=====o======================================================o=====

"Zurvan" by Mary Ruth Keller 

E-mail: mkeller@universe.digex.net

=====o======================================================o=====

Chapter VI - Many Partings (Disclaimed in Chapter I)

-----o------------------------------------o-----

 Now, lords, for France; the enterprise whereof
 Shall be to you, as us, like glorious.
 We doubt not of a fair and lucky war,
 Since God so graciously hath brought to light
 This dangerous treason lurking in our way
 To hinder our beginnings. We doubt not now 
 But every rub is smoothed on our way.
 Then forth, dear countrymen: let us deliver
 Our puissance into the hand of God,
 Putting it straight in expedition. 
 Cheerily to sea; the signs of war advance: 
 No king of England, if not king of France.

                  The Life of King Henry V

-----o------------------------------------o-----

Apartment 5
Alexandria, Virginia
Monday, December 22, 1997
9:21 pm

Scully placed the twenty in the cab driver's outstretched hand. 

"Thanks, Ma'am." 

"Merry Christmas."

The broad-faced Pakistani flashed his teeth as he shifted the
battered Ford into drive. 

Scully nodded as he pulled away, then hoisted her duffle strap
onto her shoulder. She gazed up at the flat brick building that
she called home, remembering the heat of Indian Summer shimmering
off the slate roof when she departed. Now, the chill air and bare
trees portended the coming season, leaving her pensive and
slightly gloomy. <When I was sent off, things were clicking along
so well.> She exchanged quick hello's with her neighbor as she
entered the front door. 

Checking her mailbox, she found it empty, and frowned. <Mom's
still in the Mediterranean, so who?> She nodded. <Mulder.> Her
obsessive partner was repeating his behavior from the three months
of her abduction, no doubt. He was watching out for her apartment
as carefully as he could not watch out for her. 

Crossing the hallway, she inserted the key in her lock. As the
tumblers settled, she waited. <He's not there, or he would have
been on his feet, pulling the door open with some dry quip.> She
let the barrier swing away, giving her time to lift her bag again. 

<Home.> The scents of her own private space wafted out to her: a
faint aroma of spice from the potpourri on the table, safe now
that her Pomeranian wasn't here to root though it, the tang of
rosemary from the plant she had started on her windowsill, and the
slight mustiness of a place closed-up. 

Stepping into her living room, Scully glanced at the light switch,
but shrugged. <Why bother? I've staggered around my own apartment
in the dark often enough.> She carried her duffle into the
bedroom, thinking to open a few windows and air the quarters out.
But, when she stretched out her hand, she felt coolness on her
fingers, so she knew the tiny square panes were already raised.
<Mulder again.> It was unlike him to leave her space open unless
he was there. 

Returning to her front room, she checked her couch, and lifted one
corner of her mouth. Her dark-haired partner was there, stretched
out on her white and green striped cushions, a grey-stained rag in
a heap under the long fingers that hung off the end of the couch.
Scully settled on her painted coffeetable, one hand poised over
his back, calling him softly. <Don't frighten him.> Even though he
had kicked off his running shoes, exposing gym socks that matched
her dust rag, she knew his Sig was probably clipped on the
waistband of his black jeans. 

"Mulder?" She whispered his name again, waiting while he shifted
and tensed. Scully dropped her hand to his shoulder, rubbing the
knobby cotton of his black polo shirt. "Mulder, it's me." 

He raised himself up on his elbows, blinking at her through the
darkness. "Scully?" In the light from the streetlamp, he could
just make out the hair framing her pale face. "You're back?" He
shifted on the cushions so he was upright and could rub his cheeks
with both hands. 

Scully moved onto the couch, turning so she could watch him and
they could talk. "The preliminary hearings for the State trial are
over, Mulder. Skinner's probably home by now." 

He reached behind him to turn on one of her brass table lamps.
"What happened?" They blinked at the light. "Yesterday, you said
Stone wanted to keep you there to review that faked evidence?" He
twisted on the bolsters, groggily focusing on her eyes. 

Scully leaned back, breathing in the clean cotton smell of her own
white and green striped cushions, so different from the sweat and
old cigarettes of the acrylic overstuffed chair in her room at the
safe house. "We decided I could do that better back here than in
isolation in Saltville." 

He scratched his chin. "Oh? What do we have here that you don't
have down there?" Leaning forward, he rested both elbows on his
knees. "Is it too sensitive to talk about over the phone?" 

Scully shook her head. "If you must know, the case will be argued
here in Alexandria, so Stone will be up in a day or so." 

Mulder chewed his lower lip for a moment. "Why Alexandria? Isn't
there a courthouse down near Saltville?" 

The auburn-haired woman tucked her feet up beside her. "Stone
argued, successfully, I might add, that Saunders wouldn't have a
fair trial down there." 

Mulder snorted. "The race thing? Saunders must have hated that." 

Scully shifted slightly closer to him. "Actually, no. Very, very
little happens in Saltville." She lifted one corner of her mouth
at his nod of agreement. "To have a double murder in a safe-house
most of the residents didn't know existed, well, you should have
*heard* some of the wild stories the local paper was publishing."
She raised one hand to cover a tired yawn. "According to one
account, Saunders was a drug-lord from Zimbabwe, and this double
murder was an assassination attempt by a rival." 

Grinning, he propped his head up on his fist, the motion tipping
his face over hers. "Enter Rumour, painted full of tongues." 

She pointed a finger at him. "You have the picture. Stone put two
reporters on the stand, both of whom had been to the Pittsburgh
trial."

Mulder moved one of the wine-colored throw pillows from behind his
back. "Oh, if they passed some of your testimony along, well, I
can imagine." 

Her green-blue eyes danced. "No, you can't. Some of the townsfolk
were wearing '100% human' buttons, in the courtroom." Digging in
her briefcase, she retrieved a square red button with black
letters. "Here, one for you." 

Smirking, he pinned it to his collar. "So, when does the trial
begin down the street?" 

She settled lightly against his side. "Stone will let us know. How
are things here?" She frowned at the slight shudder that ran
through him at her question. "Mulder?" She watched his long
fingers brush across the back of her hand, which was resting on
the cushion. <Something's wrong.> 

He leaned into her. "Everything's fine, Scully. The Gunmen have
been busily entering the trial transcripts into their data base.
They've found some very, very small watchdog organizations like
themselves in Eastern Europe, so they're running that faked data
past them. But Byers has to be careful." 

Tipping her head back, she nodded. "He doesn't want to compromise
Vicky's position or her career." 

Mulder nodded. "Exactly." He stared down at her carpet, his next
words barely voiced. "I'm glad you're back, Scully."

Leaning towards him, she reached over to touch his hand. "I was
tired of being on the road. I'm having some evidence shipped
directly to the Gunmen's so they can start looking at it. We
should run by there before it arrives so they won't think it's a
mail bomb." 

Mulder snorted. "You weren't there when Vicky sent Byers a suit
from Austria one time. She thought she was being helpful by
sending express to their office, but Frohike shoved it in their
freezer - "

She arched one eyebrow. "That refrigerator-sized beast they keep
in the basement?" 

He nodded. "Yeah. They wouldn't open it until they'd read up on
bomb deactivation techniques." He held his hands over his head.
"Frohike had this huge helmet on, and he lifted the jacket out
with a long pair of tongs. Sometime I'll show you the photo I took
of him," he extended his arms out in front of him, grasping an
imaginary tool, "pointing a fire extinguisher at this green suit
before he realized what it was." 

Scully covered her grin with her fingers. "I did miss all the fun
with you guys back then." 

He shifted closer to her, touching her shoulder in gratitude. <But
not anymore, Scully.>

She studied the carpet between them. "I'm sorry it took so long
for us to learn to really trust each other. It's so different that
we do now." She favored him with one of her too-rare full smiles.
"Better."

Mulder dropped his arm to tug his partner's elbow. "Why didn't you
call? I would have met you at the airport." His eyes settled into
an anxious sadness. 

Scully shook her head. "I wanted to surprise you, so I was
planning on showing up at your door, pizza in hand." She prodded
the dust rag with her foot. "But you beat me to it, Mulder.
Thanks." She tossed her hair, lifting both eyebrows as she moved
closer to him. 

He shifted away, chewing his lip, his chin down, as if he hadn't
wanted to be caught here. "Ah, you've done it for me." 

She hooked her fingers over his arm. <I know something's wrong.>
"So? Thanks anyway." She couldn't tell whether this was his usual
dis-ease at praise, or whether there was something new eating at
her friend. 

Suddenly he closed the distance between them, hugging her
fiercely. "Scully." He buried his face in her neck, rubbing her
spine as he clutched her. "It doesn't matter." 

She shifted her shoulders to fit more comfortably in his arms as
he rocked back and forth. <Please don't keep what's bothering you
locked inside, Mulder.> Finding she was tracing circles on his
back, she schooled herself to wait. <He'll tell me when he's
ready.> 

He lifted his face out of her hair. "Are you OK?" 

She nodded against his chest. "For some reason, when I sleep eight
hours a night because I'm not getting calls after dark, and sit in
an heated courtroom all day, rather than crawl across ice fields,
I stay OK." 

After a brief snort, he released her, letting her settle at the
far end of the couch. "Good." 

She could tell the anxiety was still nipping at him. "But, I'm
bored, Mulder." He sent her a lop-sided grin. "I've missed not
having you and Nichols to argue with. Did Rosen manage to hold her
own while I was gone?" 

He stared at his clenched fists. "Scully, there's..." He bit his
lip. 

She moved close to him, grasping his wrist. "I have weeks of
Tuesday-Thursday lunches to catch up on." She bent forward to
catch his eye.

He glanced at her quickly before standing. "I..." He crossed his
arms, pacing by the windows. "I just returned from a visit with
Matheson." 

Scully rose, walking around the coffeetable to stop him. "That's
good, right? He hasn't spoken with you since Chiapas." She could
see his eyes glistening, so she held his elbow. "Tell me, Mulder." 

He shrugged, retreating within himself. 

"What, Mulder?" 

He stiffened. "Scully, I lost the section." He cringed, blinking
fearfully at her. 

Scully locked her hands around both wrists. "No, you didn't.
Something's happened that we aren't aware of." She tugged him back
to the couch, pulling him down beside her. "We've gotten too close
again, haven't we? We let ourselves get all wrapped up in these
court cases and we missed something, didn't we?" 

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Yeah. Maybe we have. Maybe that's
it. Maybe that's all it is." 

She nodded. "Tell me what he said. It might have been one of the
shape-shifters. Did you check?" 

Mulder ran his hand through his hair. "Yeah, I tested him. He was
playing one of the Brandenberg concerti when I arrived, just like
he was before he sent me down to Aricebo. I misidentified it, and
he corrected me, just like he did then." He settled against the
corner, one long arm splayed along the back of the sofa, his left
ankle tucked up under his hip. "He even made a joke about how my
education hasn't seemed to have improved." 

After twisting out of her pumps, Scully hugged her thighs to her
chest at the other corner of the sofa, resting her chin on her
knees. "Tell me what he said exactly." 

Mulder shrugged. "He said we had accomplished all that we could be
expected to achieve, and that the mission of the X-Files needed to
be redirected. He warned me that the funding for the group, after
all the negative publicity, would be cut in half. He suggested
that Nichols take the ASAC position in San Diego that had just
opened up. He hinted that Rosen should get on with her academic
career. He even mentioned creating a position of Senior
Pathologist down at Quantico for you." He slid across the cushions
to her. "Why? Just because of this business with X?" 

Scully's shoulders drooped. "I couldn't begin to guess, Mulder.
After the initial burst of publicity relating to the trial of a
prominent black lawyer for murder, the press has left the
proceedings alone. You know the actual details are too convoluted
and arcane to be condensed to a fifteen second sound bite." She
cocked her head. "You also know no reputable newspaper will run a
story about," she made quote marks in the air with her fingers,
"little green men among us until they check our evidence out
thoroughly."

Mulder grunted his agreement.

Setting her feet on the floor, she leaned close to him. "Maybe
when Director Skinner returns, he'll pass on a few more of the
details. Matheson's needed to keep some distance between himself
and us, probably for all our safeties." 

Shifting over until he was practically sitting under her chin,
Mulder crossed his arms. "He's also left us high and dry before
too, Scully." 

She rested one hand on his neck. "So, tell me more. When you've
spoken with him in the past, he's always conveyed one message that
he expected to be overheard, another that was only for you. Did he
slip you any notes?" 

Mulder shook his head. "But he'll sometimes send a message to my
apartment." 

The auburn-haired agent rose. "Then, what are we waiting for?"

Mulder bent over her shoulder once they stood outside her
apartment door, locking it. "You sure about that well-rested part,
Scully?" 

Turning to push on his side, she arched an eyebrow. "Of course,
Mulder, what other welcome home did you think I had been
expecting?" 

                            --o-0-o--

Apartment 42
Arlington, Virginia
Monday, 9:57 pm

Mulder slid his mail key into the tiny square door. "Bills and
catalogs, but I might as well add them to the piles inside." 

When a single sheet, folded in thirds, slipped to the flagstones,
Scully bent to retrieve it. "What is this, another condo
association meeting you'll be avoiding?" 

They peered at the words on the page: 10:25 pm Vietnam Memorial

Mulder paused only long enough to dump the stack of envelopes in
the trash before each zipped their coats and headed for the door. 

Scully tossed her head. "Hope there wasn't a power bill in there." 

Smirking, he held the thick outer door for her. "The guys can
always fix it for me if there is." 

                            --o-0-o--

Vietnam Memorial 
Washington, DC
Monday, 10:22 pm

The agents approached the black marble slab silently. Their
distinguished-looking grey-haired contact waited at the deepest
point of the memorial, still in the light blue suit he had been
wearing when he had met with Mulder earlier. 

Senator Matheson nodded to the auburn-haired woman. "Glad to see
your flight ended safely." 

"Thank you, Sir." She held herself rigid, waiting. 

The older man turned to Mulder. "Part of what I told you earlier
is correct, Agent Mulder. I am cutting the funding of the X-Files
section, but not for any failures on your part." He leaned closer
to them. "Since you told me that one of my staffers is high up in
the Organization, I'm attempting to play his ego against the
others. This dissolution was his suggestion, and it's something of
a test to see how easily I can be manipulated. The ASAC position
is genuine, as is a special endowed faculty position at Scripps
Oceanographic Institute." 

Mulder nodded. "Nichols and Rosen move out there, but it's a
cover." 

Scully crossed her arms. "What about Quantico?" 

Mulder cocked an eyebrow at her. 

Matheson bent to whisper. "I have no more intention of separating
you and Agent Mulder than I have of keeping Mister Lindhauer a
moment after he's ceased to be useful, Doctor Scully." The Senator
glanced up at Mulder. "I think it's been traumatic enough." 

Scully eyed her partner. <When this is over, we talk, Mulder.>
"Oh?" 

Mulder waved his hand, putting her absence behind him. "There's a
fourth leader, we know that. We just can't finger him." 

Matheson nodded. "Indeed. But the position at Quantico is real
enough." He stared up at the tall agent. "As is a supervisory role
in Behavioral Sciences for you, Agent Mulder." 

Holding out both hands, the dark-haired man began backing away.
"No, not profiling. I can't do that again." He pointed to his
partner. "At least not without her." 

Scully crossed her arms. "Don't you see, Mulder, there's no
scuttling back to the basement for us, not anymore." She glanced
over her shoulder at the Senator, who was nodding. "These jobs are
just as much of a cover as Rosen's and Nichols'."

The agent froze. 

Matheson approached him. "Exactly. Reassigning you is just what
the Organization wants me to do. But, neither of you will be in
charge of other agents. You'll be free to investigate cases
without restrictions or limits." 

Scully stepped up to the Senator. "What about Director Skinner?
How much of this does he know?" 

Matheson shook his head. "You'll find out." He held up both hands.
"I can't reveal too much too soon." 

Mulder stood by his partner. "OK. I see." They waited while the
Senator slipped into the shadows. He rested his arm on Scully's
shoulder. "So, Doctor, Dinner?" 

She tossed her head. "I thought you'd never ask."

                            --o-0-o--

Office of Assistant Director Walter Skinner
Tuesday, December 23, 1997
8:02 am

"Come in, both of you." The bald director held the door, waiting
until Mulder, and Scully had taken their customary seats. He stood
in the opening. "Gloria?" 

The grey-haired woman smiled. "Hold all calls?" 

Her answer was a curt nod. After closing them off from the
outside, the Director settled behind his desk, looking the dark-
haired agent over carefully. 

Uncomfortable with the scrutiny, Mulder leaned forward. "Good to
have you back, Sir." 

Pushing a folder across the table at them, he nodded his thanks. 

Scully flipped the cover, then passed the sheet to her partner. 

Mulder glanced at Skinner, who had taken his glasses off to fiddle
with the frames. The page was blank, save for a short sequence of
digits on it: 1214. Mulder sighed. "So, what assignments do you
have for us, Sir?"

Skinner raised an eyebrow. "Just a very unpleasant one." The
Assistant Director rose to face out the window and away from his
agents. <They know this, but we have to go through the motions.>
"I've just received the modifications to the FY 98 Justice
Department budget. I regret to have to inform you that the funding
for your section has been cut in half." Hands behind his back, he
moved from behind his desk to sit at one of his conference table
chairs. "Now, this doesn't reflect..." 

Mulder was on his feet, playing the part as if it had been
scripted. "Sir! I demand to know the reasons why! The Section's
solve rate has improved over the high percentage Agent Scully and
I had already attained by ourselves." He crossed his arms. 

Scully stood halfway between the two men. "Is this irrevocable,
Sir? The Bureau always retains discretionary funds. Can we appeal
to Director Freeh for redress?" 

Skinner sighed. "Director Freeh has his hands full with the Flight
800 and James Earl Ray investigations. The exposure of the
Bureau's witness protection network and the murders of veteran
agents have brought the wrong kind of publicity to the X-Files.
Feel fortunate that you, Agent Scully aren't back at Quantico,
teaching like Agent Nichols will be." He raised both eyebrows. 

Mulder glanced at his equally confused partner before frowning at
his superior. "Quantico? What about Agent Rosen?" 

Skinner rose, repositioning the chair exactly in its depressions
in the carpet before responding. "Agent Rosen remains a problem.
It's not like the Bureau needs to spend much time studying the
stars." His eyes flicked towards the thin folder resting by his
nameplate, then he stepped up to the dark-haired agent. "Oh, and
since you moved not so very long ago, this won't be a problem.
You, Gloria, and I have all been assigned to the new Washington
field office."

Scully clenched her hands in her lap. "Sir, what about Cynthia?" 

Skinner spoke through a motionless jaw. "Cynthia will join us
shortly. Gloria has informed me that she would like to retire
permanently." 

Mulder ran one hand down his face. "But in the meantime?" He began
bouncing around the office. "She's a vital part of our operation,
Sir." He knew better than to speak, in this room, the real reason
she had to be kept close.

Skinner shook his head. "Welcome to your baptism by fire, Agent
Mulder. Being a supervisor means more than recommending your
people for promotions." Shrugging, he crossed over to the door. 

Taking their cue, Mulder and Scully stepped out.

                            --o-0-o--

Elevator
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Tuesday, 8:33 am

Mulder, propped against the back wall, rubbed his face. "Jeez,
that was a surprise." He looked down at his partner, standing at
his elbow. "What do you think happened?" Since they had no idea
how much of the building was under covert surveillance, he was
choosing his words carefully, as he knew would she, so she nodded. 

Scully tucked a few strands of auburn hair behind her ear.
"Probably something behind the scenes, no doubt." As the elevator
bobbed to a halt, the pair faced the door. 

Arthur Pendrell, his arms laden with files, staggered through the
doors, beaming when he caught sight of the waiting occupants.
"Agent Scully! You're back! Tell me what happened." 

Scully lifted one corner of her mouth, then updated the red-haired
man on the trials. She concluded simply. "So, Arthur, since the
State testimony will begin after Christmas in Alexandria, I'll
have at least have some time to catch up on the paperwork I'm
*sure* Agent Mulder has left unfinished." She pointed her chin at
her partner, poised to issue a return jibe. 

Holding down the door open button, Mulder grinned while waiting
for the others to exit. <This should throw off anyone listening.>
"So, what brings you to the second floor, Pendrell?" 

The younger man's face reddened momentarily. "Um. Er, I wanted to
drop these life histories off for Agent Scully to examine, when
she returned home, of course." He was walking as close to the red-
haired woman's elbow on her right as Mulder was on her left.
"We've run some partial DNA cross-checks, and think we've come up
with some candidates for the women in the warehouse." 

Taking some of the stack from him, Scully nodded. "Good. Have you
had a chance to look for similarities yet?" 

Pendrell blinked. "In the DNA, or in their lives?" 

As Mulder held the door, she shrugged. "Either." 

Cynthia looked up from her keyboard. "Agent Scully! Welcome back!" 

Scully walked around the secretary's desk to pat her shoulder.
"Has my partner been working you too hard?" She sent him a teasing
glance. 

Cynthia giggled. "No. I've been acing my Calculus tests at night
school, though."

Scully favored the brunette with a genuine smile. "Good. I'm glad
to hear that you've kept Rosen busy." She rejoined Pendrell and
Mulder. "If you don't mind, we need to go sweep sunflower seeds
off the conference table and do some real work." 

Mulder opened the door to his office, jerking his head towards the
coffee-pot. "I'll get you tanked up, Doctor." 

Scully smiled again. "Thanks, Mulder. Stone makes wonderful strong
tea, but lousy coffee. I survived through most of the review
sessions on trips to the bathroom." 

Pendrell cleared his throat. He had been quietly laying the DNA
traces over the stacks of folders on Mulder's table, but now he
needed the agents' full attention. "Agent Scully?" He edged away
from Mulder, but checked for his attentiveness with a quick
glance. 

The auburn-haired woman focused on the mylar sheet closest to the
technician. "These aren't normal, are they?" Her finger rested on
three narrow lines, a single thick line above them. 

Pendrell blinked. "No, they aren't, Agent Scully. How did you
know?" 

Mulder smirked. "That's what was changed on Saunders' records?" 

Scully nodded. 

Pendrell gaped at Mulder. "How do you know?" 

Shrugging, Mulder rested his hand on the red-haired man's
shoulder. "Someone's tried to palm off an altered DNA record on us
just recently." 

Scully smiled slightly at the lab-coated agent before she
continued smoothly. "It was an obvious fake, introduced with great
fan-fare at the trial in Pittsburgh." 

Pendrell was playing with his retractable pointer, pulling the
aluminum tube to its full extension, then slamming it closed on
the palm of his left hand. "Well, do you have it? They've tampered
with one of the areas of the human genome that may be related to
the development of Alzheimer's." 

Mulder, his hands on his hips, looked down at Scully. "Yeah, it's
locked away." After he rotated the heavy dial on the file-cabinet
sized grey safe, the dark-haired agent handed one wide envelope to
Pendrell. 

Following a moment's study, the technician focused on Scully. "Why
did they want to make you think he hadn't inherited this?" Lifting
one sheet off the table, he overlaid the fraudulent data with his,
then held them both over his head so the florescent lights could
shine through the stack. "He really did." 

Scully's green-blue eyes flicked from side to side as she compared
lines, growing up the page, her chin nearly on Pendrell's
shoulder. Using her smallest finger, she pointed out three other
discrepancies. "Do you have any idea what do those mean?" 

Mulder watched Pendrell chew his lower lip. "Has that part of the
genome been charted yet?" 

At the question, the tech lowered the sheets to hand them to
Scully. "I don't know, but I'll check. If I could get on your
computer, Agent Scully?" 

She nodded, waiting until the red-haired man was engrossed in his
search to lean into Mulder's chest. "When are we informing the
others about those transfers?" 

Mulder shook his head. "Not today. I'm not telling Rosen and
Nichols a thing until I have a straight story between Skinner and
Matheson." He pointed at her desk. "We've finally built up the
kind of team the X-Files have always cried out for, and I'm
supposed to give it up without a peep?" He bent over, his dark
eyes glittering with determination. "Nope. I have to have some
real answers. They owe us, all of us." 

Scully swiveled away from him, raising her chin. "Good. Go get
something out of Skinner while I check through data bases with
Pendrell." 

Nodding, Mulder crossed to his desk to retrieve the transfer
papers. "Don't let anyone know what's in these, Scully. I'll be
back." He placed the folders on her outstretched hands. 

                            --o-0-o--

"I'll be back in about forty-five minutes, Gloria." 

The grey-haired woman nodded as Walter Skinner closed his outer
door behind him. 

"Sir!" Mulder, his cheeks flushed, strode towards his AD. 

Skinner shook his head. "Not now, Agent Mulder!" 

The dark-haired agent blocked the older man's path. "I *must*
speak with you about these transfers *now*, Sir." 

Skinner grasped his arm, spinning him around so he could continue
down the crowded hall. "Later, Agent Mulder." His intensity edged
up a notch. "I have a meeting with the Attorney General in ten
minutes. Given the events on the hill, she's not very tolerant of
late arrivals." 

A few of the agents and clerks eyed the two men as they passed. 

Mulder yanked his arm free. "I'm not giving up my agents, Sir, not
without a better explanation than what you gave me!" 

Skinner leaned towards him, speaking through clenched teeth.
"Outside, Mulder." 

The younger man followed reluctantly until they were standing
beside the Navy memorial. "Sir, I - " 

Skinner shook his head, silencing him. "I share your concern,
Agent Mulder. The last thing I want is for your group to suffer." 

Edgy, Mulder ran his hand through his hair. "But, Sir, what
bothers me is that you and Senator Matheson have given us
different stories as to where Rosen and Nichols will end up. And
with what's happened with Cynthia, we can't leave anything to
chance." 

Skinner had been eyeing him. "Different? Matheson told you
something other than what he told me?" He rubbed the bridge of his
nose, the pads for his wire-rims resting on his fingers as he did
so. "I'll try to arrange a time when the four of us can work this
out in security." 

Mulder glanced over his shoulder when a taxi driver began shouting
in Farsi at a stalled line of traffic. "Thank you, Sir. Watch out
for a tall, blond aide named Lindhauer. He's one of them, so don't
expect Matheson to tell you anything reliable when he's around." 

Skinner nodded, setting his pace to match that of the pedestrians
around him as he turned away.

                            --o-0-o--

Union Street Public House
Alexandria, Virginia
Tuesday, 7:21 pm

Richard Matheson smoothed the lapels of his Armani suit jacket,
smiling at the attendant who had just draped the Harris tweed
longcoat over his arm. "I'm looking for Hale, reserved for party
of four?" 

The young man, equally elegant in his black suit, led him up the
stairs. "They've selected a booth on the second floor, Sir. Right
this way." 

The grey-haired man nodded to the two men and the woman who were
already seated. Mulder was working over a frozen clump of butter
with his knife, diligently pressing it into a slice of cornbread,
but stopped when the Senator approached. Scully had been eyeing
the golden mound with a look that was part disdain, part envy, but
straightened when their new arrival slid into the booth across
from her. Skinner merely nodded, taking a long drought from a tall
glass mug of red-tinted amber ale.  

After a quick glance at his partner, Mulder set the food on his
plate. "Glad you could make it on such short notice, Sir." 

Matheson shook his head. "Please, Agent Mulder. We needed to have
this meeting." 

Scully rested both hands flat on her lap. "Why the different
stories, Sir?" 

The distinguished-looking politician turned to her. "You're both
aware that the old Cigarette-Smoking spy is still alive?" 

Without checking with each other, both nodded, but only Scully
answered. "We met him, back in February, Sir." 

Matheson rested his crossed arms on the table, pulling their four
heads into a circle. "With the reduction in the organization's
funding, my friends on the Banking and Regulatory Affairs
Committee have been reporting unusually large transactions coming
from European institutions to American ones. Many of the accounts
belong to front companies the old men used in the past." 

Mulder's brow crinkled. "Sir, while we'll investigate that, what
does it have to do with these section transfers?" 

Matheson held up one muscled hand. "We know he had listening
stations established throughout the Hoover Building, including
Director Skinner's office. Whatever you hear in there," he glanced
to his right, "sorry, Walt, you have to ignore. If they can
institute campaigns of misinformation, so can we." He shifted
against the cushions as the waiter approached. 

The four turned their attentions to more gustatorial, yet mundane,
matters, until the young man in the black suit padded away. 

Matheson leaned forward again. "That is why you are hearing two
different stories, Agent Mulder. I needed all three of you to
react as you did for the ears," he waved at the waterfront, "out
there to overhear." 

Mulder's eyes were at their darkest. "Sir, I don't like being
played for a patsy. After what we've done these past few months, I
think the group of us working on the X-Files deserve better." 

The grey-haired Senator nodded. "You're correct, Agent Mulder, you
do deserve better. After we finish exposing these secret
governments, that's - " 

Scully was shaking her head. "I'm not sure that's a good idea." 

Stunned, Mulder faced her. "Scully, what did you just say? I can't
believe after all you've done that you feel - " 

She reached for his arm, but pulled back at the near-visible waves
of rage emanating from his face. "Mulder, listen to me. We know
there are aliens on this planet. Now, while they have no immediate
plans to wipe out the human race, they don't exactly intend to go
away and leave us alone, now do they?" 

Mulder was on his feet, pacing a short line in front of the table.
"Scully, after what they did to you, how could you - "

Catching the surprised glances from other diners at the younger
man's outburst, Matheson grabbed his arm. "Sit down, Agent
Mulder." He gritted his teeth. "Now!" 

Still glaring at his partner, Mulder collapsed with a grunt. 

Matheson released his wrist. "Agent Scully has a point, in fact,
she's grasped *the* very reason I've been working with you over
the years to expose these secret governments." His grey eyes met
her green-blue ones for a long moment before he continued. "One
thing being in the Senate gives me the opportunity to do, during
all those long-winded filibusters, is think. The purpose behind
the initial formation of these secret governments is a noble one:
we need to be prepared for the arrival of sentient
extraterrestrial life at some point in the next century, or
perhaps the one after that." 

A disgusted grunt escaped the bald Director. "Listen to this. We
sound like a group of lunatics in expensive suits." 

Suddenly refocused, Mulder leaned forward. "That's why you're
separating the X-Files agents, isn't it? You want us to start up
our own organization." 

Matheson nodded. "But not a covert one. Secrecy is the enemy of
democracy; it allows corruption and ambition time to plan and
bring evil to fruition. The old groups had their beginnings in the
horror of the Third Reich; this must begin in the light. You and
Agent Scully have been carefully placing what you know in the
public eye, all without my direct encouragement. In a few years,
working with the media, we can bring the general population to the
realization of what we know." 

Skinner sighed. "Rich, this is all very interesting, but if we
make some grand pronouncement that 'aliens are among us', we'll
either be laughed off the front page or we'll start mass panics.
Also, democracies are notoriously short-sighted. Look what
happened to the SETI program. After three years of hearing nothing
from the stars, the funding all disappeared." 

The Senator turned. "I know, Walt. That's why we must start off
small, with the X-Files section. Also, we must erase this anti-
science, anti-development, inward-looking mentality that seems to
have taken hold of the national outlook. That we have to do with
education, but I have others working on that angle." He shifted,
focusing on the dark-haired agent. "I'm sorry, Agent Mulder, I
didn't want to reveal all this to you so soon, but at least you
have an idea where I want you and the rest of the X-Files agents
to end up." 

Scully had been quietly studying the wood behind the Senator's
head. "But we need to be ready for anything, Sir." 

He smiled at her, using the wide grin of a well-heeled politician.
"That we do, Agent Scully. We need to be able to understand the
gifts of technology a benevolent species would bring *and* we need
to be able to defend ourselves against an invasion with at-present
superior weaponry. We also need the wisdom to know the difference.
Your work has given you a little taste of how far we have yet to
go." 

She crossed her arms. "But we can't do it by kidnapping helpless
civilians off the streets so some secret group can perform hideous
experiments on them." 

Matheson was nodding emphatically. "Which is why we must shut down
the present organizations. All of them." 

Skinner stared. "What?" 

Mulder nodded. "There are European and Asian groups conducting
similar tests. If we simply eliminate the American organization,
they'll swoop right in and take charge." 

Matheson held up his hand. "One thing at a time. I've made
contacts in the UN to help us there." He eyed the waiter,
approaching with their meals. "But later, Agent Mulder, after you
finish with this trial and," his voice dropped to a whisper,
"other matters of a more personal nature." 

Mulder opened his mouth to respond, but the black-suited man had
arrived, so they chose other topics to occupy them while they ate. 

                            --o-0-o--

After Matheson and Skinner had offered their farewells, each
protesting family obligations, Mulder turned to Scully. "I'm
sorry." He studied the wine-colored leather cushion between them. 

She arched one red brow. "For what?" 

He tugged at a loose thread in his sleeve. "Blowing my stack with
you. You've been home less than twenty-four hours and off I go." 

She shook her head. "Oh, Mulder, if you keep apologizing every
time you do that." She flapped her linen napkin at him. "Don't
worry so. I'd have probably shot someone for saying what I did. I
needed to frame my objection better. But at least we got something
out of Matheson." 

When the waiter dropped the bill on the table, Mulder snorted
helplessly. "And he got something out of us." After placing his
credit card in the young man's hand, he rested his chin on one
fist. "So how does it feel to be in on the ground floor of a brave
new world?" 

She tucked her napkin under her plate. "Like someone dropped a six
ton weight on my shoulders. When do you want to tell Rosen and
Nichols about their new assignments?" 

He shrugged. "Tomorrow." After signing the receipt, he stood. "Let
me walk you to your car, Scully." Bending over her, he sought to
banish her somber mood. "If you don't cheer up, I'll drag you into
that Christmas shop we passed on the way here." 

She tossed her head. "Murder by pancreatic failure. Always knew
you would find a creative way to do me in, partner. I wonder how
Mom is handling Christmas on Santorini?"

He touched her back as they descended the stairs. "At least we
won't be on the streets this year." Plucking a toothpick from the
tray as they exited, he glanced over at his partner. "Where's Cary
now?" 

Worrying with the top button of her long coat, she tipped her head
up. "Packing up her Mother's house, I think. The last Rosen told
me, she'd be moving down here. It seems now that she's free of
worry, she has great plans to travel." 

Chewing the fragile stick, Mulder smirked. "So a move to San Diego
wouldn't be all that unappreciated." 

Scully wrapped her arms around her waist as a gust of wind whipped
around the corner. "Probably not at all. Odd." 

Mulder bent over her. "Hum?" 

She tipped her head. "Us worrying about whether her spouse wants
to move or not." She bit her lower lip. "I'll miss having her
around." 

Mulder sobered. "No midnight basketball." 

She pulled out her keys as they approached her Honda. "Drop you by
your car?" 

He rubbed his hands together. "Sure. Thanks." 

                            --o-0-o--

Basement
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Wednesday, December 24, 1997
9:23 am

When he heard chalk squeaking against the slate of the blackboard,
Nichols pushed his reading glasses further down his nose. "What's
on your mind, Ros?" 

Half-sitting on her desk, she looked over at him. "I'm still
attempting to piece together what the shape-shifters could have
been after. Look." She rapped the black surface with her knuckle.
"Recycled paper, spent batteries, aluminum cans. What on earth are
they planning on making with all that?" 

"Transparent aluminum?" Mulder spoke from the door. 

Nichols grinned. "Don't think so, Chief. What brings you down
here?" 

The tall agent stepped back, ushering Scully in first. 

The auburn-haired woman nodded to both in turn before she stood by
Rosen. "Could they be after the iron in the paper, rather than the
carbon, as you originally thought?" 

Nichols leaned back in his steel desk chair. "Perhaps. They were
after high-quality paper, but only initially. Eventually they were
even accepting newsprint." 

Mulder moved an oak chair from beside the door to his customary
spot between the desks. "The real question is, how can they refine
something like that in Africa?" 

Rosen nodded. "These elements, carbon, iron, aluminum, antimony,
sulfur, don't combine well with each other except under extreme
temperatures and pressures." 

Scully dropped into Rosen's chair. "Or, they may know some quirk
of subatomic physics we don't yet that makes it all simple." 

Crossing his arms, Nichols began swiveling the chair seat from
side to side. "You mean something like cold fusion? I thought that
was all a hoax?" 

Rosen shook her head. "Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. Remember that
it was first proposed as a mechanism for explaining excess heat in
the earth's interior." 

Propping his feet on Nichols' desk, Mulder snorted. "And you two
like to say I'm nuts." 

Scully tipped her head back to meet his eyes. "Not say, partner.
Rosen's remembered the arguments properly, though. Even if a cold
fusion event happens once in a few million chances, at the earth's
core, there's still plenty of time and pressure to keep it hot." 

Nichols slid the half lenses off his face altogether. "But in the
earth's core, there are hundreds of miles of rocks above the core
to insulate it. We can't duplicate that at the surface." 

Shaking her head, Rosen raised one arm over her shoulder to extend
her left index finger to rest on the tip of the right one, aimed
upwards. "Not on large scales, but small scale experiments are
performed regularly in labs where pressures at a point are brought
for short periods of time to those encountered at depth." She
dropped her hands to her sides. "We know one of the shape-shifters
was at Cornell. There is just such a machine there, and he had the
time to explore and find it." 

One hand on his hip, the other on his chin, Mulder began pacing.
"Yeah. We know the shape-shifters flew a similar vehicle to the
one recorded in the D'Amato papers. We also know they wanted to
leave earth. What if they've found the original vehicle and are
attempting repairs?" 

Nichols nodded. "We know there are at least five of them: three
thinkers, an engineer, and a pilot. That cylinder you saw photos
of was fifty years older than what was blown up on the ice, but
probably just as much younger than what the original colony
arrived in." 

Rosen smacked her left fist against the palm of her right hand.
"The clay!" 

Scully looked over. "The clay?" 

The brunette circled her partner's desk to stand by Mulder. "That
clay the Kindred used to make pots, the stuff you saw them
spreading over the dead guy, do you have a sample?" 

Mulder looked to his partner. "Do we?" 

Standing, she nodded. "Yes, I took a piece of the pottery as
evidence. What do you think would be in it?" 

Rosen grasped the diminutive woman's shoulder. "Heavy metals, like
uranium or lead, are often trapped in the interstitial spaces of
feldspathic minerals." 

Nichols joined the tight group of three. "Hold on there, Ros. Slow
down. Interstitial spaces? What are you talking about?" 

She bounded to the board, drawing up a diagram of repeated
hexagonal shapes. "It's simple mineralogy, Nic. Clay compounds are
usually broken-down feldpsar networks. Now the mineral itself is a
tectosilicate, a tetrahedral networked form of silicon. Like
diamond, it's strong in all dimensions, but because the network
contains both silicon and aluminum oxide tetrahedra, the bonds can
be forced open. Heavy metal ions being carried along in the
groundwater often lodge in those spaces in the network." 

"No!" The shout from Mulder startled them all. "It's simpler than
that. Simpler than pressure chambers or heavy metals. We handed
them a way to grow all that when we found that Archaea-bacteria." 

Standing in front of him, Scully stretched up on tiptoe until she
was practically in his face. "The networks we saw forming in the
test chambers. Feed it and it grows. They see life as something to
be used, but not abused. Letting the bacterium grow silicon
networks to replace the carbon fiber ones they used to build their
hulls would fit in with their philosophical world-view." 

He patted her shoulders, slightly harder than he intended in his
excitement. "Exactly, exactly. One thing Africa has is plenty of
rocks." 

Nichols stood by Rosen. "What?" 

The brunette shook her head. "Not rocks. The Sahara. More refined,
dry silicon in an accessible form than we could ever hope to
produce, with all that sand." 

Mulder covered his face with both hands. "Jeez, I'm going to miss
this." 

Rosen and Nichols stared at him. "What?" 

The dark-haired agent spread his arms. "This. Throwing ideas
around like this." He looked down to his partner for support. "We
have some news we need to pass on to you two, but not here. We
need someplace loud where we can't be overheard for lunch." 

Nichols grinned. "I've been dyin' to take you three there. Meet me
at the van in ten minutes." 

Mulder nodded. "OK. Keep thinking, guys. We'll have that sample of
clay sent off for chemical analysis to see exactly what's unique
in it."

                            --o-0-o--

Capital City Brewing Company
Shirlington, Virginia
Wednesday, 11:47 am 

Nichols spread his arms after the four of them had entered the
glassed-in space. "Man, what a place! If it weren't for the
Bureau, this is where I'd like to spend my time." He beamed at the
two story copper mash tuns behind the bar. 

Mulder leaned over. "What, brewing or drinking?" 

Rosen smirked as the hostess approached. "Both, I'm sure."

Scully was staring at the menu card. "Do they have real food in
one of these places, or just pretzels and beer?" She glanced at
the inviting booths along the front. "It doesn't seem terribly
loud." 

Nichols shrugged. "Wait till we sit down." The four settled around
one of the small square tables, Nichols nodding as the server
explained the specials, both solid and liquid. "I'll have the
Barley Wine." He rubbed his hands together. "It is winter, after
all." 

Rosen chuckled. "Why not. I'll try the hefe-weisen." 

Scully squinted until she assumed a pinched expression. "Mineral
water." 

Mulder wiggled his thumb by the block of salads on the menu where
she could see, then looked over at the server. "I'll have the root
beer." 

Once the drinks and a plate of steaming soft pretzels
materialized, Rosen leaned over the table. "What did you need to
talk to us about?" The localized din around them faded into the
background as the partners concentrated on Mulder. 

The dark-haired agent shrugged. "Scully and I had a long,
interesting dinner with Senator Matheson last night." 

Rosen took a sip of the clear golden ale and sighed. "We're being
split up, aren't we?" 

Scully shook her head. "Yes and no. Matheson wants to move you two
out to the West Coast so we can monitor Consortium activities
there more easily." 

Mulder glanced over at her before he continued. "There's an ASAC
position opening in the San Diego field office that has your name
on it, Nichols." 

The older man's jaw dropped. "ASAC? If this is a dream, don't wake
me up." He took a long pull at the rose-colored Barley Wine, foam
decorating his moustache when he set the tall glass down. "ASAC?" 

Mulder nodded. "Yup. Congratulations." He turned to Rosen. "He's
created a fully-funded position for you at Scripps." 

Rosen clapped Nichols on the shoulder. "You'll be close to Janie
and Liz." 

He beamed back. "You can do some real research, Ros." 

Scully shook her head. "And investigations together whenever you
have the chance. We'll give you more of the details as they come
to us, but that's Matheson's plan. He has friends on all the right
committees, so we expect these changes to come down through the
Attorney General as legitimate job opportunities, at least for
you, Nichols." 

Grinning, the older man faced his partner. "How do you think Cary
will handle the news?" 

Rosen gripped her glass with both hands. "She'll be thrilled.
She's hated the cold as long as I've known her. San Diego will be
so much easier for both of us." She raised her eyes to meet her
partner's. "If you know what I mean." 

Mulder tore a pretzel in two. "So, this business with the clay
from Steveston..." 

Nichols looked to his partner. "Just this, we had been thinking
about the possibilities of radiation from heavy metals in the
clay, and the geologist over here thought..." 

The four leaned closer together, their conversation lost in the
din created when a large group of office workers trailed past
them.

                            --o-0-o--

Rowhouse
Capital Hill
Wednesday, 2:37 pm

At the sound of a knock, Lindhauer glanced towards his foyer.
"Who's there?" 

"'Andrew'! Open up!"

The lean blond man trotted to his entrance, pulling aside the
door. "Oh, how come you're not on your way home to Texas?" 

McConnell slumped into an armchair. "Dad and I haven't been seeing
eye to eye for a while." 

Lindhauer locked the door behind him. "Oh? You didn't tell him
about the Organization, did you?" 

McConnell rubbed the bridge of his nose under his thick plastic
frames. "No, of course not. But Dad doesn't understand about how
long things take in the Senate. He thinks I'm not pushing Randall
hard enough on his social agenda." 

Flopping onto the sofa, Lindhauer sprawled along its length. "Your
Dad's social agenda. Running people's lives according to some
ancient text." 

McConnell was on his feet. "Hey, don't knock other people's
religions! What did *your* father teach you?" 

Crossing his arms, Lindhauer turned partially into the cushions.
"I never knew my father." 

McConnell stood over him. "Hey, man, I'm sorry. Was he killed in a
plane crash or something?" 

Lindhauer snorted. "I wish. No, I mean my Mom would never tell me
who my Father was. Somebody she met overseas, she said. But, she
was always away, running social events for the State Department.
My Grandmother raised me while she was seeing the world." He
glared up at the man standing over him. "So don't preach to me
about social agendas. I wouldn't be here otherwise." 

McConnell leaned against the door. "Well, before I go, I should
tell you our contingencies for the second trial are in place." 

Lindhauer swung his feet to the floor. "That's good. We thought
moving the venue to the Court of that idiot Anderson would have
been enough, but it wasn't. How did we know he would rediscover
his love of Justice?" 

McConnell nodded. "We should never have allowed this to get out of
hand."

The blond man rose. "You think we should make another attempt on
Mulder and Scully? You don't think just splitting up the section
will be sufficient?"

McConnell shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not sure of much anymore.
See you tomorrow?" 

Lindhauer reached for the deadbolt lever. "Sure. I can darken a
church door twice a year, right?"

McConnell grinned. "Three times. Dad still wants to officiate for
'Ace' and 'Charlie'." 

Lindhauer nodded. "I wondered if that was still on. You really had
to buy the motherboard for her?" 

McConnell sighed. "Yeah." 

Lindhauer shook his head. "That's not good. Not good at all."

                            --o-0-o--

Townhouse
Reston, Virginia
Wednesday, 6:23 pm

'Charlie' unlocked the front door. "Hey, I'm home!"

'Ace' poked her head out of the kitchen. "I'm back here." 

'Charlie' eyed her cautiously. <She isn't smiling.> "Lisa, is
everything OK?" 

The brunette curls disappeared around the refrigerator, followed
by a stifled sniffle. "No. It isn't. The cleaning crew didn't show
up and your parents will be here tomorrow. I can't do all this by
myself."

'Charlie' dropped his coat on the sofa. "That's OK. We have
tonight. We can get the job..." He stopped as he entered the
galley kitchen. A huge round burn in the center of the countertop
was mocking any efforts to scrub it away. "How did that happen?" 

A fresh pair of tears rolled down the programmer's face. "I was
trying to bake pies for your family and I set a pan of pumpkin
filling down on there." She scrubbed her forehead with the back of
her hand. "What do you think happened there?"

The portly man waved both hands. "Oh, that can happen to anyone,
Lisa." 

She threw the sponge in the scummy water of the sink angrily. "But
it happened to me! First the motherboard, now this! Six months
ago, I was an agent with the FBI and the resident expert on
computer hardware in the Bureau. Now, I'm becoming an idiot!" She
stomped into their bedroom and threw herself on the still-bare
mattress. 

'Charlie' followed her, attempting to gather the weeping woman in
his arms. "Lisa, honey, it's OK." 

She shook herself free of him. "No, it isn't." The tears had
stopped. "You three depend on me for help running the organization
and look what I've become. I'm no good to anyone." She ran out
into the hall. 

By the time 'Charlie' arrived in their front room, she had pulled
on her coat and had stepped into the darkness. "Goodbye,
'Charlie'." 

He slumped to the floor. "Lisa? Where are you going?" 

A muffled sniffle. "I don't know. But don't follow me. I don't
know if I'll be back." 

He took off his glasses and began to sob quietly.

                            --o-0-o--

The black sedan rolled along the darkened streets, following the
stumbling figure. 

'Ace' stopped, waiting for the car to come to a rest as well.

The driver turned off the engine, then emerged from the darkened
interior. "Amanda? What are you doing out here?" 

She glared at the wrinkled face. "You! What are you, some kind of
vulture, lurking, waiting to pick me up?" She kicked the steel
door. "You might as well shoot me now. I'm utterly useless." 

The old man stepped around the car to her. "Amanda." He regarded
her gently, if gravely. "There were many ways to keep you safe
once your identity was known. It never had to come to this." 

She turned her back to him. "Oh? What would you have done?" 

There was the snick of a lighter. "You could have travelled. The
banks in Singapore are always looking for good programmers, and it
would have set you up to, shall we say, correct, certain
difficulties the Organization has at present?" 

She shivered. "Oh? I'm a woman. How would that have worked?" 

The man with the Morleys opened the passenger door for her. "Climb
in. We can talk about this somewhere you won't have to worry." 

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Your place?" 

A grimace. "Not at all. The Group maintained several safe
residences. We can still set you up in one of them." 

"We?" 

Luther stepped out of the back. "Yes, we. Come on. You must be
cold." 

'Ace' glanced back in the direction of her townhouse once, then
slid into the passenger seat, oblivious to the figure that had
just turned the corner.

                            --o-0-o--

Alexandria Courthouse Complex
Alexandria, Virginia
Tuesday, January 20, 1998
5:26 pm

Dana Scully was collecting her papers and notes when she felt a
light tap on her shoulder. <At least the jury selection's over.>
Looking back, she was surprised to see Walter Skinner towering
from the other side of the railing. Clasping her hands over her
skirt, she turned to face him, carefully composing herself, almost
by instinct. "Sir?" 

A ripple of impatience ran through the Assistant Director, but all
that anyone passing by would have seen was a slight clench of the
jaw. "Agent Scully, I need to speak with you alone." 

Mulder had joined them in the front of the courtroom, one eyebrow
quirked upward, questioning. An slight wave of a hand was answered
with a nod before he stepped away. 

Scully met her boss' clear gaze. "Here, Sir, or in one of the
conference rooms?" 

Skinner pointed towards one of the dark doors on the right side of
the chamber. "There." 

Once they were inside, Scully began. "Sir, have you found more
evidence..." At a glimpse of his stern expression, she fell
silent. 

Skinner bent over the auburn-haired woman. "Are you certain you
want to send Mulder to Greece? This is the most cooperative he's
been in a court case ever, according to some of his old buddies
back at BS." 

Scully rested the leather briefcase on one of the oak chairs in
the tiny space. "Sir, Agent Mulder's mother and stepfather may be
very close to locating Samantha. As capable as both Max and
Caroline seem to us to be, both are of advanced years. I know he
would never forgive himself if something went wrong with that
search." She clasped her hands in front of her again, focusing
intently on them. 

Skinner sighed. "He can't be putting his personal problems above
his professional obligations, Agent Scully." 

The green-blue eyes were directed upwards. "Who's to say what's
personal anymore, Sir? Need I remind you that the disappearance of
Samantha Ann Mulder is an official X-File?" 

Skinner crossed his arms. "Semantics, Agent Scully. What's the
real reason you've been pushing for him to go to the Middle East?" 

Scully squared her shoulders, her years as a Captain's daughter
requiring her to give a full answer. "The real reason, Sir?" She
dropped her head, replying softly, her eyes pinched shut. "I would
never forgive myself if something went wrong. If Agent Mulder
missed this chance to have peace of mind, all because I selfishly
kept him here, assisting on a case that I could just as easily
handle on my own, I'm, well..." She squeezed the twin handles of
the case until her knuckles went white. "I'm not sure I could
remain his partner, knowing what I had done." When she felt a
light brush on her shoulder, she looked up again.

Skinner's harsh expression had softened slightly. "Don't you think
that's a decision you shouldn't make alone?"

Scully lifted her briefcase off the chair. "That's why I'm taking
him to dinner, Sir." Without waiting for his dismissal she opened
the door, nodding to the lanky man slumped in one of the nearby
seats. "Bohsali, Mulder, in Arlington. I've made reservations." 

The dark-haired agent stood. "Oh? This is the place with the
belly-dancer?" He bent over her shoulder. "Or is this where I find
out how my strait-laced partner really makes a living?" He
smirked. 

She bounced on her toes. "Of course." She bumped his arm with her
elbow. "I even told them there was a double billing for this
evening." She stood on tiptoe to reach his ear. "They've made it a
special ladies night, once I described you." 

Mulder straightened, grinning broadly as he waved to their boss.

Skinner watched them go, Mulder's hand resting lightly on her
back, Scully nodding bravely and throwing out some comment about
'agents who fly and never want to grow up'. The bald Director
sighed. <Good luck, Agent Scully.>

                            --o-0-o--

Bohsali
Arlington, Virginia
Tuesday, 8:27 pm

Shifting on the low pillows, Mulder sipped the last of his thick
coffee, richly spiced with cardamom and clove. His partner had
been somber tonight, smiling only faintly at his jokes once they
left the Courthouse. He reached across the table to touch her
hand, hoping to claim her attention. "OK, you've wined me and
dined me, plied me with gyrating semi-naked women. If you soften
me up anymore, you'll have to spoon me into your briefcase to
carry me home. What's wrong?" 

Scully twisted and smoothed her linen napkin one last time, then
knowing no other way than to say it directly, met her partner's
concerned hazel eyes. "Why are you here?" 

Mulder blinked. "What? Here in this restaurant?" His brow creased.
"What do you mean?" 

Scully shifted on the cushions, pulling her legs up at right
angles, pressing the knees and ankles together tightly. "I mean,
why are you spending your days in Alexandria, Virginia, when you
should be in Alexandria, Egypt?" 

Mulder blinked again, then attempted a jibe. "Because I know what
happens to Cleopatra's lovers, and I have no intentions that it
happen to me, Scully." 

She smoothed her skirt down. "You know what I mean, Mulder." 

He pushed the crockery to one side of the stub-legged table, then
leaned across it. "I'm here because I have debts to pay, to
Saunders, to Matheson, and to you." He tipped his head. "Is that
what you want me to say? I have a job to do, and one thing I've
learned from you is never to shirk my duties. Saunders is in this
mess because of his work with me. You're having to cool your heels
in courtroom every day because of me." He waved his arm, nearly
striking the man at the next table. "I can't go running..." 

She shook her head. "Yes, you can." She reached across the table
to touch his shoulder. "Yes, you should. You know that." 

Mulder threw his napkin on the table. "Scully! What are you
saying? Do you want me to ditch you? Is that it?" 

She sighed. "I want you to go find your sister, Mulder. Sitting on
those hard wooden seats all day gets you nowhere. What's really
keeping you here?" 

He stared at the family across the aisle from them, who were
laughing and singing along in Lebanese with the musicians.

Scully shifted to his side of the table, attempting to see the
room through his eyes. The diplomat's family had been boisterous
throughout their meal, joking and toasting as they broke their
Ramadan fast. She lifted one corner of her mouth when she realized
that there were probably three generations represented, then
turned to him. "Looks like they've had a better time than we did." 

Mulder glanced down at her. "Yeah. Everyone altogether like that."
He fell silent again, watching the grey-haired grandfather
bouncing a giggling baby on his knee. A boy and a girl, both just
old enough for school, were teasing each other, the curly-haired
boy pulling at his sister's long black ponytail. 

When the grandmother, tiny and round, leaned over to place a
loving hand on the girl's head, the boy's soprano filled a sudden
void in the room. "I hate you. I wish you were dead." Pouting, he
wiggled away from her.

Scully checked her partner. 

Mulder was wide-eyed, gripping his knees painfully hard. "No, no,
no, no. Don't say that. Never say that." He was whispering more to
himself than anyone else as he folded into his own guilt. 

She tugged at one tightly coiled hand. "Mulder, he doesn't know
what those words mean. Little boys just say things like that for
effect. I know my brothers did."

His voice heavy with emotion, he looked to her. "Scully, what if
we really do find her? What do I do then?" 

She leaned gently into his side. "You start living." 

Thinking an old retort, his eyes flashed, then he crossed his arms
over his stomach. "Start living?" 

She sighed. "Yes. Living a real life, rather than an obsessive
Quest. Make friends, marry, have kids, have loud boisterous
reunions in the Aegean with all your cousins from Vienna." She
waved her hand at the other table. "Be happy, like they are." 

He rubbed his chin. "What if we can't make it work, Scully?" 

She arched both eyebrows. "You mean, what if your life doesn't
become a Hallmark family card?" She touched his wrist. "I hate to
tell you, but no family is perfect. Every one of them has flaws."

He shrugged, straightening to bring more of his body in contact
with hers. "Yeah. Things have been so good with my Mom. How do I
know she'll still love me after we spend a few weeks together?" He
faced her. "A vacation in Mexico or a wedding is one thing; there
were enough distractions that we didn't need to focus on each
other for more than a meal at a time. But what happens after she
meets the real me?" 

Scully lifted one corner of her mouth. "Oh, you mean the Mulder I
work with every day? You mean the guy who never files his
paperwork on time? The one who calls me in the middle of the night
because he's just figured out how Emperor Hirohito masterminded
the Kennedy assassination as payback for losing the war?" 

He snorted. "Yeah. Him." 

She pushed at the fringe on the carpet by her feet. "Mulder, part
of what we do as partners is use our differences as to propel our
investigations forward. If I discouraged you from those JFK theory
calls, you wouldn't phone when you had a new clue or suspicion
about a case. Working cohesively like that is all part of the
job." She rubbed his arm with her shoulder. "Being a mother is a
job, too, part of which involves loving you all the time, whether
they like you at any given moment or not." 

He clenched his fists. "Yeah, right. But most sons don't lose
their little sisters while their parents are next-door."

She sighed. <This isn't working the way I had hoped.> "Mulder, do
you know what you remind me of?" 

He shrugged. 

She shifted the crockery. "You've heard how birds, if they've
flown into a hurricane, seek shelter in its eye?" 

He grunted. "So?" 

Scully patted his shoulder. "They track the center by somehow
finding the area of lowest pressure. They stay there, roosting in
the debris and wreckage, travelling hundreds of miles, just to
keep out of the havoc they think is still raging. The winds keep
dropping, but there's still this area of lowest pressure, so the
birds just keep following it. Eventually the danger ceases
completely, but they're still there." 

He straightened. "Then, they find they have a long, long journey
to get back home." 

She sipped the last of her tea. "Or, they find a way to make a
home where they are." After smoothing the linen tablecloth, she
continued softly. "Mulder, you're one of those helpless birds,
blown around by the turbulence of Sam's disappearance and what it
did to your family." She leaned gently against his side. "You've
found shelter in the X-Files, your eye of the storm, while all
around you the winds raged. But, now the danger's past." 

He frowned. "No, the danger's never past. They're still out there,
still in power." 

Scully scuffed at the rug. "With what we've already entered into
evidence, the new group running the Consortium should be sharing
your insomnia. There will always be another storm, Mulder. Take
the time now while you can. Your Mom *wants* to get to know that
wild man that you've become." One corner of her mouth quirked.

He shifted uncomfortably, finally settling with his face just
inches from hers. "So, you think I should go see her, to try to
make a new life for both of us." 

She grasped his arm. "She's made peace with what happened in the
past. Besides, you have to make the effort. Sam needs a family to
come home to." 

His shifting hazel eyes darkened into deep pools, then he nodded.
"But Dad's gone. We can never be a whole family again." 

She relaxed her grip, but left her hand resting on his sleeve
lightly. "No, you can't." 

He focused on her suddenly. "Then what's the point?"

She shook her head. "All you can do is the best you can. That's
all anyone can do." She arched an auburn eyebrow. "Look, I'm
trying to give you a push, here, just like you did for me when
Charlie broke his leg." 

He shook his head. "Yeah, and see what good that did. Your
brothers threw you out of the family." 

She straightened, speaking in clear, even tones. "Yes, look what
good it did. I know what happened to me when I was taken; you've
found clues about Sam. As for my brothers, well, that will sort
itself out, in time." 

His eyes followed the family as they trailed up the stairs, the
brother and sister poking each other and giggling as they walked
away. "I hope so." 

                            --o-0-o--

National Airport
Arlington, VA
Wednesday, January 21, 1998
2:27 pm

The partners had settled close to the door from the gate to the
plane, Mulder feeling more relaxed that he usually did when he was
preparing to leave on a case. He looked down at his partner.
"You'll be OK, Scully?" 

She tipped her head. 

He shrugged. "Sorry. Bad habit." 

She patted his arm. "No, a good habit. One I've always
appreciated, whether I've told you enough times or not." She was
beginning to feel the first pangs of regret at his departure.
"Make sure you talk to my Mom some, please?" 

He nodded. "This is all a bit much for her." 

Scully folded her hands in her lap. "Last night she was
complaining about how she missed Annapolis and all the Christmas
lights. She spent most of the phone call worried about her
gardens, how they did with the drought." She glanced at the ticket
agent, who was calling for early boarding. "You know." 

He leaned over to claim her attention. "Yeah. If a Scully
complains, they have to be at death's door or the bombs are in the
air." 

She rolled her eyes. 

He smirked, then sobered. "Don't *you* work too hard, OK? Get
Pendrell to help you if you need it." He bit his lower lip before
he continued. "This is a lot better send-off then jumping off a
cruiser." 

She glanced at her hands before responding. "Yes. Isn't it?" <Now
isn't the time to bring that up.> 

They sat in silence until the gate area was nearly empty, neither
wishing to conclude their farewells. 

Finally, Scully clapped her hands once and stood. "Mulder." 

He rose slowly, reaching out to her, smiling when she settled
against him. "I know. I know." He rubbed her back, prolonging the
embrace. "Take care, OK, Scully?" 

Her head moved against his chest. "I'll be fine. We both will." 

He stepped away, shouldering his duffle bag, waving once after the
ticket agent checked his boarding pass and he was through the gate
doors. 

Scully waited silently by window, watching until the plane had
taxied from the walkway and rolled out of sight. Once she was
certain the flight was underway, she turned, making her way slowly
to the exit. A group of military men in their workday greens were
approaching, the red-haired officer on the left setting her feet
running. "Bill!" 

The two captains in the center stopped and stared at Bill Scully,
who nodded grudgingly to his sister when she came to a halt in
front of him. The older one, his blond going grey, grinned. "And
who might this lovely lady be, Scully?" 

While Scully glanced down at the carpet, suddenly self-conscious,
Bill pulled himself up rigid. "This is my sister, Doctor Dana
Scully. She's a pathologist assigned to FBI headquarters." 

After quick, professional handshakes, Scully struggled for small-
talk. "I thought MAC flights landed at Andrews? Not National." 

The older captain recognized the undercurrents flowing between
sister and brother, and sought an easy exit. "They do when Hilary
decides to escort Chelsea back to college." He turned to Bill.
"Remember, meeting at oh nine hundred tomorrow." 

After the two men stepped away, Bill Scully glared down at his
sister. "So, off on another investigation?" He stalked over to an
empty pair of seats. "You don't look like you're dressed for it." 

She settled beside him. "No, not today. We have a case in court
right now." She studied her hands. 

Bill crossed his arms, letting his cheeks flush. "I didn't think
you could put aliens on trial, Dana. Or is it a ghost?" 

Her professional mask descended over her face. "No, but it's
extremely important, to all of us." 

Bill leaned forward. "So important you couldn't take time off to
come visit your family?" 

She raised her eyes to his, focusing on irises slightly bluer than
her own. "I didn't think I was welcome. Thank you for not
returning my card."

Bill snorted. "It was the least I could do." Softening slightly,
he leaned towards her. "Did you have a good Christmas?" 

Setting her lips in a thin line, she nodded. 

His own full lips curved up slightly. "When I couldn't reach you
that day, I was worried. We've always tried to get together for
Christmas, Dad would have wanted it, you know. Where were you?" 

Scully grasped the black plastic armrest between them. "With
friends." 

His eyes narrowed. "Oh? Friends?" 

Scully heaved a deep sigh. "We were at Rosen's wife's mother's
home in Ithaca. She had wanted to serve one last Christmas dinner
in the place before it was sold." Her eyes glowed happily at the
memory of banter and jokes she couldn't begin to explain to an
outsider. "It's fun to see how other people celebrate holidays
once in a while. Then we took off a couple of days to help her
pack. We kept having to stop to take turns shovelling snow." 

Bill tipped his head. "We?" 

Scully glanced at his bag. "Nichols, Mulder, and myself. Cynthia
was back in Iowa with her family." She tucked her hair behind her
ear, then played with the strand nervously. "It's amazing what
generations of one family will accumulate when they stay in the
same house." 

Bill leaned back. "Why was she selling it, then?"

Scully folded her hands in her lap. "Cary's mother had passed
away, so - "

"Is that what it'll take, Dana?" 

She looked up. The irises were ice-blue crystals now. She opened
and closed her mouth once, then returned to studying her fingers. 

"Is Mom going to have to die out there in the Mediterranean before
you'll pay more attention to your own family than to the strangers
you work with?" 

Scully shook her head. "No! Bill, Mulder's going out there right
now! I was here to see him off. Mom's OK!" Her alto fell to a
whisper. "Mom's fine." 

Bill shifted until he was nose to nose with her. "How would you
know? She said you didn't call on Christmas. It was hard to hear
her try not to cry, Dana. It was even harder to explain to little
Bill why he wouldn't be at Grandma Scully's for the holidays. He
barely remembers Dad, you know. Do you want him to lose both his
Grandparents Scully? Is that what you want?" 

She held herself rigid. "No. That's why I wanted Mulder to go out
there. To keep everybody safe." She clenched her fists. "We both
need to make sure nothing happens to anyone in my family or his,
ever again." 

Bill's jaw jutted. "I'm glad to hear that your family ranks
somewhere above absolute last place in that head of yours. What
happened, are the Secret Government Conspiracies less interesting
now? Have you speared enough werewolves so you can settle down and
think about the rest of your life? Are you ready to quit playing
make-believe and treat real patients?" 

Her reply was a whispered growl. "How can you say that? Do you
know where I've been? Do you know what's happened to me?" 

Bill crossed his arms. "Let me see if I have this right. Over the
past year and a half, you've had a hysterectomy, broken, oh, six
ribs, been attacked by coyotes, survived an earthquake, been shot
at countless times. I should think that would be enough adventure
for anybody. Hell, Dana, I'm in the military, I've been underwater
for months, and none of that has happened to me." 

She closed her eyes momentarily against the onslaught of words.
"Bill, that wasn't the point."

The red curls shook. "So, what *was* the point, Dana? To prove
you're man enough for Dad? He's *dead*, in case you hadn't
noticed. As is your sister and mine. As Charlie and John-John
almost were. As Mom might be. Will that be enough for you? When
we're all in our graves?" 

"Bill!" The force behind her shout surprised her, so she studied
the carpet, working to stop her heart from pounding.

But her brother only leaned closer and snarled. "Is that when
you're planning on fucking him, Dana? After you two create this
happy family that none of us want? Why don't you just do it now
and get it out of your systems?" 

Something deep inside Dana Scully snapped at his first question.
Before she could check herself, her hand, the slender fingers
curled tight, flew across the narrow space between them to land on
his cheek. Bill's head jerked slightly at the impact, then he
caught her wrist as she pulled her arm away. Brother and sister
glared at each other in silence, chests heaving. Finally, Bill
released her to rub the darkening impression her fist had made. 

Scully rose quickly. "Bill, I'm sorry about all this. I honestly,
genuinely regret all the difficulties we've had between us over
the years. But leave Mulder out of our sibling disagreements. He
and I are partners. We trust and respect each other." She took a
step towards him, her toes jamming into the green canvas duffle.
"What's more, for all the insanity of our work, we genuinely enjoy
each other's company. One day, I hope to be able to say that to
people about my own brother." She pushed her tension away with a
wave of her arm. "Now, you've missed your ride to the BOQ. Tell me
which one it is and I'd be more than happy to drive you there." 

Standing, Bill slung the strap over his shoulder. "Don't bother,
little sister. I'll catch a cab. Have a nice life." 

Watching his disappear into the crowd, Scully whispered. "I'll
keep you safe, Bill. All of you. I promise."

                            --o-0-o--

Somewhere over the Mediterranean
Delta Flight 3026
Wednesday, 9:47 pm

Fox Mulder nodded absently when the steward asked him to resume
his seat. <It's First Class, buddy. I can do whatever I want.>
Almost since the 747 leveled off after departing JFK, he had been
prowling the short aisles, deep in thought. He complied, however,
when the first wave of hot, dry air from Sicily collided with a
more humid front off the bay to send the plane diving and
climbing. <Good thing Scully isn't here.> He knew she would never
say anything, just go white-faced and clutch the armrests, but
they had flown together so many times that he knew exactly how she
would react. 

<I wish she was here.> He glanced at the empty seat between him
and the aisle, and sighed. If he was honest with himself, he would
admit he was deeply afraid of what he would find when he arrived
in Athens. <Oh, not Mrs. Scully, not Max, they seem to like me.
But Mom. What do I do with Mom?> He had to admit that relations
between them had improved immeasurably. <At least we can hold a
decent phone conversation with each other now. But for days?
Weeks? What happens when I wake up screaming the first time? What
will they all think of me then?> He realized that in all the
nights he had spent at his partner's mother's house, he had never
awakened with the shakes, sweaty and afraid. <What if Mrs. Scully
realizes how hard it is for Scully? Will she still like me then?> 

He crossed his arms over his chest. <Calm down, G-man, you have
two more hours left in the flight, and the other passengers have
been shooting daggers at you with their eyes for most of the
passage.> He frowned as he studied the clouds passing beneath
them. 

                            --o-0-o--

Eastern Airport
Athens, Greece
Thursday, January 22, 1998 
11:23 pm

The lean, white-haired man pushed himself to his feet as the door
from the walk opened. Max had stationed himself away from the
entrance to keep an eye on the hallway and to permit the
boisterous Greek families to cluster close to it instead. He knew
he could use his height to stare down the enclosed ramp to catch a
glimpse of his dark-haired stepson. <Ah, there.>

"Mulder!" He waved both hands over his head as the tall agent
emerged, casting glances around the gate area. 

Mulder tipped his head back once to indicate that he saw. He found
he was passing his bag over a cluster of children that were
babbling enthusiastically in Albanian around their short, equally
delighted father. 

Max took the duffle from Mulder. "Before we get you through
Customs, we can put these bags away. It's not that far to the
Renault." 

The younger man released an incredulous snort. "They won't want to
inspect my luggage?" 

Max arched one white eyebrow. "After they see your credentials,
no. Athens isn't as strict as most other airports." 

Mulder's eyes had dropped to his feet. "Where's Mom?" The voice
was low and tenuous, the question asked so softly that it drew the
bushy white eyebrows above Max's clear hazel eyes together.

As the tall elder watched, the younger man shrank, hunching his
shoulders and back. Thinking again of how turtle-like this pose
seemed, Max took his arm. "Resting at home." 

As if peering down a long tunnel, Mulder looked over, his face
haunted. "Oh." 

Max shook his head. <Do you always immediately assume you've been
abandoned?> "She wanted to be here, Mulder, but Margaret and I
convinced her that she didn't need to be hobbling around the
airport on crutches. She sends..." 

Mulder went rigid, not heeding the two women who shouted, then
brushed past him. "What happened?" 

A rich baritone rumble emanated from his step-father's chest. "Oh,
nothing terrible, so put your mind at rest." Grasping his
stepson's shoulder, he leaned over it to speak gently. "If you
must blame someone, blame me, I let her take my turn for the
Pomeranian's walk." He chewed his moustache to keep from smirking
as the younger man blinked, his fear falling into confusion as he
watched. 

"Walking the Red Menace? But I thought he, *it*, was in Maryland?" 

Max adjusted the duffle strap, then, his age-spotted hand on the
muscled arm, he guided Mulder to the wall. "No, no, not at all.
Margaret didn't want to be without him, so I pulled a few strings
for him to travel with us. It is very lax here, you must
understand." As Max tugged them both out of the path of a honking
passenger cart, he shook Mulder by the elbow. "Don't be such a
fuss-budget, Mulder, you're worse than Thea. Caroline turned her
ankle climbing on some rocks with him, and one of the bones
fractured. For a woman her age, it makes sense for her to take it
a little easy, but," Mulder heard that rumble again, "not my
Caroline. Adventurer to the end." 

His lips pinched into a rollercoaster twist, Mulder was lagging
behind him. "She's OK?" 

Since they were outside now, nearly to the battered white Renault,
Max stopped, focusing sternly on the dark-haired man. "Of course
she is. Do you think I would have left her side if she weren't?"
He dug around in his pockets for his keys. "Now, we should get
that paperwork taken care of." He slammed the trunk shut.
"Mulder?" 

The younger man shrugged, then followed his stepfather back into
the terminal. <This wasn't what I expected, at all.>

                            --o-0-o--

Apartment Building
Omonia District
Friday, January 23, 1998
12:27 am 

Mulder peered at the white-washed three story structure they had
pulled alongside. "This is it?" He turned to his step-father. 

Unhooking his seatbelt, Max nodded without looking up. "Exactly."
Freed, he cocked his head at the younger man's curled lip.
"Surprised?" 

Mulder slid out of the car. "Well, between this," he waved at the
battered two-door, "and that." He pointed his chin at the
unadorned brown entrance. "Yeah." 

Max had hoisted the duffle from the trunk and was rattling through
a set of keys when he responded. "Oh, it's a way-station, nothing
more. Omonia's not the best neighborhood, but the subway, train
and busses are very close." He unlocked the steel security gate
over the door, then slid a different key into the deadbolt set at
shoulder height in the oak. "I don't spend much time in Athens,
and if they'd designed the subway properly, I wouldn't have to
worry about," he nodded back at the scraped side of the Alliance,
"that rattletrap." 

When he heard a boombox crank on, blaring loud rock music in
German, Mulder stared at the windows for one of the second-floor
apartments. "What do you mean, that it breaks down frequently?" 

Max waved Mulder through. "Oh, just that the city planners laid
the Metro down along routes that only make sense if one knows
one's Thucydides. They run down to Piraeus, along the paths of the
long walls, and up the main road towards Boeotia, but to the
airport?" He shrugged. "Not a chance." 

Mulder snorted. "Sounds like DC." 

Max took the first flight of steps, two at a time. "Hum." After
the second, the spare man bent over, puffing slightly. 

Mulder chewed his lip. <Think, G-man, he's in his seventies!>
"Hey, Max, stop. You shouldn't be carrying my bag." He lifted the
lumpen burden away, meeting no resistance, then rested his hand on
the older man's shoulder. "How many more?" 

After Max held up four fingers, the dark-haired man, his brow
furrowed, stepped forward, leading the rest of the way, but
checking back periodically. 

At the top landing, Max pointed to the far left door. He had
caught his breath and hastened to offer apologetically. "Sorry,
not as young as I used to be. I was thinking about climbing
mountains in Bolivia with manuscripts hidden in my rucksack." 

Mulder sent him a lop-sided grin. "And I should be used to
charging off with a short-legged red-head pounding along furiously
by my side, so I should be the one apologizing." 

Max pulled a spare key from his pocket. "Here. In case you need to
come back to meet that short-legged red-head without me." 

Pensive, Mulder closed his fingers over the sliver of metal, then
dropped it in his pocket. "She'd love to be here, but,..." 

Pushing the door inwards, Max waved him on by. "We know, that
trial. Our E-mail comes through a satellite downlink now, so you
two can exchange information when you're on the island without a
long wait for a modem." 

Mulder took in the sparely furnished living room quickly,
wondering how he would fare on the narrow wicker sofa. <Oh, well,
it's only for one night.> 

After locking the door, Max stood behind him. "I know, not like
what you'd expect. The first time we spent a night in the city,
Caroline took one look at it and immediately began phoning
hotels." He clapped a hand on Mulder's shoulder. "But for two men
on the lamb, like ourselves,..."

Mulder grinned. "No problem. I could use a shower, then a nap
before morning."

Max nodded. "I'll show you the bathroom. That I couldn't scrimp
on."

                            --o-0-o--

Apartment
Omonia District
Athens, Greece
Friday, 5:43 am

The inarticulate cry wrenched Mulder from the light sleep into
which he had fallen. <Scully!> Upright as he was with his legs
sprawled out on the slate floor, he flailed as he caught himself,
sensing anxiety settling deep in his gut. <Not Scully.> He padded
to the bedroom door, feeling the heat pulled into the stones from
his bare feet. 

"Mulder?" Max was sweaty, but awake. "Did I startle you?" 

Nodding once, the younger man stood by the side of the bed. "S'OK.
I don't sleep much." He bent over his stepfather, who was feeling
under the covers for his half-height reading glasses. 

When the older man tugged them free of the pillowcase, his hands
were trembling, so Mulder touched his shoulder. 

Max glanced up, then slid out from under the covers. "Sorry. Let
me have a glass of water." He waved away the outstretched hands.
"I'll be fine." He crossed into the tiny kitchen, pulled a chilled
bottle of spring water from the bottom shelf on the door of the
refrigerator, and emptied the remaining contents into a chipped
black mug. 

Mulder stood in the doorway, his brow deeply furrowed. "What was
that about?" 

After settling at the trestle table, Max drained half the glass,
patting his moustache dry before he answered. "The train, then the
camp." He met the younger man's eyes. "I haven't had one in a
long, long time." He stared out the tiny round window to his
right, turning when he heard the bench scrape away from the table. 

Mulder had eased himself down, crossing his arms to rest them on
the bare olive-wood planks. "Do you want to talk about it?" 

Max snorted. "Now I know you really have a degree in psychology.
I've shrugged off that opening line from more men with PhD's than
I care to number." 

Mulder raised one corner of his mouth in apology. "Sorry.
Profiling serial killers and chasing mysterious phenomena would
have stumped even Bob Newhart." 

Max let loose one of his deep rumbles. "But I doubt it would have
phased Emily." 

Mulder grinned, then, as he felt a deep pang of loss, gasped in
surprise. 

Max leaned over the table. "What is it?" 

Mulder shook his head. "I had just thought, 'Or Scully.'" He
chewed his lower lip, then stared out the same dark window. 

Max noticed that the younger man was twitching, his fingers
playing idly with his watchband. "You should feel perfectly free
to call her." He dropped his eyes to his own Rolex. "She's
probably still up and around." 

Mulder shrugged, then thrust himself to his feet. "That's," he
swiveled to face the white-haired man, "I mean, thanks, but, not
right now." 

Max took another sip, the liquid warmed by his hands around the
glass. <Perhaps I'm the one who should be playing therapist.> It
was a mantle he assumed with ease, so he crossed his arms to rest
them on the table. "Is Scully well?" 

Mulder stopped pacing, fixing Max in the tunnel-stare he had used
at the airport. "Yeah." The younger man pressed his back against
the doorframe, one foot in the kitchen and one in the living room,
then he sighed. "Yeah. She's so cool under pressure. That's partly
why we decided I should come to check in with you guys." He
reached across the opening to poke at a knot in the pine. "I don't
do well in courtrooms." 

Max nodded. "But you feel you should be back there, not here?" 

Mulder chewed his lower lip. "I don't know." The confession was a
soft pulse in the night air. "I don't know what was the right
path." He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Usually,
we hash out our options, then weigh one against the other until we
know which way we want to go, but this time..." He stared at the
floor. 

Max rose to stand beside him. "You feel torn." He held up his
hand. "I don't mean between Scully and your mother. I understand
how," he licked his lips, "troubled your two lives and your
relationship has been." 

Mulder danced angrily into the living room, <How can he?> then
froze. <Of course he understands.> He shrugged an apology. "Sorry.
I'm used to people saying that without it really being
meaningful." He sank onto the floor, crossing his legs, waiting
for Max to claim the sofa. "Yeah, I feel like I have to choose
between Scully and Sam." He slanted his eyes at his stepfather.
"I've had to before and I never want to again." 

The white-haired man interlaced his long fingers. "It would be a
terrible thing, to lose them both, rather than to be at peace with
yourself."

He scooted over beside the still-lean form. <Maybe, just maybe...>
"Max, do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?"

The white-haired man chewed his moustache, taking the time to
compose his answer properly. "Yes." 

Suddenly finding his pulse racing, Mulder bounced onto the sofa. 

Max glanced over at him. "From what I've learned, I think you and
Scully have a very good case for yourselves." 

Mulder's lips parted, then he had to clench the ends of the
striped sofa cushions to contain his excitement.

Max shifted to face him, pushing his hair off his forehead as he
leaned against the upright bolsters. "But those aren't the
extraterrestrials I believe in. I accept that you've proven their
existence. There's one extraterrestrial whose..." 

Mulder burst off the couch, speaking while facing away from the
older man. "Max, no offense, but if you're going to try to convert
me, don't bother." He crossed his arms. "Don't waste your time
telling me I'm one of God's chosen people, that I should wake up
and live like my forebears." He spun. "I don't believe there is
any such thing as a 'chosen people' and if there were, it wouldn't
be the Hebrews. History is full of the failures of the Jews. All
the times they were beaten in combat, the efforts of the
Inquisition, the Nazis, the problems in Israel..." He threw his
arms out. "Even in America, there's the Klan." He paused, not
wanting to reveal all he knew about the Shadows, then clenched his
fists at his side. "I'm not even sure there's a God. So please,
spare me the holy clap-trap."

Max sighed. "But we're still here." 

Mulder frowned. 

Max rose. "You talk about belief, about proof through
unconventional means. Consider this. If the Christians were right
that Jeshua ben Joseph was the Messiah and the Jews are obsolete,
then Vespasian and Titus would have been successful in wiping out
Judaism. Oh, they tore down the temple, slaughtered the priests,
dispersed the residents to the four corners of the empire, but
they never even attempted to force the Jews to convert to
paganism." 

Mulder's jaw set. 

Max took a step towards him. "Now the Christians, they were a
different matter. They *did* attempt forcible conversions, over
and over, from Constantine to Franz Joseph. But that didn't work,
did it? We simply kept moving." He held up both hands. "Many did
convert, even members of my own family, but not all. We moved,
some as far away as China, where they still reside today." 

Mulder snorted. 

Max moved closer. "Or, let us say, the Christians and the Jews
both have it wrong, that neither is the chosen people, that the
Muslims are correct. Did you know that when the Dome of the Rock
was built, that Uthman, the caliph, was shown by his Allah where
the Devir, the Holy of Holies, was. That way the Dome of the Rock
could have been built over top of it, to *prove* that the Muslims
were the heirs of the Jewish tradition?" He paused, waiting for a
response, but the dark-haired man was rigid. "Well, let me tell
you this. The Dome is built well to the north and east of the
Devir's location. What does that tell you?" 

Mulder stepped back. "Uh, what do you want me to say? I didn't, I
don't know." 

Max sighed. "All I'm saying, Mulder, is that you can use history
to prove whatever you want, that if you believe something hard
enough, you can make it reality, without realizing you're doing
it." 

Mulder exploded. "Are you saying that you don't believe..." 

Max grasped both his shoulders. "Not at all. I've already stated
you've proven your case well enough to satisfy this old attorney.
I just want you to keep an open mind about other people's beliefs.
That's all." 

Mulder chewed his lower lip, fidgeting under the gaze from the
clear brown eyes. "OK."

Max settled back on the sofa. "But unfortunately, none of this
helps you with Samantha and Scully." 

Taking a seat at the far end of the couch, Mulder nodded. "Yeah. I
don't like leaving Scully exposed like that. She wants me to find
Sam; she wants to *help* me find Sam. But there's this trial, that
she feels," he shrugged, "that we both know someone needs to be
there for." 

Max crossed his arms. "Is there anything I can do to help Mister
Saunders?" 

Mulder shook his head. "Not unless you can take over his defense." 

Max waved his hand. "I've not kept up my license, or I might give
it a try. How is Scully assisting?" 

Mulder arched his shoulders, then blew out a deep breath. "She's
checking the testimony of the prosecution's witnesses against
whatever facts she can get her hands on. But it's tough. She's
running herself ragged, but she won't let anyone spell her." He
pressed his palms together between his knees. "It's like she wants
to prove she can make up for losing Rosen and Nichols all on her
own." He pinched his eyes shut. "She's only one person, Max,
she'll wear out and I won't be there for her." His voice dropped
to a whisper. "Partners are supposed to be there for each other,
no matter what. It took her years to beat that into my thick
skull, and now it's like she's forgotten the whole concept." 

Max arched both bushy white eyebrows. "Or perhaps she thinks she's
still being there for you."

He looked over at Max, color rising in his cheeks. "Oh. If she can
handle the trial on her own, I won't have to testify, nor will it
stand in the way of the search for Sam, so I won't have to chose.
Is that what you mean?"

Max nodded. 

Mulder burst off the sofa again. "That's so unfair! It's not her
right to make that decision without me!" 

Max crossed his arms. "Is everything still good between you two?" 

Mulder shrugged. "I thought it was. I thought things were... Oh."

Max rose. "Oh, what?" 

The hazel eyes were focused, laser tight. "Whenever Sam's come up
on a case before, I've always gone a little...off." He stared at
his feet, hunching his shoulders. "But I'm past that. If anything,
I know that whatever happens, I'll make it."

Max waited. <I think you have your answer, Mulder.>

Mulder whispered. "She thinks she's protecting me from myself. But
how?" 

Max rested a hand on his shoulder. "How do you convince her you're
not going to go a little, ah, off? How have you two worked out
your problems in the past?"

Mulder stared over at him. "We've worked." He shrugged. "On a
case. So you're saying I should treat this as a regular inquiry,
where we examine evidence and talk it back and forth?" 

Max nodded. "It's worth a try."

Mulder straightened. "Perhaps. If she feels she can be of some
help in the search for Sam, she might let me in on this trial
business." The younger man shrugged. "Anything's better than 'I'm
fine, Mulder.' I never want to hear that from her again."

                            --o-0-o--

Apartment 5
Alexandria, Virginia
Thursday, 11:43 pm


Dana Scully shivered, then opened both eyes. She had fallen asleep
on her sofa, the Maya blanket only partially covering her.
Glancing around the darkened room, she called out, "Hello, anyone
there?" 

She shook her head. <No, you're on your own.> She pushed herself
to her feet, headed for the bathroom, then her own bed. When she
stepped into her room, she caught a motion in her dresser mirror,
and froze. <Who's in my chair?> She spun, but the seat was vacant.
She turned to face the glass, then clenched her fists. 

In the reflection, she could see a woman, clearly a woman, sitting
in the chair. Her long blonde hair was partially veiled by blue
linen. A blue cloak over her shoulders was crossed over her knees,
but the red of her simply woven shift was visible. What shocked
Scully most, however, was the expression of sorrow on her
upturned, unlined face. 

Scully spoke to the image in the mirror. "Look, I don't know what
sort of a game this is, Frohike, but this isn't funny." 

The expression shifted from grief to confusion. 

Scully turned again, stalking to the chair, picking it up and
flipping it over, lint hanging from the feet as she set it on the
floor. She glanced back in the mirror, only to see that the woman
was standing beside her, her brown eyes wide in shock. 

Facing the glass, Scully crossed her arms. "Look, I don't know
what this is, or how this image is being projected here, but I
don't need this. You can be certain that I'll have this apartment
swept for concealed electronics in the morning." 

The woman shook her head, saddened once more, running her hands
down herself. The blue and red linen molded over the gentle
ellipse of her belly, protruding far out in front of the young
woman's bare feet. 

Scully set her jaw. "Now I know there's something wrong. Should I
be checking my water? Is this what you people put Mulder through?"
She reached for her Sig on her nightstand. "If you're just an
hallucination, then I'll be able to shoot right through you." She
squeezed the trigger repeatedly, sending off several rounds.

The woman grabbed her stomach, crumpling to the floor, blood
seeping out onto the blue of her cloak, running over the oak
floors, down through the cracks between the planks.

It was more than Dana Scully could take. "No! This can't be
happening!" 

She reached out with her hands, catching her fingers in the fringe
of the Maya blanket. <Good Lord, how did I end up...> She
staggered into the bedroom, turning on the overhead light, the
bedside lamps, even switching on the bulb in her closet. She
stared into the mirror, then at the chair. The images in the glass
were just what they should have been, her down comforter neatly
folded over on her bed, her books all aligned. The chair was empty
and upright, just as it ought to be. Her floors all reflected back
their natural honey-blonde color, no dark liquids spreading across
them like some deadly wave running up on a beach.

Scully shivered again. <What's happening to me?> Settling back out
in her living room, she reviewed the dream. She knew who the
blonde woman was, of course, from all her years in the Catholic
Church. What she didn't understand was why she had been dreaming
about her. <Some lost mothering instinct? Some feelings of guilt
over sending Mulder to help his Mother, and mine?> 

Normally, she would have called her partner to hash out this
latest strangeness. <I doubt you would say it really was the
Virgin Mary, Mulder. I sincerely doubt that.> But, right now, she
didn't feel she could burden him with any of her problems, let
alone bring up anything to do with Catholicism. <Or does it have
to do with Catholicism?> 

Stepping back into her bedroom, she pulled down a few of the books
Missy had lent her, then settled in to read. <Maybe I'll find some
answers in here.>

                            --o-0-o--

Apartment        
Omonia District 
Athens, Greece
Friday, 6:47 am

Mulder stared hard at the rotary dial on the heavy black desk
phone, randomly picking numbers, trying not to think that the
clacking of the disk sounded like a rattlesnake about to strike.
<Why am I having such trouble with this call? It's Scully, after
all.> 

Resigned, he waited while the plastic spun after each number.
<When did I get so used to push-buttons?> After one ring, he heard
a faint "Scully."

He grinned, his early discomfort past. "Hey, you sleeping?"

"Now, why would I be doing that?" There was a faint lilt to the
voice. "It's only one am." 

Mulder chewed his lower lip. "Sorry. I wasn't thinking." He heard
Scully shift against the cushions, seeing her pull herself into a
sitting position in his mind's eye. 

He heard her cough once. "How was the flight?" 

He leaned back. "Fine. Max met me. That monster of yours tangled
my Mom in his leash. She's be on crutches for a few weeks." 

"Mulder!" There was a pause. "You're serious?"

Glancing back at Max, who was watching from the bedroom doorway,
he grunted. "Yeah. But, she's OK."

"Good. Are you OK?" 

He twisted the cord idly. "Yeah. Hey, do you mind doing me a
favor?" 

"Anything, Mulder." 

He thought he caught undertones of relief in her voice. "Scully?"

"Hum?" 

"Max is waiting for more information to come in, but would you
mind running some background checks on the data they've collected
out here? I know Mossad has looked at it all once, but still, they
aren't the Bureau." He waved one hand. "If it's too much trouble,
with the trial and all, you don't - "

"Mulder! It's no trouble. How shall we transmit this? Encoded
through the Gunmen? You know Frohike will be delighted to come to
the aid of a certain damsel in distress."

He grinned. "Yeah. You calling him in the middle of the night
would be a dream come true." He rubbed his chin. "Yeah. Through
the Gunmen. Like always, right?" 

"Like always, Mulder." Her voice took on a warmth and richness not
even the phone lines could dampen. 

"Thanks, Scully." 

"Sure." 

He positioned the receiver carefully, then felt a large hand land
on his shoulder. 

Max chuckled. "See? Nothing to fear. One final thing." 

Mulder waited while his white-haired stepfather disappeared into
the bedroom and returned, then sent a soft query. "What?"

Max passed him a laminated card. "If you're up late on the island
and feel you have sufficient privacy, these are access codes to
certain blocked channels from the satellite downlink." 

Mulder flushed a deep purple. "Max, with Mrs. Scully around, I
don't think I'll feel comfortable, if you take my meaning." 

The older man shook his head gravely. "Your mother saw your
collection, Mulder. You're a grown man and we wouldn't want you to
feel inhibited for our sakes." Max bent over him. "I was single at
your age too, you know." He patted the dark-haired agent's
shoulder. "Now, get some sleep." 

Feeling considerably relieved, Mulder nodded and settled in.

                            --o-0-o--

Apartment 5
Alexandria, Virginia

Dana Scully replaced the portable phone in its mount, then dropped
onto the sofa. <Why did I agree to that? It isn't like I don't
have enough work already.> Rubbing her temples, she pulled the
Maya blanket down over her, remembering how her partner had draped
it over her back, then waited patiently for her migraine to abate
all those months ago. Snuggling in under it, she smiled. <Oh,
right.>

                            --o-0-o--

                   End - Zurvan - Many Partings