====o=====================================================o====== "Zurvan" by Mary Ruth Keller E-mail: mkeller@universe.digex.net =====o====================================================o====== Chapter VIII - Annwn (Disclaimed in Chapter I) -----o-------------------------------------------------o----- "Now they were put inside Bat House, with bats alone inside the house, a house of snatch-bats, monstrous beasts, their snouts like knives, the instruments of death. To come before these is to be finished off at once. When they were inside they just slept in their blowgun; they were not bitten by the members of the household. But this is where they gave one of themselves up because of a snatch-bat that came down, he came along just as one of them showed himself. They did it because it was actually what they were asking for, what they had in mind. And all night the bats are making noise... Then it let up a little. The bats were no longer moving around. So there, one of the boys crawled to the end of the blowgun, since Xbalanque said: 'Hunahpu? Can you see how long it is till dawn?' 'Well, perhaps I should look to see how long it is,' he replied. So he kept trying to look out the muzzle of the blowgun, he tried to see the dawn." excerpted from "Popol Vuh" translated by Dennis Tedlock -----o-------------------------------------------------o----- Alexandria Courthouse Alexandria, Virginia Friday, March 20, 1998 8:23 am When she heard approaching footsteps, Dana Scully looked up from the folder she was examining. "Good morning, Sir." Walter Skinner nodded once. "Senator Matheson called last night to arrange a meeting today." Closing the pages, she rose. "Thank you for informing me, Sir." He glanced over his shoulder before he bent over her. "How is the investigation into Agent Mulder's sister's location proceeding?" Finishing the last of the coffee from the orange and tan paper cup, Scully squared her shoulders. "We have four candidates, Sir, whose whereabouts at present we continue to pursue. How is Cynthia?" Skinner stepped aside as the bailiff arrived to unlock the glass doors. "Full of complaints about her chemistry homework. She's a little afraid to approach Agent Pendrell for help." One auburn eyebrow arched at the thought that anyone would be intimidated by the most helpful of the scientists in the lab. "I'll have to speak to her, Sir. She doesn't have me or Agent Rosen to ask questions of anymore." She began collecting her papers and briefcase. "Please keep me informed if there's anything new from Senator Matheson, Sir. I believe Agent Mulder could use the distraction." "I feel certain he could, Scully." Another nod, and the Assistant Director stepped away. Scully wound her way down the corridors to the courtroom they had been assigned. Spreading her papers across the defense table, she began cross-checking her notes. A tap on her shoulder brought her attention upward. "G'mornin', Dah-na Katherine." She broke into a wide smile. "Is it time for court already? Let me just clear this up." The towering attorney settled beside her. "No hurry. We still have a few minutes. Anything new?" Scully shook her head. "Not really. Mulder's getting anxious, I can tell." Stone plopped his briefcase into the spot she had just cleared. "After twenty-five years, I'd be anxious too." He smiled over at her. "Now, ah may have said this before, but that boy must have some Cajun in him from way back. He sure suffers like he's from my neck of the woods." Scully let out a silent snort. "Stone, I thought your family had money from years ago." He shook his head. "Had it, lost it, got it back again. And please, use Jarred. We've been shackled together long enough to use first names." She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "OK. I'm just so used to Scully it hardly seems Dana exists at times." Since the courtroom was filling up, they resumed their usual seats, Stone closest to the aisle, and Scully in the first row just behind him. His black suit impeccably smooth, Saunders entered from a side door, escorted by two Bureau agents who nodded to Scully and stepped away. She knew they would take up positions on either side of the rear entrance, watching and waiting. The high space filled with noises otherwise associated with the preparations for a concert or play, papers shuffling, coughs, whispers, creaks. Scully slid her papers away. At the bailiff's call, all rose, all eyes following the slight woman Pollack had worked to take the case away from as she climbed to the high seat of justice. Scully recalled the circuitous route that brought them back before Judge Mary Rivers. After a full career on the Federal Bench, the white-haired senior had retired, requesting only that she be permitted, like her distant Lee relative, to serve her home state. A slot had materialized almost magically, courtesy of the new governor. Equally mysteriously, this had been her first case. Scully wondered if Fate was finally on their side, since only a extraordinary event would keep Tyrell Saunders from becoming a free man. --o-0-o-- Judge Rivers raised her gavel to bring the court to order. But the session never began. As the flat end of the ornate mallet head struck the marble surface, it depressed a detonator wired to plastic explosives secreted into the bench. A shout rang out from the back of the courtroom, fear sending the audience running for the exit. As chunks of concrete and steel rolled around the demolished bench, Scully struggled forward, calling futilely for the white-haired woman. Twin explosions from the side walls sent debris peppering those still in front of the room. "Agent Scully!" Saunders dove for her, dragging her back under the heavy walnut table reserved for the defense attorney. Scully wriggled free. "I have to check Judge Rivers." Saunders grasped her wrists. "There's nothing to check, Agent Scully. You should have known better than to think we could have succeeded twice." Scully snarled as a shower of debris rained down on the double- thick top. "But this is a court of law! How do they think they can get away with this?" Saunders sat back on his heels. "They already have. Never underestimate the power of the almighty dollar, Scully." "Dayhna?" Both looked down, the gestures instinctive despite the fast darkness in the rubble. Stone bit his thin lower lip. "Ye'all mind givin' me a hand here? Ah'm not quite as compact as you." Scully reached for his knees, only to grunt in surprise as a roof beam settled onto the front of the table, collapsing the thick legs. The frame under the tabletop pinned her hands on Stone's calves, and both under a massive weight of concrete. Saunders was casting about in the blackness for a brace. Scully found she was hissing through clenched teeth. "Get help." Stone gasped. "Please." A fourth explosion brought the rest of the roof down on the still- clearing audience chamber, further entombing them. The three stories of the sprawling legal complex were now a flattened heap of rubble, leaving Scully wondering how many others were trapped as they were. Saunders grunted. "I think not, Scully." He tugged one of the broken table legs free of the debris, observing that the work of the carvers to align the fluting had created a perfectly symmetric piece of kindling. Scully swallowed. "Sto - Jarred, can you feel your legs?" He answered first with a gurgling chuckle. "Put your mahnd at rest on that point, Dahy-na. Mah shanks are shout'n mighty strong. Ah maht say they're kickin' up quite a ruckus." Saunders shifted around Scully. "You southern gentlemen are all alike. You talk too much." He began wedging the walnut by Stone's feet. "'Hurts like hell' would be a conservation of breath." Stone clucked. "Now, Tyrell, there are ladies present." Scully twisted to follow Saunders' voice. "I've heard far worse, Jarred." She bumped Saunders on the shoulder with her chin. "How are you coming?" Saunders grunted, then froze as a trickle of debris rolled down the table-top. Scully bent closer, ignoring the twin protests shooting up her arms. "Saunders?" "Almost there. Can you feel both of Stone's feet?" Perspiration beaded on her forehead as she rotated her hands down to Stone's ankles. "I can't reach that far." Jarred huffed softly. "Set yore minds at ease. Them gators are free to wiggle." Scully shifted for a firmer grasp on his calves. "Whenever you can, Saunders, I'll slide him in." Saunders moved to gain what purchase he could. "On the count of three, then. I expect we'll only have one shot at this. You two ready?" Scully set her jaw. "Ready." Stone grunted. "And waiting." "One, two, three!" Saunders shoved, easing the crushing load momentarily. Scully and Stone moved together, pulling his feet under the table frame just as the leg splintered. Scully shook her arms to restore feeling to them, then began probing Stone's right calf. He sighed. "Ah think it's safe to say Muldah will have quite the advantage at basketball for a while. Ow." Scully bit her lower lip. "I think so. Your right tibia is fractured in two places, Jarred." She shifted to continue her explorations. "But your left leg is whole. And I don't feel any throbbing, so I don't believe there's any internal hemorrhaging. Jarred?" She reached up to pat his cheek. "Stay with me. We'll have help soon." She relaxed marginally when she felt his long, spongy fingers curl around her wrist. He sighed. "Where's this blood comin' from, then?" She pulled her hands back to fumble in the debris for her long coat. It ripped as she tore it free of a steel beam, but there was enough for her to cover him with. "Don't worry about that. It isn't yours." Saunders had crawled so close to her that she bumped him when she slid away from Stone. "Listen, you two." All three waited until they heard faint cries for help. Scully began pushing at the debris. "That sounds like the prosecution table. They must have been trapped the way we were." Saunders wrapped his arms around her waist. "No, Scully, listen! Beyond that!" She wriggled fiercely. "I'm a doctor! I need to reach them before it's too late!" She was pushing on him, her right hand slippery from her own blood. Struggling free, she forced her way towards the prosecution table, where she encountered a still, cooling shape, half in and half out of the rubble. "He didn't make it!" She turned. "Saunders! Stone! How many prosecutors were here today? All three?" Saunders was feeling for her, groping in the total blackness. "Scully! Agent Scully! It doesn't matter! Get back here!" She heard a faint cry, then a soft pop, then, silence. When her forehead contacted a torn rod of steel rebar, she set her teeth against the pain. A sharp edge had sliced a cut over her left eye. Fumbling for her briefcase, she bit her lip to keep from muttering an oath when she remembered that, like all court participants, she had turned her weapon over at the door. She felt a single hand land on her shoulder, tugging her back to their hiding place. Once she was huddled under the protection of the table-top, she let Saunders move close to her before she queried, "Who are they?" His lips hovered by her ear. "You know better than to ask, Scully. They're looking for me." Realizing any attempt to staunch the flow of blood would make noise, she simply pulled their one-time contact's ear around to her mouth. "We can't be certain of that." He shifted. "They are." His certainty was chilling. When he began slipping silently away, she pulled him back. "If you go out there, they'll kill you." "If I remain, they'll kill you, him, and me. One or three." Had there been even the barest illumination, he would have seen her eyes blazing. "I won't agree. We'll find another way." "No!" Even the voiceless word packed a punch. "Remain with your patient!" Her wet hand faltered in its grip, giving Saunders the escape he sought. As rubble shook loose in his wake, Scully covered Stone's head with her arms and torso. The towering attorney, stretched the length of the table, was biting his lower lip to keep from crying out. Scully began stroking his hair and beard, hoping the contact would soothe him while they waited. One voice sounded in the darkness. "Did you hear which way he went?" Scully shuddered, suddenly afraid their argument had delayed Saunders so long they would catch him. Stone, misreading the emotion prompting the action as fear rather than self-contempt, wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her close. A second voice answered. "No. Sound ricochets everywhere with all this rubble." Then he called loudly. "Hello? Anybody there?" "Here." The thin cry was answered with a pop. Scully clenched the hand not brushing dust from Stone's short hair into a fist. Feeling around her, she lifted a quarter of the leg Saunders had used for a brace off what had once been highly polished oak floorboards. The first voice called out. "It wasn't him." Voice two responded. "Like he would answer our summons. We have to find him. Where do you think the defense bench was?" Scully heard a click, then a thin shaft of light pierced the debris, scattering across the grey concrete. Voice one carried an undertone of amusement. "Was is right. If he's in there, he's gone." Voice two chided. "With him, never assume anything. We need to take back positive visual identification. I'm going in there. I think I see a way through the rubble." The man began pulling himself through the debris, hand over hand, the spot flash in his teeth. Scully could tell the flickers were glowing brighter, giving her a sense of just how confined they were. She had struggled towards the opposing bench through a tiny crawl space, no more than ten inches high. The light came from a crooked tube leaning back towards the exit and freedom, tall enough just beside the table for a man to crouch and aim a weapon. Stone's long legs were visible from the opening, but if she pressed herself up by his head, she would be concealed. It was, she knew, their only chance. --o-0-o-- Lowenberg Residence Santorini, Greece Friday, 5:16 pm Max knocked once before querying the occupant of his enclosed porch. "Mulder?" Raising his eyes from the documents he had strewn across the flagstones, Mulder slipped off his glasses before climbing to his feet. Opening the knotty pine door, he pointed his chin in a quick greeting. "Is it here yet?" As he entered, Max waved a piece of paper at him. "Just came through." Mulder scanned the message quickly, smiling at his partner's protestations before he looked over to Max. "We'll need to tell Mom. The DNA tests confirm that Sarah Silverberg was Sam." Chewing his lower lip, he blinked back the torrent of relief and awe he suddenly felt. After grasping the agent's shoulder as a silent offer of his support, the white-haired man knelt by a mosaic of photos Mulder had assembled. "So, you think these are the culprits?" He pointed. "This fellow with the Morleys that you and your Mother know so well." He tapped the dark image, a frame from a security camera that showed a face half-obscured by shadows. "He didn't visit the Firm, I'm certain of that." Mulder sank to the floor, crossing his long legs in front of him. "That's good. According to Mom, he was a fairly decent guy during the War. I wonder what warped him so?" After turning a green canvas chair away from the windows. Max eased himself into it. "Sorry, my back's not as limber as yours, Mulder." He rested his arms on his knees, peering intently at the other faces. "I recognize most of these, including that sad fellow." He lifted a folder from the stack closest to the chair. "Do any of these old reports from Egypt make sense to you?" Mulder shrugged. "According to Scully, they show identical camps to the leper facility she visited. So, it seems there were duplicate tests being conducted in several places in the world, here," he tapped a map of the upper Nile, "the Congo, the Outback, on Taiwan." The younger man stood, pacing. "I have a hunch that these facilities were all controlled by different secret organizations, governments within governments, so to speak." Max nodded. "And something has happened that has unbalanced them all, something to do with the strange events this past December and January." Both men looked over when Margaret Scully appeared in the doorway. "You two and Caroline, all you do is work. Dinner's ready, whenever you three can tear yourselves away." Mulder smiled a response. "What? Is Mom still banging away on those security codes?" Margaret shrugged. "She's as bad as Dana with a puzzle." Max stood. "We'll be right there." He crossed the room to flick on a large TV. "I just want to check CNN." The two men waited through a series of car advertisements, then the words "Breaking News" swirled on the screen before settling in the center. The announcer began reading an update as a collapsed red brick building appeared in a window over the woman's shoulder. "Now, from Washington, DC. There's been an explosion at the Courthouse in Alexandria, which is just across the river from the nation's capital." "No!" The shout was torn from Mulder in a frantic howl before he rushed to kneel beside the images. Drawing his fingers across the glass, he queried angrily. "When?" He was whispering his partner's name now, as if she would appear and answer him on the air. Margaret and Caroline came running at the cry. Caroline grasped her husband's shoulder. "Max? What's happening?" The white-haired man pulled her against his side. "I don't know." He spoke quietly to the frenzied agent. "Mulder, please, it may have been before court was in session in the morning." Nodding, the younger man backed away so all four could focus on the screen. The woman was now speaking to a reporter at the scene. "Can you give me any details, Wolf?" After a momentary delay, the bearded, grey-haired man replied. "It happened around 10:30, just after the State Courts had opened for the day. We're only now beginning to put together a picture of all the details." He pulled a soot-smudged fireman into the frame. "This is one of the busy men engaged in the search for survivors. Mister Hollinger, what can you tell us?" The man lifted off the helmet of his flame-retardant suit. "We were able to cut off the electricity to the building before the flames reached the control room, or else this would have been a far worse disaster than it is right now. From what we can tell, most of the floors of the Courthouse have collapsed, so we're looking at probably several hours before we sift through all this rubble. We know there are survivors, and the sooner we reach them, the more we'll find alive." He hurried away. The grey-haired reporter faced squarely into the camera lens. "From the federal records, there were two important trials underway today. The first, of the alleged drug kingpin from Argentina, Shorcorro Guitierrez, was in its opening stages. The second, deals with the puzzling murder of two FBI agents by an African-American in the Bureau's witness protection program. All names have been withheld as part of the security surrounding this case, but this reporter has learned that the accused claims he killed the agents while they were operating under an hypnotic suggestion that directed them to murder him." He shook his head. "In this second trial, sealed from the media, the preliminaries of jury selection had just concluded." "No!" Mulder howled, staggering to his feet. "No! It's not fair!" He began prowling the confines of the room, barely aware of his three elders. "Please, Scully, please, don't have been there!" He ran into the living room, punching numbers so rapidly he had to redial three times. He listened, then slammed the receiver back on the white unit. "Her cel phone's not answering." Crossing the room, Max stood behind his grieving step-son to wrap both arms around him. "Mulder, Mulder, calm down." The dark-haired man was fighting back his tears and rage. "It's not fair. It should have been me, not her. Why did she send me away? Why?" Seizing the occasion to comfort her child as she never had when they lost Samantha, Caroline appeared in front of him, taking his face in both her hands. "Fox, son, please. Margaret will call your office to speak to your secretary, won't you, Margaret?" Caroline smoothed his hair while Margaret Scully ran to her room for her address book. Mulder struggled for a few moments longer, then collapsed against his stepfather. "It's not fair. Scully, please, be alive. Please." Max eased him to the floor, supporting him until Caroline could slide him onto her shoulder. She held him close against her, tightening her arms around his back, whispering in his ear. "Dear, lost, sweet boy. I'm so sorry." He continued to sob, reaching around his mother, letting go of more grief than just this incident justified. The white-haired man joined Margaret, who was quietly replacing the hand-piece at the table. "Anything?" When Margaret looked up, the color in her cheeks was all the answer Max needed. He grasped the dark-haired woman's shoulder. "We'll keep a watch out. I think the roast lamb will have to keep." Biting her lower lip, Margaret nodded before she looked over at the pair on the floor. "How do I tell him?" Max moved the arm until it was around her shoulders. "Poor Mulder. I think he already knows." --o-0-o-- Alexandria Courthouse Alexandria, Virginia Friday, 1:14 pm Dana Scully crouched, concentrating on her breathing, comparing the clicks, the small collapses of concrete and steel, the breaking of glass against the noises Saunders had made in his departure. She would have one chance to save them both, when their assassin's gun and arm first shoved through the opening. Stone kept his eyes firmly in the direction of the agent's nose, listening for the suppressed hiss of her respiration. He knew his role as decoy without her having to send him more than a cursory suggestion. Scully had thought it all through. Observing death's aftermath so many times, she would aim low, underneath the hands, shoving the pointed stick past the ribs and directly into his heart. A low level blow would mean a slow death, time to squeeze off the rounds that would kill them both. The spike in heart would bring a near- instantaneous demise. She had made peace with her Hippocratic oath. Killing this man would be saving the lives of all the strangers he would go on to murder if she faltered. She heard a chunk of concrete shift and realized the time was near. The thin beam pointed directly into the small chamber roofed in wood, passing across Stone's bent leg, growing lighter. The attorney, for his part, held perfectly still. The moments passed as if in slow motion. First the tip of a black barrel, lengthened by the silencer. Then both hands, gripping the steel as their assassin crawled forward on his knees. The arms were out straight, shoulder high, leaving his abdomen exposed. Finally the knees themselves, the angle of the thighs telling Scully exactly where she needed to aim. One of the Consortium agents who had escorted Saunders to the courtroom, thinking his cover so carefully maintained, caught a motion out of the corner of his eye. Turning, he paused to focus on the light, then found himself wondering why the batteries had failed, why his guts ached the way they did. Stone gasped as the gun turned on him, then swung at the man's chin at the same instant as Scully's makeshift pike struck its target. Their grey-suited adversary toppled forward, the stake forced slightly through his back as his torso contacted the oak floor. Scully wrenched the Smith and Wesson from their assailant's nerveless fingers, then the flashlight from his mouth, wiping off the thick blood that stained them both. Thrusting the silver tube into Stone's grasp, she swiveled the lens to extinguish the beam. "Use this only when you have to." He nodded, perfectly aware that the gesture was lost in the darkness. Scully placed the weapon on the ground to press her hands to Stone's cheeks. "Whatever happens, I will be back for you. Do you believe me?" Another nod, felt, rather than seen. She brushed brown hair off his forehead. "Say it, then." He whispered. "You'll be back for me." She tore the trench coat off the corpse to supplement her own wraps. "You'll be here when I get back." He reached up to grip her shoulder. "I will. Believe that." She tucked the long arm under the wool. "I do." She removed her suit jacket, balling it into a makeshift pillow. Staring through the darkness at the body where he knew the lifeless face was pointed at him, he gulped. "Dahy-na?" She patted his cheek again. "I'll use him to block the entrance." After she backed out, she tugged the corpse into the void. "How will you see?" "I have a light in my case. I just didn't have the chance to reach it. I'll be back." "I'll be waiting." Satisfied, she felt for her leather bag, locating the pen light through a rend in the flap. Further along there would be light from the outside, she knew, but to reach it, she would have to follow this twisted corridor through the rubble. Pausing only long enough to discard her useless heels, she started forward. In the distance, she could hear the sirens of police, fire and rescue trucks. The noises pulled her up short. She had forgotten there was a world beyond the steel and concrete, the wood and glass. Somewhere out there, Walter Skinner, Arthur Pendrell, and Richard Matheson were watching, waiting, looking for some sign they were still alive. The thought was oddly comforting. She hoped her partner, however, remained unaware of her situation. She crawled on, over thick blocks of ornamental marble, her wool pants ripping open down the right leg as she forced her way around one particularly tight corner. There was light now, a faint grey glow, so she knew she was approaching the end of the worst of the devastation. Rubble settled behind her, chunks of concrete shifting to new positions. She prayed it wasn't along the corridor between her and the attorney she had come to so admire. Ahead, she heard a grunt, then a slap. Knowing him, he and his assailant were wrestling for the weapon. She crawled faster. The huffing and thuds continued, ceasing after Scully heard cloth tear. She stopped to sight the weapon along the beam of light. Ahead, Saunders, his hair and beard white with dust, held a Glock on the other of his 'guards', but the man kicked the weapon free, spinning when he saw the light to run for a door about fifty feet away. She watched in horror as a final explosion rocked the devastated structure, burying the agent in rubble. Coughing out dust, she realized she had no idea where Saunders was, only that he might be trapped. Reaching the end of the rubble, Scully felt downwards for the floorboards between the concrete, wiggling herself out of the triangularly shaped opening. She gasped when something sharp punctured her back, then rolled to defend herself, pointing the gun and light upwards. "Scully?" The bearded African-American had snatched up a loose board, bent nails protruding from the torn end, when the explosion had cast the Glock out of his grip again. "Saunders?" She felt his hands on her waist. "Scully! Why didn't you call out? I thought from the light you were his counterpart." He waited until she had steadied herself. She was reaching behind her, her hand coming away slick with a hot wetness she had felt too often this day. "I didn't know where your assailant was." The hands released her, so she spun. "Hey! Where are you going!" Saunders called back. "I have to leave. They won't stop until they find me. You're safer this way." Still clutching her back, Scully staggered after him. "No! Stone needs our help! Saunders!" In the false twilight, he glared one final time. "We will meet again, Scully. There is another player who needs to be brought into the game." He pointed behind her. "Help is on the way." She checked in the direction he had indicated, seeing fire- fighters in thick yellow suits approaching. She waved for them, and when she knew they were close, she looked back for Saunders. As she suspected he would be, the bearded African-American was missing. One of the fire fighters reached for her. "Are there any others in there?" Nodding, she began crawling back into the opening. "One, who's injured. Follow me!" --o-0-o-- Peter St. Germain forced himself to take deep, slow breaths as he tugged on the med-kit, pulling it through the last narrow gap in the rubble. He, as the youngest fire-fighter on the squad, was last in the line of three crawling along behind the red-haired woman coated in dust. He listened as she whispered to herself. "Those benches. This way." She wriggled through yet another narrow gap between twisted steel roof beams. "Stone's not bleeding heavily, but he does have multiple fractures, lacerations, and contusions." That last was aimed at St. Germain's immediate supervisor, Allen Hollinger, who nodded, crazy shadows dancing in the jiggling light from the lamp on his helmet. "This is in your *expert* medical opinion, Agent Scully?" St. Germain ground his teeth. Now was not the time for the older man's barely concealed sexism. Bill Slonaker, the paramedic in the middle, cautioned Hollinger in a heated whisper. "Keep your voice down, Allen." St. Germain noted that, to her credit, the woman continued forward. "I've seen injuries like this in too many autopsies I've performed for Violent Crimes, Sir." But the older man slowed fractionally, thinking, the young fire fighter felt certain, of a retort that would silence what he considered a barely qualified amateur for this life-saving business. "Well, Agent Scully, perhaps you shouldn't assume live bodies are like corpses." For emphasis, Hollinger slammed his fist against the carpet, pushing upwards with his helmet. The shove, combined with the vibrations of four shifting bodies, showered the four with debris. As the dust settled, St. Germain could only make out Slonaker, directly in front of him. "Sir! Where are they?" He kept the hiss to a whisper. Slonaker was waving his arms. "I can't see just yet. The collapse seems to have opened up a larger void." St. Germain crawled up beside him, taking the broken chunks of concrete Slonaker passed to line the slightly wider tunnel to his right. "That's Hollinger." The older fire fighter coughed as they sat him upright. "I'm OK. Where the Agent?" He tapped the light on his helmet until it steadied. St. Germain had spotted two tiny bare feet. "She's right here." Crawling forward, he cleared stone and concrete off her shoulders and head. The pulse at her throat was strong and steady. "She's out, but she's all right." He bent over her ear. "Agent Scully? Can you hear me?" He looked back to his senior fire fighters. "Do you remember her first name?" Hollinger shrugged. Slonaker frowned. "Dana?" St. Germain returned to whispering to her urgently. "Dana? Agent Scully? We need to reach the other man. Where's the other man?" An unfamiliar face swam into her view. Finally, a cough, then an answer. "Stone. We need to reach Stone. I said I'd be back." Disoriented, she rolled onto her side. "Hello?" The young fire fighter smiled unconsciously. "It's Peter St. Germain, Ma'am. We were attempting to reach your friend." "Stone." One hand on her head, she studied the debris. "We didn't come this way." Slonaker crawled forward, using a pencil-flash to check her pupils. "No, Ma'am, the tunnel collapsed." He pointed. "What do you remember in that direction?" Scully took the flash to point it into the darkness. "It's this way." Slonaker grasped her shoulder. "Is your friend trapped, or can we ease him out of where you left him?" Scully winced as she looked back over her shoulder. "We had freed his legs, so unless the table itself has given way, we should be able to slide him out." Slonaker crawled back to Hollinger. "Allen, go back and let them check you out, then tell them we'll need at least two more ambulances for this." His eyes flicked back to the auburn-haired woman. "I'll be fine. We need to reach Jarred Stone." The agent spoke from partway into the corridor. St. Germain admired the way she stuck her chin forward determinedly, but even he had to agree with Slonaker. "Let us be the judge of that, Ma'am. You were very fortunate that you weren't killed." She cocked an eyebrow at the thin face under the oversized helmet. "Can we go now?" Hollinger nodded a farewell, then crawled back towards the front of the building, while Scully led the two remaining firefighters further into the darkness. After several more turns, she stopped to wiggle the circle slightly. "That's my briefcase. We're almost there. Jarred?" "Dayh-nah?" She sighed. "Yes, Jarred, keep still. We're almost there." "If mah friend Muldah doesn't come to his senses, ah'll treat you to a dance through the live oaks at Christmas, Dayh-nah." Shifting backwards to allow Slonaker to tug the stiffening body of their assailant out of the opening, she chuckled. "Saunders was right, Jarred, you southern gentlemen *do* talk too much." From behind Scully, Peter St. Germain smiled. --o-0-o-- Lowenberg Residence / Alexandria Courthouse Santorini, Greece / Alexandria, Virginia Saturday, March 21, 1998 6:47 am / 12:47 am The four were settled uncomfortably around a circular wicker table on the deck, where a portable TV was perched. Mulder had been prowling the porch like a caged animal, so Max had gently suggested they move out here. Caroline had provided her second by running a cable from the satellite hook-up to the unit. There, they could focus on the recovery efforts while Mulder pored over the E-mails he was receiving from the Gunmen. Having to crouch over the portable and concentrate on typing provided some small outlet for his manic energies. The dark-haired man muttered darkly as the screen faded to a commercial. "Why do they break away just when something important happens?" He had caught a glimpse of Frohike, a black portable phone against his face, on the periphery of the crowd. Caroline grasped her son's shoulder. "Looks like you have another message, Fox." She had felt uncomfortable leaving his side for the first few hours of the search. Nodding, he clicked on the line of text. "Jeez, these guys are great!" His knuckled rapped the screen. "They've patched Frohike's observations directly through to us here." He waved his hand at the screen. "Now we won't have to wait for updates from a network that would just as easily cut to an ad for deodorants." Margaret slid her chair beside his. "Yes, this is the one who proposed, isn't it?" Mulder smiled faintly, the memory of that weekend in Annapolis cutting a sliver of light through his gloom, just as the eastern sky was beginning to glow from the sun that would soon rise. Max chuckled. "What? That little fellow proposed to Dana, or to you, Margaret?" While Margaret giggled, Mulder responded. "Both." Max's white eyebrows drew together. "They've never been anything but extremely professional with me, Mulder." While Caroline covered her mouth, Mulder shrugged. "Fro's a card. He's had a crush on Scully for years, but," he frowned, struggling to put the complex joke into words, "he likes to razz her because she's so career-focused and straight-laced." He glanced at Margaret, suddenly uncertain of himself. "She's not his type, not really." Margaret focused on the tiny, flat screen. "He says none of the bodies have been women, which is good. They won't tell us on the air, of course." She glanced at Mulder. "It's been how long since the accident?" He checked his watch. "About fourteen hours. He also says that the two deaths occurred from impact with a falling cornice near the doorway. The survivors have been huddled under benches or tables. That means those in the courtrooms ought to be safe." Max waved them over. "Mulder, Margaret, come here!" Max pointed to the image of Frohike. "He's mouthing 'She's OK', isn't he?" Mulder narrowed his eyes at the screen. "It looks that way." He rotated the laptop. "That's what he's saying over here." The dark- haired man crossed his arms. "Let's see if the idiots behind the camera,..., there she is!" After Mulder pointed, Margaret gasped. "She's safe, but what's all that blood? Where are her shoes? Who's the man on the stretcher whose hand she's holding?" She glanced at the agent. "Fox?" He peered at the face, obscured by an oxygen mask. "It looks like Jarred Stone, the Defense Attorney working with us. It would make sense if they were found together, since she usually sat in the first row behind him and Saunders." Caroline slid closer to the set. "She's holding something against her head, Fox." She focused on the words scrolling up the laptop. "Fox?" The younger man was pacing and fretting, dialing the Gunmen's number. When it was answered, he shouted into Max's black phone. He had tucked the squarish unit under his arm, and his frantic perambulations while waiting had loosely wound the cable around his chair. "Guys! Talk to me! What's happening back there?" He heard a sigh from Langly. "It's just me here today, Mulder. I'll patch you through to Frohike. All I'm getting is what's on the local TV news channel." Waiting, Mulder chewed his lower lip. "Frohike!" He listened. The cameras panned back to the CNN reporter, but behind him, they could see Frohike passing the phone to Scully, her clothing torn and bloodied. Margaret tried to read her daughter's lips as the battered agent took the unit Frohike was holding out. "I can't tell what she's saying, can you?" The audible gasp of relief brought her focus to her daughter's standing partner. Mulder had his free arm wrapped around himself. "Scully! Is that you?" Scully read the multiple levels of fear in her partner's voice. "Yes, it's me. I'm fine, Mulder." On the TV, the cameras panned away from the reporter to two more men on stretchers, so Margaret and the Lowenbergs were free to focus on Mulder. He was frowning at her answers. "What happened?" She shook her head at the paramedic who was tapping her on the arm. "Right now, outside of telling you there was an explosion, which you already know, it's difficult to tell." Mulder berated himself silently. "OK. Tell me later. Are you injured? We saw blood." A shout from behind her had her checking the building, but it was an ambulance preparing to leave, so she and Frohike were swept aside with the rest of the crowd. "I'm OK, Mulder. Look, it's pretty hectic here right now. Just tell Mom I'm fine for me, please?" He was rocking slightly. "OK. You'll see a paramedic?" Scully shifted the unit in her palm. "Of course, no problem. I'm handing you back to Frohike." She nodded to the Gunman before she jogged away to Jarred's ambulance. The too-tall attorney had been calling for her, and in his present state of shock, he needed the emotional reassurance. The oxygen mask barely fitted over his angular nose, so his words were unslurred when he spoke. "Dayh-na? Where were you?" She clasped his hand. "Talking to Mulder." Jarred's soft hazel eyes stared. "What? Is he here?" She lifted one corner of her mouth. "No, on the phone. One of his friends has patched me through to him." She bent close to the short brown hair. "Don't ask how. There are probably more illegalities involved than an Officer of the Court wants to have any inkling of." He grinned under the clear mask before a cough shook out of him. "With your partner, I would expect no less." The same paramedic who had approached her earlier now grasped her shoulder firmly. "Ma'am, if you're not a relative, you'll have to step out of the ambulance." There was a soft protest from the man on the stretcher. "Now, son, is that any way to speak to a fellow physician, and one with red hair as pretty as that?" He succumbed to more coughing. The black-haired man frowned at Scully. "You're a doctor?" She nodded. "Pathologist." Stone protested in an exaggerated drawl. "If you boys don't want her working you over, you'd better get a move on." The 'boys' was drawn-out, Mississippi-style, the former Federal Prosecutor slipping into his childhood's speech patterns. "Then OK. He seems to want you here anyway." The paramedic slammed the back doors of the ambulance before tapping on the glass between the driver and the treatment area. "We should take a look at your back, Ma'am." The lanky attorney attempted a chuckle, but could only manage a gurgling cough. "Glad to see your Momma taught you how to treat a lady, young man." He squeezed Scully's hand in gratitude. --o-0-o-- Frohike watched the ambulance pull out. "She's with the tall guy she came out alongside, Mulder. You want me to follow?" Back on Santorini, Mulder nodded, forgetting that the gesture was invisible to his friend. "Yes. Please. Call me if you find out anything. Did you see any injuries? Was she limping?" Frohike sighed. "Not that I can tell. But you know sometimes she could run through a H-bomb blast and not bat an eye." Mulder hugged himself. "That's what scares me, Fro. Keep me posted." Dropping the receiver back in its cradle, he set the whole unit in his chair while relaying what few details he had in an flat mutter. "She's safe." Margaret was by his elbow instantly. "Fox! That's all?" He chewed his lower lip before he met her eyes. "All I got was 'I'm fine.'" He shrugged. "You know what that means." Margaret clenched her fists. "Well, let's hope she knows what she's doing." Feeling isolated and abandoned, Mulder nodded. Caroline tugged at his elbow. "Fox? Son?" He draped his arm over her shoulders. "It's OK, Mom. If there were something really wrong, she would have told me. Scully may be banged up a little, but she doesn't want any of us to worry about her. We should probably get back to work." At the white-haired woman's unconvinced nod, he released her. While Max escorted Caroline back to her computer, Margaret stepped in front of him, clamping a hand on either side of his waist. "Fox, talk to me. How bad is it?" He withered under her glare. "I," he fidgeted, "I don't know what to tell you, Mrs. Scully." He stepped away to cross his arms. "We've both said 'I'm fine.' when we haven't been, run for days on too little sleep," he glanced back at her, "and while injured." He swallowed, remembering the Fordyce case. "I hate not knowing, not being there to look her in the eye." He rubbed his chin. "I hope she knows what she's doing." Margaret was in front of him again. "Is everything fine between you two? You haven't gotten into one of your debates so she won't tell you if she feels you don't want to hear?" Echoes of old arguments assaulting him painfully, he squeezed his eyes shut. "I hope not. I thought we were past that. We've just been apart for so long, Mrs. Scully. We were so used to touching base with each other all the time, it was like we were thinking as one. I could guess her objections to my theories, and she could have rebuttals ready before I was finished presenting an idea." Remembering four eager faces gathered around her kitchen table, she smiled. "Well, perhaps you can go home, or she can come here, soon." Mulder nodded. "This trial will need to moved to a different region of the Federal system, so there will be a gap. How long depends on the circuit it's moved to. They'll need my testimony again, so maybe I can check on her." He hugged the dark-haired woman. "I hate being this out of touch." Margaret settled against him, taking comfort in the deep concern he shared for her daughter. "I know you do." --o-0-o-- Emergency Room Alexandria Hospital Saturday, 4:14 am Alice Olivero sighed to herself. The last of the victims of the Courthouse bombing was safely resting on the Third Floor, so the OR physicians and nurses were on break. This early in the morning, their usual cases, construction workers looking to shag a free afternoon with some minor injury, a harried mother with the flu, or the rush-hour accident victims, were all yet to come. Reaching in the drawer of her cubicle for her purse, she scanned the waiting area, making one last check for worried family members. Back in one far corner, almost concealed by the shadows, she saw a shredded set of hose encasing delicate feet, under legs that had suspicious brown streaks running down them. Alice stepped out from behind the row of cubicles. She had visions of explaining to her supervisor why an ER patient had bled to death in the waiting room. She broke into a trot. "Miss?" The auburn-haired woman pushed herself up on shaky legs. "It's OK. I was just waiting for a colleague's wife to arrive. I'm fine." Alice shook her head. The woman's pale blouse was ripped open down one arm, and there was a circular bloodstain on front of her pants. "Are your certain? Have you been looked at, Miss?" Scully's eyebrows drew together. "Dana Scully. I'm a pathologist with the FBI. I was part of the defense team in one of the trials at the courthouse." Scully let herself sag long enough for a sigh. "Yes, the paramedics checked me out on the way over. I have a few contusions, but nothing serious." Alice reached for her arm. "Then come over here closer to the door. You may have missed her, hiding in a corner." But she pulled back when she saw the woman had set her lips in a tight line, erecting a mental wall that was almost visible. Scully walked beside her stiffly. "Oh, I don't think I've missed her. According to Jarred, Elizabeth is pretty unmistakable. I'm surprised she didn't fly the plane back here herself." The two women turned when they heard an angry voice floating through the glass double doors. "Where is everyone? My husband is in the hospital and here the place is deserted." A reed-thin woman slipped off designer sunglasses before stepping up to Alice to continue the tirade. "What kind of a facility is this? Are you the only person here?" She smoothed her platinum blonde coif. When Elizabeth stopped, out of breath, Scully glanced at the doors before she replied. "Elizabeth. It *is* past four in the morning." Blazing fury at the diminutive agent, Elizabeth blinked at her. "Hello, Agent Scully. Jarred has described you so precisely for his family I'd know you anywhere. Since no one here seems to know anything, I guess I'll have to ask you. How is he?" Scully nodded to politely relieve the receptionist of this duty before steering Elizabeth down the hall. "The breaks have been set, but otherwise, it's only bruises and lacerations. They want to keep him overnight, just to be sure there's no problem with the leg. He's in Room 256, on the second floor." She waved down the corridor. "The elevators are at the far end of the hall." Elizabeth barely had the chance to issue another reprimand before a pair of steel doors slid open, two residents in scrubs emerged, and she had a new set of subjects to chastise. "Hold that door! Stop it, now!" Scully found herself pushed back against the wall to make way for two shouting orderlies and a bleeding mound of a man on a gurney. Alice excused herself with a shrug, crossing back to her cubicle to open a new record in the computerized files. Rubbing her face, Scully swayed in the empty, silent hall. She felt useless, discarded, a pointless obstruction to rhythms of behavior and thought whose cadence she had long known. Crossing to a bank of pay phones, she reached for one, then froze. She leaned against the wall, forcing herself to think. She was considering calling Pendrell, despite the obvious discomfort it would cause the ever-present Terry Phillips. Sensing someone standing behind her, she turned. "Hello, Frohike." Having watched the interchange from the security of the corridor, the round-faced Gunman waved apologetically. "Sorry, Agent Scully." She lifted one corner of her mouth. "You have orders, I presume?" Grinning, he perched on the stiff plastic seat at the end of the phone bank. "Direct from Starfleet headquarters, Ma'am." Arching one auburn brow, she glanced at the floor. "And we both know how the Captain feels about disobedience." Frohike's lips twitched. "I wouldn't know, Scully, he won't let me watch his training videos." He stood to touch the gauze on her forehead. "How is it with you?" She passed her hand quickly over the bandage. "I'm fine." She had no wish to relate the exact nature of her injuries to the one source who would pass them, unfiltered, directly to her partner. "Agent Scully?" Frohike grasped her elbow gently. "Would you like me to take you to your apartment?" She tucked one lock of hair behind her ear. "I wish you could, Frohike, but I don't have my keys. The landlord is on vacation, so there's no one to let me in." He nodded. "It'll be awhile before the firemen worry about personal belongings." He shifted his hand to hold her arm firmly. "You're dead on your feet. Could I interest you in our guest bedroom?" Scully closed her eyes, attempting to marshall a protest, but found the thought of rest, even on that rock-hard mattress, bliss to contemplate. "Thanks." She looked over at him. "That would be great." Frohike blinked uncomprehendingly, then nodded. "Let me just make a few calls." They fell silent as they walked, Frohike overjoyed at this opportunity to prove himself the perfect gentleman; Scully feeling stranded and adrift. As he held the van door for her, she climbed in, looking down to watch him search for the seatbelt. "That's fine. I'm not running away." Triumphantly, he held up the clasp end for her. "As you say, I have my orders." He trotted around to the front of the van, stopping to argue on his cel phone, then climbed up into the driver's seat. He started the engine and pulled into traffic before he spoke again. "Agent Scully?" She shifted, fighting to keep awake. "Hum?" "I," he tightened his grip on the steering wheel, then relaxed, "well, what I mean to say, is," he shrugged, "oh, never mind." She sighed. "Frohike, whatever it was, thanks for the lift. I hope you and the guys aren't planning anything illegal on my account." "That's OK. Vicky has made so many improvements to the guest bedroom it has all the comforts of your big soft mattress at home." Scully lifted one corner of her mouth. "And just what do you know about my bed, Frohike?" Paling, Frohike gulped. "Ah, don't take that the wrong way, Agent Scully. I'm running you to your apartment. Langly never met a deadbolt he couldn't tickle just right." She sighed. "Why am I not surprised to hear this?" Glancing in the side-view mirror, he shrugged. "I don't want you thinking we would just break into your place anytime we thought it might be a fun thing to do. We all need some feelings of security." He glanced at his passenger. Scully had dropped off to sleep against the window. He smiled. "Even Special Agents." --o-0-o-- Apartment Parking Lot Alexandria, Virginia Saturday, 5:01 am Scully felt someone shaking her shoulder. "Mulder?" She lifted her head from the glass of the window. "Oh, hi, guys." She squinted at the tall woman behind Byers. "Vicky? I thought you were in Cairo?" After Frohike reached across her from the driver's seat to open the door, Byers extended a hand to help her down. "No, we lucked out." He beamed at his wife. "She has to go back next week. We just need to get you settled and after all the stories she's heard, Vic wanted to meet you." Scully nodded absently at the statuesque brunette. "Hi." The five proceeded in silence, hovering outside the apartment door until a snick, snick of picklocks swept the barrier aside. Frohike took Scully's elbow carefully, making her wonder just how explicit her partner's instructions to them had been. He guided her to her sofa, waving at it until she sat. "I'll be back." He tried to sound mysterious, but failed. Vicky settled on the cushions beside her. "Dana, I can send the men home, if you'd like someone to stay with you for a little while." Scully clasped her hands primly in her lap. "No, that won't be necessary. Just to have helped me here this early in the morning was too much of an imposition already." She glanced over at Vicky's bearded husband, standing with his hand on his wife's shoulder. "You two are together so little, I can't take any of that time away from either of you." Frohike returned from her kitchen, carrying a tall tumbler and a bottle of mineral water. "Here, Dana, have some fluids. Or would you like something to eat? You haven't had anything since Friday morning." Accepting the glass and bottle, she smiled back. "Thanks, but I'm fine. You should all go." Langly dropped onto the couch on her right side. "No can do, Doc, we have orders." Three heads bobbed. She drained one tumbler's worth quickly. "There, now you can call the Home Office of the Hitchhiker's Guide and report 'mostly harmless'." She stood. "Please. I'm OK." Sending a dubious look back over his shoulder, Frohike led the way. "If you say that one more time, Mulder'll be on the first plane back here, Scully. But, we'll take your word for it." As she exited, Vicky extended a final offer. "If you need anything, please call." Shrugging, Scully closed the door behind them, resting her spine against the painted wood. She knew if she bent over too much, she'd feel lightheaded, so she tore off the remnants of her hose, leaving the stained, shredded nylon where it fell. She pushed the forbidden thought away. Finding herself in front of her closet, she dropped the stained and torn work clothes in a pile, wondering if they could be saved also. Feeling the dust in her hair, she tossed off the remaining binding garments and slipped into her terry bathrobe. She frowned. But this was different. She was... alone. Still deep in thought, Scully limped into the bathroom, running steaming hot water, just as she had when they had returned from Arkansas. She forced herself to concentrate on today, when she would have to face attempting to reconstruct the information on the Samantha candidates from the still-buried files. She reached out to rest one hand against the wall. She'd have to check her notes. She grasped the edge of the sink, pulling herself towards it to run a line of blue across her toothbrush. She studied the face in the mirror, surprised by the purple spots under her eyes and lines in her cheek. She thought she heard a noise in the hall, like the sound of steady footsteps approaching. "Mulder?" She frowned again. She waited, straining to hear through the silence. But there was no worried voice calling her name, no dark pair of eyes looking down at her with concern, no quip to break the tension. She sighed. There would not even be the comfort of a phone call, not now. If not Mulder, then definitely her Mother would book a flight back to DC, which would only place yet another family member in danger. "I can take care of myself." She spoke to the ragged image in the mirror, her tone taking on a petulant edge. "I can take care of myself." She repeated more softly, working on being less arrogant. She thought of Oedipus, ignoring the prophecy of the gods. That was her mother speaking. Scully closed the valves on the tub, thinking back through the countless times she had done this, to just before Tooms burst out of the ventilation duct to grab her. She caught the reflection of a grey-faced woman rubbing her cheek in the mirror. The robe dropped to the floor, stripping the rest of her self-esteem away with it. The bruises on the woman in the mirror were frightening. Scully slowly rotated, taking in as much as she could see. She grunted. The sorrow hit her hard, making her gasp. It had begun as a little seed, a twinge in her middle, growing until she felt she could scarcely breathe. She dropped to her knees. He had come to her one final time, and she had sent him away without realizing she was cutting him loose. Her absence had sent her sister away, to whatever afterlife her New Age beliefs had prepared her for. She had walked away, not even protesting when they pronounced her a danger, like some disease carrier, voluntarily declaring herself unclean. Sending her mother away, into the care of strangers. 'You'll be safer if you go.' His scratchy, gravelly voice gently offering to turn down a promotion to ASAC in San Diego if she needed him. 'Go, maybe you and Alicia can still work things out.' Her sister in the X-Files, her ally in the playful battles of wits the four of them reveled in, was a Associate Professor now. She would miss her terribly, the jogging buddy that would speed up, ever so slowly, until Mulder would be staggering behind them, muttering darkly about chasing women he could never catch. Rosen and Cary were in San Diego too, starting their lives together, only not under Alice Hooper's eagle-glare of disdain. Her words came back to her. 'I want you to go find your sister, Mulder. Your Mom wants to get to know that wild man you've become.' She felt the cold tiles hit her cheek. Her eyes stung, then a single tear began a journey down her nose, clinging to the ridge momentarily before dropping to the floor. She shivered, thinking fondly of the steam rising away from her. The effort it would take to climb into the tub, to soak in the comfort the enfolding warmth offered, seemed impossible. Another tear trailed along behind the first, then another, until there was no reserve to hold back. She wondered why she didn't feel chilled anymore, before she passed into welcoming blackness. --o-0-o-- Scully felt a hand on her shoulder. "Rise, Father's Daughter. You have won." The auburn-haired agent rolled onto her side, looking up at the woman who had spoken. The sun-bleached curls bobbed. "Yes, indeed, Dana. Who am I?" Scully wrapped her robe around her shoulders loosely. "Well, by the short hair, peplos, silver bow, and," she turned the shining bag to check inside, "silver arrows, I'd have to say Artemis." A radiant smile. "Exactly. Now, what you need is a good bath and a good rest, then you'll be up and ready to hunt again." Scully rubbed the bandage at her hairline. The figure began unleashing her silver sandals. "I'm an hallucination? Why couldn't I be an aspect of yourself you've only now come to appreciate?" The auburn-haired woman sighed. "What, my preference for solitude?" The shining leather dropped against the tiles, followed by the peplos, and the figure was nearly submerged. "No, not that." The blue eyes of the goddess regarded her seriously. "I don't think you're ready to hear this just yet. Later perhaps, but not now." With that, the personage in the tub vanished, as did all her trappings. --o-0-o-- Apartment 5 Alexandria, Virginia Saturday, 1:56 pm Walter Skinner stood outside a brown stained door, the gilded 5 reflecting the vernal sunlight into his eye. He had tracked the diminutive woman from the scene of the explosion, to the hospital, then back here. The night receptionist had been pleasantly helpful for someone awakened from a deeply needed sleep, and she had told him about the strange little man Scully had left with. He had expected her to call on Arthur Pendrell, or perhaps even himself, but it seemed her partner had other ideas. When he had pulled up outside the home of those odd-balls Mulder relied on so heavily, the long-hair had told him where she was. "Agent Scully!" His fisted blows had door knobs rotating, but not the one in front of him. "Scully! Open up, if you can!" He pressed his ear to the wood, straining to catch any rustle within. From the receptionist's description, he knew she needed to rest, but the case had taken a turn that she needed to be aware of, immediately. He was fumbling in his pocket for his pick-locks when the deadbolts were thrown back. Scully was wavering in the opening, one hand struggling to bunch the white terrycloth in front of her. "Sir? I didn't expect to hear from you so soon." He narrowed his eyes at her. Her hair hung in limp, ragged clumps around her face, square impressions of what he could only guess were tile on one cheek. She held the bathrobe closed with her right hand, while her left fumbled at her hips for the sash that was strung out on the living room floor. He took in the bandages on her face and arms, the bruises on her cheek and stepped into the room before she could protest. "Scully. You hadn't checked in with me. Normally, I would just assume that you and Mulder had taken off again, but,..." He shrugged. Scully nodded, her usual rigidity eclipsed by the painful stiffness with which she carried herself. "I'm sorry, Sir, I should have informed you early this morning as to my whereabouts." Skinner bent to retrieve the sash, holding it out for her to take. "Don't be so formal, Scully. I'm here as a friend, not as your superior. Take the time to compose yourself." He positioned himself at the far end of her couch, waiting. Scully disappeared into her bedroom. When she returned, she had slipped into a sweatshirt marked with the elaborate seal of Oxford University. A pair of sweatpants hung loosely on her frame to pile thickly around her ankles, but her feet were still bare. She eased in the chair across from him. "May I get you something, Sir? I don't have much prepared..." His eyes rested momentarily on the open water bottle on her glass- topped coffeetable. "That's not necessary, Scully. I wanted to see how you were and to tell you that you can take a few days off if you want." He leaned towards her. "William Norrington's body was discovered in the rubble last night after you left with Jarred." Scully rose, gripping the arms of the chair for balance. "Sir, we need to move quickly so the evidence around his death won't be lost. I witnessed the explosion that killed him, but it's possible he carried a detonator they'll try to cover it up." Lifting his wire frames off his nose, Skinner shook his head. "That won't be necessary. I was there when he was found. He bled to death from a puncture by a roof beam, plain and simple." One earpiece snapped against the nose pads as he waved his frames in the air. "Scully, I've seen the faces of men when they die before, and I know what their expressions mean. Some expect death, have taken the time to prepare for it. They wear an mask of resignation, of acceptance. Some die in their sleep, peacefully, quietly, their ease apparent. Norrington was surprised by what happened to him, I could tell. He was found within an arms-reach of the fire escape, so he thought he was on the verge of freedom when the final bomb was detonated. He knew, I feel certain, that this was coming but that he would get out in time." Scully crossed her arms. "Sir, I want to work. I'm perfectly capable of performing his autopsy to determine the true cause of death." She shivered, then clenched her fists. Skinner stood slowly, walking around the coffeetable to tower over her. "I'm attempting to let you know that it won't be necessary, Scully. Nor, at present, should that be your highest priority. That window of opportunity has been closed to us." He paused, waiting for her to grasp the message he could not articulate openly. She nodded. "Then what *am* I supposed to do, Sir?" Guiding her around to the chair, he placed a narrow red folder on her lap after she sat. "Go help your partner find his sister." He held up his hand to forestall her protests. "That's an order, Scully." He pointed to the tickets. "Those are for Monday afternoon. Take the rest of the weekend to pack for an extended trip. I've temporarily detailed you to Athens, just as Mulder was, so it's all square from the Bureau's end." The diminutive woman slapped the papers on the table-top angrily. "Sir! I won't be kept in the dark here! What happened while I was trapped in the Courthouse? What has Matheson told you?" Skinner shifted closer until she was bent over backwards slightly to meet his gaze. He studied the nearly black depressions under her eyes before he responded softly. "Nothing. I think *he's* running things on the dark side again, I just need time to make some very discrete inquiries. If you don't go to Mulder, you know he'll come back here as soon as he is able. Your partner, for all this noble intentions, has the effect of a strange attractor on carefully laid plans. We've all let these trials assume too much importance, but now is the time I should correct that error. And, as you reminded me, the disappearance of Samantha Ann Mulder is a legitimate X-File." Understanding doused the fire in her green-blue eyes. "Very well, Sir. You'll inform me when it's safe to return?" Nodding, he shifted his hand from her arm to her shoulder. "Of course, Scully. Get some rest this evening, if you can. A plane trip to Athens will take the better part of a day." He crossed quickly to the door, casting a brief glance back over his shoulder at Scully, who was frowning as she paced and planned. --o-0-o-- Apartment 5 / Lowenberg Residence Alexandria, Virginia / Santorini, Greece Saturday, 2:27 pm / Saturday, 8:27 pm Scully eased herself into her armchair, dropping her black address book and portable phone onto the coffeetable between her and the sofa. The conversation ahead was too important to be handled electronically. Despite her diligence, the search for Samantha was on pause as they waited for yet another adoption agency to review their information request. Mulder, his mother, and Max were enmeshed in the details of Saunders' testimony, cross-referencing it against information from Mossad on old enemies of the State of Israel. If she were in any shape to assist them, she would have pushed her tickets earlier to Sunday, and she would be preparing for this phone call with delight. But, every part of her ached, so she knew she needed several days of rest to recover, days that might cost them evidence or clues. She rested the binder on her lap, clicking open and snapping shut the long row of rings down the spine of the address book. Resolved, she flipped to the L's, reached for her white phone, standing it on end while her vision fuzzed and cleared. She gritted her teeth. She entered the long series of codes, then lifted the unit to her ear. One buzz, cut off sharply. "OK, guys, what's the word? How is she? Have you heard from her since you dropped her off?" She frowned. "Mulder?" "Scully!" The shout rattled her. "Scully." The whisper conveyed deep undercurrents of anguish. "Have you slept? Have you eaten? Skinner called to say you were on your way over here. What did he tell you?" "Mulder?" It was the best she could manage. The dark-haired man was waving Margaret over, mouthing 'She's on the phone.', before he hunched over the hand-unit. "Scully? Are you OK? Do you need me to come back?" She chewed her lower lip. "No, Mulder, I'm fine." He clenched his free hand. "Scully! Don't give me that! Skinner and Frohike have both told me what kind of shape you're in." She struggled to fend him off. "I thought you always liked the shape I was in, buff, or don't you remember?" Mulder dropped to his knees in frustration. "Scully, don't do this. Talk to me. How are you?" She settled against the back of the chair. "Well, if you've heard from those two, you know as much as I can tell you." He ran his free hand through his hair. "OK. Just tell me when you're arriving in Athens." She arched one brow. "Mulder, it's OK, I can handle things through the Bureau Field Office there. I'm supposed to help you in your search, not drag you down. Just have some documents ready for me to check over when I arrive. You were sending me the latest intelligence reports from Mossad, remember?" He gritted his teeth. "OK, give me the flight information on when you arrive in Athens. I'll have the documents with me." She sighed. "Fine. Tell Mom not to worry. I'll be arriving Tuesday," she flipped open the ticket folders, ignoring the dizziness she felt, "on Delta Flight 2045, at three pm your time, I think. Hunh." She peered closely at the notation on her itinerary. "It says 'E Tm'. Does that mean anything to you? Most arrival times are in local, not origination times." He flopped onto the tiles, grateful that she was asking for his help, even in this small thing. "Yeah, that's the East Terminal. Foreign carriers fly in and out of there. The West Terminal is for Greek Airlines and domestic flights." He ran his hand through his hair. "It's confusing, I know. Max was here to guide me through it all when I arrived." She rubbed her forehead, fighting off the headache that was forming. "Mulder, if you find anything new from the records in Switzerland, don't worry, I can find my own way to Santorini." He strangled a sob, holding back everything but a single tear. "No, I'll be there." Margaret had been tugging his arm throughout the conversation, so now he glanced at her. "Scully? Do you want to talk to your Mom? She's right here." She began shaking her head, then screwed her eyes shut against the pain. "No, that's..." Margaret had the speaker by her ear. "Honey, it's Mom. Honey?" Scully propped her head up with her hand. "Hi, Mom." Her mother frowned at the soft greeting. "Dana, tell Mom what's wrong, please?" Scully's nausea cleared. "Oh, nothing, really. I'm OK. It's just been a long day. I have packing to do. I'll see you both in a couple of days. Bye." Terminating the call, Margaret rested the hand-piece on the desk unit before meeting the dark-haired man's eyes. "Well, she isn't in the hospital." Mulder nodded. "And she isn't talking, either. I suspect more happened than just a few gashes and collisions." Margaret sought out the comfort of his arms. "Isn't that enough?" Deep in thought, he chewed his lower lip. --o-0-o-- J. Edgar Hoover Building Washington, DC Sunday, March 22, 1998 2:14 pm Surprised by the knock on the open door, Walter Skinner looked up from his notes. "Yes?" A slight figure in a dark grey pantsuit hovered in the doorway, her auburn hair hanging dull and straight. "Sir? May I speak with you?" The bald Director rose. Like his visitor, he had shouldered into his standard Bureau uniform, his of tie and wool jacket, which he still wore in his slightly chilled office. As he crossed the room to escort Scully to the chair in front of his desk, he took the moments to read her posture. There were clues to his agents' readiness he had learned from his time in the field with the X- Files partners. As in so many things, Fox Mulder and Dana Scully were complete opposites, and their body language if focused or fatigued was no exception. When Mulder was in the throes of developing a theory, he was all action, pacing, gesturing, oftentimes seeming to defy gravity in his exuberance. Even while seated, the muscles in his face and limbs seemed to continue to fire, creating ever-changing patterns of light and shadow. But the woman agent, all prim precision, seemed to cool while concentrating on a problem into a picture of symmetry and motionlessness. Watching her once, Skinner had thought of the work on Bose-Einstein condensates he had seen on a repeat of NOVA late the previous night. The Nobel Prize-winning efforts had chilled matter down to near absolute zero until its fundamental structure shifted and was revealed. He had been then, and remained now, convinced that the pathologist used an analogous technique to step her thoughts through the logic she needed to prove their cases. As each fatigued, they would reverse roles. Mulder would go still, the long limbs falling limp, the dark lashes sagging into sleep. Scully would begin to fidget, smoothing her clothes, playing restlessly with the cross at her throat. He had watched her circling the table endlessly in the morgue while she finished a late-night autopsy, her left shoulder slightly higher than her right, limping slightly. When she did begin to fidget and shuffle, Skinner had also watched the reaction it had elicited from the tall man she worked with. He would edge closer to her than his usual hover, leave his hand on her spine a few moments longer, prompt her gently to finish or find something the lab would need to test in the morning. But the choices available to a comrade and partner were not open to a supervisor, so now, as he reached her, he cupped his hand beneath her elbow, not contacting the fabric of her jacket. Setting her jaw, Scully walked beside the Assistant Director to her customary seat. Unwilling to sink down, she rested her laptop case against the back and waited for him to ensconce himself behind the barrier of his desk. "Sir." He returned to stand in front of the chair she leaned upon. "Yes, Agent Scully?" He knew they were both remembering the last time she had come to him for help in Mulder's absence. When that left shoulder hitched up, his eyes narrowed involuntarily. Her fingers dug impressions into the thin pad on the chair. "May I speak freely, Sir?" He glanced at the door through which the Smoker had emerged so many times in the past. "I was just leaving, Agent Scully. Perhaps you would choose to accompany me to my car?" Her face dropped, a shredded red curtain obscuring her eyes. "As you wish." Pivoting, she stepped away from him, her uneven pace leaving him even more ill at ease. He waited until they were in the elevator, she tracking the periphery of the tiny box ceaselessly, to begin. "What did you wish to speak with me about, Agent Scully?" Her arms crossed, she propped herself against the far corner of the panelled car. "Sir, when we spoke in your office a few weeks ago, you mentioned that there were slots for Agent Nichols and Agent Rosen at Quantico." Skinner blinked. He knew what she was really saying, that she was asking for help; that she was, in her own way, begging to be relieved of some of the burdens she had shouldered. "Those assignments were never real, Agent Scully." A nod, then both hands pushing down on her jacket. "I was just wondering if there was some way we could make them happen, Sir. With the new labs opening over the next few years, surely a place for Agent Rosen, with all her experimental and computer skills, - " When the car bounced to a stop, she gripped the rails, her forehead creasing deeply. The bald Director was by her side in two precise steps. "Agent Scully?" He pressed rubber flaps back into recessed slots until she moved out ahead of him. "I'll see if Senator Matheson can be persuaded, but I would consider it highly unlikely." She clicked alongside the ex-Marine for a few strides that became more regular as she advanced. "Very well, Sir. We shall have to develop improved methods - " The green-blue in her eyes began to cool. Crossing the boundary he usually set for himself, Skinner stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "Think on that later, Agent Scully. You have your passport and papers in order?" "I do. The Bureau office in Athens was most helpful." A momentary push against the broad palm, then she was shifting away. "I need to speak with Agent Pendrell in the morning, then I will be free to leave." Deep ridges formed above her eyebrows again as they advanced. Skinner silenced the whispers that told him to drive his agent to a hospital, offering instead, "Have you finished with the work you came in today for, Agent Scully?" "Yes, I have, Sir." He scanned the parking lot. "You drove?" She tugged at the buckle on the strap. "No. This being cherry- blossom time, I used the Metro instead." She bit her lip, hoping he would let the white lie pass, since both the roads and the subway were equally clogged. The whispers exploded in his head into shouts, but he forced himself to remain calm, knowing how Scully would regard any overt concern on his part. "Then perhaps we could discuss possible lines of communication while I idle in traffic on the bridge." At her nod, he presumed again, gripping her arm firmly while he guided her to his Mercedes. --o-0-o-- Evidence Lab J. Edgar Hoover Building Washington, DC Monday, March 23, 1998 10:31 am Arthur Pendrell stopped working when he heard the precise striking of heel against tile in the hallway. Slipping off his lab stool, he struggled to contain his excitement while he waited for the single soft tap announcing the arrival of his visitor. She spoke from the hall side of the glass door. "Pendrell? Are you there?" The red-haired man flushed as he fumbled with the doorknob. "Of course, Scully. What can I do for you?" He studied her face and hands carefully. Her hair was neatly tucked into its pageboy, as always. The grey suit was pulled down until it was wrinkleless on her tiny frame, but he could see the long gash running down her leg through her hose. He knew she wasn't much for make-up, so he was surprised when a tinted flake fell from under her eyes. He stepped closer to her. "Are you certain you should be here today?" She stepped past him, shrugging off his concerns. "I'll be fine." She rested gratefully on the lab stool, her knees and ankles pressed against each other, her hands gripping the circular steel seat for balance. "I'll be leaving this afternoon for a few days to help Mulder with his search for his sister, and I wanted you to do something for me, Arthur." Pendrell leaned against the lab bench. "What is it, Dana?" He knew this was a personal, not a professional, favor she was here seeking. She shrugged. "Let me buy you lunch." He began unbuttoning his lab coat. "No. My treat. OK?" Scully nodded. --o-0-o-- Union Station Washington, DC Monday, 11:37 am Finished with her sushi, Scully tossed the plastic tray in the trash bin behind her. In the months since their odd date, she had come to appreciate the agent's many unheralded virtues. Waiting for her, Pendrell crossed his arms. "I know you'll be happy to see your Mom again, Dana." She lifted three vials from her pocket, each with a Roman numeral on the cap and the cylinder, speaking without prelude. "Would you DNA-type these for me?" He held the glass containers close to his nose to examine the contents. Within was a hair sample, two curled and red, one straight and black, and a tooth that rattled in each as he rocked the vials on his palm. He glanced at her quizzically. "Who?" She shrugged, resting her left hand supine on her right palm in her lap. "My brothers and Mel. I went to Mom's house last night to pull them from our baby books. I know it's a longshot, that there's no way to guard against contamination with evidence this old, but I'm hoping you'll be able to lift some cells from the hair or the teeth. I'd like to believe that they will be in good enough shape that you'll be able to find some useful sequences." He lifted the leather protector from his shirt pocket, removed the pens, and wedged the glass sample cases within. Then he used the black ball-points to hold them in place. "Good thinking. What are you looking for?" The hands were clenched to the point of whiteness. "The memories I recalled in February seemed to indicate that whoever took me was searching for a unique gene." She lifted an evidence bag and a slip of paper from her right pocket. "In here," she fingered the bag, "I've placed a sample of my own hair." Pendrell winced when he spied the jagged clumps of skin hanging to the roots of the strands. She unfolded a yellow sheet with a brusque rustle, forcing aside the sympathy she knew he felt. The red-haired man realized it was a post-it page as he accepted it. "This is a reference for NEJM." He looked up for her confirming nod. "I'm sorry, that's all I have to give you to go on. I know I don't have whatever it is they were looking for, and that Mel probably did. If neither of my brothers do, then they really are in no danger, neither are their sons." Her shoulders drooped. "Then they have no reason to..." She stared down at her hands. Nodding, Pendrell reached over to touch her shoulder. "Consider it done, Dana." When she raised her eyes to his, he could see she was blinking back tears. He tucked the sheet and bag behind the leather in his pocket. "You need to get going, so you don't miss your plane." He shifted his white plastic chair aside. "Would you like a ride to the airport?" She rose. "Thanks, Arthur, but I wouldn't want to put you out." He shook his head. "What are friends for?" His blue eyes sparkled. "You know I've been looking forward to seeing the new terminal." As they fell into step heading back to the Metro, she narrowed her eyes at him. "I didn't think you were into planes, Arthur." He beamed. "Dad was in the Air Force." He fumbled in his wallet for a plastic rectangle. "See, I even have my stunt pilot's license." She lifted one corner of her mouth. "Does Terry know about your daredevil habits?" He shrugged. "She gets airsick on commercial flights. Or so she claims." After stepping onto the escalator for the platform, Scully glanced back over her shoulder. "Well, that's one thing we have in common, she and I. While I don't get physically ill, I've never been comfortable crammed in those little seats." He bent over her shoulder from one step up. "Neither have I. But, flying on your own is different." He tapped his chest. "I'm in charge." She felt herself chuckling. "It might be fun to try, at that." He beamed openly at the thought. --o-0-o-- Washington National Airport Security Office Arlington, Virginia Monday, 4:27 pm Scully handed her papers to the slight woman behind the desk. "As you can see, the necessary documents are all in order." She spoke in that flat tone that Pendrell had learned signalled near-total exhaustion. The woman looked the pages over carefully, then verified the serial number on the sheet with that on Scully's Sig. "Very well. Just a phone call and I'll be finished." The agents waited while the official tapped out the Bureau's number. Pendrell waved towards a chair. "Why don't you sit, Dana?" Scully shook her head. "I'll be doing enough sitting on the plane. Fourteen hours is a long flight." He nodded. "Better than having to change in Kennedy and De Gaulle." The grey-haired woman cleared her throat. "All right, you may proceed." She turned to Pendrell. "Are you carrying a weapon as well?" He bit his lip. "Oh, yes, I am. I suppose I should let you hang onto it until I return." The official checked Scully's papers. "You aren't flying?" "No." She sighed. "I'll let you by, then. Since you're Bureau, it never hurts to have an extra agent around." She pushed the packet back towards Scully, who collected them, then tugged on a shoulder strap as they prepared to leave. --o-0-o-- Washington National Airport Main Terminal Arlington, Virginia Monday, 4:57 pm Arthur Pendrell paused in the opening of the automatic double doors, long enough for the red-haired woman behind him to struggle through. "So, this is it." They stared up in awe at the row of squat domes to their left and right. Scully adjusted her suit bag strap, slipping it onto an unbruised section of her shoulder. "Well, this is certainly an improvement over the warehouse that was here." She peered up at the locator just inside the entrance, searching the large white letters for USAir, then pointing to their right. "It looks like it's that way." Pendrell nodded. "Yup." He hoisted her duffle bag, claimed after a silent battle of wills by the car. "Wow." They wandered along the sunlit walk, the shadows from the setting sun casting long stripes and cross-hatches on the stone floors, until they found the baggage check-in. Normally, he knew she would have carried her luggage on to the plane, but given her physical condition, he had gently suggested she let someone else 'do the heavy lifting'. Scully relaxed, enjoying a few carefree moments with her friend before she had to face the long passage, then her partner. She rotated her shoulders, finally free of the burden of the bag. She really didn't know what to expect from Mulder once she arrived. She glanced over at the technician, who had touched her arm. He pointed to the security check-point. "There you are." She sighed. "Thanks again, Arthur." Reaching for his elbow, she grasped it and cautioned. "You know how to get in touch with me?" He nodded. "You gave me the codes from the Gunmen and the bearded one, Byers, verified them for me. Are you sure you'll be all right?" She shrugged. "It'll be almost a day. There's not much to do on these long international flights once they're over the ocean other than sleep. I don't feel right about paying for movies on the Bureau's tab." He walked her to the security gate, then waited until she was through and turned to wave one final time before he sauntered off. He whistled tunelessly to himself as he studied the girders, which were painted a pale canary yellow. Scully found a corner seat close to the door leading out to the plane. She heard the call for pre-boarding, then rubbed her eyes. She checked around her seat, then lifted one corner of her mouth. The businessman across from her had gathered his luggage, so she took the opportunity to stretch out. --o-0-o-- Checking his watch, Pendrell realized he just had time to make a final pass by Scully's gate, perhaps even to wish her a more serious farewell. Since becoming involved with Terry Phillips, he had been made forcefully aware of the importance of social niceties. The mental image of the brunette technician brought a flush to his face. The red-haired agent stopped by the security booth, waiting for a uniformed African-American man to face him before he spoke. "I'm with the Bureau," he flashed his ID, "and I need to speak with another agent about a case." The man eyed his gun. "Normally, we don't allow firearms into the gate area." Pendrell took a deep breath. "I've already checked in with your central office." After a quick call, the man waved him around the X-ray machine. When Pendrell reached her boarding area, he caught sight of Scully in a far corner. Her perfectly pressed tan suit , sensible brown pumps, every hair ordered, gave the appearance of the controlled professional. But, the glacial calm of her features offered no deceit as to her exhaustion. Her cheeks were sunken in slightly, whether from her recent ordeal, or the past few months, he couldn't really say. In the fading light, the circles under her eyes leapt out at him. Pendrell crossed over to her. "Scully?" Her green-blue eyes sprang open, her face composing itself as she focused up on him. "Finished the circuit that fast, Arthur?" He shrugged. "I tried to wrangle a tour of the control tower, but they were busy." He was rewarded with a sudden twinkle in her green-blue eyes. She shifted slightly away from him while he stood over her. "Oh, you should use Mulder's old trick." He bit his lip at the mention of her partner. She sighed. "He'd just wave his FBI badge, then demand they let him in." Pendrell's red curls shook as an edge of frustration crept into his voice. "I couldn't do that. Air traffic control is a serious business with lives at stake." He bent over her slightly. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't going to miss your plane, Dana." He took the empty seat beside her. "And there's something I wanted to tell you before you left." He adjusted his tie. She smoothed her jacket before she looked over at him. "Oh?" He nodded. "I'm thinking of asking Terry to marry me." She flashed him a broad smile, her eyes glowing. "Wonderful, Arthur. I'm happy for you. I hope everything turns out the way you want it to." He sighed. "Thanks." Their soft conversation was interrupted by the noisy bustle of a knot of men, all talking at once in Greek. Scully rolled her eyes towards them, then back to the agent's face. "Well, I think that takes care of the quiet flight." The tall Greek in the center, his waist thickened by the years and the excesses of too much good food, slapped a stack of tickets on the counter. "We made it." He flashed the attendant behind the counter a broad smile, showing large white teeth. "Minister Askoras," he waved at the men around him, "and his staff, ready to return home." The slight blonde woman nodded. "Very good, Sir, if you'll follow me. First Class passengers are already boarding." Pendrell watched the group pass. "He looks like a linebacker." Scully nodded. "Menelaus." Pendrell looked back at her. "Hum?" She shrugged. "Oh, I saw a production of 'The Trojan Women' in college, and the actor who played Menelaus looked like him." Pendrell's lips puckered. "Oh. I never was much into Greek Drama. Suffering through 'Antigone' in World Lit was more than enough for me. Ugh." When the front coach rows were called, Scully rose. "That's me. Thanks for seeing me off, Arthur." He dropped his eyes to the carpet. "No problem, Dana. Take care, all right?" He bent towards her, but she remained still. Scully arched an eyebrow. The awkward moment passed, then he stepped back, watching her hand her tickets to the gate attendant before he turned to leave. His gaze fell on a black-suited man who had been eyeing them. He checked over his shoulder for Scully, but she had already boarded. When he faced forward, the figure had slipped into the back of the line, glancing around furtively. Pendrell, his pulse racing, felt for his gun. He walked over to the man, each step deliberate, anxiety rising as he approached. He took a deep breath, then grasped the thin arm. "Sir, I'm with the FBI and I'd... Hey! Stop!" The man had taken off down the corridor. Pendrell followed, gritting his teeth. He raised his ID over his head. "FBI. Stop where you are, now!" Black-suit glanced back over his shoulder, then spun around a corner. Pendrell grabbed a column to turn and observe two security agents at the X-ray machines already moving to block the fleeing figure. When Black-suit paused, the break was long enough for Pendrell to tug his Smith and Wesson free. "Halt! FBI! You're under arrest!" The male security agent dove to grab the man around the ankles while the woman was on the phone, calling for back-up. Pendrell's hands were shaking as he pointed the gun in Black- suit's face. "Don't move!" He heard running feet approaching, then they were surrounded by blue-uniformed guards. "You're under arrest." After Black-Suit was cuffed and pulled to his feet, the male security agent patted Pendrell's shoulder. "Good collar. Just next time, remember to disengage the safety, all right? It makes a better impression that way." Shaking as he leaned against the wall, the technician nodded. "Thanks." He wondered briefly if this was how all field agents felt after their first arrest, before a frighteningly unwelcome thought appeared. --o-0-o-- Evidence Lab J. Edgar Hoover Building Washington, DC Monday, 8:49 pm Arthur Pendrell cringed when he heard the glass in the lab door rattle. He slid the print of the DNA sample into its envelope before hurrying to the entrance. "Coming!" He pulled it open, quickly kissing the brunette on the other side. "Sorry. I was just finishing some last-minute tests." Standing rigid, Terry Phillips narrowed her eyes to slits, letting Arthur read her rage in the color in her cheeks. "I heard about your little adventure at the airport. Did you think it would impress a certain Special Agent Dana Scully?" Pendrell blanched, fingering the velvet box in his pocket. He loved the sharp-tongued chemist, but this relationship did nothing to sort out his complicated feelings for the auburn-haired agent. "No. She was on the plane when it happened, so I don't think she was even aware it was going on." Phillips jammed her hands in her deep lab coat pockets. "Then why put yourself in danger like that? Why didn't you just alert airport security and let them handle the matter? The guy was a two-bit pick-pocket, not one of America's Most Wanted. What if he had faked credentials to get a weapon to the gate? Did you think Doctor Scully would labor heroically to save you while you expired romantically in her arms?" The red-haired man collapsed onto his lab stool. "Um, Terry it wasn't like that. I'm sorry I had to cancel lunch, and I'm sorry I'm late." He held his hands out to her. "What can I do to make it up to you?" She rubbed her eyes, red from the hard contact lenses she could never quite adjust to. "Make it up to me? What do you care about making it up to me?" She shoved the papers and mylar traces onto the floor. "I'll bet this is all for her, too, isn't it?" Pendrell dove for the vial that was rolling off the edge of the table. "No, it isn't. It's evidence in a kidnapping case." Phillips pulled one print free of its manila jacket. "Whose? Hers?" She pointed to the D. Scully in the lower left-hand corner. "Don't lie to me, Arthur." She flung the thick sheet to the floor. "I stopped by to see if you wanted lunch, but you were with her. I stopped by at the end of the day, but you were running her to the airport." His mouth opened and closed several times before he squeaked out a protest. "It's not what you think, Terry, Dana and I are just friends. She needed my help today, for a case. There's no one else left for her to ask." He reached for her again, but she backed away from his touch. "Really." Terry felt her anger begin to deflate. "I suppose I shouldn't be so hard on her." She took a step closer. "I passed her in the hall this afternoon, and I must say she looked terrible. I guess these trials and the explosion really set her back." Pendrell closed the gap between them. "She'll be in Greece for a long, long time, she said. And I'll be here with you. OK?" Terry nodded. "I'm sorry. She's just so much prettier than I am." She rubbed her eyelid. "She doesn't need these things, and her life is so much more exciting than mine. I know I don't compare." As he hugged Phillips, Pendrell thought of the ashen-faced woman slumped on a cold plastic seat at the airport. "I wouldn't say that, Terry. Sometimes I think she'd be perfectly happy with a normal existence." --o-0-o-- Somewhere over the Atlantic Delta flight 2048 Monday, 11:24 pm Dana Scully punched the tiny pillow she had stuffed under her head. For the short flight from Washington to New York, she had been seated just behind First Class, and the obstreperous discussion of the Republic's internal affairs had jarred her. But on this long passage, a new torture had awaited her, buried back in the eight seat row in the center of the 747. The couple behind Scully had been seated already, shushing a beet-faced infant with an ear infection. After a quick search through the carry-on bag she had refused to check through, she had carefully cut one of her antibiotic tablets down to a dose appropriate for the tiny body. With the help of one of the flight attendants, she had diluted the drug into a bottle of formula, and somehow the mother had gotten most of it into the infant. Now, the uninterrupted wailing had subsided to occasional whimpers, so she was attempting to sleep through the rest of the flight. She would have liked to pretend she was working from pure doctorly altruism, but if she was honest with herself, her motives were far more selfish. Scully could hear the flaps on the wings shifting to a new angle. The ascents from National for the short flight to JFK, then from JFK for this had left her nauseated and disoriented. She felt a cold spike of terror shoot through her. She leaned forward, pressing her face into her hands. --o-0-o-- Up in First Class, Minister Askoras dropped his glass of Cabernet. "Oh, Alexander, give me a moment here. Deal the cards again, all right?" The shrunken, bespectacled assistant eyed his usually exuberant superior cautiously. "What is it, Minister? Your heart?" His hand on his chest, the thick-armed Greek puffed out a 'yes.' Alexander hit the call button, looking anxiously to the flight attendant across the aisle. "Miss! Miss! We need some assistance here! Is there a doctor on the plane?" Thinking quickly, the black-haired woman disappeared behind the red and blue curtain separating coach and first class. "Ma'am?" Dana Scully raised her head out of her hands. "Yes?" "We need your help up in First Class, if you could." Scully let out a long sigh. --o-0-o-- End - Zurvan - Annwn