From: "Wintersong" Date: Fri, 28 Dec 2001 01:52:43 -0400 Subject: Submission Source: direct FBI Headquarters Washington, DC Day 36 Mulder considered the very likely possibility that it was about to start snowing in Hell. Barometer falling and definitely getting breezy. That was the only logical and rational theory he could come up with. Even Scully would have to admit to this one. There was a brief click on the line as the switchboard put the call through. He took a quick breath and wondered if he was jumping to conclusions. Scully had two brothers. The only problem with that theory, was that there was no for Charlie to be calling him either. His voice was calm as he answered the line. Professional. Polite. Absolutely nothing to indicate that he thought that this was in any way unusual. No point in being the one to fire the first shot, he thought morbidly. He was the one within chomping distance of the person least likely to be amused by territorial displays. "Mulder." The hesitation on the other end was brief. "Mr. Mulder. It's Bill Scully." So far, so good. ."Good afternoon, Commander Scully. What can I do for you? " >From the corner of his eye, Mulder saw Harris's head jerk as he recognized the surname. Because Mulder and Scully had needed to be back in DC for the group therapy sessions, Skinner had reluctantly let them back into the Hoover Building and the X-Files team had spent the morning moving the MethBomber casefiles back into the basement. He ignored the covertly listening agent. The pause on the other end of the phone was noticeable and Mulder had a sudden brief vision of both of them carefully weighing words and tones for hidden messages and verbal mine fields. "I was hoping I could speak with Dana." Mulder looked blankly at the phone and blinked. The operator had clearly indicated that Scully's brother had requested to speak to him after being told his sister was unavailable. Did Bill think Mulder was hiding her under his desk? "She's in the middle of an autopsy right now." She was overseeing the autopsy of one of the MethBomber's latest victims as a matter of fact. "Can I take a message?" "No, no. That's okay." Mulder sat through another awkward pause. He was just about to ask again if there was something he could do when Bill sighed explosively, then continued in an even tone. "About three weeks ago I was appointed as a Navy liaison to the Joint Task Force." He did not bother to say which one. It was possible that Bill did not know that there was more than one. On the other hand, anyone in the VCU would have known what he was talking about. Fire, Mulder thought belligerently. What the hell was it about fire? He and Scully are not back a week and they are tossed into one serial arson investigation. Mulder had a sneaky suspicion they were about to become involved with two. Fully involved. The play on words was not even vaguely funny. Mulder wondered if Scully knew that her brother was working an FBI investigation. Violent Crimes no less. That thought led to another and he had to bite back a curse as he recalled several searching looks and obscure references to San Diego made by a certain AD over the past few days. Mulder had assumed he was referring to the current case. In light of this phone call, he was rapidly reassessing that conclusion. "I'm the one who suggested that you be brought into the case." Mulder was beginning to feel like he should be looking around for a little white rabbit. Bill obviously did not know that they had not been told about the case yet. But that explained the looks. Heck, it explained why Bill was now part of the Task Force. Nothing like family connections to get yourself volunteered for duty. Shit. "The thing is...I think I may have a problem." Mulder froze. "Do...how often do the killers come after the investigators?" Oh...crap. Bill's words had been soft. Reluctant. Mulder would have spent more time appreciating that fact if he had not felt like he had just been broadsided by a bus. Harris gave him a curious look and he realized that his breathing had taken on a shallow rasping quality. That, and his mind was starting to jabber at him in absolute hysterical panic. A sharp pain drew Mulder's eyes to his hand and he noted absently that that he was dripping blood across the folders on his desk. He loosened his fingers and watched as the two halves of his pencil fell from his grasp. "Mr. Mulder?" "What?" He flinched at the stark sound of his own voice. Polite. He meant to be polite. Scully would kill him if he screwed this up just because he had not been expecting that question. Melodramatic. She told him that once. Mulder had a tendency towards melodrama. Just because Bill wanted some information did not mean anything. He just had not been prepared for the question. He was jumping to conclusions. That was all. Except, his mind informed him ruthlessly, Bill Scully does not engage in chit chat with you. Ah hell. Please just let this be idle curiosity. Let it be nothing more than ghoulish interest. He could satisfy ghoulish interest. Not normally. Not unless he was really really pissed at someone. But he would make an exception. Hell, he would send him pictures. Just let this be nothing more than a search for information. "You've dealt with this shit before. When you were with Violent Crimes, right?" The voice was persistent. Not that Mulder had any doubts that Bill had stubborn down pat. Go Navy. "VICAP. Yes. A long time ago." Bill was silent of the other end of the line. "I... I..." Bill coughed slightly, his voice trailing off. Every instinct in Mulder's body told him to say something to make this easier for him. Every Scully trained reflex said to keep his mouth shut. Mulder accessed the airline reservations system from his computer. Yes, just as he thought. If he broke every land speed record between here and the airport after picking Scully up after her autopsy he could just get them to the gate on time to get the last flight of the day. They could be in San Diego by 10pm tonight. Bill finally managed to get the words squeezed out past clenched teeth. Mulder was surprised that he was not choking on them. Asking for help from Public Enemy Number One. Bill may have made a small breakthrough regarding the X-Files, but he still had a long way to go. Especially when it came to putting that knowledge into active practice. It probably did not help that up until six weeks ago, he had thought his sister was dead. " I think that there's been someone in the house." He recognized that tone. Scully used it every time she was voicing a hunch she darn well knew she did not have the scientific fact to back up. Angry embarrassment mixed with pugnacious obstinacy. Usually she could not decide if she wanted to stick out her jaw and dare him to take his best shot or glare his shoes into submission. He mentally thumbed through possible explanations. Theft by kids. Forgetfulness. A stalker. They would know more when they got there. They would be going. Scully would never forgive herself if she ignored her brother when he was actually asking for help from her in her FBI capacity and something horrible happened. So they were going. They would not even have to go AWOL this time. "Some of our things have...gone missing. Personal things." "Lingerie?" Their overnight bags were already in the car. Ditto for their vests and Scully's jump kit. What else? Extra weapons? No. Yes. Maybe one or two. They could pick up more from the San Diego armory if they needed them. "No...nothing like that." Bill gave a short laugh that held an edge of hysteria," You know what the real stupid thing is? I'd feel better if it was. It's just stupid things. Some of them not even that personal...and I'd feel better if some nut was taking my wife's underwear. Real sick huh?" Mulder doubted the Scully family had a hysterical bone in their collective body; however, they had really good instincts. He should know. "We'll be on the plane tonight." ******************************************* Agent Harris sat for a long moment considering what he had overheard and what Mulder had not said. The agent had left a hurried message for his partner saying something about stopping at the gunmen's(?) , that he would pick her up after her autopsy and that they were going straight to the airport. Then he had hastily filled out a form that the younger agent had not been able to identify, shut down his computer, and rushed from the office. He sat for nearly five minutes, weighing the possible repercussions of what he was about to do. Considered the possible reactions of his fellow agents. Landers was easy. She treated Mulder like the Commander of a Navy ship with Scully his nominal XO. She would do whatever she deemed necessary for the good of the unit. Lewis had been excrutiatingly quiet these last few weeks. She liked Mike and had been truly upset at the way everything had been handled. She had also taken some of the nastier comments directed their way over the past few weeks particularly hard. But Harris had seen her watching Scully when the older agent's attention was otherwise engaged. He rather suspected Lewis would take this desertion as a personal challenge to her competence and ability. In other words, she was going to want to prove herself useful and ram it down the agent's throat. Of all his fellow agents, he found Vickery the hardest to read. There was a layer of ever present anger just under her skin that scared the crap out of him. Not the fact of the anger itself, but the sense that what he could see was being fed by something deeper, darker. That the easy anger was nothing more than a safety valve for a solid core of rage he could just sense from the corners of his eyes. He sometimes thought it was his imagination - Mike did not seem to notice anything unusual. The profiler simply thought she was highly aggressive and extremely touchy. Still... Oddly enough, considering her history, she seemed to have no problems taking orders from Mulder. Even more curious, of all the X-Files agents, she seemed the most completely at ease with treating both Mulder and Scully as one decision making unit. Even Landers was thrown occasionally by the way the two seemed to shift dynamics between them. Not only did Vickery not find this confusing, she seemed personally comfortable with both agents in a way that Harris had been unable to define. In a total contradiction to her normally aggressive behavior with other agents, particularly women, she deferred to both Scully and Mulder on some subtle level he had yet to identify. Partly it was body language. She tended to crowd people, constantly testing the personal limits of their defined spaces depending on her mood and purpose. Harris had watched mesmerized one afternoon as she had gotten totally involved in an ongoing argument and had unconsciously crowded into Mulder's space in an attempt to press her point. It was nothing he had not seen her do a hundred times in the months he had worked with her. What fascinated him was what happened after Scully, halfway across the room , had stiffened slightly and half turned in instinctive reaction. Harris was fairly certain the red-haired agent was not even aware of the number of times she twitched to possible threat like this on a daily basis. The first person who seriously threatened her partner when Scully was in the same room was going to get an extremely unpleasant surprise. The minute Scully tensed, however, Vickery backed off. Without question. Instantly. Without even pausing in her argument she had immediately increased her distance from Mulder until the other woman relaxed. Harris was positive that if asked, none of the three would have had a clue what he was talking about. He figured there was a chance Agent Vickery would feel so betrayed by the agents' abandonment that she would just tell him to go to hell. On the other hand, past history suggested that she would want to pass that opinion along. Personally. Which just left Mike. Harris mulled that one over for several minutes. He had the definite impression that Mike had issues about Mulder. Maybe it was just something left over from Mulder's time with the VCU. He had not been able to learn anything concrete. Just a few overheard comments by other profilers. A certain tone of voice when they called him "Spooky". Something in their eyes. Whatever the history, Harris was fairly certain that Mike was becoming more and more uncomfortable with the attitude directed towards their own investigation. Harris himself found he was constantly biting back urges to leapt to either Mulder's or the division's defense. Hell, Mulder had not said much of anything at the daily meetings and they were still pissed at him. Harris had felt as though he were careening with terrifying speed toward an inevitable confrontation and he wondered about Mike's silence at the last ISU briefing. Maybe he was not the only one feeling like sides were about to be chosen. It did not really matter. Agent Bradley Harris had already made his decision. He had made it the day AD Skinner offered him a choice between respect and a lab or truth and a badge. This just made it official. With a firm nod, Harris picked up the phone as he started to call up his web browser. The phone on the other end was picked up on the second ring and he coughed once to clear his throat. "Uh...hello, Leyla? Agent Harris from the X- Files. Remember me? I was wondering if you could help me out..." ******************************************* FBI Headquarters Day 37 0800 Skinner was feeling decidedly off balance by the time he made it to his office. The looks of curiosity that started with the security guard in the parking garage had graduated to hopeful anticipation in the hallways controlled by the VCU and morphed into sheer terror by the time he passed Accounting. "Kimberly, would you have any idea why Accounting looks like I'm about to declare a building wide audit and three department heads asked me whether we're conducting in- house field readiness exercises?" "That would be Agent Mulder, sir." Ahhh. "I'm going to need coffee for this one aren't I?" "Probably, Sir. Agent Mulder came flying in here, said something about going TDY with the Navy and left. Oh, he left some forms on your desk, Sir." Well, hell. Mulder had managed to ditch the team. Officially and on the Navy's dime no less. Shit. He waited for Kimberly to finished the story, but surprisingly she just handed him a security videotape. The first few minutes were fairly straightforward. Not badly edited either. Someone had a secret yearning for Hollywood. The story was actually pretty tame. See Fox Mulder race into his AD's office carrying papers. See Mulder race back out. See Agent Mulder leap into his Bureau car. See Agent Scully leap into the Bureau car. See Agents Mulder and Scully tear out of the parking garage with Mulder at the wheel and Scully talking rapid fire into her cell phone. Fade to black. So Mulder *and* Scully had managed to ditch the team. Not exactly what he had been prepared to see. No guns, no explosions. No mutants or one-armed assassins. So what the hell was the problem? He was about to click off the tape when the screen suddenly flared back to life. Skinner frowned in confusion at the sight of his own empty office. He watched as the door opened surreptitiously and Skinner was floored to see Agent Harris sneaking inside followed by a blond woman the AD did not recognize. For a split second he was left wondering if this was some Consortium plot as both Harris and the unidentified female quickly searched Skinner's desk. He had his finger on the button to call Security and have the little shit arrested when the woman suddenly motioned success. Instantly she pulled a small tree's worth of paperwork from inside her jacket and Skinner watched perplexed as the two spies quickly transferred information from one paper to the next. Then the woman hastily signed her name in a double dozen places and the two neatly stacked everything in Skinner's In box. His eyes went to the box. Still there. Confused, he let his hand fall away from the phone and watched as the camera cut to Harris walking down the hallway, cell phone attached to his ear. At this point, whoever edited the footage had gotten creative. There was no sound, but it really was not necessary. The screen split, suddenly showing Agent Mathews answering his cell. Skinner was able to follow the progression of events in cell phones answered and split screens flaring to life. Harris called Mathews, Mathews called Landers. Landers called Vickery and Lewis. Then the action exploded in a series of rapid images. Vickery raced into the armory and slammed her ID down. Lewis staggered up from the basement carrying five overnight bags. Mathews hurriedly dumped the entire X-Files command center for the MethBomber case back into travel boxes while Harris slapped on FedEx labels. The unknown woman from the Office Caper appeared to be entering the label numbers into a laptop while simultaneously talking on her cell phone. Skinner had a sudden image of a thousand FBI worker ants exploding into action. The screen cut back to Vickery stuffing five black duffel bags with vests, weapons, ammo and -- sleeping bags? What the hell...? Lewis was filling out paperwork under the eagle eye of the Officer of the Day while two agents Skinner did not recognize loaded overnight bags into a Bureau car. Vickery thundered into the parking garage pushing a wheeled cart containing all five duffels and while the helpful agents hastily loaded these too into the car, Vickery grabbed the keys. She waited just long enough for Lewis to snap airline tags onto the duffels, slam the trunk closed, and then her car was leaving tire tracks on the parking garage floor. Mathews and Harris careened into the garage just as Landers dashed in carrying several large bags he recognized from the cafeteria. The X-Files Division then leapt into two cars the unknown agents had idling nearby. Skinner could only assume the agents had been co-opted as drivers and to bring the cars back. The last image on the screen froze and Skinner was interested to note that, according to the time stamps, their entire team had been off and away hours before Mulder and Scully even got out of the building. So... Skinner leaned back in his chair and contemplated possibilities. If Mathews was smart, Mulder and Scully would have no idea who else would be joining them until they landed in San Diego. He started to grin. Too bad he had a meeting he could not miss here in DC. He would have given much to be that fly on the wall. *************************************** San Diego Airport Arrivals Lounge Day 36 2230 hours San Diego was used to sailors. Despite a decade long shift in the economy that favored high tech and financial small to medium businesses, there was no getting around the fact that the city had been built by and for the military. Indeed, defense and space manufacturing remained one of the top four industries driving the economic growth of the region. A designated megaport, San Diego was the naval in-land management headquarters for the entire Southwest region, an area that hosted over 376,000 active and retired naval military personal and family members. Nor was the Navy the only branch of the armed forces the city played home to. Over the years, the city had held 50 separate army, navy and airforce bases. It would, in fact, be difficult to locate any portion of the city that had not at one time been-or still was-under military jurisdiction. It was a city used to seeing uniforms. What it may not have known, was that Commander William (Bill) Scully was out of uniform, by being in uniform. He was, in fact, in direct violation of the General Uniform Regulations , article 1301.5 (d) for the simple reason that he had forgotten - actually honest to god forgotten - that he was wearing his uniform rather than civvies when he rushed out from the base to pick his sister up from the airport. Standing in the crowded commercial airport and staring at his reflection in the full length panes of glass separating the waiting area from the concourse he contemplated the state of mind that could blithely overturn the habits of a Naval family upbringing and twenty odd years of ingrained adherence and obedience to, Naval regulations. If anyone saw him, he was screwed. Well, no maybe not totally. It was possible that his obvious rank might simply cause anyone who saw him-anyone who knew enough to know that he should have been wearing civvies- to assume that he was here on official business. It was still inappropriate circumstance, but well...don't ask, don't tell and no one would know. Except himself. And Dana, he sighed. The passengers were starting to stream through the gates and he was beginning to hope that he was going to be able to go home and forget that this had ever happened when he caught a glimpse of Service Dress Blues. Stepping temporarily into the shadow of a vending machine, he grimly considered the fact that if Dana didn't show up soon, he was busted. There were way too many stripes on that uniform for his comfort. A flash of red on black snagged his attention and he almost sighed with relief. There she was. It wasn't until heads started turning that he realized that their black tailored suits and federal haircuts were as eye-catching as any military uniform. Their grim expressions and co-ordinated strides showed up in startling contrast to the chaotic family reunions and politely intense business greetings. With a sense of near inevitability, he could see what was going to happen even as he knew it was too late to do anything about it. Well, he thought fatalistically, no sense lurking along the wall like he had something to hide. Stepping into the stream of pedestrian traffic, he saw the exact moment Dana caught sight of him. A brief flash of delight, then concern, finally fading into confusion and worry as she absorbed his attire. He plastered a resigned expression on his face even as he shifted his gaze slightly and watched as the man who was about to catch him "in flagrante delecto" so to speak turned his head to look at Dana and her partner only to jerk upright as he caught sight of Commander Scully in all his uniformed glory. It was a minor violation of regs, he told himself, even as another part of him screamed that it was these minor regulations which could determine whether or not he ever captained a nuclear class warship of the US Navy. There were after all, only so many boats to go around, and plenty of officers of the line bucking for the slots. What was that saying? The devil was in the details. He looked back to see that Dana had seen the same rank insignia he had, not to mention the curious frown and move in her brother's direction. A brief flash of ...something crossed her face, then the next thing he knew she was striding forcefully in his direction, wearing a grimly impersonal expression that he had never seen before. Surprised, he halted his hand halfway up to her shoulder and was even more surprised to feel her grasp it in a firm handshake even as she flashed official FBI credentials in his face. "Commander? Thank-you so much for meeting us at the last minute like this. We have several things which we need to go over." Bill stared blankly at his sister, then turned his gaze towards her partner. Mulder was holding his own credentials up for approval, his face absolutely expressionless. "My partner has the file." If they weren't almost the same height and if he hadn't still been staring at Mulder as the man returned his ID to his pocket he would have missed the bewildered expression. It swept briefly over his eyes just before his face took on that patented federal non- expression. Mulder reached into his briefcase and pulled out an official FBI stamped folder and handed it over. "Commander." Mulder's voice was dry as he gestured for Bill to follow his sister. She was halfway to the baggage claim before their longer legs caught up with her. Fully aware that she had probably just hauled his eggs out of the fire, Bill dutifully flipped through the file folder he had been given. He was so busy checking out of the corner of his eye to see if her ploy had worked, that it was several minutes before the gruesome nature of the file contents sunk in. His eyes snapped up in shock and he was vaguely surprised to see Mulder watching him, an apology sitting on his face. "It was the only folder I had. " he said sotto voice. , "Sorry" Then he turned away and moved next to Dana. It was, Bill realized, the very picture of two federal agents giving a military contact some private time to skim an incident file that was too time sensitive to wait until they got back to the office. Both agents suddenly bent forward, each grabbing an overnight bag and a lumpy black duffel. He was reaching automatically for the heavier looking of Dana's bags when she shot him a warning look. Unsure if it was part of the act or a genuine Dana reaction he hurriedly pulled his hand back and gestured for them to follow him to the car. As they made their way through the crowds, Bill was annoyed to realize that he didn't have a clue how to handle this. Despite his personal feelings toward his sister's partner, he had forced himself to swallow both anger and pride to make that call. His mind flashed on the terror on Tara's face when they had discovered this morning that one of Matthew's favorite books was missing. A book that Tara swore up and down that she had read to him no more than three days ago and which always-ALWAYS- made its way back to the same place on the shelf. The only reason he hadn't put his mother, his wife and his son on a plane for his brother-in- law's was the fact that he didn't know if they would be any safer there. He was beginning to fear that there was no place safe anymore. ******************************************* If he did not know better, he would have assumed that his partner had just gone stark raving bonkers. Of course, he had seen more extreme versions of that phenomena, so maybe he should amend that. She had gone slightly off her nut. That was cool. He could handle that. But he kinda wanted to know why they were trooping through the San Diego airport looking like something out of a Tom Clancy novel. Between their SWAT black duffels and military escort, he could only assume that they were putting on a good show. Not to mention the fact that people seemed to notice when he and Scully went anywhere together. He had noticed it starting about four years ago. Well, actually it had started sooner than that, but four years ago was the first time he had clued in that sometimes it was not just the secretarial pool checking out his ass or the men in blue checking out his partner. It annoyed the hell out of the profiler in him. For the life of him, he could not figure out what it was that they were doing that was setting off warning bells. These were not the usual sideways "oh look, they are invading each other's body space, are they lovers?" kind of looks. He knew those looks. There were also the puppy dog looks of worship that Scully never seemed to see. She usually turned around just in time to catch the "brass-balls-man-hating Fed, is-she-a- lesbian?" look. Then there were the narrowed eyed looks of appraisal occasionally sent his way by the men in the crowd. Those were usually two pronged assessments that checked first for a wedding ring on Scully's hand and secondly attempted to determine Mulder's potential to be an obstacle. Said objective was usually to get the out-of-town Fed into bed. Scully generally missed those looks too. Not that she was not more than capable of shooting any of them down on her own, but he made a good obstacle. Scully would do serious damage if she ever found out. She thought her abysmal social life was based on her tired eyes , the war- zone her life had become and that fact that she carried a gun. Mulder flashed on an inner vision of a haunted Scully wearing black jeans, black turtleneck and a shoulder holster and almost sighed. Women had no clue about the male psyche sometimes. She would be more correct if she assumed it was because she was FBI. That had something to do with it. If the schmucks simply ignored the suit and pretended the agents were street cops, they might get further. Instead, they could not seem to see past the armor to the fact that these were actual front line cops they were facing and treat them accordingly. Respect for time in grade aside, they always seemed to forget that Mulder was her partner. So they acted like the fact that she let him stand too close and invade her personal space was solely a male competition issue. The real nail in her social coffin of course, was the way that she reacted to him. And he would let them rip his fingernails out before he ever told her what she was doing. Because then she might stop. Scully watched him. With a tiny furor between her eyes she watched him as he paced back and forth trying to wrap her head around wherever his mind was going. Then she touched him. His no-nonsense "keep your hands to yourself or I'll break body parts" partner would seemingly reach out for no reason and touch him. Arm, shoulder, back or leg, it was not really important. It was just a reaction to emotional distress on his part-and all it meant was "It's okay, I'm here". But they were not watching him, they were watching her. All they thought to see was a woman who could not keep her hands off her partner. Most cops were sensitive to body language so the eye contact should not have been as damaging as it appeared to be. It had finally started to sink in that something about the way they did it must twitch some nerve, because even veteran cops with long- time partners kept looking at them like they were doing something odd. An up close and personal look at a training session for the K-9 corps had given him part of the answer. The animals were totally focused on their handlers. No matter what they were doing, no matter who they were chasing, some part of their brain was constantly watching, constantly listening for any reaction from their handlers. Any shift in stance, any change in the pitch of voice caused a split second look to see if anything new had occurred. They watched their handlers the same way Mulder watched Scully, and she watched him. That was when it had clicked. These animals still had all the functioning instincts of their wild ancestors. Not that most domesticated animals did not retain some version thereof, but these animals had their situational awareness abilities trained to a fine edge and focused almost entirely on their partners-or in this cases, their handlers. They existed in a state of constant awareness of and communication with their counterparts. Even when they weren't saying anything, they were saying something. They were saying "all is well, I don't see any danger.". Applied to his partnership with Scully, it had been a disturbing thought on a very primitive level. A natural outgrowth of their experiences if one took the time to sit down and think about it. Nothing more than trained reflex. Animal awareness and pack instinct unexpectedly revised and revisited in a modern society that had generally abandoned those reflexes for other skills. Understandable. Inevitable. Irrevocable. This was the reason he could sleep through the night in her presence. Not just because he trusted her to keep him safe - although he did- but because he could trust himself to know if she sensed anything out of the ordinary. He was not leaving himself vulnerable or blind. He was simply letting go of his awareness of anything except her - and trusting her enough to see anything dangerous. In a way, that scared the hell out of him. He had always known that she was aware of him. That he was aware of her. In his more fanciful moments he had toyed with the thought that it was almost a psychic bond of some kind. If he had thought about it, he would have realized that it was exactly what it was, but he had not. Not really. The reality was more staggering than the fantasy. And it was not love. When he had finally understood that fact, he had truly comprehended that the tiny world in which he had envisioned himself to be living was nothing more than a construct. A hollow lie he had used to comfort himself whenever he had drifted too close to the edge. Always , there had been the relatively secure hope that someday they might take this odd relationship of theirs to the next level. That someday, they might be normal. In truth, for most of the last few years, he had thought it was just a matter of time. Then he discovered that they existed in a universe where there were no defined levels and he was left with no way of judging if what they had was all that she wanted. Ultimately, the rules and the levels were all artificially created and ordained by society and they had already abandoned those traditional roles to create ones drawn loosely along lines from ages past. Roles and relationships forged in blood and dependence, in comradeship and battle. A form of love if one chose to look at it that way. But love as defined by older standards. Standards that modern society had forgotten how to measure and primitive society had never used when referring to male and female. Rule breakers and outsiders, he had thought ruefully, even in this. No wonder he was confused. So they watched each other. Some part of each of their brains constantly on the alert for sight, smell, touch. Constantly taking subconscious sideways glances to evaluate body language and position. Constantly sending feedback in the form of a subtle "all is well" or "something's not right". Constantly... No wonder, he sometimes felt like half of him was missing. Sometimes, half of him was. Half his hearing, half his sight, half his instinct. The damnable thing was, this did not totally explain the looks they kept getting. Oh, it explained part of it. Part of their physical communication was triggering some awareness on an unconscious level with those who saw them. But surely that was not all of it. They did not even have to be moving to trigger whatever it was they kept triggering. So what in the hell were they doing? It was a puzzle that had been driving him crazy for the better part of four years and he doubted he was going to get an answer today. Finally, giving up for the moment he refocused on his partner and dropped his head closer to her ear. "So when does SEAL Team 6 arrive?" Her eyes sparked with a cheerful mix of mischievous taunting and thanks. Her silent laughter invited him to share the joke. He allowed himself a small quirk of the lips that only Scully would notice and interpret correctly. To everyone else he was the consummate grim-faced government agent. That was part of the joke too. Studying her face he came to two conclusions. He had done good and she would tell him all about it later. He could wait. ********************************** Scully was beginning to wish they had rented a car of their own. Bill had mumbled an awkward thanks (for which she still owed an explanation to Mulder), muttered something she did not quite catch about meeting the others at the house, and unlocked the back door of the mini-van so they could toss their luggage in the back. Without a word, Mulder climbed into the first row of back seats, leaving the front passenger seat beside her brother for her. Bill had paused, key in the ignition, and given her an odd look. "Ready?" A quick check to see if all was right with Mulder and she had nodded. Bill had hesitated, eyes puzzled, then started the van and pulled away from the airport. Fifteen minutes and several annoying sideways glances later she was about to demand that he tell her what the problem was when his low-voiced question caught her off guard. "Are we being followed?" "Huh?" "Are we being followed?" Confused, she saw her brother's eyes flick to the left as he turned his head toward her. She opened her mouth to reassure him that she hadn't seen anyone yet when it dawned on her exactly what it was he was looking at. The passenger sun-visor. Momentarily disconcerted, she stared at it. "No, it's okay. I was just..." She could imagine how well that would go over. Uneasily she stared at the offending visor as she realized that she had unthinkingly dropped it down and angled it so that she was able to see her partner's face reflected in the vanity mirror. She almost reached out to touch it, to verify it was real when she reconsidered how that would look to her brother. Okay. So she looked at her partner. She knew that. It had been pointed out to them before, sometimes politely, sometimes not. There was a rational explanation. They depended on each other. It was just habit. She doubted that any agents outside of the HRT drew their weapons as often as they did. Maybe not even them. How many times had Mulder been the only one she could count on? They were partners. That was not something you could just turn off. So why was she suddenly feeling exposed and uncomfortable? Was it really that obvious to everyone else? As if suddenly seeing her own actions through new eyes, it struck her how unusual and...pervasive...this habit actually was. For God's sake. Mulder was sitting right in the back seat. Was she really so jumpy, so needy that she had to physically see him even in such an unthreatening situation? She had never really noticed before. They spent so much of their time together surrounded by the world of law enforcement. A world where this sort of thing rarely rated a second glance...and then mostly as a source of water cooler gossip. But if it was normal even in their world, then people would not need to talk about it, would they? No, it was not normal. But it was abnormal in a good way. A necessary way. That was what she had told herself. But it was also more evidence of her alienation from the world her brother lived in. The reality that she had slowly been losing bit by bit, year by year. A world that her partner had lost over two decades before. In the mirror, she could see Mulder staring at his hands. He knew she was watching. He had instinctively known what the mirror was for the minute she dropped it down. She had caught his own reflected glances at her face. She had thought nothing of it. Just a comfortable aspect of a familiar habit...despite the fact that that they almost never rode separated like this, and police cars were not equipped with vanity mirrors. She reached out a hand to put the visor back in place, then froze in shock as Mulder's eyes snapped up to meet hers in the mirror. She had thought he was avoiding her gaze to spare her embarrassment. Had they been caught out by a couple of police officers, they would have shared a wry glance and then continued on. But this was her brother. This was...different, somehow. She had thought that Mulder would understand... Whatever she had thought, she was wrong. The bleakness in his eyes shocked her. Christ. What was going through that bizarre brain of his? Resentment stirred, fed by too many sleepless nights and her confusion of the last few weeks. Did he have to do this? Did everything have to become this great big symbol weighted with emotional minefields? It was just a goddamn mirror. Wasn't it? Honesty stirred. Bill had no idea about what she had done or why. Only the two of them knew the truth behind her actions. She paused as she turned that thought over in her mind. Only the two of them knew. She recalled her earlier thought about what her reaction would have been if she had done this in front of law enforcement personnel. She would have shrugged it off, even enjoyed the in-joke with her partner. So what did it say that she would try to erase the evidence now? Surely not that Mulder, that her partnership had no place here with her brother, with the part of her life that she still called real life. Is that what she was doing? Is that what she had already done? She had sacrificed so much of her life to her job, to the quest, to her partnership. She had thought she had done it willingly. That her commitment to her partner was absolute. After all, she trusted him with her life. Did she trust him with the last few bits of normal? As carefully as ever she had separated skin from skin and tissue from bone, she drew that thought out and examined it. Had she drawn a box around her partnership, around her partner and refused to let him out? Refused to let him encroach on the last remaining part of her life that was not absorbed by their work. Maybe. There was so little left in her life that the X-Files had not claimed. But this was not about the X-Files. Not totally. Not, she suddenly realized, not anymore. This was Mulder. Was she embarrassed by Mulder? Embarrassed by the things he believed, by the things he said? Before today, she would have answered a resounding no. But maybe...she looked down at the hand that had moved to erase the outward evidence of the partnership. No. Damn it. She was not Heather. She was not a seventeen year old embarrassed by the person she claimed to love. She was not embarrassed by the choices she had made and she was not embarrassed by the X-Files. She *was* proud of Mulder damn it. She was, by God, proud of herself and all that they had struggled to accomplish. She may not enjoy the looks and glances her partner acquired for them, but they had never truly bothered her. Not after the first few cases anyway, she admitted honestly. So why should the evidence of their partnership bother her now? It should not. But... Keeping her eyes locked with Mulder's, she slowly lowered her hand, pointedly leaving the mirror the way it was. For a split second, something intense flashed across his face and then the familiar humor erased it as his wry grin invited her to laugh with him at the absurdity that was their lives. She almost joined him. Almost fell into the familiar with a sense of relief...until she realized what she was doing. What was she doing? What was she letting him do? Mulder's smile was starting to fade...not to fear or pain, but a sort of searching hesitancy that caused something deep in her chest to twist and catch. Before she could react, she was jolted against her seatbelt as Bill braked suddenly for a small black shadow that turned out to be a midnight prowling cat. Red eyes flashed briefly in the darkness, then they were pulling into the driveway and it was too late and the wrong time and Tara was opening the front door and staring at the occupants of the mini-van with a mixture of apprehension and relief. With a sigh, Scully let herself out of the vehicle. She tensed briefly as Mulder stepped out beside her, then relaxed as, without thinking he touched his hand to the small of her back as she preceded him up the drive. Time. She needed time. She needed the sense of stillness, of balance that she found when the two of them were working. The rest would follow. She threw herself back into the familiar. ************************************ Bill Scully Residence, San Diego Day 36 15 minutes to Zulu They had seen two FBI fleet sedans sitting in the driveway. Scully had thought nothing of it. In the back of her mind she had simply assumed that they belonged to members of the Joint Task Force. The others that Bill had mentioned at the airport? She was too used to late night strategy sessions to think much about it. Until, that was, Mulder's hand clenched on the back of her jacket and he came to a dead halt three steps into the house. Her hand was reaching for her weapon even as her eyes swept the room tracking warm bodies and hand positions. Her mind was not even registering identities until her partner's sardonic tones hit her ears. "Oh look honey, the kids are here." Mathews was coming slowly to his feet, joined by the other four agents currently being served tea and cookies by a haggard looking Tara Scully. Obviously offended by the words and unaware of the storm warnings in the tone, Lewis frowned angrily and her lips started to part. Behind her, Vickery's eyes widened in panic and her left hand was abruptly clamped over the startled woman's mouth while her right reached around to grab Landers and yanked her into the line of fire. While Vickery's eyes fixed themselves firmly on the floor, Landers looked startled, then steadied herself at semi- attention, gaze on the wall, shoulders blocking Lewis's astonished face. Harris squared his shoulders bravely, but still managed to inch his body partly behind Mathews. Scully grinned mirthlessly as she viewed the five agents coldly, "Did you forget to pay the baby-sitter again, Mulder?" Anger flashed in Mathews eyes, but he remained silent. Scully could only praise his self-restraint and survival instincts. It took a lot to get Mulder enraged. Oh he burned hot as a roman candle over perceived injustice and he was quick to anger. But rage was another matter. Mulder's hot temper resembled the indignant temper tantrums of a child when compared to the molten core that he kept buried beneath seemingly random and uncontrolled outbursts. Like the sporadic flares that acted to release pressure from an active volcano, Mulder's tantrums were a symptom, not the ultimate result of the passions that drove him. But his tantrums were generally harmless. At least to anyone other than himself. They allowed him to express his emotions in a relatively controlled fashion. He could rant, he could rave, and he could blow off steam that would otherwise crack the dome of crusted lava and release a devastating wave of bone charring heat and catastrophic concussion. Even in his more fitful moods, he generally remembered to direct his anger at those who could defend themselves. Had Skinner ever realized that Mulder had used him that day? Had taken out his frustrations on the one man he knew he could trust to take him down before he hurt him. Even drugged, Mulder had never expected to win. He had been asking for help. The profiler had known the cost of releasing the rage was too high. So it took a lot to enrage her partner. A hell of a lot. Feeling that he was being manipulated and forced into a corner was one of those things. Not just being forced to do something he did not want to do. Mulder accepted that as an FBI agent his choices were not always his own. But they had lost so much in the past few weeks. This was something that was theirs. This was family and it belonged to them. How dare they interfere. They were not wanted. They were not needed. How could they be sure that the five silent agents could even be trusted. Did they think they could just walk in and take over their lives without even asking? How dare they... "Scully." Her head snapped to the left and she met her partner's infuriated gaze. For a split second, ice fed fire, meltwater cracking into component atoms, hydrogen and oxygen feeding the flames. Then slowly, sanity prevailed. She was not alone. He was not alone. Defensive anger hesitated, then retreated slowly as ice water cooled the edges of the flames long enough for Mulder to regain his mental footing. Secure in her support, no matter what he choose to do, he paused to think of consequences. Secure in his backing, she paused to consider battle plans. To take another look at options. She allowed herself to consider the possibility that the five agents standing in her brother's living room were on their side. At the very least they would make good cannon fodder. Mulder drew in a deep breath , held it for a moment, then let it out with a sigh. His lip quirked slightly. Scully glared at the group suspiciously, wondering if she was about to bring a Consortium agent into her family's home. Mulder just leaned in close and whispered softly. "We'll take the cost of any cigarettes out of their allowance." Scully let herself relax as she found the reassurance she needed in her partner's eyes. The eyes she would need in the back of her head. The eyes that she could trust would be watching intently for anything that would harm her family. She scowled at him briefly, then considered the potential benefits to adding five armed FBI agents to the household. They needed a place to run the MethBomber case. She and Mulder had intended to have the five tag-alongs continue the investigation in DC while they kept in contact via telephone and FedEx. The local field office would be caught up in the ISU investigation of the MethBomber as well as hosting the investigation into the Navy killings. It was unlikely they would welcome or even have the resources to make room for a second investigation of a case they probably felt they were covering adequately. So, they needed space. She turned her attention back to her confused brother who had edged his way past the two agents blocking the front door and were eyeing them with a mixture of exasperation and confusion. They needed space and Bill and his family needed protection. Mulder blinked at the evil edge that crept into her smile. She bared her teeth at the interlopers who had challenged them. "They can sleep in the basement." *********************************** Duffel bags and overnight cases made their way down the basement steps after thirty minutes of heated argument between brother and sister. While they were launching into the second round, Tara showed the five agents the stairs and by the time Bill had come to fuming acceptance of invasion, everything in the sedans had been transferred downstairs. Tara even donated a coffee maker as the first official contribution to the set-up of the MethBomber Command Center, X-Files Division. Then it was time for details. Despite the hour, no one was sleepy and there was enough adrenaline coursing through their veins to launch a missile into orbit. The FBI agents were wired on coffee and jet-lag. Bill was simply running on nerves. So Tara made sandwiches and everyone settled into the living room for a situation report. Two hours later, they were mostly up to speed and yawning behind discrete hands. Scully, however, found herself dealing with a brutally efficient if painfully unexpected blow to her heart. She had thought she was prepared for anything. If it had not hurt so much, she might have laughed when she realized just how wrong that assumption had been. She had totally misjudged the nature of the enemy. She had been prepared to take the lead in the investigation. Mulder had just assumed that she would, and had given her a list of things he wanted asked. Questions that Bill might not give complete answers to if they came from Mulder. She had amused herself by noting that she had correctly anticipated all but three. Surprisingly, as soon as Tara checked on Mathew and Maggie Scully had awoken and settled herself onto the sofa next to her son and daughter-in-law, Bill had turned to her partner. Commander Scully had answered every question frankly, if reluctantly. Special Agent Mulder had been polite, compassionate , thorough, - in a word, the same professional FBI agent he always was when dealing with the families of victims or the victims themselves. If his gaze had flickered in momentary surprise at the beginning, he had quickly shrugged it off in favor of finding the answers. Scully was not even completely sure that he saw what she saw. He was too used to being the star of the show. He was too used to being the lead investigator in a serial murder investigation. Bill's begrudging deferral to his expertise would not seem out of the ordinary. So she was not completely sure he noticed that Bill answered his sister's questions with only a brief glance in her direction before quickly sliding his eyes back to Mulder. Her partner. The one he hated. The profiler. Scully told herself it was just the public fascination with the famed mindhunters. Told herself that Bill would have no way to know that this was just an ordinary investigation at this point, that there was nothing here yet that demanded profiling expertise. Told herself that she was just being over- sensitive, that she was just reacting to old issues...until she asked a seemingly unrelated question and her brother glanced at Mulder for confirmation of interest before answering. For a brief, endless second, Scully found that she felt nothing at all. No pain. No anger. No betrayal. Then something she did not even know she had kept alive, gave one tiny wail of anguish...and died. It was, she thought numbly, extremely ironic. Through everything, she had somehow nursed the hope that she could show the brother she loved how to see the man her partner really was. The inner person. The man she admired, respected, and believed in with every fiber of her soul. And now, here Bill was, actually finding something worthy to respect about Mulder, not because he respected her own vision, her own opinion, but because, like everyone else, he needed him. He needed Mulder's talents to fight the monsters. How... disappointing. Mulder had figured out that something was wrong. He was still asking questions, still processing answers, but some part of his brain was focusing on her. Probably wondering what in the hell was wrong with her and why she had abandoned him finish the interview on his own. Mathews just kept taking notes and the others listened in silence. She tried to bring her attention back to where it belonged. On the case.. She had to act professional. She refused to justify her brother's opinion by allowing personal feelings to interfere with the case at hand. She would deal with the pain later. Much later. Hell. Maybe never. It was not like this was a new problem. Had she not secretly wanted something like this to happen? She was not so selfish that she could wish pain on anyone to serve her own agenda. But there been a tiny wish that something would happen. Something that would force her brother to look at her and see that the past eight years of her life had not been wasted. To realize that those years had value, damn it. She had known that he had no respect for the X-Files. She had been angry that the fact that this was obviously her life's chosen work was not enough. That her opinion was not enough. Bill should have respected Mulder for the simple fact that she respected Mulder. How odd to suddenly realize that he did not respect *her*. Bill had been proud of her while she was in medical school. She could still remember what that had felt like. They all had been proud. Dana Scully, MD. Upstanding citizen. On a recognizable track to socially acceptable success. The fact that her transfer to forensics had been such an unpleasant shock should probably have been a clue. All that talk about how she could be saving lives or discovering the cure for cancer and she had just thought that they misunderstood the nature of her job . That they had simply not understood that forensics was not about the macabre and death, it was about justice. They had been embarrassed. God. That had hurt. For the first time in years she allowed herself to pry the lid off the seething mass of shocked pain and confusion she had stuffed deep into the furthest corners of her heart. They had never understood. Had never tried to understand. Bill and her father had simply avoided telling anyone that she was majoring in forensic science. Even her mother had seemed uncertain about how she felt about her daughter's field of study. As though taking care of pregnant women and old men with gall stones was acceptable, but cutting up dead bodies was somehow tainted. Unpleasant. Obscene. She had tried to explain. Had told them that forensic pathology was about saving lives. The shattered lives of the survivors. They had not wanted to understand. It was not appropriate. And she had had no choice but to turn her back on their un-belief. She was not a care-giver. She was a voice for the violated souls of the dead. Medical doctors saw Death as the ultimate enemy. Her foe was the criminal who preyed upon the living with a twisted desire to bring pain and fear and suffering. Death terrified her because of what it could take from her, but it did not offend her. Death was just the other face of life. The men who would seek to pervert Death, they offended her. With every knife slash and bullet wound they offended her. With every rape, every bruise, every brutalized and broken body, they offended her. And in the heart of offense was born rage. Bone deep and ice cold, it sat in judgement on the monsters who wore the faces of men and breathed one word deep in the depths of her soul. No. No. She would not let this continue. No. She would not close her eyes and walk away. No. She would not let them win. Not now. Not ever. Not even if it cost her pain, her life, her soul. No. Dana Scully did not become an FBI agent, a hunter of human monsters because of a badge. She was who she was. The badge was a formality. They should have known that. But that was not what they wanted to hear. It was not what they wanted to know. Special Agent Dana Scully had only three words to say in return. Finally. Too fucking bad. ***************************************** Mulder almost jumped when his partner suddenly came to her feet in a smooth motion marred only slightly by exhaustion. According to their internal alarm clocks it was not only four hours later than local time, it was time to be getting up. They had both been awake for 24 hours, and Scully had been on her feet yesterday with two back to back autopsies. Ordinarily they would have tried to get some sleep on the plane, but for obvious reasons, that had been impossible. The flight had been an exercise in enervation and physical discomfort. All in all, sleep sounded like a good idea. Speaking of which... "Bill, do you have someplace that Mulder can store his things or should I just put them in my room?" Mulder blinked. Maggie looked startled while Bill frowned at his sister, too caught off guard by the unusual phrasing of the question to get upset about it. Yet. Mulder could see the suspicion in his eyes as he turned the question over, looking for meaning. "You and Mom have the guest rooms. Mulder has Mathew's room. We moved Mattie into our room as soon as this all started so it's not a problem." Mulder was only mildly surprised when Scully looked at her brother coolly and stated calmly, "Mulder will be sleeping on the couch for the duration. He'll be responsible for security on the first floor, while I'll be up on the second floor with Mom, you, Tara and Mathew. We'll also need to sweep your room and Mathew's room for prints, although it is likely that if we do have a stalker that he's organized enough to wear gloves. We'll need a timeline from each of you regarding daily and weekly activities and locations, as well as ..." And so on and so on. Mulder felt his eyes narrowing as he watched his partner rapping out orders in the same manner as she might have given them to the local PD. She pulled no punches and she spelled out several issues that they probably would have ordinarily not bothered to mention. Like that bit about the couch. Putting Mulder on the couch would put him between the doors and the stairs. It also made perfect sense for it to be him. Not only would he have normally ended up in the living room anyway, but his late-night forays into refrigerator and out for a run would be less disrupting this way. It was logical. But it was also something that they would have done automatically, without talking about it. Landers probably already had a rotation schedule worked out in her head. Scully, however, had just made damn sure that her brother knew exactly what they were doing and why. And those reasons had little to do with his predilection for late night television and everything to do with the best defensive distribution of weaponry. What was up with the attitude? He had had very little time to see Scully interact with her family, but what he had seen was a far cry from this. He had, in fact, never seen more than a hint of her FBI personae leak out when she was with family. He had followed her lead and toned down his own G-man attitude. It had not been difficult. There had been very few times he had seen any of her family in circumstances that called for the professional mask and some where he had simply been a basket case. So the Scullys had never really seen the FBI agents at work. He had assumed it was just circumstance. Now here she was pulling out all the stops. No soft approach. No watered down version for family consumption. This was someone who was every inch the FBI agent. Diamond- edged, professional, take-no-prisoners, shoot-em-if-you-have-to Special Agent Dr. Dana Scully. This was not even Dana Scully for other FBI agents. This was Agent Dana Scully when she dealt with field-tested, hard-nosed police investigators with twenty years experience, a bug up their ass, and who respected battle scars, not degrees. Her medical degree did tend to impress the hell out of them, though, once they had seen and recognized the cop. The whisper at the base of his skull grew louder as he watched her brother react first with astonishment, then with irritation. Did he think this was a game? That they were overreacting, going over the top? Bill was the one worried enough to call them out here. Mulder would have thought that he would be grateful that they were taking him seriously. The question he should have asked was whether of not Bill took his sister seriously. He was totally unprepared for Bill to turn to him and ask bluntly, "Is all of this necessary." Mulder sucked in a sharp breath and froze. Mathews mouthed a soft curse while Vickery just grabbed Lewis and Harris and tossed them through the basement doorway. She and Landers hastily followed while Mathews shot up from his chair and then hesitated. He glanced uncertainly at Mulder who shook his head slightly. The other agent nodded infinitesimally and dragged Tara into the kitchen with a question about coffee and bedtime snacks. Scully's blue eyes glazed over with icy rime and her voice could have been used to slice the edge off a laser. "Why don't you ask me that, Bill?" Bill's shoulders twitched as he turned back to his sister, "Christ, Dana. It's nothing personal. But isn't he the..." "What? " Mulder's heart wanted to run over and wrap his arms around his partner. That, or flatten her brother with extreme prejudice. Anything to defend against the ocean of hurt he could hear in that voice. His mind, on the other hand, was trying to calculate detonation radii and fallout rates. His body was just screaming hysterically to run for cover. Bill gritted out the words through clenched teeth, "He's the damn profiler isn't he. Isn't that what you're always telling me? " Scully tipped her head with a mildly curious expression on her face. In that moment, Mulder knew, without a doubt, that her brother had absolutely no idea what he had just done. The suspicion was also growing, that maybe his tendency to blame himself for Scully's ostracism from her brother had been a tad narcissistic. Oh, he had been part of the problem, no matter what she might say. The fact was, that Scully had had occasions to make choices...and she had chosen him. But he was beginning to think that he had been catalyst, not cause. Unfortunately, it did not make him feel any better. Nothing that caused his partner that much pain would ever make him feel better. Scully raised her jaw and spoke the next words so calmly that the uninformed would never have known the edges were bleeding. "What exactly is my role in all of this Bill? To sit with Tara? Help baby-sit Mathew? " Bill growled, "This isn't about you." ************************************ He knew that his own anger was being fed by the emotional nightmare of the past few days. He knew that he was stressed out and every navy trained command reflex told him not to have this conversation. But Christ. Did she have to do this now? He had bit the words out and only barely managed to keep from yelling them at the top of his lungs. Instead of matching anger, however, he was startled by an expression of weariness and exhaustion sweeping over her face. Mulder's left hand twitched and for a second, Dana met her partner's eyes. For once, Bill did not find it annoying so much as confusing. Neither moved until Dana turned her head back to him, blue eyes filled with inexplicable pain. "That's where you are wrong. If you want us to have a hope in hell of keeping everyone safe, I can't have you fighting me on everything just because you don't trust what I say. However, I'm too tired to deal with this right now. We'll talk after I get some sleep." Instinctively he tried to reach out, to hold her back as she turned away and headed for the patio doors. This was not how he had meant for this evening to end. Even with everything else, he had wanted....This was not a reaction he recognized or knew how to deal with. Tara, or even the Dana he remembered, would have been chewing his ass nine ways from Sunday...or crying so hard he could not make out the swear words she was using. "Dana..." "Goodnight Bill." The finality in her tone reawakened his earlier frustration. "This is Tara's life damn it. Mathew's life. You're a goddamn doctor, Dana. You think a 14 week training program and the fact they let you carry a gun is going to change that fact? " He knew as soon as he said it that he had gone too far. Shit. It was the truth, but he had never ever meant to say it. But damn it. He was getting tired of the prima donna act. It was not like he had not seen it before. Career officers purposely vague about assignments and orders. Any good officer got a feel early on for who was legit and who was trying to avoid admitting that his career was on a one-way track to nowhere. To be fair he knew that it could not have been easy competing with two brothers who had Naval careers but it was her own fault. He still remembered the embarrassing smirks and amused contempt that he had encountered when he had first started asking about the X- Files. And then the reactions when people had recognized his sister's last name. Those looks had been even worse. She chose her job over her family, and every time they wanted to protest, to act as though they missed her, you would think she was sacrificing herself for the greater good of mankind. How many times had his mother heard the words "this is something I've got to do" or " I can't right now" or-and this was his personal favorite-"something's come up". They chased aliens and figments of the imagination. How often could something come up? He ignored the tiny whisper at the back of his skull that asked dubiously if werewolves kept 9 to 5 timetables. Dana was a doctor damn it. What the hell was she doing chasing werewolves anyway. There were other people who could do that. People who were trained for that sort of thing. Christ, she was hired to teach at Quantico for God's sake. Should he apologize for wanting someone with the right experience? Mulder, at least, was a profiler. And a damn good one he had been told, even if he was a few pounds light of full ballast. The right man for the job. How often had they heard that growing up? The next time he had a cut he needed bandaged, he would call his sister. But right now he needed something else. Someone who could go head to head with a monster. He would dance with the devil himself if it would help keep his family safe. If he could swallow his anger and his pride to work with a man he despised, then Dana's hurt feelings were a small price to pay in comparison. He would apologize when it was over. ******************************************* Mulder almost did not go after her. He considered the possibility that he might be the last person she wanted to see right now. He considered the fact that a Scully in pain was generally a Scully that wanted privacy. Then he considered the fact that she was hurting... The rest ceased to be considerations. The night outside was blacker than Cancer Man's soul and twice as dark. Even so, he could sense her standing silent off to his left. Her breathing, her perfume...he was not even sure which sense he was using, but he could have walked to her blindfolded. The sympathetic pain he was feeling was illusionary, based on nothing more than the shuttered look on her face before she had turned her back on her brother and walked away. "Ahab used to say, no matter how lost I got, the stars would always lead me home." Mulder tipped his head toward the clouded, starless sky and tried to recall the last time he had looked into the night and felt hope instead of dread. Then he tried to recall the last time he had sat and looked at the stars. He sighed. "I realize that this is where I'm supposed to come up with a pithy one-liner, but I'm too busy resisting the urge to tear off his arm and beat him over the head with it." "You think it would help?" He winced at the bitterness and anger in her voice. He had been expecting hurt. He reconsidered his next words in light of the fact that he was not absolutely certain that she would not bite first, regret later. Oh well, what were partners for? "Probably not. He's a Scully after all." He forced a note of light irony into his voice. Jeez, he deserved an Academy award for that one. His urge to growl put just the right edge on his voice. "Just what does that mean?" If he got out of this alive, he would have to remember to check his nuts for freezer burn. "Just that you all need proof positive before believing in extreme possibilities." Scully's weary tone was beyond bitter. "What? The extreme possibility that I might actually be a field agent?" There was the hurt. Mulder clenched his teeth and considered the fact that Scully would NOT appreciate it if he went caveman on her brother. Repeat after me, Agent Mulder. She can take care of herself. She can take care of herself. Yeah, his inner voice answered, but no one dodges a knife in the back. So watch her back. Mulder promised himself grimly that Bill would not surprise him again. His attitude had been an unpleasant and unexpected shock. He had expected a certain amount of disdain for their work on the X-Files, but surely her own brother knew her better than to think that Scully could ever be an ineffectual anything. He had acted like he did not have a clue what she did for a living. He must realize that they were not exactly chasing check bouncers. Hell, their medical histories alone would have told him that. "I'm reasonably certain that the Navy would consider it an extreme possibility that the FBI could be remotely useful upon occasion." The long pause had him sweating. Please, let him not have messed up. Please... There was an almost soundless chuckle to his left. "Nice try Mulder". The laughter died as she sucked in a quick hard breath and he just knew that she was fighting back tears. "You want to know the crazy part? Our enemies have never, NEVER, tried to invalidate my worth as an agent as casually as he just did." "Interoffice email addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Spooky is validating your worth as an agent?" "In a weird sort of way. Mostly it's just ...shit. The underlying assumption being that I could do better if I wasn't on someone's shit list, wasn't sleeping with you, wasn't crazy, or all of the above." Mulder didn't bother to muffle his snort. "You do realize that the only time the Consortium itself ever underestimated me was when they shut down the X-Files and transferred me back to Quantico. Even then what they really underestimated was us, our partnership." "They tried to separate us after Dallas, Scully." "That was panic, Mulder. Not lack of respect. If anything, it was another validation. " He tried to think of a comeback and failed. The Consortium had primarily been concerned about her effect on him, but they had never doubted her potential to be a threat. It was the reason they had tried to kill her after his supposed death in the desert. The fallout from her murder, even right on the heels of his own suspicious death had been deemed less potentially dangerous than leaving her alive and free to pursue her revenge. One hell of an endorsement, if you chose to look at it that way. "We really are a bit left of center, Scully." Soft laughter greeted his sigh. In it, he heard wry acknowledgement of the oddity that was their lives and the skewed perspectives by which they gauged their successes. "Yeah Mulder, I guess we are." There was more that he wanted to say. More that he wanted to ask her. Like whether or not she ever doubted her own worth as an agent. But he was not sure how to phrase the question. "I...envy you sometimes, Mulder. Your time with the BSU." He blurted out the first thing that came to mind, "Good God, why?" Her sigh was - resigned. He found himself holding his breath as he realized that she was trying to find the words. Trying to- what? His stomach muscles tensed as if waiting for the blow. Had it finally happened? Had they finally offered too much to turn down? "Because when all is said and done, Spooky Mulder exists outside the X-Files. No matter how crazy people think you are, they still respect the fact that you are one hell of a profiler. That will always belong to you, Mulder. But everything I've done as a field agent has been with the X-Files...nothing ever just belonged to just me. I don't mind being known as your partner. But...sometimes I wish that I existed as someone other than just your partner." Mulder dropped heavily into the deck chair beside him, at an absolute loss as to how to deal with this unexpected turn of events. She could not be serious. How could she possibly think...? "I said it wasn't about you, Mulder. But in a way it was. It was all about debunking your work, your quest, becoming your Achilles heel. So many people seeing me in no other terms other than in how I affected you." "You were never just an appendage, Scully." "Not to you maybe. And not to me...now." Mulder sucked in a quick breath, debating whether or not he wanted a truthful answer to his next question. But she was being honest. More honest than she had dared to be in a long time. He could not throw that back in her face. Truthfully, he wanted to know the answers. "Philadelphia?" Despite the fact that he kept his voice low and non-accusatory, he could almost feel the flinch. "Partly. I'm good at what I do Mulder. Anywhere else, in any other department, that would count for something. But with the X- Files...no one seems to notice anything but the fact that I'm defending you. Mostly that's the nature of what we do, but back then...I felt overlooked, underappreciated. I'm a lot more secure about how I see myself now - partly because of how you see me. That's made more difference than you will ever know regarding how I see myself. I don't have the same need for official recognition now that I once did. But it hurt back then...and sometimes it still does." His mind was a swirling mass of mixed emotions and he was at a loss as to which emotions they were exactly. He had a confused desire to yell at her for the defeated tone in her voice. He wanted to grab a hold of her shoulders and shake her for her blindness. Is that truly how she thought she was seen? Then he reconsidered her brother's attitude in another light. Reconsidered what it might mean to grow up female in a Navy family. He had assumed that a large part of her father's disapproval of the FBI as a career choice had stemmed from justifiable shock at the blithe abandonment of seven years of post-secondary education. He had known she was a tomboy...had gotten the impression that her father had known and supported that role. But it was Margaret Scully who had raised her children while her husband was away at sea. Two sons in naval careers, one daughter choosing the most non-feminine roles she can think of and another choosing the most non- traditional. Four children all searching for attention and approval from a larger than life, heroic father who represented the government in all its paternal and institutional glory. Bloody, fucking hell. His mind obediently flipped over memory after memory drawn from the last eight years. He had known she resented his cavalier attitude toward authority...especially when it splashed back on her. He had valued the loyalty and unbending resolve she had shown every time she chose him over official regard. If he was honest with himself he had enjoyed it. Had reveled in the fact that despite his crazy reputation, despite his wacky theories and despite the darkness that haunted him, Spooky Mulder had the public support of his amazing partner. Take that and suck on it, assholes. The fact that it was blatantly obvious that Scully was compromising some of her own principles to back him had only made it sweeter. It had never even entered his mind that she might not see what everyone else was seeing. Worse, this conclusion felt...right. Like an oddly shaped piece of the puzzle that he finally figured out how to flip to make it fit. And the picture that was coming into focus was beginning to reveal a cost to his partner that he had never suspected. "Scully? Why do you think you were assigned to the X-Files?" He knew she could hear the odd note in his voice. Knew she was probably blaming herself for hurting him. Probably envisioning him beating himself over the head with guilt and self-hatred. On another night she might have been right. But he had just seen her brother completely disregard years of field history that made HRT look placid by comparison. He was beginning to think she thought the FBI agreed with him. "To debunk the X-Files, Mulder." He nodded at that expected response. Her tone was rote, as if she never even thought about what that meant anymore. "Yes Scully, but why you?" "Because of my scientific background." "Do you have any idea how many new agents graduated from the Academy that year with scientific backgrounds?" He heard her mouth open to reply, then close with a snap. Despite the seriousness of the point he was trying to make, he grinned in the dark. "You were going to say?". "The combination of my physics and forensics training gave me a unique perspective in evaluating cases which covered a broad range of characteristics." Mulder's grin widened. "And...?" He waited. Finally she huffed in annoyance. "What do you want me to say Mulder?" "Just the truth Scully. Admit to me that you thought they picked you because you were the brilliant young forensic trainee teaching at Quantico-right out of the Academy I might add-and it did your ego good to think that they needed your brains to straighten out the cracked genius in the basement." Her voice was dry, "Just whose ego are we stroking here, Mulder?" "Mine definitely. I had the agent before you so intimidated that he wouldn't have contradicted me if I said the sky was purple and the moon was made of green cheese." "You mean it isn't?" "The fact they needed someone with your brains to shoot me down felt like quite a compliment at the time. Only I'm beginning to think my brilliant partner wasn't quite so brilliant after all." "You're trying to piss me off, right?" "I'm trying to figure out how you could have spent two years at Quantico and not had a clue about why you were there. Well, maybe not then, but surely by now. They had you teaching right out of the Academy, Scully. Do you have any idea how unusual that is? If they wanted you as a teacher they could have brought you in as support personnel. Instead, they trained you as an agent. You had no field experience and they bent over backwards to co-ordinate your pathology training with your teaching schedule. Not to mention how many strings they must have had to pull to get you board certified as a pathologist." "I was damn well more than qualified, Mulder! I told you I never delivered a baby. I did two pathology rotations-one of them in forensics. And I worked nights for two years as the assistant to one of the best forensic pathologists in Maryland while I was in school. I continued to work under his supervision while I was at Quantico. " "A pathologist who just happened to be a part-time instructor at Quantico. Jesus Scully, did you really think no one would notice?" She was silent for a long moment, then came back flatly, "I don't know what you mean." "Everyone was quite impressed. After they got over thinking you were the killer of course." "Excuse me?" "Your college roommate's sister. The one that was murdered by Gary Whistler. The FBI missed that one. VCU knew they had a serial killer, but didn't know she was one of his victims. Once the investigators linked the murders, the evolution in MO became obvious and several more victims came to light. That's what eventually broke the case." "Jesus Mulder, I didn't...how did you know...?" "What? That you spent three months trying to tell the police it wasn't the boyfriend? That you talked your way into that assistant's job so that you could get access to the autopsy data? That you used your instructor's lecture schedule to get close to the investigators and pump them for information? You really shouldn't interrogate someone when there are profilers in the same room ,Scully. We tend to notice that sort of thing. The way I heard it, three of them were sitting behind you when you were in the cafeteria charming the goods out of Detective Bascom. " "Oh shit." Mulder could not stop the grin and he knew she could hear it in his voice." The profilers were especially impressed by that trick with your room key - placing it off to the side when it "accidentally" fell out of your purse. Mitchell said Bascom spent so much time trying not to stare at it he didn't know what he was saying. " "Mulder!" her voice was a horrified wail. "You knew? They knew? Everyone knew?" "Yep. Course they thought you were the killer at first. Derringer was convinced he was actually going to be able to bring in the BSU's first official female serial killer. You really broke his heart when he found out what your connection to the victim was." "Please tell me you're making this up. Jesus Mulder if this is a joke I am going to kill you." "You want to know what they were calling you down in the dungeon?" "Scalpels, Mulder. Big-assed needles and no anesthetic." "Mata Hari." "You never said anything!" "I thought you knew I knew. I mean everyone knew." He amended his statement as she choked, "Everyone with connections to the VCS anyway. Christ Scully, physics and forensics are a prime VCS combination. Add in the fact that they could get you board certified as a pathologist-with a bit of effort- and the fact that you obviously had the instincts of an investigator, and they wanted you bad. " "And the courses I was teaching?" Scully's voice was small and Mulder paused as he considered that maybe this was not something she wanted to hear. "Textbook long-term recruitment. You could take your pathology training at the Army College and they could slowly indoctrinate you into the world of the serial killer. You were always slated for at least two years of field work in one of the larger cities as soon as you took your boards. Preferably a district with an on-going serial case or two. God Scully, you weren't on the X-Files three months and they started the courtship." Scully battled confusion as she thought back, then her eyes widened in reflex," Tooms?" Her voice cracked in disbelief. Mulder felt his lips twist, "Think of him as a box of chocolates." Scully's mouth gaped a little and there was a long silence as his partner tried to fit everything she was hearing into a radically readjusting worldview. "But why...I mean...the X-Files?" Mulder shrugged even though he knew she could not see him." BSU wasn't the only one with an agenda. Besides, it wasn't as crazy as you might think. Patterson was still in good odor and he was still chasing me. Trying to get me hooked back in. The situation suited everybody's needs. VCU probably figured that at worst you'd get a solid one-on-one profiling internship and some field work before you blew me out of the water. Do you have any idea how many profiling consults they tried to get us to take after Tooms?" "You turned them down?" The almost casual question caught him off guard and he cursed the fact that he had been so intent on reassuring her that people had valued her for herself that he had forgotten about some of those earlier decisions. Decisions which had affected her. The VCS profiling assignments had been voluntary, totally at his discretion and well within his rights as supervisory agent to accept or reject. He just was not sure she would see it that way since in retrospect, there was no getting around the fact that her career might have taken a different path if he had accepted even some of them. Other than the ones he had been forced to.... "Yes." He said finally. "I see." He tried to read her voice, and wished suddenly that there was enough light to see her expression. If he could just see her face. "In...in the beginning I just didn't want to risk getting roped back in and losing the X-Files. I knew that was why you were there and frankly, I wasn't inclined to put myself through that hell just to help you send my department on its way. And then,later, we worked so well. I guess I kind of hoped I could get you interested enough in the work to stick around. I thought if I could convince you - if you were willing to stay for a few years, the VCS might let me keep you." "Jesus Mulder, you make me sound like a stray pet." "Yeah, well, You know that transfers are voluntary until you've been with the same division for four years. If they offered you something really big, I didn't know what I could offer to get you to stay. I was terrified that we'd get a shit hot serial case and solve the damn thing and you'd be hooked. I also knew what Patterson would be thinking after that mess with Colton and I knew that at best I might only have another year or two to decide. I guess I...I was hoping that you might chose the X-Files over the VCS if I could convince you we were making a difference. " "What do you mean-you knew what they would be thinking after Colton?" Mulder froze. Shit. Had he really said that? "You impressed them during that case. " Which was perfectly true. Not the whole truth, but true nonetheless. Unfortunately, the slow way she picked through the next sentence told him that she was picking up on the fact he was hiding something. Sometimes it sucked to have an intelligent partner. "What aren't you telling me Mulder?" Shit. He would be hyperventilating in another minute. It was not like it made any difference now. "Nothing that makes any difference Scully." "Fine. We'll come back to that. Why transfer me back to Quantico after they closed the X- Files? Why not give me another field assignment" " I think someone told them to back off. Our supporters wanted you at Quantico so you were available when we got the department reopened- the VCS probably figured it was better than risking having you trapped somewhere in some bumfuck field office. They also knew we were working together outside of official channels and that suited Patterson-I mean... " "But then I was abducted." "Never made a difference in the VCS timetable Scully. But then Melissa was killed and you..." he hesitated. She sighed. "...made it absolutely clear I wasn't leaving the X-Files short of massive amounts of C4 explosive." "Pretty much. Yeah. I assumed--I thought you knew. I figured you chose to stay." "I did chose Mulder. Even if I had known about the VCS I doubt - no. I KNOW that my decision would have been the same. At least then." But what about now? Mulder shifted uneasily. She hesitated for a moment, "Salt Lake City?" " The SAC in the Salt Lake field office is ex-BSU. You'd have been consulting within three months and then recommended to NCAVC within six." Mulder found himself chuckling softly. "Someone shit bricks when you quit on them." Scully mumbled something caustic. "What was that?" "I said, they were just pissed they lost their best chance to get at you through me." "You've been listening to water cooler gossip again, haven't you?" "Mulder...you know what I'm talking about!" "God Scully, I wanted to tell Patterson to go to hell, I swear I did." Mulder reran his sentence as soon as it was out of his mouth and realized he had spilled the beans. Shit. "Mulder?" You could freeze water with that tongue. You really could. "Why do I think this has something to do with what you wouldn't tell me before?" Because you are not stupid. Unlike your big- mouthed partner. Ah hell. No choice for it now. "You really aren't going to like it." "Tell me something I don't know, Mulder." Mulder shifted uncomfortably. Damn it. It was Patterson's stupid idea. " Patterson wanted-after the rumors started-about us I mean-he figured..." "He figured you might come back if you had the right incentive?" If only it was that easy. Mulder sighed," Any other department it would be tantamount to suggesting you hire someone because of who they are sleeping with-Jesus, I know how it sounds. But you've got to understand what it was like back then. The type of profiling Patterson had us doing-it was so damn effective, but we were dropping like flies. Patterson was convinced that the right sexual dynamic between two profilers would be enough to keep a pair grounded enough to stay sane. Especially if both agents were diametrically opposed in terms of viewpoint and profiling style. Patterson thought he saw something he could use. It was...a very messed up situation. " When she did not say anything, he licked suddenly dry lips and then closed his eyes , "I used to think...if we could only get Patterson and old Smokey in the same room, they could mind-fuck each other to death. I knew Patterson would let you stay long enough for us to - get attached- and then he'd make this great offer and you'd be gone. Christ, I knew you were ambitious and I needed more time,so,after Tooms,I...I made a deal with Patterson. He agreed to keep CIRG from approaching you directly with any big offers for two years as long as we took a couple of cases - to get your feet wet. " He waited anxiously for her to react. Scream, yell...slug him. He knew how she felt about making her own decisions and what he had done had affected more than just a job offer from the NCAVC. If they had offered, if she had transferred, she would not have been with him when they had gotten that damned digital tape and her sister would still be alive. "So this all happened when? Three or four months after I was assigned? And you got ...what exactly? Just over a year and a half to convince me to stay with the X-Files?" Mulder shrugged again automatically, trying to analyze the emotions hidden in her even tone. He could not do it. He had never realized how much he depended on her face for decoding the emotions she kept locked behind her eyes. " Convince you, convince me. We had a good start Scully but I didn't know where we would be in two years. Maybe the X-Files would be shut down, or maybe you would have asked for a transfer - the VCS had the right to get involved if that happened. Hell, maybe we would have decided that we hated each other. But if our partnership worked out, I was going to have to make a choice. I knew it even then." He fell silent, reluctant to say any more. He should have known better. "What choice, Mulder?" she said the words carefully, almost as though she feared the edges would cut like glass. Almost like she did not want to know. "Whether to follow you back to the VCS if you went." He said simply. A sharp hiss of indrawn breath. "Jesus Mulder, are you trying to tell me you were considering giving up the X-Files?" Her voice was shocked. Beyond shocked. Disbelieving. He sighed. How the hell do you explain something like this without sounding crazy? Obsessive. "Not then. Of course not. But Scully, we clicked so damn fast. It scared the hell out of me. What were we going to be like after two years? I kept telling myself I was letting them all set me up. That if I had any survival instincts at all I should push you away before it got any worse. Before they got what they wanted. But god, the work we were doing together. It was beyond seductive, Scully. You have no idea how good it felt to hand in a report that couldn't be ignored just because it was written by Spooky Mulder. Hell, they never believed half of my reports even when I was working Violent Crimes. There was this unbelievable sense of freedom. I'd always had to pull back, try to keep myself grounded. Suddenly I didn't have to do that any more. I could leap as high as I wanted...and I knew you'd be there to keep me from going over the edge if I fell. For the first time I really truly honestly believed I might be able to find Samantha. I couldn't let Patterson take that away before I had a chance to see where it would go, Scully. I just couldn't." He knew his tone had softened, lowered until he was almost pleading with her to understand. He had not taken anything away from her. He'd just been trying to save himself. Buy himself some more time. His motives may have been selfish, but they also kept her options open. Patterson...Patterson had been so GOOD at pushing buttons. She had been so naive back then. Despite his three years with VICAP, they both had. Patterson would have used her and then thrown her away when she ceased to be of value to him. "I knew if we made it through two years together, that I wouldn't be able to let Patterson fuck with your head. Not alone. Not if you needed me. Maybe someone else, but not him. Bastard knew it too. So he had me by the balls. I just used it to my advantage. As long as he left us alone for two years, I agreed to take on at least one profiling case- profiling the way Patterson meant it, not the FBI. I was to introduce you to the science of monster-hunting. The human variety. And I...agreed not to try and talk you out of going to the VCU when they made their offer." He could almost hear the humming in her head as she tried to work it through. He wondered if she would piece together the fact that Donnie Pfaster had been that first case. That there had been a reason that he had wanted her to go home. To decide that hunting in the Abyss was not for her. Finally he could hear fabric whisper as she reflexively threw her hands out in frustration. He waited, then waited some more and finally cursed softly as he launched himself out of the deck chair. He heard her call after him softly but he was too busy fumbling for the light switch. He had to see her face. He had to know how badly he had screwed up. Soft white patio light suddenly glowed from a dozen black and white patio lanterns. He saw Scully blink dark adapted eyes rapidly. He could only pray that the sheen was from the sudden light and not because he had hurt her. Taking a deep breath he carefully considered the offer he had been prepared for over three years to make...if CIRG came knocking, if she wanted to go. He forced himself to keep his voice even and strong. Kept his eyes firmly fixed on her face. She had to know he was serious about this. "If it's what you want...if the X-Files are not where you want to be, the offer is still open." He took a step closer to her and found that she was gazing at him contemplatively, turning the idea over in her mind. "You're serious about this." He nodded," You won't have a problem. They'll do handflips. You do realize that New York was another attempt to recruit you don't you? They won't be so crazy about me, but it should be okay if I promise to play nice. Our biggest problem will be getting assigned together... the NCAVC doesn't really have a partnership structure but...what?" Scully was suddenly glaring at him. A complex mix of anger and annoyance crossed her face, then faded into weary acceptance. "That won't be a problem Mulder." "I've pissed a lot people off over there, Scully. We can't be sure..." A fresh spark of annoyance flit across her features, " Yes, Mulder. We damn well can. You want to know why we can?" Fresh anger spilled into her eyes and voice. Mulder just froze at this unexpected attack. " We can be absolutely positive that they will bend over backwards to get the great Fox Mulder back on board because they've already told me as much." She stepped close, blue eyes intent. But below the passion, he could see hurt. Jesus. What had they said to her? "Do you know how many times they have approached me about you? How many times that they've told me that your talents would be appreciated in the BAU or back with VICAP? " She was serious. Mulder closed his eyes, thinking. It did not make sense. Oh, he had no doubt if he promised to be good they would take him back. He had all the requisite training and skills. But that would have absolutely nothing to do with his reputation. Did Scully have any idea how experimental Patterson's profiling process had been? How many profilers had distrusted the results and resented the fact that the voodoo image of it all had masked the underlying behavioral science that they had been trying so hard to get into general acceptance back then. Williams might be willing to use Mulder's results, but the SAC had no desire to have one of Patterson's proteges rekindle that particular flame. Patterson had been a god. But only because he got results. Those results had also earned them enemies. When all was said and done, their version of profiling should only have been used when there were no other leads, when the chance of being wrong could not cost someone their life. But case solution was the lifeblood of political careers. Mulder knew there were times they should never have been where they had been and doing what they had been doing. Too soon. Not enough background. Too many legitimate investigative leads and investigators shoved aside by management in the hopes that Patterson's children of the night could pull off a miracle. And they did. One rabbit out of the hat after another. But the cost... Mulder had left before the whole thing self- destructed. Before Patterson blotted one too many copy books. Because the day was coming when they were going to crash and burn in the public spotlight. Because Patterson had offended too many people to have any real support when it all fell apart. And when he went, all his profilers were going to go with him. Mulder may not have been the most astute political animal in the woods...but he had seen that incipient forest fire five by five. So he had gotten out while he still had his reputation, most of his mind and some part of his soul. So, what Scully was saying really did not make any sense. SAC Williams was one of those who had truly distrusted Patterson's methods and reckless reputation. So, he would be probably be happy to accept Mulder if Mulder came to him, but he would not have gone out of his way unless... Unless Scully had misread the approach and seen threat instead of offer. Scully might have taken any vague hints about transferring to the VCS as an attempt to separate her from her partner and undermine the X-Files. Especially since she seemed to have missed the point that they had been trying to recruit her all along. He could just imagine the icy politeness in her refusal. Must have confused the hell out of them. Assuming that Williams wanted Scully enough to put up with Special Agent Fox Mulder, the SAC had no way of knowing the number of times that they had been used against each other. But he was not blind. Both agents were less than subtle about their dedication to each other. So he and his staff might have made the rather prosaic assumption that partners were lovers and that Scully was not willing to leave him. In any sense of the word. So the next offer would have been meant to assure her that... He came out of his thoughts to find Scully only a hands-breath away and glaring up at him. "The SAC visited me in the hospital in New York and by the end of an extremely painful interview it was more or less clear that if I could see a way to convince you to come back, there would be a place for me if I wanted it. He also stated-extremely bluntly I might add - that he didn't care who you did, or where you did it as long as the cases got solved and no naked pictures showed up on the front page of the newspaper." She was not quite shouting and the only thing running through his mind at that moment-besides shocked fascination with his partner's loss of control-was the thought that there was no way Bill and Tara could be missing this little argument. Hell, no one would be missing this argument. Scully was going to be pissed as hell when she realized that. " Scully, the neighbors..." "You know what, Mulder? I don't give a damn. I don't care if the whole fucking block hears me. You want to know why? Because after all we've been through, after all the cases we've solved, those bastards reduced me to nothing more than a god damn sex toy!" He could not help it. He knew she was armed. He knew she was pissed. But-oh hell, she had no fucking clue. He collapsed back into the deck chair and howled with laughter. "Oh shit Scully, that's priceless." "Mulder, I'm warning you..." "Scully, Scully, Scully. My little female chauvinist piglet. You must have confused and frustrated the hell out of Williams. He was only trying to give you what he thought you wanted." She was staring at him through slitted eyes, but at least she was not storming back into the house. He would have to chase after her and he was having trouble breathing. The look on her face sent him over the edge. The worry over the last six months, the changes to the X-Files, trying to regain their old lives...it was all washing away as a sour- faced Scully pursed her lips and listened to her crazy partner imitate an asthmatic hyena. "Shit Scully, don't you get it? You weren't the sex toy in question." She froze and Mulder started to hiccup. The neighbors were probably standing ears glued to their bedroom windows and Bill Scully was more than likely searching for a shot-gun. "Mulder..." "They want you, Scully. And if you won't move without your partner then they are more than willing to deliver up one Special Agent Mulder, lock, stock and handcuffs." "You're...that's crazy." "You were willing to believe they'd do it for me. Why is this any different?" Scully just stared at him, bewilderment and confusion...and maybe a little anger, on her face. "Because I'm not..." Mulder sat up abruptly, amusement fleeing. "What? Good enough? That's bullshit Scully." "I'm not you, Mulder." He stared at his partner in astonishment. "I wasn't aware we were competing." "That's not what I...I can't get into their heads the way you do Mulder." He stared at her for a long moment, non- plussed... He thought again about the fact that she had never really done any field work prior to partnering with him. Thought about the differences between standard profiling and the stuff that she had seen him do. Thought again about the few times they had worked apart-her frustration over small mistakes and the couple of times she had admitted to wishing he had been with her. At the time, he had only heard the resentment. Now, he thought about the heady exhilaration he always felt when they worked together. The way his mind seemed to work faster, the way clues just seemed to leap out him. He knew how rare what they had really was...but he had something to compare it to. "Scully?" he chose his words slowly, carefully, "Do you have any idea how good an investigator you are?" She made a depreciating noise deep back in her throat, "I know our solve rate as well as you Mulder." She didn't know. She really didn't know. Oh she knew she was good, but she did not know just how good. How in the hell...? In that instant, he would have traded anything for her to have had even six months in any other department before coming to work for the X- Files. He hauled himself back out of the deck chair again, conscious of his partner's curious gaze as he paced back and forth across her brother's deck. He knew he should be upset on her behalf. But all he could feel was a growing sense of betrayal and anger. 'Damn it Scully! Not us. You!" His outburst caught her by surprise and she flinched reflexively, then watched him with equal parts wariness and confusion. "How can you not know how good we are together?" "I know we're good, Mulder" "But you don't know how good. How can you understand if you don't know how good you are without me? Shit. You think I don't know what it feels like? To feel like your brain is half asleep. To make stupid mistakes because there's no one there to catch you? To be terrified and off-balance because now you are trying to do two jobs...and one of them isn't yours? To want to take out your gun and shoot the person next to you because as good as they are ...they just aren't good enough. That they aren't you. That's the price we pay for being so damn good together. But it doesn't mean we aren't still hell on wheels alone, Scully. It just feels like it." He almost kept on ranting but with a sudden shock he saw silver tracks gleaming on her cheeks as silent tears suddenly slipped down her face. Without thinking he crossed the deck and wrapped his arms around her. For a long moment, she did nothing but shake against his chest, and then he heard her whispering in a broken voice that carried painfully on the night air. "Jesus Mulder. I thought it was me. I thought there was something wrong with me. I kept thinking that it should have been you there instead of me. I kept thinking that you would have had it all figured out. I finally got a chance to prove to myself that I could do it without you. That I could keep up with you...and I got fucking shot. On a god damn X-File. Trying to be you." Mulder spoke into her hair. "You did a good job, Scully." She gave a watery laugh. "Then why doesn't it feel that way? It didn't feel like I thought it would. It didn't feel right. I wanted it to be you there with me so badly, Mulder. I didn't want to be there without you. How is that supposed to make me feel? Damn it! I'm supposed to be able to do this with anyone. But I just wanted it to be you. " He found himself smiling into the top of her head, anger draining away in a rush of relief. He waited for her to process what she had just said then jerked his chin out of the way just in time to avoid getting smacked when she stiffened and pushed back suddenly. Her eyes were wide and startled in the dim light. He tightened his arms briefly, then let her go. "Now you understand." ******************************************** "You can't keep doing this." His mother's voice was an unwelcome addition to the shadows. Bill fought a childish urge to pretend that he did not understand what she was talking about. Pushing away from the open bedroom window he turned to face the bedroom door. "You will lose her if you keep this up." Did she honestly think he did not know that? "What makes you think I haven't already?" The bitter words were out before he could stop them. Her sigh was full of more sympathetic regret than he would have expected. Startled, he studied her expression curiously. His mother had stood firm in her defense of both Fox Mulder and his presence in Dana's life. In fact, her refusal to argue with him about it had been one of the things that frustrated him so badly. She could see how damaging this all was for Dana. So why was she not willing to do anything about it? "Why?" He demanded. "Why do you support him? How can you like him after all that he has brought down upon us?" His mother's face shifted into surprise," Like? It has nothing to do with like, Bill." She moved forward into the room and stared up at him with something like astonishment. "How can you still not understand after all these years?" He felt his mouth tighten stubbornly in mulish self-defense. It would help a hell of a lot more if people would just tell him what they thought he did not understand instead of bashing him over the head with his incomprehension. His mother's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, then she gestured helplessly, as if trying to find the right combination of words. "I don't know him well enough to like him or not, Bill. I'm not sure I can even separate who he is from who he is to me long enough to decide. It's just not that important. It's who he is to Dana that's important. That's what it's always been." Bill just looked at his mother blankly. Her sigh was sad. "Did you ever see that movie 'A Few Good Men' ?" At his confused nod she smiled a painful smile he had never seen before. "Do you remember what Demi Moore said when she was asked why she defended her client? She said it was because he stood on a wall. That regardless of whoever else he was, he had taken it on himself to place himself between the rest of us and the things on the other side." Bill was frozen in place as his mother brushed a soft hand across his cheek sadly, "That's where they stand, Bill. On a line. Protecting us from monsters we can't see." Bill was not even aware that he had begun to shake his head in reflexive rejection. This was crazy. This was Dana they were talking about. "It's not always someone else's family, Bill. You have to stop seeing her as a little girl playing at soldiers. She is a soldier. And she needs him. If you can't respect that...you will lose her. She *will* sacrifice you if that is the price of walking the line. Would you expect anything less from a Scully?" That was when he saw the tears. He just stood mute. He had only confusion to offer. No answers. He had never had them. "Ask yourself something, Bill. You believed the SEALs. You started to accept that maybe the monsters under the bed were real because they believed." Bill flinched at the pity that suddenly flashed in his mother's eyes. "But Bill, why wasn't it enough that Dana believed?" ****************************************** Scully watched her partner jog down the driveway with mixed feelings. There was more she wanted to say to him, more that she wanted to ask him, but she needed time to process everything that had already been said. Her mind still felt dazed from some of the things he had told her and she...she badly needed to rethink several of the assumptions she had taken for granted over the years. In typical Mulder fashion her partner had seen the confusion and taken himself off into the night. Although perhaps he had things to think about as well. There had been something in his eyes, there at the end... Scully stepped into the house and pulled the door closed. "Is it always like that between you two?" Scully yelped and had her gun halfway out of its holster before her brain identified the voice as non-hostile. The sudden locking of her shoulder muscles as her brain countermanded the reflex threw her off balance and she stumbled. Tara's gaze seemed unusually perceptive as she stood in the shadows and for the first time, Scully had the eerie feeling her sister-in-law was finally seeing an armed FBI agent instead of her husband's sister. It was an odd sensation, coming as it did when her own perceptions about herself had been blown out of the water. Tara moved forward and Scully was surprised and touched to see that she was holding out a large mug filled with steaming liquid. The tag hanging down the side identified it as her favorite brand of non-caffeinated tea and she inhaled the aroma gratefully as she accepted the offering. She briefly considered the fact that Tara did not drink this particular brand and wondered if the bags were left over from her last visit or if her sister-in-law actually kept a box on hand. "Are you okay?" Scully wanted to laugh, but knew that she would never be able to explain herself. Not without getting into a whole lot of history she had trouble understanding herself sometimes. Okay? Bits and pieces of the day's events tumbled through her head. Had it really only been twenty-four hours? She did not know how she felt. On the one hand, Mulder's revelations had put her whole history with the Bureau in a new light. Not necessarily an unwanted or unpleasant light, but it definitely revealed more than she had wanted to know about herself. The assumptions she had made...said a lot about her. About how she had viewed herself. About how maybe she still did. Did she? Had she been fighting the wrong war? God. Was she still trying to prove herself to her father? And what about Mulder? What false assumptions had she been making there? As much as she had needed to know that she was not the only one who had lost singularity through their partnership, she was terrified that she had just lost something she valued more. She had never realized how many of her recent assumptions about Mulder, about their partnership, she had based on that conversation in his hallway. Oh, she had taken it with a grain of salt. Despite the aborted kiss, she had realized several things later which had caused her to take a long hard look at what had really happened. He had been desperate to convince her not to leave. She had been too terrified of her own emotions to point out that she was leaving the FBI, not him. What was she supposed to accomplish in Salt Lake City? Without her partner. Without the X-Files. How was that to have been any help to him at all? All he had seen was that she was leaving the FBI. She still did not know how to point out that her resignation had been an active choice between the quest and the FBI. And the FBI lost. Didn't he remember what it had been like the first time? God, she had been in Quantico and he had been doing wire taps and they still managed to chase X-Files. Had he honestly thought that with four more years and all that history behind them that it would be any different? Although if he was right about the VCS and how quickly she would have found herself transferred...maybe it hadn't been the totally panicked response she had thought it was. Would he have followed her to Violent Crimes? Had he been planning even then how to get them back together? She had assumed at the time that the kiss had mostly been a matter of heightened emotions. Wasn't that part of the problem? She had always known that she was important enough for him to try and give her whatever he thought that she wanted...even if it wasn't what he would have chosen. Even if he mistook need for love. So she had never really been sure. But she had hoped. Nursed a tiny flame and fed it with innuendo, close contact and the odd drugged confession. The war-zone that was their lives just made things worse. They needed each other, but in so many ways, they knew nothing about each other. She knew the dark side of his nightmares, but she did not know his favorite color. She knew what music he liked, but she did not know where he saw himself in five years, in ten years. She did not even know if he bothered planning for the future. But she suddenly realized that these were things she wanted to discover. In many ways, she had stopped planning for the future. Now, with this new understanding of his comments she was wondering if she had nursed a flame born of false hopes. Because the words she had spoken had echoed those spoken in that hallway and had had everything to do with their partnership...and nothing to do about love. Ironically, the loss of the latter she could live with. Because love alone was not enough. When had she first realized this? Mulder worried so much that his quest had stolen a part of her life. Had looked so devastated the first time she had told him that the X- Files was her life. She wondered sometimes if he ever realized that his loneliness had more to do with regret for things he had never had, than things he had given up in pursuit of the truth. Yes, the X-Files had been the catalyst to many of the losses in her life. But they were things she would have lost anyway. Would have knowingly thrown away. Especially if Mulder was telling the truth about the VCU. When had she first realized that dinners and movies and Sunday morning interludes in bed were nice...but they were not what was important. At least, not what was most important. Not for her. Oh she wanted them, and there were days when loneliness and emptiness caught her off guard and she would go to work on Monday wondering if she had made the right choices. Then she would catch that excited gleam in Mulder's eye right before he sent them jetting off to god knows where to catch god knows what. She would be hands deep in an autopsy or she would be in the middle of a conference room with gory photos tacked to the walls, twenty-four cell phones ringing continuously and someone having a nervous breakdown in the bathroom and she would suddenly look around and realize with painful intensity that this was where she was meant to be. That this was what satisfied the rage and demand for justice in her soul. That this was what she had been born to do. Most people had a family that was the center of their lives and a job that paid the bills. Some jobs offered a bit more. Prestige. Money. Fame. And some jobs demanded your soul. But how do you explain to someone who only sees a cost they aren't willing to pay that you hand it over gladly. Because of duty. Because of honor. Because to be denied that opportunity would crush something deep inside that was never meant to be broken. Her partner was not the cause of all the pain in her life. He was the reward. Without the emotional support they derived from their partnership, she strongly suspected they would have burned out long ago. Oh they had gotten tired, there were times they had gotten discouraged. But they were no where near burned out. Where some people were able to rely on family, they were able to rely on each other. It was a good thing too, because she knew her own nature. A marriage would never have survived her job. She was too insular, too emotionally guarded and too driven. Mulder managed to get behind her walls partly because she had to let him in. She could not do the job if she did not let him in. She was still driven, but they were both driving in the same direction. And Mulder needed her in order to do his job. Needed her enough that she was forced to throw herself through her own barriers and smack into his. His need was not selfish, was not something she could regretfully sacrifice to the needs of the job. Because his needs were part of the job. So they fed on each other. They purposely threw themselves again and again into the battle. Walked knowingly into situations that were going to cause them pain. And their partnership became both blessing and curse. Cause and cure. Because the damage that their partnership allowed them to heal from, engendered a responsibility to go places that others could not. No matter the cost. Because they knew they could and survive. They met each others needs. No matter how it might look from the outside looking in, the partnership was necessary and essential to both of them on so many levels she doubted any one could ever untangle them all. But if they weren't doing what they needed to do and giving each other what they needed to give.. ...they would never have survived eight years together. As complicated and as simple as that. An exasperated sigh cut through her musings and she came back to find Tara studying her with one part aggravation and four parts perplexity. Judging by the temperature of the mug in her hand, she had been spaced out for at least ten minutes, maybe longer. "Personally, I like a hot bath with candles when I'm upset." Scully knew her face must have reflected some of her inner thoughts because Tara paused and peered over the mug for a long moment. Then her mouth tightened and she started to get up, her movements jerky. It took Scully a moment to grasp that somehow she had hurt her sister-in-law's feelings. She reached out a hand and touched her arm before she got out of reach. Tara read the confusion on her face and blinked furiously. "I know we don't have anything in common. Okay? I get that. But I was just...I was just..." Tara collapsed into the chair as she lost control of her tears and started to cry. Scully barely had time to grab the mug out of her hands before it hit the coffee table. The next thing she knew, Tara was sobbing her heart out as Scully helplessly patted her shoulder. She tried to hug her once, but Tara's spine stiffened and she hastily dropped her arm and restricted herself to rubbing small circles on Tara's shoulder. "Tara? Do you want me to get Bill?" Tara frantically shook her head and Scully prayed Mulder would evidence his occasionally exquisite timing by not walking in on them anytime in the next fifteen minutes. Tara started babbling and between the tears and the choking attempts to breathe, all she got for the first few minutes was something about "Mathew" and "scared" and "trying to be strong". Scully found herself unexpectedly targeted by tear-drenched eyes. "I tried so hard." Scully kept mumbling "I know" and "It's okay" as Tara's voice steadied and her words became clear. Inwardly, Scully was beginning to wonder if there was something in the water. Was there anyone left who had not indulged in some form of emotional break-out or breakdown? "Everyone says that your mother is so strong. And she is. I admire her so much. And Bill admires her. I get so scared when he's away at sea. That something is going to happen to him. Or to Mathew and he won't be here. But I try. And now this. I can't do this. You could do this. Couldn't you? " The appeal caught her totally by surprise. "Bill says you're just stubborn. But I know. You're a Scully born and bred. That's what he says. And I try so hard. But you know don't you? I'm nothing like you. I don't like being scared. I don't like guns. And I like...I like candles and hot baths..." Her voice wobbled and disintegrated into a tiny wail on the last part, but Scully was beginning to think she had got at least part of the picture. "Tara? Tara, can I tell you something?" Her sister-in-law sniffed, "What?" Scully leaned in, as if revealing some desperate secret, but she kept her voice level, wanted Tara to hear every word. "I'm afraid to take a bath." Tara blinked at her. Scully nodded in confirmation. "It's true." Tara's lower lip trembled as she fought to regain enough control to work out this new conundrum. "I was captured several years back by one of the suspects in our case. He had this thing about baths and candles." Right before he killed his victims, but Scully was not about to mention that part of things. Tara was already wired enough about the current situation, no sense in adding more faces to the nightmare. "It's okay to be scared. I cried all over Mulder when he found me. Ask him. Dana Scully, FBI agent crying on her partner's shoulder right there in front of God and a dozen of the local PD. But guess what... " Tara blinked big eyes at her. "It was okay. It really was." Movement off to her left had her head turning, eyes tracking even as Tara collapsed against her shoulder. Peripheral vision identified her brother and Scully eased the gun she had drawn back into its holster. Luckily Tara had her eyes closed and Bill's view was blocked by his wife's body. His face was tight with frustrated anger and Scully could see his hands clench and reclench as he fought the impulse to grab and hold on. Scully nudged her sister-in-law. Tara's tears slowed slightly as she saw Bill and she tried futilely to wipe the evidence from her face. A wordless protest from him had her checking her hands. Then, after a long excruciating moment, she was flying across the room. Bill tucked her head under his chin as he wrapped his arms around her and his gaze as he looked over at his sister was enigmatic. Then he nodded slightly and led Tara back up the stairs to their bedroom. Scully heard the door close, and then the house was abruptly plunged into silence. In the sudden hush, she found herself straining, listening for something. Slowly she became aware of the tock tock of the clock on the mantle, abnormally loud in its isolation. Other sounds intruded. The scratch of tree limbs against a window, a creaking floorboard upstairs and the bang of the ductwork as something flexed and expanded. Then the fridge shuddered to life and she listened to its low hum with a rather mindless melancholy. She was not used to silence. In DC, there was a constant low grade hum of people, of motion, even at night. Cars, trucks, the distant wail of sirens and footsteps in the hall. Her apartment was never really silent. Her motel rooms were never really silent. If the couple on her left were not knocking down plaster, then it was Mulder and his TV on the right. Except that the TV never bothered her. Not anymore. It filled the silence. Finally, she considered that if she did not move, she would be falling asleep on Mulder's bed. Since Mulder's version of carrying her upstairs would likely involve a shoulder in the stomach - assuming he did not just steal her room- she groaned softly and forced herself to her feet. She really did not want to make two trips, but there were weapons in both their duffel bags so she lugged most of the luggage upstairs to her room leaving the bag with Mulder's clothes on the floor near the sofa. He could move it into Mathew's room later. Her partner knew where the bathroom was, but she left the light on in the kitchen to let him know it was okay to forage if he wanted. She had just finished in the bathroom and was crawling in under the covers when she heard the front door open. Her muscles instinctively tensed until she recognized Mulder's footsteps. By the time he had taken a brief shower she was almost asleep. Almost. It was not until he made his way back downstairs that she realized what she was waiting for. A slight smile touched her lips as she heard the TV come to life and she passed into dreamless unconsciousness. ***************************************** Mulder let the hot water of the shower pound down over his shoulders, erasing the evidence of his run. He had mostly meant to give his partner some space, but had found the confusion in his own mind demanding an outlet. He had not been lying, that day in the hallway. The day he had told her that he did not know if he could do the work alone. And not just for the reasons that she might have thought. Not just because together they were a better investigative team and not just because her rationalism allowed him to go further without falling of the edge of reality. Not even because she was the one person in his adult life who had had no personal agenda, who had never seen "Spooky" Mulder and his freakish abilities as a one way ticket up the ladder of ambition. He almost smiled as he remembered the first dressing down he had gotten for taking off without her. He could not recall now if he had cracked any stupid jokes. Probably. More than likely, if only to cover his ass about the goofy grin that kept trying to escape. Because in one angry - and man, had she been angry - tirade she ignored the fact of his success, gave no quarter for the insight that had acquired it and demanded nothing less than complete respect from him as a partner. No sidelong looks or sighs about the price one paid to work with a genius even as avarice gleamed in flat, dead eyes. She took hobnailed combat boots and tromped merrily all over the brilliance that had been his curse and his "get out of jail free" card all his life. The success , her actions implied, was not nearly enough. She wanted him. She wanted a partner. No excuses accepted. The implicit statement being that his presence in her life, his gun at her back, his back to guard, was infinitely more important than a "closed" on the cover of the casefile. Any leeway she granted him in later years came only as a right he earned by being her partner. And by redefining his definition of partner, she gave him the freedom to redefine himself as other things. Potential things. Things he had stopped hoping that he could be. He doubted that she would ever know how important that had been. Because two are only stronger together, if they each are whole in and of themselves. Now that the whole had become so much greater for being made of two, however, one was no longer sufficient. Had she even understood what he was trying to tell her that day? He did not become a whole person because she healed him, or because she completed some broken construct of a man. He became a whole person because he had healed himself. Because of her. For her. For himself. She made him whole because he was no longer he of him, but he of them. And though he could survive as he not them, the loss of what they were capable of when they were them just might be enough to kill him. Not right away. Not immediately. But someday, somewhere - when he was tired, or hurting or too depressed to really care anymore - he would turn, expecting to see her, expecting her eyes to tell him what she saw...and the lack of her would hold him frozen for one infinite second too long. And he would die. Not that it would really be him. The he that lived within the potential of them would already have ceased to exist. He supposed that he would still work with others in the simple things. Enjoy it even. But those situations where everything came down to trust and reflex.... When she was not beside him, he still knew she was somewhere, ready to come charging to the rescue, waiting for him to come back. His shadowy enemies had understood too late that originally, all he had been fighting for was Samantha. After they gave her to him, he had had a reason to start fighting for himself. The thought that this might someday cease to be true was the root of his worst nightmares. He supposed he could try to fill any hole she left with a wife, with a family. Maybe. Then he would spend every day praying to a God he did not believe in that since sex was the one area they had managed to keep separate for themselves that it would not be tainted by her absence. Yet how could he ever explain to a woman who thought her husband was supposed to be her best friend as well as her lover, that somehow, for him, it was no longer enough. That love and friendship had merged with comradeship and oath-bound duty to form a new creation that - for lack of a better word - he called partner? Sex was just biology. He had thought he had the answer to what they were, once. He had looked at the agents and officers who managed two significant relationships, two parallel marriages, one of love and one of dependence and thought that he had simply found someone who was capable of filling both roles. That they were merely confused as to where the lines were drawn. Maybe that was part of where they had started. But they had taken bits of each and created a third reality that still refused to encompass the sexuality of one- yet filled all the emotional demands of both. A relationship subject to the terrors, fears and vulnerabilities of both. They seemed to work outside the rules so often, that Scully had become the only constant in his life. They so lost themselves - in the them that they became - that he had begun to think that in self-defense, they had created an arbitrary role they called lover and used it to signify all the lines they were not yet ready to cross. Or were too terrified to consider. Because the they that was them was a hungry beast that could demand everything in the name of evolution and there were still things that needed to belong only to he or she. Once those things were relinquished, there was no going back. There might be no way to preserve the they from the he and the she that could tear it apart in suicidal anger and resentment if they moved too fast or too far or to places the individual was not absolutely ready to go. He valued what they had too highly to risk it carelessly. Despite the potential of the they that they could become, he would do anything to protect the they that they already were against any threat - anything or anyone. Even the he that was him. *****************************************