Italian placed both hands before him resting on his knees,
while the Smoking Man leaned back rather comfortably into his leather
chair.
        "What were you doing on deck?"  The second man standing leaned
closer, letting his unsettling stare burn into her eyes. "Why were you
listening to our meeting?"
        "Some snoop."  The man who stated that was unknown to Scully.
"Some little girlie who thinks there's a mystery here and that she's Nancy
Drew."
        "No."  The Smoking Man put out his cigarette into the ashtray.
"Not some Nancy Drew, more like a perfect little spy.  Isn't that right,
Agent Scully?"
        She turned away, her face flushed red with anger before his words
could have the opportunity to turn her pale as a ghost.  Oh SHIT, she
realized.  He DOES know...
        "Of course I know," he answered, fully aware from her reaction that
they were indeed well- known to each other. He placed another cigarette in
his mouth and took his time lighting it. "This...complicates matters..."

END PART THREE
Part Four coming up as soon as I answer all the death threats I'm bound to
receive for leaving Scully in such a predicament...