TITLE: "Sleep" AUTHOR: Rebecca Marler info@bluemoonhorse.com RATING: PG, some language particularly the F-word, such as in Fowley J CATEGORY: X SPOILERS: None. However, the more you know of the X-files the more enjoyable the read. DISTRIBUTION: Distribution: just let me know and keep my name and email attached. KEYWORDS: X-Files, UST, Alternative Universe SUMMARY: When X-files partners, Dana Scully and Diana Fowley, investigate a woman who can predict the future through dreams, it's Mulder who has to choose or die. ABOUT THIS UNIVERSE: Dr. Fox Mulder and Dr. Dana Scully have become partners, but without the official sanction of the F.B.I. You might want to read Collector for more background but it isn't necessary. Crib notes at the end. WHAT HAPPENS? : Diana Fowley has a horrible end. Samantha decides to stop being a victim. Fox pulls a gun on Cancer Man and actually would have used it except it might have gotten Pendrell's lab all messy with guts and such, and Dana gets a sports car! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Part I - SCULLY Dana Scully carefully aligned the new poster on the wall and stepped back with a critical eye to see if it was straight. "Hello?" a woman's voice hesitantly asked from the hall. Scully turned from her project, calling over her shoulder, "Just make your way through the copier machines! They haven't moved them all upstairs yet." A tall slender, attractive woman did just that, gracefully weaving between the bulky machines and easily squeezing through the partially blocked doorway to extend a hand to Scully. She was well dressed with shoulder-length brown hair. "I'm Diana Fowley; Skinner has assigned me to be your new partner." While the two women shook hands, Fowley's eyes assessed the cramped office space and the confusion of the move. Although Scully's transfer to the X-files had occurred about six months ago at the end of a nasty serial murder case, she had not received her new office until yesterday. Trying to find the positive in the situation, Scully had to say that being down in the basement was at least quiet. Remote and quiet. Fowley's gaze stopped at the poster. "A friend gave that to me. His idea of a joke," Scully found herself explaining lamely, feeling the heat in her cheeks from embarrassment. The conformist in her felt she should rip that "Believe" poster off the wall - Fowley had a flavor of the disapproving schoolteacher nun - and than just as quickly, another part - what her dad had called "rabblerousing," decided that her new partner would just have to eat it. "Why don't we settle into some work?" Scully said, politely directing the subject to something constructive and necessary. Scully took the time showing her new partner the new coding system that she had designed. To her credit, Fowley grasped the system quickly enough but Scully, under her habitual cool façade, was growing uneasy. Why had she been assigned a female partner? It was Bureau policy to pair women with men, hoping she guessed that the male partner would be the brawn in case the brain failed in an emergency. Had her affair with her last partner, Jack Willis, been known? Was this a method for the Bureau to nip the bud of office lust? The ringing of the office phone broke into Scully's dismal thoughts, and after hunting under a few boxes, she found the receiver. "Congratulations! I thought about sending roses, but thought a phone call would be cheaper and more appreciated." Mulder's friendly and comfortable voice lifted the gloomy cloud Scully had been under all morning. "You're right -- the phone call is cheaper." Though he wouldn't see it, she smiled and her voice gained a hint of spring. Noticing the difference immediately, Diana looked up from her filing, curious. "I was calling to treat you to lunch," Mulder continued, a hopeful note creeping into this voice. "Hmmm, I don't know, -- lunch?" She eyed Diana over the phone, asking permission. It wouldn't be right to leave her new partner hanging, but Diana mouthed, "Go ahead. I've got an appointment." "Sure, that would be great," replied Scully, returning her attention to the phone. "What fine Italian restaurant are you taking me too?" "Meet you out front about noon." Without a further goodbye, the line disconnected. A few hours later, Scully found that the fine Italian restaurant that she had remotely hoped for turned out to be a hotdog stand that specialized in green and yellow condiments. "Scully, you haven't lived till you've had one of Charley's dogs." Mulder bought two huge, foot long hot dogs and was slathering his under enough pickle relish and mustard to feed an entire ballpark of hungry baseball fans. Scully opted for ketchup and a diet Coke. Walking companionably together, the two made their way through the doors of the Smithsonian. The guard welcomed Mulder in without a by-your-leave check of id. Under the bones of extinct dinosaurs, they talked. "I've got your next X-file for you Scully," said Mulder, wrapping his mouth around his hot dog and trying to eat it in about three bites. "Finished your paper on your demon yet?" she asked with a too serious air. "One day, one day, Scully you will believe me about that. Unfortunately, though probably we both will be dead." Her disbelief about his opinion from their last and first case didn't seem to faze him . From his copious pocket of his trench coat he pulled a big bag of Doritos, which he began to munch noisely. "I had a call from a friend of mine in Virginia. He has a client with a unique problem. She can predict the future through her dreams." "That's a problem? I think I would be buying some lottery tickets," commented Scully, declining Mulders' offer of some chips with a wave of her hand. He up-ended the bag and shook the remainder into his mouth. "It seems to be a problem for her. She refuses to go to sleep. He's had her hooked up to all sorts of REM devices and her brain activity seems to be constant - no pre-REM experience - just immediate dreaming. She's become severely agoraphobic, and could open up a pharmaceutical company with the stuff she's on to handle her anxiety attacks." Mulder took a moment to critically admire the jaws of a Tyrannosaurus Rex that towered above them. Than he noisily crinkled the empty chips' bag and gave it a high-five throw into the waste can. To her surprise it actually went in the first time. "I can arrange for us to meet her tomorrow afternoon if you like." "Sure," agreed Scully readily. There was nothing on the X-file agenda except filing. "It would be great to get out of the office." "So what's the new place like?" Mulder asked casually, his hands stuck deep into this coat pockets. Scully took a moment to think of a best answer. She didn't want to lie, but the truth wasn't exactly impressive. "Messy." Mulder's eyebrows climbed at her one word answer, so Scully hastily added, "I have been given a partner though. You'll meet her tomorrow." "I went into the wrong line of work to meet gorgeous women," lamented Mulder, as he opened her car door for her. Smiling over the window they agreed to meet the next day and with a wave separated. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ II. MULDER Mulder made it back to the group's counseling offices just in time to have Zuni catch him, something he had been avoiding all week. "You promised me!" she threatened, waving him with the bearing of a Nairobi warrior into her office. Zuni was one of four who shared the consulting offices where Mulder had settled into private practice. Mysterious and mystically vague she was also the hardest one of the group to work with. "Come on Zuni, I really don’t want to know…" Mulder's comments trailed off as he followed her into her office and noticed that she had already set the low round table where she did her readings. A massive black cat was making himself at home, covering the Tarot deck with his glossy fur and staring with green moon eyes at Mulder. Samuel had been trying to convince Zuni to take the cat home but since her apartment wouldn't allow pets, she had parked "The Beast" (as Venkat christened it) at the office. Her only concession was that Zuni had the cat neutered. Something he seemed to forget considering the times he had sprayed Mulder's. "I don't know why your complaining, Fox," said the black woman, retrieving her cards from under Diablo's comfortable sprawl. The cat lazily stretched and removed himself from the table as if it had been his own idea. "We agreed that I would do readings for everyone in the office when I thought necessary. Besides whenever I do yours, it's always so accurate." "That's the problem," muttered Mulder, reluctantly sitting down, opposite. The many silver bracelets she wore up and down her black arms tinkled as she gathered her cards. Since Zuni had ignored his outburst, he repeated his complaint louder. "Don’t you want to know what the future holds for you?" "I know what it holds," said Mulder in a tone that whatever it was wasn't pleasant. "This is just an elaborate ruse of yours Zuni to weasel out of me information about Dana Scully." "You're so distrustful," she chastised him in her drawl. "But since you mentioned her, that would be a good topic to inquire about today." Tricked into doing exactly what Zuni had wanted in the first place, Mulder caved. He wasn't good about standing up to the women in his life, and somehow every female in a five-mile radius knew it. A whine, a cry, a plea, a need, and Mulder was putting his stomach and life in knots to please. It was the reason why he was a dismal failure at dating; women stomped all over "pleasers." Even his sister said he was too "nice." And it was why he liked Dana Scully. She never tried to manipulate him into anything. What you saw with Scully was what you got. He gave a heavy sigh of being put upon as Zuni started the reading by placing down the indicator card, the one that would represent him in the spread. "We've gone over this before. I really think you should use the King of Swords, which represents my sun sign, not the King of Cups," argued Mulder. "Fox, I am the reader. I make the decisions. I think the Cup King is best. You're intuitive, gentle and definitely in touch with your feminine side. Stop protesting." Mulder shuffled and than with his left hand gave the cards back to her dark, shapely long fingers. She laid down cards quickly, using the most common spread known as the Celtic Cross. The first card practically slapped Mulder across the face - it was the Queen of Cups. "As I told you. She's on your mind." Zuni smiled triumphantly and said with smug satisfaction, "A perfect love match." Mulder blushed. Really, Zuni was over the top at times. Why Samuel let her get away with the things he did, Mulder couldn't imagine. The crown was the Seven of Wands. "The situation will test you. This card is cautioning you about what will happen if you do not take sides and establish your position early. So bring all the resources of your courage forward and take a stand early." Moving to the next card, she groaned in frustration. "Oh Fox," Zuni said, shaking her head. "No matter how I play this out the Hanged Man is always in your past. The battle to fight and the need for justice." The woman sighed and stroked the painted card of the man tied by his foot and hanging upside down. Whatever Zuni and the others might think they knew about Fox Mulder, only he could explain the reoccurring Hanged Man. He never explained. "Influencing you is the Devil - you must remember your shortcomings and be prepared to confront your own demons. Your own inner nature and failings will play in this. Be very careful Fox, and know your weaknesses." Although Mulders' recent thoughts about his mismanagement of women jumped to his mind but he remained silent. It was best to let Zuni draw her own conclusions before stating his own thoughts on the matter. That was if she would let him state anything, which was doubtful. The next card - the near future - was a man stabbed in the back with ten swords. Dead, he lay face down. Zuni skipped this new card and went on to the next card - Knight of Swords - the card representing Mulder's state of mind about what had been forecast so far. "Even Samuel has counseled against this rushing in where angels fear to tread. Your brash behavior and actions require all of your strength to get through." Zuni shushed Fox's protest, and moved on to the next card, the Queen of Swords. "Another woman. Cold, calculating and with determination. Unfortunately, those /are/ the types you attract. It's that gentle, intuitive nature of yours." At sight of the Five of Cups, Zuni clapped her hands down impatiently on the table. "I wish you would forget Phoebe and move on with your life. You should be looking for the positive you have today." And the last card was the Fool, the journey of life begun with ignorance and hope. Before he could ask about the Ten of Swords, Zuni swept the cards off the table and said despondently, "I was really hoping for more Cups. Perhaps the Ace or the Deuce." "Why?" asked Mulder, momentarily diverted from his question. "Signs of love, happiness and joy. Your fortunes are always so dark." She ushered him out the door, slamming it in disgust because his future wasn't happy. The whole matter put Mulder out for the rest of the day. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ III. SCULLY The next day, Fowley and Scully found themselves traveling to Virginia with Mulder. The meeting between the agents and the psychologist went smoothly enough, though Dana noticed Mulder's doubletake and than his male "cataloging" of Diana's assets. Although Dana would have frozen such a look with a stare, Diana smiled with what Scully's mom would have described as a "cat with the cream." Somehow Dana ended up in the back seat. During the long drive, Fowley and Mulder seemed to find plenty to talk about and agreed about every wild-eyed theory from Bigfoot, Stonehenge, Nostradamus, to Atlantis and aliens. Now Scully understood why she had been saddled with Fowley - she was a crank, a quack; a Bureau misfit they probably thought best sequestered down in the basement with the other shop of horrors. She decided to bring the subject of her partner up with Skinner immediately upon their return. To her further discomfiture, Mulder seemed willing to welcome Diana into the partnership that Scully and the psychologist had built between them. Had Scully misunderstood where Fox and she were going? In all honesty, she acknowledged that whenever they had met since the Collector case the main topic had been work. However, she had always thought there was something more that lay between them, smoldering and waiting for a chance to spark. It seemed to her that he had been giving her time to make a decision and now it looked like her indecisiveness was going to make her lose a chance for anything more. So although she acknowledged with brutal self-examination that it was juvenile to feel jealous, Scully found her original distrust of Diana Fowley hardening to resentment. Worry about her career and coping with jealous feelings of being betrayed by Mulder, made her eyeballs pound. Dana was glad she hadn't eaten any breakfast as the bile in her stomach and the motion of the car would have caused further embarrassment. Scully shifted to the side window, watching the countryside pass her by and Diana took that moment to move her seat back as far as she could. Glancing over the armrest back to Scully, Diana said sweetly, "I'm sorry but my legs really need the space up here." Cynically, Dana noticed the amount of thigh exposed by her hitched skirt. It was apparent that Mulder noticed too. The house that Mulder eventually pulled up too was a three-story brownstone that had obviously been converted to apartments. He parked at the curb and as Dana struggled with her short legs and the car door blocked by the curb height, her new partner glided out of a door held open by Mulder. Resolving that enough was enough, and that she was the senior agent in charge, Dana tried re-establishing her position by asking Mulder questions about their sleepless fortuneteller. "I'm sorry, I thought Diana had passed the case folder back to you," said Mulder and Diana politely apologized, handing Scully the manila folder as she swept away with Mulder up the steps. Several uncomplimentary names, many relating to animals in the state of mating, sprang to Scully's mind. She hurriedly scanned the contents to find out that the person they were meeting was Deborah Chesterfield. She was a 28-year-old, former law student, who had been diagnosed with agoraphobia about 18 months. Her condition included severe panic attacks along with the belief that her dreams of the night foretold in exacting detail what would happen to her the next day. The door was answered before they could ring or knock. "Come in," said a scratchy and depressed voice. Deborah had long stringy brown hair and the deepest shadows under her eyes that Scully had ever seen outside of a hospital ward. Her skin was pale like the underbelly of a fish. Mulder and Fowley stepped forward as if they were one causing Scully to think bitterly to herself: "Birds of a feather." As she reluctantly begun to follow, Deborah put her hand on Scully, holding her back from joining her companions. "I don't think this will help," Deborah muttered under her breath and than warned, "don't sit in the front seat on the way back." Moving away from Dana as if nothing had been said, Deborah casually invited them into her living room, a place that was a shambles of take-out pizza boxes, sodas, and piles of dirty laundry. "Deborah, my name is..." "Yeah I know, Fox Mulder, Diana Fowley and Dana Scully. Sit down." "Okay, thanks... I guess Maxwell told you of our visit?" "Nope. Dreamt it." Deborah was dressed in faded gray sweat pants and a black sweatshirt with "got milk?" emblazoned in white. Her sneakers were extremely white and clean. She flopped into a rocking recliner and commented to them all - waving generously with a sinewy hand, "Help yourself." Gingerly, as if Deborah's couch held parasites, Fowley sat down on the sofa next to Mulder. Her knee touched his but the psychologist didn't seem to notice, as his entire attention was focused upon Deborah. "That's amazing! So you know exactly why we are here?" "Of course. You think I would make a wonderful guinea pig. You won't say it that way, as you'll be more persuasive. Eventually, I'll believe you can help because I'm desperate. I'll go to the clinic to be examined. The clinic that Dr. Scully is already considering to be best for testing a subject like me." She took a swig of soda from a trembling hand as if she had just finished an interesting performance. Her foot constantly jigged up and down in a frantic motion she was incapable of stopping. Deborah's whole appearance was that of someone that was clearly mentally ill. "That's all very interesting, Ms. Chesterfield, but I would like to know more about your claim to predict the future," asked Scully, trying to bring the meeting back to a more business-like approach. "Sure, ask away. It’s not like I'm going anyplace," she ended sadly, gazing through an open window where the treetops at the nearby park could be seen against the so-blue of the sky. "How does your dreams play out exactly? Do you see everyone's future, or only your own?" "You know how you might experience déjà vu? Something strikes you during the day and you know you've done it before? Well, it's like that but a whole hell like that! All day I know. At first it was just moments, but now as soon as I wake up I know the whole day. Whoever I meet, wherever I go -- I know it before hand. My friends were having a hard time having me finish their discussions before they had opened their mouths. But I was doing okay with it all. Coping --- somehow. It was when I noticed that no matter what I did or said, that the day didn't change -- it started getting to me, you know." As Deborah ended, her whole body posture collapsed inward like a spent balloon, as if recounting the hopelessness of her situation was too much. Then Mulder did something that Dana viewed as exceptionally cruel. It took her a long time to forgive him for it. "That's great!" Fox exclaimed excitedly. "We could probably easily reproduce your conditions in a laboratory setting." And worse yet, Diana Fowley openly agreed with him, talking about the subject of their tests as if she was a lab rat that would mindlessly push levers for a treat. "Perhaps the condition could even be accelerated so she could predict further ahead - a week or a month!" speculated Diana. In Scully's lurid imagination she rubbed her hands with glee. Taking a moment to recover from the shock of their callousness, Scully began to address Deborah with all the sympathy she could muster. Before she could open her mouth, Deborah gave her a forlorn, sympathetic stare. "Forget it Ms. Scully. I know." What a horrible way to live! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ IV. MULDER For some reason Mulders' Scully radar wasn't working. He couldn't figure out what she was saying or not saying. Even without his special talent to read unspoken thoughts, he knew that she was in a red-hot rage from her freezing manner when they left Deborah Chesterfield's house. Samantha would have described the temperature in the car as squirming level. Diana Fowley's entire conversation on the way back didn't connect to his brain. He found himself nodding and commenting about who the hell knew what, while constantly eyeing Scully's averted face in his rearview mirror. Mulder had thought that Dana and he had built up a good friendship since she had called him in on the case of Celeste Fremont. Over the last few months he had been content to let the friendship develop at its' own pace, with hope that as time passed the intimacy of their relationship would deepen. He had felt she needed more time to recover from Jack Willis but felt assured that opportunity would present itself at the right time. But had he waited too long? He had the urgent feeling that something had put his carefully orchestrated seduction plans into jeopardy. Mulder even made a point of dropping Diana off first so he could have time alone with Dana to beg forgiveness - for what he wasn't sure - but the begging part he had down pat. He had been taught well by his mother. He became desperate when it took him over fifteen minutes to talk Scully into riding in the front seat with him. In snatches between traffic, he cast quick glances to her averted face, noting the marble cheek and the chill in the blue eyes. "That was an interesting trip, dontcha think?" he asked, trying to break into her remote thoughts and communicate with her before their drive was over. "Interesting is one word that could be used," Scully agreed aloofly, " -- by people who think a certain way." "How would you describe it?" "Pathetic." "Deborah is a pretty desperate case. Maxwell only deals with the severe ones," pointed out Mulder, jumping to defend his friend and colleague. "That's not who I meant." They drove on in silence, Mulder turning over her comment, trying to see what was buried underneath. Now Mulder really was confused. "Meaning we were pathetic?" "I felt the manner in which you and Fowley acted was in extremely poor taste not to mention unprofessional. As senior-agent in charge I will mention it in my report to Skinner." Each word was an ice-cube down Mulders' suddenly hot neck. "What the hell does that mean 'extremely poor taste'! We did nothing but examine a patient and discuss the case." "In FRONT of her! Dammit Mulder don't you have any feeling at all about that woman's poor condition? She's deluded herself that her phobia has purpose just so she can give herself some false semblance of sanity - and you and Diana are discussing her like she's on the slab!" "Professionalism?! You don't even believe her. Isn't that the poorest form of professionalism!" Mulder counter-attacked, equally angered and feeling just as righteous. In the heat of their exchange, Mulder approached the next intersection and floored the car to make the yellow. Before the light could even change to red, his Bonneville was broadsided, the door on Scully's side crumpling as spent tissue. His black car spun, counter-clockwise, at least 90 degrees, taking its' attacker with them and throwing it away. Mulder's air bag inflated on impact, whereas Scully's remained inactivated. Despite that fact she had been wearing her seatbelt (Bureau policy, and Scully was aware of all Bureau policies), Dana's forehead greeted the dash. He was urgently calling 911 when the second car hit their tail, slamming them into the intersections' light pole. Something ground into her thigh - the radio or door handle. She was having trouble breathing and blood was in her mouth. Leaning back she exhaled and spat. Mulder had already unbuckled, still talking quickly but sanely to 911. He slid over the seat to be closer to Dana. "Have you ever had that wish - 'I'll die in a car accident and then they'll be sorry?'" whispered Scully. Looking up, she irreverently noticed the ceiling car light had shattered. "I'm sorry, Scully," Mulder's voice was breaking. "I'm sorry about anything I did, will do, could do, would ever think to do." She ignored him - or perhaps she hadn't heard and said, "I don't remember making that wish." The effort to pull herself back together was clearly visible. "You need to check those other cars Mulder and make sure that they no one else is hurt." She actually moved as if she was going to take charge of that rescue mission so Mulder put a gentle, preventing hand on her shoulder. Crouched over her, he looked back through the broken windshield glass. "There are no other cars, Scully." She didn't answer. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ V. SCULLY Scully's next memories were of voices. "Use of the collar is standard. It stabilizes the neck to prevent further spinal cord damage. The patient has most probably suffered a head concussion at the frontal lobe. She appears conscious but disoriented. She has problems moving the right hand, and two digits seem most likely broken. Indication is also that the right clavicle is fractured as well as two right ribs. Without x-rays I would take an educated guess that they would be the 3^rd and 4^th rib. Blood in the mouth may indicate internal organ damage, however the patient feels that it is most likely due to biting her gum during the collision." With faint surprise she realized she was the owner of that weak and shaky diagnosis. She heard someone talking with the paramedics; it was Mulder. "No sir you cannot come with us." Then the harsh clang of doors and the lurch of movement as the ambulance started its trip to the hospital. After being transported, inspected and drugged with Demerol, Scully woke to another voice but it took a few hazy moments to connect the anger with the easygoing Mulder. "If you had anything to do with this you son-of-a-bitch, our bargain will be null and void! You and your pretty little fucking friends will find your faces all over the front page of the Washington Post." Her head was pounding, as Scully struggled to lift weighted eyelids. Mulder was standing by the hospital room's window with the light from outside over-exposing his hair and face, making it hard to locate features. Scully blinked several times, attempting to focus the room and her scattered memories. "Yeah, I understand all right," replied Mulder with force. "I understand that you've been blackmailing me for almost 20 years and I've agreed to all your nasty little experiments to keep Sam safe. But I've fucking have had it." There was a short pause as obviously the person on the other side of the mobile had made a comment. "Don't make me laugh! The good of the world? The world is going to hell except for the few who have saved their asses by selling the rest of us out. I'm warning you -- Yes, me, the one that has ignored you all these years you black lunged bastard. If you think I can't do anything then just sit back and watch." With his usual finesse in ending phone conversations, Mulder shut the phone off and shoved it into a coat pocket. He fell into an ugly square, orange visitors' chair as if all his marionette strings had been cut. "Hey," called Scully softly from her hospital bed. Mulder suddenly smiled and the worry was gone or concealed. He came over and touched the back of her hand. "How are you feeling?" "Pretty good. Feel like I've been run over by a truck," Scully weakly joked. "What was all that about?" "Nothing." "Liar." "Well, yes." He smiled, creasing his eyes and mouth in a lopsided way that was endearing and so unique to Fox Mulder. However, it slowly faded to be replaced by a more serious demeanor. "I don't think now is the time to talk about it." "It would help me get my mind off this," Scully waved her good hand at her immobilized arm, splinted fingers, and bandaged thigh. Mulder seemed to consider her words but didn't reply. "I take it you don't think our encounter this afternoon was an accident." "No." The words that Jack Willis had used about Mulder -- that violent deaths happened around him -- came back to haunt Scully's thoughts. "Who do you know would hate you that much?" "They would have to take tickets." Mulder turned back to the window and paced the room with an inner rage too strong to be contained by standing. "I think I'll go crazy if I don't tell someone -- " "Then tell me. I take all of this personally." Her voice was getting stronger, and since her cracked ribs didn't appreciating any movement under her own power, Scully used the bed controls to sit up. "Dana you won't believe me." He threw his arms up and moved away from her to stare out the plate glass window that overlooked downtown D.C. "It's so utterly fantastic; no one in their right mind would want to believe it." "I know I have the reputation of being skeptical but can't you trust me?" He gave her an odd stare for a few minutes without saying anything. "It has to do with my father's death. He was killed because he refused to give up Sam or me. It was an example for those that were thinking of not complying." Mulder paused, returning to look out the window as if there were answers there. After a moment more of silence he made a futile gesture of dismissal with his hand and returned to her bedside. "Before I left for college, I was approached. They said what my father owed them hadn't been paid. Well I agreed to some of it anyway, with the reassurance that they would leave the rest of my family alone." "Mulder, who are you talking about? The Mafia? The FBI can help." Mulder laughed painfully. "Scully, you really don't understand any of this. It would be best if you stay out of it. I don't know why but they obviously consider you a threat. That's what today was about." Her hospital door opened, and Walter Skinner entered, holding the string to a large yellow Smiley face balloon. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ VI. MULDER Unlocking the door to his apartment, Mulder found Samantha on the other side. "Mom called me." "I can only imagine," was his reply as he tossed his trenchcoat over a chair and made his way into the kitchen. "Has anyone looked you over?" "The blood isn't mine if that's what you're worried about." Mulder opened the fridge and brought out a carton of orange juice. The benefit of being a bachelor was you could drink straight out of the container. Having others watch, usually deterred visitors. He flopped onto the sofa, legs sprawling over one end of an arm, and flicked on the television with the remote. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" Samantha didn't sit down. "Nope." He started channel surfing, his mind numb. His head was pounding and his nose still hurt despite the air bag. "I'm going to Dad's place this weekend. Do you want to come?" "The Vineyard is about the last place I want to be right now." There wasn't a television show on that would drown his sister out when she had gotten started, so he clicked the set back off. "Mom said your paranoia is getting really out of hand." "Yeah, I'm sure she thinks so." Mulder kicked his shoes off, throwing them savagely against the other wall as an answer to what their mother's opinion was. Teena had been denying reality since their father's death; Mulder had given up trying to convince her of anything. "I really didn't come over here to ream you out," Sam said apologetically, quietly watching her brother's face. He had become full of secrets before leaving for London. That his rupture from the family had something to do with their father's murder, Sam had surmised but Mulder refused to fill in the blanks. "Who was in the car with you?" "Dana Scully." "Oh I'm sorry. She's your friend from the FBI, isn't she?" Mulder only grunted, roughly rubbing his eyes. "Is she okay?" "Pretty banged up but she'll live. I don't know if they meant that or not." Samantha finally took a seat. She paused for a moment, playing with the sleeve of his coat. "Do you ever think of dad?" /I love you, Fox/ // She got Mulder's full attention. "I'm not talking about how he died, Fox. I want to talk about how he lived." She continued flipping the sleeve of his coat nervously between her hands. "I want to remember what he was like. I want to know why he can't be with us now. Why didn't he get to see you graduate from college? Why wasn’t' he there when I sold my first painting? He was taken from us and it makes me angry." / I feel I'm losing you too. / She threw the sleeve down and stood up. "They're taking you too. What I don't understand is why you let them? It's time we all started living again." The harsh ring of his phone forestalled any reply he would have made. "Mulder." It was Maxwell asking about the status of the Deborah Chesterfield case. "Sorry about that but I had to go by the hospital. Oh you heard about it? She's okay. Yeah. Oh I didn't know Diana was there. She's Dana's new partner, so I guess it would be okay for her to see Chesterfield. Yeah. Okay. I'll be there tomorrow morning and we can discuss it together." Samantha had been heading for the door during Mulder's conversation and as he clicked off, he stopped her with an outstretched hand. "Have you eaten yet?" She shook her head. "Me neither. Let's go live a little and get some Chinese food." Samantha groaned. "Not that favorite greasy spoon place of yours? Do you want to catch hepatitis?" "Now, Sam, where else can you see goldfish with three eyes?" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ VII. SCULLY The next morning, with the threat of a concussion past, Scully was discharged from the hospital. With Melissa driving her car, Dana made a quick stop by her apartment for fresh clothes and then had her sister drove her on to the Bureau. "You’re a workaholic, Dana Scully," commented Melissa, parking along the curb. "As a Fed don't you get short-term disability?" "I'm in the middle of something - I'll take some time off as soon as it's wrapped up," Dana promised. "Want me to let mom know?" "What do you think?" Melissa only laughed in reply and waved goodbye, promising to pick Dana up at the end of the day. Things were quiet with no sign of Diana except for the index cards stuck above the men's restroom door - the word "no" above the word men, and than below another card imprinted with "allowed." Perhaps if Diana had a sense of humor, Scully could get along with her? Trying to keep a cheerful attitude was hard with the level of disorganization that the office presented. Working with the sling was a bit of a bother but she managed and at least it kept the area of her collarbone and her ribs stable. Despite her condition, Scully still tried to shove around some boxes and that is how Walter Skinner found her. "Agent Scully, I received word that you had checked in for work today. Do you think that was wise?" He reached out to take a crumbling cardboard box out of Scully's arms, with the result that its contents, bones with strange holes and engraved concentric markings, spilled out onto the office floor. "I'm just going to do some paperwork," she lied and settled gingerly into her office chair, which gave a loud and embarrassing squawk from bearings that needed oiling. It added to Scully's embarrassment but Skinner ignored it. "I thought you would be with Agent Fowley today, checking out this Chesterfield story? She's over at the clinic with that Fox Mulder character." It was as if someone had rung a starting bell - Scully's heart began a thunderous gallop. All of her good intentions to give her partner a second chance flew out of her brain. "I'm just going over there now, sir. I came by to pick up some paperwork," and desperately grabbing any folder, one marked "Cattle exsanguination," Scully exited with tattered dignity. By the time Dana made it to the motor pool her right leg was troubling her enough that she limped. It was also unfortunate that the only car left was a standard, a little hotshot car that someone had decided the Bureau needed. With a hurt leg and an arm in a sling, it was awkward to drive to say the least. Unladylike mutterings and cursings were called down upon the heads of Mulder and Fowley as she drove. Entering the maze of clinic halls and nurse stations she finally found them, along with an unknown man, in an observation area next to Deborah Chesterfield's room. Scully admitted to herself that to be fair to Mulder, he looked like he had slept in his clothes and his face showed genuine concern when he came forward to greet her. "Are you sure you should be here?" he asked, in a concerned undertone. "I'm fine," she replied, straightening her back and forcing her injured leg to move as if it was normal. Unseen within the confines of the sling, she clutched her hand in a fist of frustration that she would gladly have used to box Fowley's comely ears. Diana introduced her to Richard Maxwell, the psychiatrist that had requested Mulder's help with Deborah Chesterfield. Maxwell was a dumpy man, with a tie that looked like it was choking him and a lab coat one size too small. There was an awkward moment of shaking the "wrong" hands and Maxwell made a pleasantry about being sorry to hear about the accident, which Scully returned with another polite rejoinder. Scully was displeased to learn that Diana had spent most of yesterday evening with Dr. Maxwell talking over the Chesterfield case. It made her even more angry when she heard that Diana was strongly suggesting that Deborah be removed from her medication. When Dr. Maxwell refused with the air of someone who had argued this point many times, Diana tried to convince Mulder to agree. "I don't think you realize, Diana, the ramifications of taking Deborah off of her medication. Not being a doctor like Scully, you might not understand that the abrupt removal of anti-anxiety medications could cause Deborah's psychosis to worsen. It could even cause a serious break with reality considering the condition that she is in today." Scully restrained herself from giving Mulder a high-five. For Fox Mulder it had been a frustrating day, beginning with the early phone call from Max who had let his disgust with Diana Fowley come over the line loud and clear. Richard had originally called Mulder's because he seemed to have success with oddball cases, however, Deborah's doctor though had only reluctantly agreed to allow the FBI in on the Chesterfield's case and then only because of his long-standing professional friendship with Mulder. Diana's pushing for what would suit her best but not Chesterfield was rubbing Max the wrong way. "Why don't you tell us more about Deborah and your experiences with her this last year, Dr. Maxwell?" asked Scully, turning the power of her professional charm on the stout doctor. Scully's talent for diplomacy helped the group to relax. Max became warmer under the soothing reassurance of Scully's professional knowledge and training. "I don’t think I really have much more add. I've done as many tests of it that I can. I started her with keeping a dream journal. She made entries as soon as she awoke. Comparing her notes with what happened that day she has always been correct." "Surely a house-bound person such as Deborah has days that are pretty much the same," suggested Scully. "I would agree with you Dr. Scully except she could also predict the unexpected: a car accident in front of her home, the burning of a building on her block, the unexpected arrival of a package - the incidents mounted. When I measured them she had a success rate of 92.8, hardly 'coincidental.' I've come to the conclusion that Deborah really does know the future. The only limit to her knowledge about what will happen is that it must be something that effects her personally. Futures of countries located on the other side of the world or when the dog next door gets its dinner, means nothing unless enter her boundary. I think to limit this knowledge, is why Deborah has become so adamant about not leaving her home." "How do you explain your findings?" asked Diana offhandedly. It was obvious she had her own opinions, thought Scully. Watching the two of them, Max wondered if Fox even knew that he was between Charybdis and Scylla. It wasn't that Mulder was stupid about women; he was stupid about what to do with them. "I don't know," Maxwell continued. "It's incomprehensible to me. I was hoping that Fox might have some answers." Everyone looked to him as if he, indeed, knew. "In my interview with Deborah this morning its' clear that she has never experienced this type of phenomena in the past, any more then what the average person might," said Mulder. "At this point I would conjecture that perhaps some event triggered Deborah's abilities to channel precognitive psychic powers. It's not unknown for people who have had a trauma to the head perhaps or a great change in their life to develop such powers." Maxwell shook his head negatively. "I've combed through her background, especially anything that might have occurred about the time she started experiencing these problems. I've even interviewed her family and her teachers. Nothing seems to have been a catalytic event. One day she was in the dark like the rest of us about the future; and the next day she knew." "I have to correct you Dr. Maxwell," interrupted Scully. "Deborah told us yesterday that her precognitive powers came upon her gradually. Perhaps it's more like a disused muscle or latent ability that with practice gets' stronger. This could simply be a skill of the brain that she has learned to use." "All that untapped brain potential people keep talking about," added Diana, nodding. "But without removing her from medication, how will we get her to sleep if she refuses?" As if the patient had the answers, they all looked through the one-way observation mirror, where Deborah Chesterfield was flipping through a stack of month old magazines. She looked up and waved at them, though she wasn't supposed to be able to see them. Mulder left them to their arguing and entered Deborah's room. Reaching across he scraped a chair up to her bed. "Sorry about yesterday. But you probably knew I was sorry before I did." Deborah gave an honest smile. She actually seemed more relaxed today. "That's okay. We all say stupid things." "You knew about Agent Scully's car accident before it happened didn't you?" Mulder asked so quietly that Scully had to strain to hear. "It doesn't do any good to know beforehand. If I dream it, it's going to happen. The night before you met me, I dreamed that I had a call from Dr. Maxwell stating that my admission to Central had been delayed because Agent Scully had been injured in a car accident." "Not being able to change events -- is that what makes you avoid sleep?" "I've tried," Deborah's voice stumbled. "I knew a little neighbor boy was going to die in a house fire but no one believed me about the wiring. It was horrible. That's when I decided to become a hermit." Mulder leaned back into his chair, his long legs sprawling under the hospital bed. "So do you know much about today?" "A little." Deborah gave a secret smile. "I caught a cat nap sometime early in the morning, after Ms. Fowley left." At Diana's exasperated sigh, Scully hid a smirk behind her hand. "It must be good news. You seem -- happier?" suggested Mulder. "Good news for me. Not so good for you though." "What do you mean? Or do I want to know?" asked Mulder, curiously. "Let's just say I hope you got plenty of rest last night." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ VIII. MULDER Agreeing to adjourn, do more research and then group back with Richard Maxwell the next day. As the trio of Mulder, Scully and Fowley made their way outside to the street, the conversation led to how Mulder, car-less, was to return to his office. Scully bit the inside of her lip when she discovered that Fowley had drove him over that morning, picking up the psychologist at his apartment. The only thing that redeemed Mulder in Scully's eyes was the suspicion that it probably had been Diana's idea in the first place. Impatient, she moved away from their discussion and started across the road between the complex and the parking garage. Unfortunately, Dana's high heel caught in a manhole grating, causing her to pull the leg she had injured yesterday. She involuntarily sucked her breath in and stumbled, feeling the bandage on her leg become sticky. Mulder was at her side in a minute, helping Scully towards the opposite curb. "Are you okay?" "Just jarred it, I think," Scully felt embarrassed about being an invalid until she saw Fowley's disgruntled face. She had never considered herself as being a catty woman but Diana was bringing out the beast in her. She wanted to feel bad about her evil feelings toward Diana, but found that Mulder's comforting arm gave her too much pleasure. "I'll help you to your car," said Mulder and Dana agreed. They hadn't far to go as Dana had arrived right before the lunch hour and had been lucky enough to grab a parking spot right across the street. "That's *your* car?" asked Mulder in astonishment. Scully looked critically at the motor pool donation - it was an apple red, BMW sports coupe with leather seats. It had been rather embarrassing, and the stick was damn inconvenient, but Mulder's obvious appreciation, made her re-think her feelings on the matter. "For the day," replied Scully not feeling up to lying as she leaned heavily on the door and put the keys in the lock. Mulder remained at her side. Mulder had turned away to Diana and Scully, struggling to keep upright without being too obvious about it, missed their interplay. Whatever they said resulted in Diana leaving with a pleasant wave and a promise to meet Scully at the Bureau tomorrow morning. Once Diana had disappeared from view, he leaned over the driver's door. "No way are you going to drive. You're going to sit in the passenger side." "Mulder you can't drive a Bureau vehicle. That's against policy," Scully protested while at the same time letting him assist her out of the small car. "I won't tell, if you won't," he said, waggling his eyebrows in a suggestive gesture. He softly closed her door and then went around to the other side to take the wheel. "So I guess the BMW won you over?" // // He shot her a grimace. "Nope, it was the blood seeping down your leg. Now where too? Your apartment or the hospital?" "Apartment. I want to change this bandage and then I'll check in with Diana and Skinner by phone. I think I used up all my gas today." Scully reached down and put a hand under her leg to lift it up gently. She better not get blood on the leather upholstery as she was starting to have a bad feeling that this car was worth more then her annual salary. "I'm really sorry about yesterday," began Mulder. "Forget it, Mulder. The day wasn't your fault." Scully paused before asking, "Are you worried about what Deborah said? What she implied is going to happen?" "Well, she has piqued my curiosity lets' say. However, I'd rather change the subject and talk about you instead. You and your new partner seem to be an odd pair." "She could have drove me home you know." // // Mulder laughed. "I thought you would prefer me. So how did you two come together?" If you're angling for a date with her, I can't help you/." / // Uncomfortable with the topic, Scully fiddled with the air vents and turned the air conditioner up. "She might have interested me once," Mulder gave Scully a smirk, "but I have other plans." "Oh? Seemed like you were interested yesterday." // // "I'm not blind -- or deaf," he replied, turning the wheel and parking in front of her apartment. "I just think you should give her a chance. She's a little overeager but perhaps she's trying to impress you. Have you ever thought of that?" Scully's better half tried to imagine Mulder's statement as being true. It was a struggle. "It must be hard for a woman to work at a place like the FBI and still remain feminine," continued Mulder. Was this some sort of backhanded remark against her? Scully mulled Mulder's comment while he helped her out in silence. "How are you going to get home?" Scully asked stiffly. In reply he explained his plans to call a taxi after re-parking her car. "I don't know Mulder. Do you have someone you could stay with? I feel uneasy about this whole Deborah Chesterfield thing." was such a faint whisper that Mulder didn't believe that he had "heard" it. His heart did a heavy thud. "I wish you really meant that," said Mulder, whose experience with unspoken thoughts he *heard* was that they were best left unnoticed. "Of course I meant it," insisted Scully, completely unaware of Mulder's true train of thought. "I'll take you up on an offer of take-out," said Mulder, trying desperately to be patient when he knew that other rewards might be in the offing. So after calling for warm food, Scully went to her back bedroom to change and put in a message to Melissa for her sister to keep her car for the next few days. Dinner was pleasant and the two seemed to have reached a truce about whatever had been bothering the smoothness of their companionship. Afterwards, Mulder went to play basketball till one a.m. in the morning before going home to fall asleep on his couch. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Okay I couldn't resist - here are some photos of what Scully is driving! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ IX. SCULLY She woke up with screaming ringing in her ears. With the skills of a FBI agent, Scully rolled from bed, landed on her feet, her hand holding the gun that she had grabbed. "Mulder!" she cried, but was greeted only by the stillness of her empty apartment. She knew that Mulder had been on her mind but her dream that he had needed her was so real -- she had a hard time shaking the feeling of dread, despair and danger. In bare feet, Dana went through her apartment, gun up, and ready to be proved wrong. By the time she had verified that her apartment was indeed empty, she checked the microwave clock. It was about almost 5 a.m. in the morning. Much too early to call him, she thought, but the uneasiness she felt was growing and her concern overrode politeness. She took the business card out of her purse that Mulder had given her so many months ago and dialed. He didn't answer his home phone or his mobile. Perhaps he had taken her advice and had stayed overnight with a friend -- and her mind quite irrationally leapt to the idea of Diana Fowley. She labeled her mind as nasty and on automatic, pulled out slacks and a white blouse from her closet. Her shaking hands miss buttoned and she had to re-do as she hurriedly slipped on shoes at the same time. As she started up the BMW, the sky had lightened to a pre-dawn blue and the shadows were receding. The streets were empty and she made good time over to Mulder's apartment. By the time she had reached his door, Dana had convinced herself that she had an overactive imagination. Nothing was wrong and probably Mulder was a heavy sleeper and that was why he hadn't answered. More than likely he was snoring in some disgustingly male manner, mouth open and with bad bed hair, or at least she devotedly hoped he was. Her first knock was hesitant but when it received no answer, she gave a more solid pounding. When she still didn't get an answer, she instinctively tried his doorknob. It turned in her hand and opened with ease. Her other hand slowly and silently withdrew her gun from its holster. "Don’t shoot. I come in peace," said Mulder, walking out of a dark hallway, wiping his hands with a damp towel. "Mulder," said Scully with annoyance that he wasn't in danger. She re-holstered her weapon. "It's better that you sit over there." He pointed to a black leather sofa. In puzzlement, Scully did as she was told and waited. As Mulder came into the weak light of the dawn seeping through his blinds, she could see that he looked like hell. "Yeah I know." He smiled weakly and took a seat across from her. "Rough night?" "Yes." Mulder masked his eyes with his hands for a moment and then as if this had cleared his thoughts, took them away. "You're not going to believe me. I can see why Deborah gave up." "Are you telling me that you can see today's events?" asked Scully, concerned more with Mulder's state of mind then with predictions. She had been right to worry about him. He had been upset about Deborah Chesterfield, perhaps more then Dana had realized. Since meeting him, she had always though him empathetic to other people's pain. "Something's gone a bit haywire with me; the dreaming didn't stop with one day." Mulder smiled weakly and rubbed the back of his hand over his cracked lips. There was a vile taste to his mouth from his vomiting episode in the bathroom. "I think I got about 50 years into the future before I woke up." "Mulder you're just hallucinating," reassured Scully. "We both have to admit that you have an overactive imagination. Your mind has worked on your worst fears and brought it all this to life." "I knew you were going to say that," Mulder replied wanly. He got up and picked up a heavy manila envelope from his computer desk and tossed it to her. "Don't open it," he warned. "I've written down as much as I could remember. I want you to keep it. You'll know when its best to read it. Now Scully, I've had about an hour to think this all through. I know what I plan on doing and I want your help." He lifted his hand up to silence her. "We don't have much time. I want you to come and just listen. I know I won't convince you but I have to tell you and there's only one place where I can do that safely." And that is how they ended up burglarizing the house of Fox Mulder's mother. "Whose room is this?" whispered Dana. Mulder's surreptitious entrance through the back door of this quiet ranch house in a soothingly upper class neighborhood was getting on her already strained nerves. She felt like she was accompanying an escaped mad man. "My mothers," he answered shortly, and after closing the drapes with a snap, he continued, "This is the only place I could think of that wouldn't be bugged." Fear of being recorded was the reason that Mulder had insisted that they leave their shoes and her purse outside, behind a shrub. He WAS paranoid, thought Scully. "Spender and her are gone for the week," Mulder continued to explain. "Sam's left for the Vineyard and whenever that happens you can guarantee that THEY will take a trip in the opposite direction. It makes it easier for her to deny that both of her kids are crazy. Sit down Dana, this is going to take a while." Fox Mulder told her about it all. A conspiracy that spanned over half a century, that traveled over continents, that crossed the borders of nationality in an effort to develop an international shadow government that would lie, kill, steal and destroy anything in its' path. "To what purpose, Mulder?" asked Scully, a deep fear in her heart - a fear for Mulder's sanity, not because of any belief in his tale. She wondered how quickly she could get someone to look him over without his colleagues knowing. And though she felt she was accompanying a madman something inside of her stopped her from walking away. "If it wasn't so frustrating, knowing the future could really be funny," and he actually laughed. "I mean I KNEW you were going to say that! You are such a doubting Thomas, Scully. I guess if I can eventually convince you, I can convince the world. Now look, I know you are about ready to call the men in white coats, so just give me a little bit more time. Besides we have to get out of here as exterminators will," he took a glance at his watch, "be here in about 33 more minutes. Of course some of it's about power and money. But I've left this part to last because I know it's going to be the very thing you will have the hardest time believing. This whole effort is because of alien contact." And yes, Scully found that she did have a hard time believing. She didn't think it took a precognitive genius to have predicted her reaction. "We’ve got to go," Mulder took a toothbrush off the bathroom counter and swished it around in the toilet, using its' bristles to clean the underside of the toilet lid. He returned it to the toothbrush holder and the two sneaked out the back way, just as the front door opened to the termite inspectors. "Now where to Alastair Crowley?" enquired Scully sarcastically. "You are going to take me to the Bureau headquarters. You have a friend who can help us, a lab rat named Pendrell. The two of you are going to run some tests on me and after that, I know you will think I'm still crazy - but just a tiny bit not as crazy as you first thought." Mulder submitted to the bloodwork with the patient air of someone who has had vast experience with being poked with needles. He seemed curious about Pendrell and asked him several questions about his love life, which inexplicably caused Pendrell to blush. Scully might have pursued the reason for Pendrell's discomfiture if the contents of Mulder's urine and blood hadn't been so interesting, "This is amazing! This could open up an entire new field of science!" exclaimed Scully, readjusting the fine controls of the microscope once again as if her eyes would see something different. When she looked up to meet Mulder's gaze, she noticed his wry smile and she gave sheepish one in return. "I guess I just discussed the patient - in front of the patient," she said. "You're forgiven." Mulder stepped up behind her and bending down, whispered in her ear, "You'll have to forgive me this liberty too." She had only a moment to realize that he had pulled her gun out of its holster. "You won't find the answer to Deborah Chesterfield's problem in her blood, Scully," he said loudly and turning he pointed her weapon at the door. A man, who Scully had never met, entered, followed by an impassive Walter Skinner. "Fancy meeting you here. I thought you had decided to take a vacation?" asked Mulder, bringing the gun up as casually as he would have shook your hand. "Your antics had me recalled. We always sit up and take notice of you Fox," the stranger said. He was older, with a weathered and deeply lined face - if his features were any indication his life it had not been a happy one. He turned eyes, devoid of any emotion except that of calculation, towards Pendrell and then finally rested them on Dana. Scully, who had never had a dislike of snakes, suddenly developed one. "How flattering," replied Mulder in an outwardly complacent voice. His voice continued, quietly, analytically. "I want to tell you about the weapon I'm holding. It's Agent Scullys' and as Mr. Skinner can attest, she's a by-the-book kinda lady. So I'm sure that her service revolver has been cleaned and checked recently." "Yesterday as a matter of fact," agreed Scully while calmly wondering where Mulder was going with this brash act of his. For some inexplicable reason she trusted him and there was something odd about it all - the mood in the room was watchful. "And though I really dislike guns, I can reassure you that I know perfectly well that I have taken the safety off this one." "And what do you hope to gain?" inquired the stranger coldly. He seemed to have no fear of it or Mulder. "I don't shoot you - not TODAY anyway - so don't be concerned. This is merely to prove a point. A point that I have declared myself against you and yours." "How poetic. Is this gesture a display to win the affections of Ms. Scully?" "I know things about you that you haven't even dreamed up yet - literally," added Mulder. "It's odd but that has removed any fear I might have had once of you. I've been willing to ignore your machinations thinking that perhaps in the end your method would work, despite what you were doing to get there. But now I know it's for nothing; you won't prevent the catastrophe and I can't excuse myself from trying any longer." "And what about you're dear sister? Are you abandoning her to pursue this noble cause?" the stranger coldly sneered without moving a muscle in his face. "Between mom and Samantha I didn't feel if I had any choice. But Sam is ready for this all to change," mused Mulder, softly. "I want to let you know a few things - right now - because of the nasty way your little mind works. Don't do anything to Samuel. He's connected to a huge Jewish network of power brokers rivaling even your group. His sudden disappearance may remind people in power of the Nazi regime. Zuni is capable in her own defense; I think she has a pact with the devil but I leave that to her own conscious to sort out. Venkat has taken the time to learn something about your computer system. Imagine the embarrassment as your personal email is sent off to dozens of International reporters. If you want to amuse yourself looking for what he planted, go ahead. I very much doubt you will find them. The only person I can't protect is Dana Scully. Unfortunately, for you that is why I've taken this step." Mulder gingerly handed the gun back to Scully and walked towards the door, shouldering himself past his adversary and stepfather. "By the way, you owe me a car and Dr. Scully an apology. I like that thing Scully's been driving." The door's soft click was the only sound left in the wake of Mulders' dramatic exit. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ X. SCULLY "Who the hell was that?" Pendrell belatedly added, "sir?" as the three FBI agents were now alone - deserted by Mulder, and abruptly abandoned by the stranger who had entered with the A.D. "Agent Scully, my office, NOW," Skinner demanded harshly, ignoring Pendrell's question. Scully turned and took the slide off the microscope. Palming it she slipped it into her lab's coat pocket without Skinner or Pendrell noticing. She left with Skinner, leaving Pendrell to wonder in vain what it was all about. In the rush to leave the house, Scully had forgotten her arm sling. Now she was intensely regretting it as she had to stand to submit to a royal reaming out session with Skinner though at the end of it she was as uncertain as ever about the stranger's role in the manner, or what she had done to incur Skinner's wrath. It was part of Skinner's talent, to make others uncomfortable with just a look or a word. Scully submitted to it all, with head held high, and her outward composure seemingly unaffected. Inside she was shaking, part fury and part worry. She took her time to catch her breath and thoughts while riding down the elevator to the basement. Diana caught her just as she was exiting. "I'm glad you’re here!" said her fellow agent excitedly. "Dr. Maxwell won't authorize the autopsy as her attending physician so we'll need a court order." "What?" asked Scully, her mind reeling under Diana's news. "Deborah Chesterfield died this morning, at 4:42 a.m." Diana explained and then smugly added, "Didn't predict that did she?" Diana followed a stunned Scully back into their joint office. Absently, Scully noticed that the copier machines had finally been trundled off. "No she didn't," and as her words sunk in, Scully repeated, "No she didn't because..." /Mulder has her ability/. Deborah Chesterfield's talents had developed slowly - like an infection. She had passed her talent onto Fox Mulder - like a contagion. Like a disease, -- Scully's mind compiled while she was dialing Mulder's cell. It didn't surprise her that he didn't answer. Something he said early this morning - something about it being "best" that she didn't touch him - didn't get near him - came back to her mind. "Diana this is terribly important. That morning that you and Mulder visited Deborah at the clinic - what did you do? What contact did you have with her before I got there?" Diana may have been a pain in the ass, thought Scully but she was a trained agent. Fowley immediately started giving Dana a concise report of their visit, their discussion with Dr. Maxwell, and an interview with Deborah that had been cut short because of spilt coffee. "Was there any physical contact between Deborah and Mulder? Touching?" "Dana Scully you do have a dirty mind," laughed Fowley. "No, she blubbered some and he was very sympathetic about it all, holding her hand and even dispensing tissues. Your typical nice guy routine." "Did he pick up any of her used tissues?" "I think he used them to wipe up the coffee he had spilled. That happened just right after Deborah's crying jag." A lecture on the "methods of disease transmission" became a screaming freight train through Scully's brain. And Mulder KNEW - Though she would have anyway he had made sure that Scully and Pendrell wore latex while collecting and examining his fluids. "Call the Center for Disease Control and Prevention - they're in Atlanta, and the phone number is in my Rolodex. Ask the Quarantine Division to issue an order for Deborah Chesterfield's body. I suspect that she may be a carrier of an unknown, and possibly lethal organism," said Scully in the tone of a commanding officer, and instinctively Diana leapt to obey. While Fowley was dialing, Scully dashed out of their office, knowing that she had to find Mulder. By the time she had made it to the car garage she was uncertain as to her next course of action. She could possibly be carrying a contagion herself and thus be a threat to others. It was time to go find a nice white suit and a quarantine unit -- but Mulder - yes, Mulder stopped her from returning inside. Obviously, the organism had changed in Mulder's system to be even more lethal as indicative of Mulder's fortune-telling powers. Who knew where he was or what he was undergoing? She remembered the feeling from her morning dream and it's urgency so at her car, she found the manila envelope that he had given her and savagely ripped it open. What she read confirmed all of her worse fears. Mulder had predicted the entire day. She didn't read further. She had no wish to know of tomorrow, or the next day. Today was in her hands and she believed that God gave His people free will. Her hands went down to the sport car's ignition as someone rapped on the side of her door. Startled she turned, and saw a wide gnomic face wearing glasses. "Mulder was right, you are hot!" The gnome said with a friendly and all too familiar leer down the front of her blouse. "Pardon me?" He introduced himself as Frohike. "I thought Mulder told you I was coming?" Scully scrambled for her notes and yes, indeed, Mulder had said Frohike would meet her in the parking garage, although he had left out the "hot" comment - how nice of him. Frohike would help. "Get in," she cried over the roar of the engine. Frohike hopped into the other seat. "And a hot sports car! Today must be my lucky day!" he said gleefully as Scully roared out of the parking lot of the FBI headquarters. Frohike kept up a constant patter of intimate and suggestive comments, between directions, such as turn right and take the highway and boy what a nice little package she was. Scully ignored it all except the directions. Driving with one hand that should have been in a sling, and a leg that was stiff, made for an interesting and jolting trip. It also didn't help that her mind was running through her options while she trying to squelch feelings of panic over Mulder. When did she start caring about him so much? WHY did she care so much about a goofy, probably paranoid psychologist that had the talent to get himself into trouble faster then a cat with chewing gum? Her rational mind reassured her that it wasn't worth it to analyze questions like that. While another part of her mind screamed Just DRIVE! She floored the accelerator as Frohike grabbed the dash. They flew over a crest in the road and the muffler hit the pavement with a scrape and clunk. "Here we are," said Frohike, thankfully. Scully parked next to a warehouse-like structure in a desolate group of manufacturing buildings. She raced ahead of him, mounting rickety steel steps to a heavy metal door. Inside they were greeted by two other men - one dressed in a suit with a beard, and a long-haired blonde man who was as thin as a rail. "Here she is, folks, as scrumptious as Mulder described," announced Frohike to his friends. "Just in time too; Mulder really has flipped this time," commented the blonde. "Where is he?" asked Scully, cutting to the chase. Byers, the conservatively dressed man, showed her where Mulder was, a makeshift room in the back where they occasionally the trio would crash during all night computer game contests. Mulder was in bad shape; He was rolled up in blankets, shivering and sweating. "Mulder your sick," she tried to reason with him but he still wouldn't allow Scully close to him. "I've been called that by women before, Scully, you're not impressing me," he joked weakly. "Mulder we have to get you into quarantine," urged Scully. She was squatting near the bed that was incongruously decorated with a blanket sporting big yellow Pikachu. She didn't quite dare to reach over and touch a forehead damp with sweat. "Not yet, Scully. I knew I was going to be sick but -" his voice ended as he buried himself deeper into the blankets, then he said forlornly and a little puzzled, "- I really don't feel very good." "You don't look good, either. Mulder, I have to get you to some proper medical facilities." "I've seen that future, Scully, and I wouldn't choose that. It really doesn't turn out too good. For me or you." One of Mulder's hands emerged from the heavy blanket and he took a sip. The Tumbler shook so bad that water sloshed the sides, spilling onto the concrete floor. "That future?" "Deborah was wrong. The future isn't linear but multiple branches. For some reason she couldn't see that. She had a limited view, day to day - but when you look at it spread over weeks, months, years - there are too many variables for the future to be that constrained." "God gave us all free will Mulder. I don't believe that anything is set." Scully's uninjured hand unconsciously touched her cross. However Mulder didn't seem to hear her or couldn't make an answer; his eyes were closed and he was either sleeping or unconscious. She stood up and went to the closed door, where outside the three men she had just met were hovering. "I need some supplies." She said, but did not go through the doorway. She dictated a list to one who seemed the most capable, -- Byers. "I need all this as quickly as possible." "So what's going on with him?" asked the blonde, tucking his hair behind his ears. "Describe what type of contact you've had with Mulder once he arrived here," asked Scully, not answering Langly's question. As she listened, trying to decide if any of Mulder's friends could be subject to the same infectious disease that gripped him, another part of her mind was busily trying to decide how she was going to make sterile conditions out of something so primitive. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ XI. MULDER His fever was pretty high. "You’re an angel," he said. Although Scully didn't always laugh at his jokes she usually at least gave her non-smile that was a smile - his remark garnered neither. He thought he should be concerned about that but really couldn't bring himself to feel much about it. His head was on fire and his guts wanted to heave in a dry retch. "Mulder," and when he didn't answer that plea, "Fox!" "hmmm??" he replied, non-interested. "If you really know the future, then you have the answer on how I can make you well again. Do you remember it?" "I remember all the good parts," Mulder replied smiling and drifting away. "You and me." "Listen to me Fox William Mulder, help me!" "I think he's out again, Dr. Scully," said another voice; it was Langly. "You are enough to try a Saint, Mulder," she muttered. She was wearing a facemask and latex gloves. It had been a battle to get Mulder to swallow Gatorade and she had had to force prescription strength ibuprofen down his throat - courtesy of her own prescribed medication bottle. She had a sudden thought. "Byers ask Frohike to bring in that manila envelope that I left in the car." Mulder's trio of friends had hovered near the doorway, hoping to be of some sort of help and now Byers disappeared from Scully's limited range of view. She had asked that none of them enter, so Mulder's friends were sliding things under the very primitive plastic drop sheet that she had fastened across the doorway. She didn't think it would stop air-borne pathogens but if this virus or whatever it was, was airborne thane why hadn't Deborah passed it along to Robert Maxwell, Diana Fowley or herself? She suspected it took some sort of contact - physical contact - perhaps with fluids to travel. Still Scully felt she was missing a vital piece of information in understanding what they were up against. She hit the re-dial on her cell phone, reaching Fowley. Before her partner could ask any questions, Scully rattled her off her own. "Ask Dr. Maxwell if Deborah was sick, really sick, something like a bad flu, before she started having trouble with her dreams. Yeah, call me by cell." As Fowley balked wanting to know more, Scully did her best imitation of Skinner. "I need that information now, Agent Fowley, not yesterday." Meanwhile, Byers had returned with the folder. He pushed it under the plastic flap and it slid across the cement floor to her, scattering loose sheets everywhere. Scully scooped them up, trying to sort through them. In his casual manner, Mulder hadn't numbered the pages. Her cell rang, interrupting her thoughts. "Scully. No? Hmm are you sure? Okay. Yes I know an autopsy is waiting for me." She disconnected from Diana. Could Mulder's reaction have anything to do with the proteins she saw in his urine? Those strange anomalies that he known in advance that she would find? She had planned on more tests that would examine his anti-bodies in detail but there had been no time for that. "Mulder!" He really wished she would stop bothering him. All the lovely futures of he and Scully together, were beckoning him. He wanted to go that direction instead of the one with the monsters. "Yeah?" "You weren't surprised by what I found today? Under the microscope." "Nope." "So you already knew that you - you - aren't normal?" "Yep." "How? When?" As she watched Mulder slip back into sleep, she muttered to herself, "This is so damn frustrating," She went back to his notes, skipping through references of alien invasions and government conspiracies - trying to find something that would help me. Mulder dreamed. There were several ways it could play out. "I'm a hybrid," said Mulder. "I let them inject me with this when I was nineteen years old. They told me it was the only way to save my mother and sister." In one future, Scully wept and hugged him. This image was as faint as a will-o-wisp. Mulder didn't think it had much of a chance of coming true. He had to admit that it seemed rather foreign to Scully's nature to show such an abundance of soppy emotion. Perhaps the power to dream true could be fooled by his wishful thinking? In the next future, Scully reacted with disgust. She raved at him at being a coward, at letting himself be made a pawn and giving in instead of fighting. Thankfully this was even fainter and less possible then the sobbing Scully. Another future had armed uniformed men breaking into the headquarters of The Lone Gunmen. Men in masks removed him. Scully, as well as all his other friends, disappeared. This scenario ended with long induced sleeps and oral examinations about what he had dreamed. It made him hope that Scully had read all his notes. Another Scully published a scientific paper about his DNA anomalies. They both had to go into hiding. And as he slept, his body fighting, his mind whirling with possibilities, one future became stronger and stronger. Langly had brought her a sandwich of pasty white Wonder Bread with bologna and American cheese for supper. She had washed it down with an Orange Crush. Now though she thought they might be alone, as she hadn't heard Mulder's friends for a few hours. It was early in the morning, sometime after 7 she guessed. Scully felt the need to confess to a silent Mulder. "Mulder I found something in the X-files about you and sister. It was ugly stuff - shocking actually. When I saw it I wasn't sure what I should do. It made me uncomfortable not to let you know about it." Scully shifted her back against the cement block wall. It's stone was cold against her spine but keeping her back straight was the only way to relieve the painful push on her still suffering ribs. "I took the files home with the intent of talking with you about them but then you called about Deborah Chesterfield and the car accident happened, making me wonder." God, she longed for a hot bath and a soft bed. "It could cost me my job. I've thought about that. Who wouldn't? I mean taking those files -- that's not Bureau policy is it? If Skinner knew he would have my ass in a sling. If Kersh knew I would be hitting the pavement so hard I would bounce. Scully stared at him, willing him to wake. It didn't work. She hadn't taken any of her own ibuprofen in fear that it would be needed for Mulder and so even her small sigh made her ribs ache. "I don't know why I'm talking to you about it. Confession, even to a man who is asleep, seems to be good for the soul." She wanted to touch him, stroke his hair, croon a lullaby, but the latex wasn't friendly and it would be a sad substitute to actually feeling him skin to skin. The phone rang, breaking into her melancholy thoughts. Diana Fowley was on the other end. "Kersh want's his car back." "His car?" "The BMW from the motor pool. It's his," explained Diana patiently. Just great, thought Scully, as if I wasn't in trouble enough. "I really can't get away right now," began Scully. "Why don't you let me come pick it up?" suggested Diana. "I can switch it with another Bureau car and drive that one back." Everyone wants to drive that car, thought Scully but she was also relieved. "That would be fine." And she gave Diana instructions on how to locate her, agreeing to a meeting sometime after lunch. If she had read all of Mulder's notes she wouldn't have chosen that course of action. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ XII. FOWLEY Diana Fowley had ransacked Dana's office. It was done discreetly of course as she was a true professional and trained by the best. She had searched the office methodically but found little of interest. In her own opinion, it would have been better to let Dana Scully settle in more, making the office her true workspace. It was Fowley's experience that that was when people slipped up and started bringing personal and revealing items from home. However, the powers that be said there had not time for subtle methods, so while Fowley was searching the Bureau, another team was combing through Scully's apartment. "I'm downloading the files now," she said over the phone, as she clicked on the Enter key of Dana's laptop. "Listen don't get bitchy with me. I'm not going to wade through this crap about werewolves and crop circles to find the good stuff. I don't have the time, so do the job on your end." She disconnected her line but let the module that parasitically clung to Dana's laptop remain to transmit files through the second phone line. She had flipped through as many of the file cabinets as she could on the off chance that it may have been mis-filed. Dana was right - the place was a rat's nest. However, the physical files she had been told to find on the Mulder family were gone, if they had ever existed in the first place. She cursed under her breath. Dana's Rolodex was the most revealing but still only gave information that was of a personal but uninteresting nature, such as her dentist, doctor, family and fellow agents. "Fowley," she said, as she answered the Bureau phone. "Oh, I'm sorry, I was calling for Dana - this is Pendrell, from upstairs. From the lab..." the man's voice dwindled away. "Oh yes," she replied cheerfully as she internally categorized him with contempt. "Dana told me that you were going to call. Did you have some test results for her?" "Not exactly," he paused again, and Diana could feel his uncertainty on the line. She purred, but not too strongly, these types were scared by the tigress act. "I'm sure she would want to know that you called. I'm meeting her in a few hours to pick up A.D. Kersh's car from her." "Why does she have Kersh's car?" asked Pendrell momentarily diverted. Patiently Fowley explained in the hope that Pendrell would get to the point of why he called in the first place. "Did you call about the Deborah Chesterfield case?" "Yeah, let her know that I wanted to get those slides back. She'll know what I mean," he said implying that there was some secret understanding between Scully and himself. Oh, brother, thought Diana, as she continued listening, "Also I was wondering how things went between her and Skinner? I don't want her to get in trouble over that Mulder character, so if she wants me to talk with Skinner about my view of things I would be happy to do that." "I'm sure she'll like to hear that. I'm meeting Skinner in about thirty minutes. Do you want me to pass along anything?" "Uh no… wait till I talk with Scully. I mean no sense rocking the boat," Pendrell stuttered and quickly said goodbye. Desert the sinking ship, you fucking rat, thought Diana, not so much as in defense of Scully but with the scorn of a woman who had been left hanging by too many men in her life. In Diana's estimation men were put on Earth for a reason - to be easily manipulated and controlled by women. The meeting with Skinner was a little rough, as he wanted to know particulars about why Deborah Chesterfield's body had been commandeered by the Center for Disease Control and Prevention. Apparently her family wasn't comfortable with the idea of their daughter and sister being left in a cold storage tray. "That's really Agent's Scully's field of expertise. I wouldn't want to comment on her judgment at this time," said Diana, crossing her long legs. Skinner gave her a look that told her that he knew exactly what she was doing and no, it wasn't going to work. Diana put her legs back down, letting the skirt slide to its' normal position. Skinner had opposed Diane's appointment to pair with Scully; he needed to be handled a bit delicately. "Where is Agent Scully, or is that too privileged?" inquired Skinner, pleasantly sarcastic. "I'm joining her after this meeting, sir." "I want reports from both of you by this afternoon," demanded Skinner in a cold tone of authority, which Scully had mimicked so well earlier in the day. "Let's get moving on this Chesterfield autopsy before the family catches the ear of a Senator. I won't tolerate incompetence or inefficiency in my department, Agent Fowley." "Yes, sir." Diana found her angry growing as she outwardly passive left Skinners' office. If it wasn't for her gender, she could be sitting in the A.D.'s chair and issuing orders and judging the people under her, she thought bitterly. Diana left thinking hard about her future. Thinking hard about how knowing her fate could be to her advantage in a power game that she always seemed to find herself at the bottom of the pile. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ XIII. MULDER A night of worry and concern had left Scully thinking her tired eyes were playing tricks. The fevered color of Mulder's face was gone. No sweat. She bent closer trying to gauge the quality of his sleep to find that Mulder had opened his eyes. Scully, exhausted and wan, was examining him critically. Kneeling beside his bed she was just inches from his face, the blue surgical mask pulled under her chin. "Mulder?" "I'm hungry," he said plaintively. She grinned, and flooded with happiness and relief and only inches away from him, -- before she could think - or he could stop her, -- Dana kissed the corner of his lips lightly with her own warm and moist ones. Surprised and stunned, Mulder drew back sharply from the contact. "Dana, you shouldn't have!" Her eyes snapped and she stiffly jumped back, distancing herself both physically and emotionally. Several doors on her face slammed shut and her features lapsed into its habitual impassive mask. "Obviously," was her terse reply. Unfortunately for Mulder, before he could explain, Byers interrupted them. "I think you better come out here Agent Scully." "Gladly!" She snapped her latex gloves off, throwing them into a garbage can. Flipping aside the plastic dropsheet with a vicious twist, she left the room with little doubt to the state of her feelings. It took her several moments to understand that Diana Fowley was standing in the main room, gun in hand. It was pointed at Byers, Frohike and Langly but swiveled to cover Dana when she entered. Scully wasn't in the mood for games. "What the hell are you doing? Put that down. I know they're odd but these are Mulder's friends and pretty harmless." Dana shoved her sticky hair out of her eyes and blinked, trying to focus her tired thoughts on this new situation. "Mulder's mine." For a moment Dana pictured this with an odd twist of reality and thought - All this about a boyfriend, she wondered? "Forget it Diana. Mulder's going nowhere except into a hospital. Perhaps you can send him some flowers - with a card of course," she added sarcastically. As Dana moved to turn away, Diana stepped forward aggressively bringing the gun's barrel to bear more closely on Scully' chest. "It's you that doesn't understand. Fox Mulder is coming with me - literally. It's because I find him very interesting - or his new talent acquired from Deborah Chesterfield - very interesting." Mulder had come through the protective plastic and was barely able to prop himself up using an outstretched hand against the wall. "Diana, I really wish you would believe me that this is the worst, very worst thing, that you could possibly do," he said. With his words, Diana's attention flickered momentarily to Mulder's presence. Adrenaline left over from the long night's fight over Mulder's sick body and anger from his reaction to her kiss, gave Scully an edge despite her loss of sleep and weakness from recent injuries. She leapt forward bringing Diana's arm down and twisting the weapon out of her hand, breaking Fowley's trigger finger in the process. The other agent immediately reacted by cold cocking Scully in the head with the gun's butt. A kick to Scully's broken ribs, removed any scruples that Dana might have felt, and before she registered the pain, she again took the offensive by grabbing Fowley's ankle and jerking the woman over backwards. Byers and Langley moved as if to break up the fight but Mulder prevented them. "Don't touch them!" he cried, angry and frustrated. "One of them has it now but I'm not sure which!" Fowley tried to grab her hair or scratch her face, and Scully realized that Diana must not have been raised with boys. From long practice with brothers who didn't pull punches, Scully closed her broken hand in a fist, thumb without, and gave a satisfying punch full in Diana's face. Panting, in pain, and with blood running down her face, Scully stood over her unconscious opponent. "Bravo!" exclaimed a clapping Byers while Frohike proclaimed, shaking his head sadly, "But there should have been mud." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ XIV. SCULLY Walter Skinner did not get his report that day. Although it was small consolation to the lack of efficiency he desired, Skinner did get to visit Dana Scully at the emergency room, where her hand was being bandaged for the second time that week. Her nostrils were encrusted with the remains of her bloody nose and her lip had puffed. She looked like she had been in a bar brawl. "Where's Diana Fowley?" asked Scully as soon as Skinner passed through the curtains. This made him even more irritated, considering he was the one who had the right to ask questions. "Why don't you tell me, Agent Scully?" "The last time I saw her the quarantine group was taking her off to be examined. According to Mulder, she now has the infection that Deborah Chesterfield first acquired." "Yes, this mysterious infection that seems to make only one person sick at a time," stated Skinner. "As someone from a medical profession don't you think you, Mulder and probably half of D.C. should be in a closed room with men in suits?" Not paying complete attention, Scully grimaced as she critically examined her hand. It had swollen to almost twice its regular size and she was holding it in a bucket of ice. So much for bravado - it hurt! "Mulder's opinion is that it isn't an infection at all, but a parasite." "Mulder, Mulder, Mulder! I'm pretty damn sick of hearing about Fox Mulder. Where the hell is he anyway?" "Around, somewhere. I'm sure he'll surface," said Scully, noncommittally. She had let herself be convinced to send Mulder and the Lone Gunmen off to another hideaway as she had waited for the team to come pick up her and Diana Fowley. "Besides Diana can help us understand what this thing is exactly," explained Scully. "It seems that its method of transmission is through bodily fluids - from Deborah's mucus to Fox Mulder, from his spit to me, and then from my blood to Diana." Skinner could see that the conversation might get too complicated if he asked questions about mucus, spit and blood and so left that aspect of their discussion unexamined. "Mulder thinks the parasite left him because, as he puts it, it got a 'stomach-ache.'" "I see. Can you explain the exact scientific definition of a stomach-ache, Agent Scully?" said Skinner in the voice of one that did not see and thought he was in the presence of a fool. "With Deborah, the parasite fed off her dreams, but these were only of one day. With Mulder, the dream cycle sped out of control; like eating too rich a food, the parasite couldn't quite process what Mulder's mind was feeding it without trouble. Mulder was making it sick so it found another host -- me. In the fight between Fowley and myself, it again transferred to another person - the level of pain I was feeling at the time may have had something to do with that. For self preservation, a parasite would want to be in as healthy a host as possible to insure survival." "The fight between you and Fowley?" Scully opened her mouth, but Skinner stopped her with an upraised hand. "Stop. Don't talk any further. I can see that the hospital has probably injected you with something that is dulling your usually astute mind. The Department of Defense has acquired Agent Fowley's case. This also includes the autopsy of Deborah Chesterfield. The manner is no longer of concern to the Bureau." Scully wanted to protest but saw the look on Skinner's face and said nothing. She was supposed to be a good little girl and take her lumps. It didn't help that Mulder had told her all about what Skinner would say and the outcome. Any further discussion was ended when her sister Melissa arrived. "Hey girlfriend, you keep this up and I'll have no choice but to tell mom." The ride back, without the little red sports car, was a bit sad. Dana consoled herself that at least she had remembered to take her briefcase, along with the Mulder files, out of the trunk of Kersh's favorite car before she had returned the vehicle to the Pool. "Missy, did you stay at my apartment over the last few days?" she asked her sister after they had gotten home and made a pot of coffee. "No, why?" "It just feels odd," mumbled Scully, moving a small china ornament that had been given to her by Charlie. "Things seem a little off." "Imagination in overdrive, sister. You need to get some rest." This time she agreed to take the week off, mainly because of Skinner's remark that it would be best if she removed herself from his vicinity until he had time to forget her escapades. But it was a lonely week that stretched out to two when Mulder didn't call. When she finally drummed up the courage to call his office, Trish, told her that Mulder was in "session" with a client. He didn't return her call and Dana didn't phone him again. The apartment was too quite, and Dana allowed herself to be pulled into her sister's activities, such as movies, dinners and friends. None of them amused and she finally begged off from any more. She put herself back into work, trying to forget Mulder and all the strange things that intrigued her about him. She had fooled herself into believing that she had succeeded when she had a call from his sister. "I hope this isn't a bad time to call?" asked her soft voice on the other side of the line. Dana gladly put away the file on goatsuckers and answered, "No, it isn't." "Why I was calling, - I wondered if we could meet somewhere? I really didn't a chance to get to know you when Fox introduced us." "That would be fine. I'm free for lunch today, but --?" "No that would be fine for me too. Actually excellent." The two women agreed to meet at a local park. The wind was sharp with the start of fall, and Scully pulled her coats' collar up trying to block out the draft down the back of her neck. Her hair wouldn't behave and kept being grabbed and twisted into her face. "I can see the workings of my sister in this," said Fox Mulder as he came up beside her causing Scully to turn with a gasp. If anything, he had gotten more handsome then her imagination remembered. Her heart constricted and then flip-flopped. "I was supposed to meet Sam here but somehow I have the feeling that my crafty little sister isn't going to show." "I’ll leave," insisted Scully and she started to walk away but was prevented by Mulder's sudden hand on her arm. "I remember you had your mind on a fine Italian restaurant once. Still hungry?" "Let me guess? As a business lunch this would be considered a tax write off?" "I'll let you keep the receipt just to prove how pure my motives are," reassured Mulder. They stared at each other with eyes hungry not for food; neither one of them moved. "Mulder why haven't you called me? I was worried." He closed his eyes as if in pain but only for a moment. "I don't know Dana. Seeing the future has given me all this responsibility that I'm not sure I want. I know for instance that I could let you go today and your life would be a hell of a lot easier." "Are you still having …problems?" "No," he smiled. "But that can't help for what I do remember." "I thought you said there were good things too? Isn't good and bad just a fact of life?" "But is it MY decision to make your future?" ruminated Mulder, who shoved his hands deep into coat pockets. "I've been doing some thinking too. You knew that I was going to infect Diana. Why didn't you stop us?" "I didn't like the future I saw when you didn't." They stared at each other, choices unspoken. Then his hands suddenly, abruptly came around the back of her neck, tangling with her emotional hair. His thumbs resting warmly behind her ears brought her a step closer to him. "I think you misinterpreted my reaction that day --" He bent close to the top of her forehead, his breath warming her skin. "Did I?" she asked with a hoarse whisper, her lips moments away from his own. They were leaning towards each other, drawn. "Some futures can't be stopped," was his last answer. "Some futures I don't want to stop." Samantha watched from the steps as they kissed. She smiled and went off humming a song and inspired to do a painting. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ XV. EPILOGUE Screaming wasn't going to do any good but Diana Fowley did it anyway. Her vocal chords had grown hoarse from the cries she made everyday. She knew her own personal future - it was going to be a living hell. Each day she dreamt of the same men in white coats, the same medication to make her talk, and the same outcome - a stupor of dreams that gave her no escape. Spender was growing tired of her. "Please, please," she moaned, begging and weeping, "get it out of me!" He eyed her with speculation. The organism seemed limited on its capabilities. Without exposing Fowley to other stimuli the ability to forecast only a day ahead seemed not worth the trouble. However, you could never tell when something would become a commodity; Spender had reached the top only because of his careful hoarding of knowledge. "Just keep her this way for now," he said, looking down unemotionally at the gurney that held Fowley's strapped body. The doctor nodded and Diana protested, tears weeping down her cheeks into her matted hair. "I wish I could die!" she screamed and spat at him; Spender was ready and smoothly and without effort sidestepped the possible contamination. He left the cell and walked down the hall, his mind already on other upcoming conquests. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ THANK YOU: I know that several of you who have written to say you enjoyed Collector, even though you usually DON'T read Alternative Universe stories, so thanks for taking a chance with mine and encouraging this second installment. PRIVATE PRACTICE BACKGROUND For those that might want further clarification on this Alternative Universe here are some further notes of mine. Key difference: Mulder and Scully met for the first time in the story "Collector" - the time frame is the present. This puts Mulder and Scully both older then when they first met in Chris Carter's universe and later in the day for when the X-Files emerged as a "department." Mulder went into private practice instead of joining the FBI, while Scully's path has continued to be the Bureau. She has just been given the X-files. Samantha's abduction has never happened. Scully's cancer and the abduction does not happen. Melissa is alive as her murder did not occur. Mulder married Phoebe and divorced her before she was murdered, presumably by the Syndicate. Diana Fowley never had a prior relationship with Mulder.