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TITLE: "Pieces of the Past II: Searching"
(Started November 1998; completed February 1999.)
AUTHORS: Jen & Lauren
EMAILS: JenR13@aol.com (Jen) & JRDG1013@aol.com (Lauren)
RATING: PG-13/R
SPOILERS: Anasazi, Demons, and small mentions of episodes up to and including "Redux II" (Timeline – This story takes place in the fifth season, before the episode "The End".)
CLASSIFICATION: XA
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully UST, M/Sc/Sk Friendship
ARCHIVE: Sure, just keep our names and emails on it.
SUMMARY: No one ever said that searching was easy. Sequel to "Pieces of the Past."

DISCLAIMER: Oh do we have to have one of those? Oh, ok. Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and Walter Skinner are not ours. They belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions (I made this!) and Fox Television.

AUTHORS’ NOTES: Well, this story seems to have veered into an "alternate universe" of our own. We both felt the fifth season was great and started the first story before we saw the movie. So our story stuck with its fifth season timeline, and well, we may have just created an alternate universe. Oh, well, they are fun to write! :-)

This story took both of us longer to write then we thought it would, and I (Jen) run into some school work that put the story on hold for a while. Once we got back on track, we were in business again (the creative process sure is creative ). This story doesn't really have a true, true plot (hence the title, "Pieces of the Past: _Searching_"), but it was interesting to write.

While Lauren does live in the Connecticut area, and most of the info is accurate, we did have to add a couple of buildings and details that exist in our imagination (well mostly Jen's). So we hope anyone who lives there is not offended if we got something wrong. If we did, we apologize in advance.

Anyway, we hope you enjoy the story.

And before anyone begins to read this story, it would be helpful if you have already read "Pieces of the Past" which is available at our website: http://members.tripod.com/~Jen1121/laurenjen.html. You can read this story without reading the other, but we're warning you, you may get a tad confused. :-)

This story is the second in a series of three (?) stories. The third story is on the drawing board.

Pieces of the Past II: Searching
By Jen and Lauren
c1999


The Basement of the J. Edgar Hoover Building
April 11, 1998
6:15 a.m.

"Another night wasted at the office," he muttered to no one in particular. Mulder had been working on the Bryan Kennedy case report since about six o'clock the previous evening but had been having a great deal of trouble making it sound plausible. It wasn't that the Bryan Kennedy case was so phenomenal in itself, it was just too.... personal, to Mulder, to allow him to write up a report that didn't go off into "I wonder this" and "I wonder that" tangents. He'd typed up a pathetic excuse for a report, done the expense report and placed it all on Skinner's desk at 2:47 a.m.

Why was he still at the office then? Mulder didn't know. He knew that Scully would want to know when she showed up in approximately 43 minutes and 26 seconds (not like anyone was counting or anything). God knows Mulder needed the sleep but there he was doing it again. Not giving himself time to heal. Mulder had gotten out of the hospital Monday, and then had flown back home on Tuesday and Tuesday night he was back on his 24 hour work schedule with good old J. Edgar.

He must have zoned out because the next thing he heard were footsteps tapping and a loud, "Jesus, Mulder, what are you trying to do, give me a heart attack?"

Looking up, he saw his partner glaring down at him. "Sorry," he said, his voice rough from not being used for hours and hours.

Scully let out one of her long, trademark, sighs and sat up on the corner of Mulder's desk where a space was cleared. "What are you doing here so early? What time did you get in?"

Mulder had no idea what time it is, but he took a guess. "Seven o'clock, sharp. I just had to finish these reports."

His partner glanced at her watch and back at him. "Seven, Mulder? It's 6:45 now." He was staring at his hands, and Scully reached out and lifted up his chin, as to get a better look at him. "You stayed here the whole night, didn't you?" His eyes floated back down to his hands and Scully jumped up. "Damnit, Mulder, you need to go home. You're digging your own grave, here, and I'm not going to let you do that."

Scully grabbed his jacket from where it was draped over the back of a chair, pushed it at him, and pulled out her car keys. "You're going to my place," she said. "Skinner already gave us the okay for another week off, and I'm going to make sure that you make good use of it. Catching up on your sleep."



Scully's Apartment
11:36 a.m.

Mulder squinted against the late morning light streaming through the window. The sunlight was most likely responsible for waking him up, since he had been in a deep sleep (no nightmares) otherwise. Rolling over in the unfamiliarly soft bed, Mulder let his eyes slip closed again. He lay like that until the question of what time it was caused him to open his eyes.

11:37 a.m. the alarm clock told him in digital red letters.

"Eleven thirty seven..." he mumbled sleepily. It took a minute for the words to click, then he jumped up. "Eleven thirty seven. Shit, I'm late for work!"

Mulder hurried to get untangled from the sheets and jumped out of bed, then was shocked to see that he was still dressed. Further investigation caused Mulder to realize that he was not home at all, but rather in the guest bedroom of his partner's apartment. Mulder realized.

After straightening his clothing and splashing some cold water on his face, he made his way into the living room where Scully was sitting, reading quietly.

"Hey." She looked up when he came in.

"Hi," he said. There was an awkward pause, then Mulder continued, "Look I'm just going to have a little of that coffee," he motioned to a pot sitting on the stove. "Then head to the office."

"Mulder," Scully said, and smiled. "Don't you remember? You're on vacation."

Mulder looked down at his shoes. "But I don't have time for vacation," he said.

"Well, you don't have a choice," Scully said as she got up. "Skinner doesn't want to see your face at the Bureau for another five days, at least." She reached for the coffee pot and poured Mulder a cup of coffee.

Mulder opened his mouth to speak, but Scully beat him to it. "And Mulder, that does not mean 'I can go to work as long as Skinner or Scully, for that matter, doesn't see me.' It means that you stay home and catch up on your rest. You just got out of the hospital two days ago, Mulder." Scully handed him the cup of coffee she had poured.

Mulder took the cup and smiled. "And?"

Scully walked back to her place on the couch. "And, normal people who just got out of the hospital usually rest."

Mulder took a sip of his coffee and walked over toward the couch. He stood in front of Scully, and because she was sitting it made their height difference seem very great. "Scully, you should know by now that I'm not normal."

Scully smiled. "Yes, Mulder, I knew that from day one." She turned serious. "But you're still weak."

"Me, Scully? I'm ready to face the world."

"Really?" Scully said, her eyebrow arched. She stood up, took the cup of coffee out of his hands, and placed it on a near-by table. They stood less than a foot apart from each other. Suddenly Scully walked around him and gave him a push from behind. Mulder fell to the couch, and grabbed Scully's hand in the struggle. Both of them fell to the couch in giggles.

"See?" Scully said as she lifted her head. She and Mulder's faces were now only a few inches apart.

"Ok, so I'm not Popeye," Mulder admitted, the mischievous gleam apparent in his eyes.

"I'll second that." Mulder still had a firm grasp on her hand.

Mulder gave a mock hurt expression. "Scully, you wound me."

Scully smiled and entwined her fingers from Mulder's grasp. She quickly got up from the couch and reached for her car keys.

Mulder straightened up on the couch and watched her. "Where are you going?"

"I have a dentist's appointment at 12:30, Mulder. I'm going to be late." She smiled again. "Now can I trust you to be alone, or do I have to get a baby-sitter?" she teased.

"My mom always used to bring us along on errands," Mulder said, a smirk on his lips.

"Somehow I'll save the dentist's waiting room the pleasure of meeting Fox Mulder." Her smile faded and her tone turned serious. "Mulder, please stay put. You're in no shape to be running around. Please, if you don't get some sleep, at least just veg on the couch and watch TV." She smiled again. "I'll even let you order pay-per-view."

Mulder's own eyebrow went up. "Are you sure you won't regret that offer, Agent Scully?"

Scully shook her head, the smile not leaving her face. "Mulder, I _know_ I'm going to regret it."

Scully's apartment
2:22 p.m.

Mulder did keep true to his promise. He basically raided Scully's refrigerator and settled on her couch, flipping through the cable stations. He had finally settled on "Contact" on HBO. The story was interesting and he wondered why he hadn't seen the movie earlier. Of course he found himself laughing at some of the parts, which he thought wouldn't happen.

Yet, it was only 2:30 and Mulder found himself growing restless. If he had his car, he might have gone back to his own apartment at least. But as he stared at Scully's walls, he had to admit she had a _much_ better looking apartment than he did. Still....

It was sure bringing his day down. Mulder _hated_ sitting around and doing nothing. That's why he hated hospitals. All they wanted him to do was sit there and rest. Rest. Mulder thought with a laugh.

He checked his watch again, and it was only 4 minutes later than the last time he checked. He was being good, he was. He wasn't hopping a cab to go to work. He was sitting on the couch, "vegging out", and bored.

He sighed and got up. His eyes strayed to the folders he brought from the office. Ok, he would stay on the couch, but Scully didn't say anything about working while he was on the couch. He smiled and grabbed the overflowing folders and settled down on the couch.

Most were expense papers (thank God he had written up a pathetic excuse for one this morning), and some were rough drafts of reports Mulder remembered starting while he was still in the hospital. He stopped shuffling through papers when his hands brushed upon a blue folder.

He picked it up and looked at it. He recognized it immediately. It was the folder Scully had shown him. The folder which held all the info that Kennedy could find on his sister's disappearance. The folder in which the final paper, dated December 15, 1969 boar the signature of one William Mulder at the bottom. Mulder opened the folder and immediately went to the last paper. The one that had his father's signature on it. Along with another name that was so hastily written Mulder couldn't even make out the letters.

He swallowed and read the paper, though by now he should have its contents memorized. It was just a paper authorizing the transfer of Valerie Kennedy from one place to another. The locations were vague. It just said from point A to point B. The people involved were obviously supposed to know where those places were. A lot of help this did for him.

Mulder stared at the paper. It was a photocopy, not an original he told himself for the thousandth time. Finding his father's name in a place he would have rather not seen it was not a new experience. But it still bothered him. It always would.

Mulder thought as he closed the folder. Staring at it wasn't doing any good. He sat back and thought. Suddenly it came to him.

Kennedy. He could ask Kennedy.



But he couldn't think of another one. He sat back on the couch and closed his eyes, the brain power wearing him out. He laid his head on the arm of the couch and before he knew it he was fast asleep.

Scully's apartment
5:39 p.m.

"Mulder," a voice was saying. "Mulder."

"Yeah, that's me," he responded sleepily.

"Mulder, wake up. _Mulder_."

Mulder lifted his head and scowled. "We've already established that. What?" A hand came up to scrub his face. He squinted up. "Sorry Scully."

Scully sat down next to him. "What's up? I couldn't wake you up... I was trying for a while."

He shrugged. "Sorry. So how was the dentist?"

"The dentist," Scully said. "Was a dentist. He poked around in my mouth."

"Bet that was fun." Mulder stood stiffly. "I'm going to take a shower, then I thought I'd go for a ride around town. You know, just a ride. It's beautiful out."

Scully snorted. "How would you know?" Then, remembering that it was she who had condemned him to the house, she said quickly, "All right, go ahead. Maybe I'll order some Chinese and we can eat when you get back."

"Sounds great," Mulder said.



Washington D.C.
6:01 p.m.

Mulder wasn't quite sure why he had decided to go for a drive. He just needed some time alone, outside. A run would have been preferable but he knew Scully would never let him.

Now he sat in his car, parked outside the J. Edgar Hoover building. He was dying to go in but if Skinner or Scully caught him, he was dead meat. So instead, he pulled out the document signed by his father and studied its contents. There were other signatures on the bottom of the paper too, but they were harder to read. Mulder was able to make out a Thomas Moralis, Edward Sigourney and Marcus something or other. There were still three names left, all illegible. He glanced up at the building once again.



Lab
6:17 p.m.

"All right, Agent Mulder, I found them."

Mulder looked up from the document. "All of them?"

"Well," Agent Peter Miles said. "Thomas Moralis lives in Texas. A small town called Chaney. Are you familiar with it?"

Mulder shuddered. "Yeah. What else?"

"Well, Mr. Moralis is retired and lives with his wife and dog, Guinness."

Mulder laughed. "You found all this out on your database."

Miles shrugged. "It's top notch. Okay, Edward Sigourney is located in North Dakota. Hampton: it's in the far north west of the state. He is currently unmarried but has been through four nasty divorces that apparently cost him a lot of money. I also scanned the document onto the computer and found this." He held a paper out to Mulder. "We have a program that can 'decode' signatures like these. Your Marcus is a man by the name of Marcus Berkowitz, who lives in Chicago, Illinois. Very successful business man, not yet retired. There's also an Alec Harris, another one in Texas, and Benjamin Kahn, in the Miami area. But, not even the computer, can figure out this last signature. Sorry."

"No, that's okay. Thank you very much." Mulder took all the papers from Miles and headed for the door. "This will help a lot, thanks."

Outside Scully's Apartment
6:18 p.m.

"Well, I'm not sure if he left the area, sir. Agent Scully is home, though." The man turned to his companion. The other man lifted his cigarette and took a puff.

"Mulder's not there. But he will be," he answered. The other man coughed on the smoke that was filling the car. "He always comes back to her."

"But sir, what if he's off-"

"It doesn't matter. Those names will mean nothing to him. That operation was terminated a long time ago."

Outside of Scully's apartment
7:02 p.m.

Mulder sat with his hands still on the wheel, debating to tell Scully of his discoveries.

He sighed and reached onto the passenger's seat. A stack of papers sat there, information on every name on that document, except for the last unreadable name. Mulder thought. He had read through them already and they were full of useless information. He didn't want to know their medical histories, or how many traffic tickets they had gotten. Their listed professions were legit. According to the information he had, they were normal U.S. citizens, though Mulder knew they were far from being that.

So here he was, sitting in his car in front of Scully's apartment, forced to take a week off from work, and no closer to an answer than he had been two days ago. Part of him wanted to turn this car around and just go back to his apartment. After all he didn't need Scully to keep an eye on him. He knew if he went back up there he was probably stuck there for the night.

he told himself as he got out of the car. So what if he just been in the hospital a couple of days ago? He was fine.

He blinked a few times and tried to clear his head. It was slightly throbbing, but he dismissed it. It was probably just he fact he had been thinking too much all day. He remembered the doctors at the hospital telling him he should take it easy because for the first few weeks headaches could be common thing. He shook his head again. After all what did doctors know anyway?

Apparently a lot. Mulder's dull throb seemed to get worse just on the trip in the elevator. He sighed, and pushed it aside as he knocked on Scully's door.

A few seconds later, she opened the door, no longer dressed for the office, but in jeans and sweat shirt. Her red hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she smiled when she saw him.

"Great timing, Mulder. I just called for food." She opened the door wider and let him in.

Mulder smiled and walked in, heading immediately for the couch. He sat and began to rub his temples; he tried to will his headache away.

Scully saw him sit and frowned. When he began to rub his temples, the frown deepened. Then she walked into the kitchen and returned with a glass of water.

"Mulder?" He looked up at her. She was now sitting next to him on the couch, holding something in her hand. "Headache?"

Mulder looked at her and debated whether not to lie or not. He decided he couldn't, so he just nodded miserably.

"Here." She pressed two pills into his hands. Mulder looked down at them. Two white pills that he realized the doctor had given him for the headaches. But he knew the pills and hated the fuzzy feeling they gave him so he had tossed them at the airport. He now realized Scully must have rescued them from the trash. He shook his head and placed the pills back into Scully's hands.

"No, Scully."

"Mulder, the doctor told you that you would have headaches after for a while. I don't think that Tylenol is going to put a dent in them, considering you did get yourself knocked over the head, not once, but three times." She placed the pills back in his hand. "Now take them before the food comes. You can't eat for a half-hour after taking them, so if you take them now, you can eat when the food comes."

Mulder wanted to protest, he really did. But the pain in his head, which had come so suddenly, was growing which each second. He reluctantly swallowed the pills and sat back on the couch, just staring at the wall for a few minutes.

Finally the pain began to subside. But as it was subsiding, that fuzzy feeling he hated began to set in. He wasn't tired, he just couldn't think straight. He sighed, closed his eyes and concentrated.

"Mulder?"

He opened his eyes to find Scully still sitting next to him, her eyes full of concern. He smiled weakly at her. "I'm fine, now."

"Sure, Mulder. You sound so convincing. Your acting skills still need to be perfected." She picked up the glass and brought it back into the kitchen.

Mulder sighed again, and just sat back on the couch.

Scully's Apartment
7:21 p.m.

"Hey," Scully said softly. "Food's here."

Mulder looked up at Scully, the drug in his system wavering her image slightly. "K," he mumbled and rose slowly, keeping his head as still as possible. The medicine Scully had given him twenty minutes ago was doing nothing but making him dizzy. Sure, it had dulled the pain a great deal, but, at this point, he'd rather have pain than be fuzzy like this.

After a half hour of Mulder picking at his Chinese food, he stood, brought his plate over to the sink, and went into the living room. "Can I use your computer?" he said.

"Sure. Not too long though, the light will hurt your head."

"Mm hm," he said absently. He logged onto the Internet and pulled out the list of men that Agent Miles had given him. Each man worked in a fairly ordinary job, but something seemed to pull them together. Looking over the names of the companies again, Mulder realized that all of these men held factory jobs; probably low skill, low paying. He got on the FBI Net, and found each of the companies, but nothing else seemed to tie them together.

"Mulder. Phone," Scully called from the kitchen.

He took the portable from her. "Mulder," he said.

"Hey buddy! How are you doing? I hear you got out of the hospital pretty early. After-- what was it?-- four concussions?"

Mulder grinned. "Just three. Hey, Mark."

"Well, I was just calling to talk to your beautiful partner, but when I heard you were around, I thought I'd say hello."

"Say it."

"Hello."

"Hi. Mark, what comes to mind when you think about factory workers?"

"Um assembly line? Why?" Mark asked.

"Nothing important," Mulder said. In the search box on the Internet, he typed in "Assembly Line."

"Hey Mulder, you're using up both of my lines of communication," Scully called. "I need one of them back. Preferably the phone. And get off that computer, I can see it killing your brain cells as we speak."

"What brain cells?" Mulder said.

"Huh?" Mark said.

"Nothing. Look, I gotta go, but keep in touch, all right?"

"Sure," Mark said. "Bye."

"Bye." They hung up and Mulder handed Scully the phone. Mulder stared blankly at the computer screen for a minute, before a sharp flash of pain registered in his head and the pounding headache was back. "I'm going to crash now, if that's okay. You want me to do any dishes or anything?"

"No, all done. You want another pill?" Scully asked.

Mulder shook his head a little bit. He grabbed his briefcase off the floor and started for the door. "See you tomorrow."

"Hey, wait a minute. Where do you think you're going?"

"Home," Mulder said.

"Uh uh. You're sleeping here tonight. That way I can make sure you _do_ sleep." Scully said, putting her hands on her hips.

"Scully, my head hurts too much for me to do anything right now."

"Then why not sleep here? That way you don't have to drive, free breakfast, and I can keep an eye on you."

"Free breakfast...?"



In a parked car
Washington, D.C.

"He logged onto FBI Net. Searching for factory names."

"I know," said a quiet voice. "I knew he would. Did he find anything?"

"Not much. What should we do?"

"Nothing. Let him dig his own grave. We'll just supply the shovels."

Smoke filled the car.

Scully's Apartment
5:49 a.m.

The first dim rays of sunlight shining through the window would have woken Mulder up, if he hadn't already been awake. He had been staring blankly at the walls for the last hour. Thinking.

Not that it had gotten him anywhere. He wanted information, he _needed_ it. His short computer search had turned up nothing. He remembered what Mark said. Assembly lines. That might just be the connection between the companies. But it didn't make any sense! Nothing did!

He got up and tossed the covers aside. Thankfully his headache from last night had subsided. All he had left of it was a small dull throb. That he could deal with. He carefully walked out of the room, careful not to disturb Scully. The last thing he needed now was her ordering him back to bed. He glanced at his watch. 5:52. Well, it was dawn at least.

He walked into the living room, almost tripping over the pile of folders he had left beside the couch. But why was he hiding them? He had a right to know what he father was involved in. Why should he have to defend that action to Scully. Or hide it from her for that matter?

He picked up the blue folder sitting on top of the pile.

The same blue folder. He threw the folder back down, disgusted. The folder landed on the floor with a soft thud, and fell open. Mulder found himself staring at a paper he had never seen before.

It wasn't a photocopy like the others. It was a piece of paper covered in plastic, so old it was yellow. Mulder realized Kennedy must have covered it to protect it and then stuck it so deep in the pile of papers that it was easy to miss.

A simple piece of paper, bearing only a date.

November 27, 1973.

Mulder quickly went to the last paper and looked at the handwritings again. He stared from them to the paper. Mulder picked up the papers in haste. There was no doubt in his mind that the person who wrote that date was the same unidentified person who signed the last paper so illegibly that you couldn't even make out the first letter.

Airport
6:45 a.m.

Mulder stood on the line for tickets, his duffel bag clutched to his side. It was almost 7 a.m., Scully would notice he was gone by now, he realized. But he kept waiting.

he told himself. And so he continued to rationalize the situation for the next ten minutes as he stood on line to go back to California.

Yes, Bryan Kennedy was the last person he wanted to talk to. He dreaded having to speak even one word to that sonofabitch. But he needed to. He needed to know where that folder came from. So if he had to hold a gun to Kennedy's head to get it out of him, he would.

Mulder raised a tired hand up to rub his forehead, which was beginning to throb again. He realized he didn’t even have any Tylenol with him.

Scully was most likely going to kill him when she found out where he went. He had scribbled a note saying that he had just gone out for a while and would be back for dinner. Hopefully she would believe that and leave him alone. But the chances of that happening were slim to none. He had probably made the mistake of taking his cell phone, because that was the first thing she'd try. he thought with a smile.

He finally reached the head of the line, , and bought his tickets. He'd lucked out. His flight would leave in 30 minutes. Hopefully Scully wouldn't track him down by then. Hopefully.

Scully's house
6:46 a.m.

She had glanced in the guest room, but Mulder's bed was empty. Figures he'd be up already.

"Mulder?" Scully called as she entered the living room and kitchen area. No response. "Mulder," she tried again. He wasn't there. A yellow post-it sporting Mulder's scrawling handwriting was stuck on the counter. Scully shuddered, remembering Kennedy's little notes that were done on post-its.

Went out for a while. Will be back for dinner.

Mulder

Scully shook her head. It was just like Mulder to run out on her. Who knows where he was. Probably at work; just contradicting everything she told him not to do. Maybe she'd go into work and catch him red handed. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea. But first she was going to have a leisurely breakfast, _then_ she'd go chasing after her partner.

Airplane
7:30 a.m.

Mulder's ears had plugged up the minute the plane had taken off, and between that and his headache, he wasn't a very happy camper. He managed to grab some sleep on the six hour flight, but his headache had only worsened when they landed.

Squinted against the bright lights and neon signs of the city, Mulder hailed a taxi, amazed at how easy it was in LA (if only it was this simple in D.C....) and went directly to the twenty-second street jail.

Unfortunately, it was only 8 a.m. California time, and stores were _just_ opening on the Saturday. The jail opened at 8:30, so Mulder sat outside on a bench, with his head tilted back and his eyes closed, enjoying the sunlight. With his eyes closed, the sun didn’t hurt his head, it just made him feel nicely warm and relaxed.

The guard led Mulder to Bryan Kennedy's cell. "Good luck," the guard said.

Bryan was handcuffed, and sat on a narrow bed in one corner.

"Hello," he greeted Mulder coldly.

Mulder took a deep breath, wishing he felt more ready to face Kennedy. His head was really hurting him, and his other injuries seemed to want to make themselves known at that particular moment: his ribs, shoulder, even the gash under his eye which was just a scar now, seemed to hurt.

"Hey Bryan," he said. Mulder reached into his duffel bag and pulled out the folder with the signatures on it.

"That's mine, asshole," Bryan told him, his voice low and almost threatening.

"I know. And I'd like it if you could tell me a little more about the papers in here. Like who these people are. And where you found this piece of paper." Mulder kept his voice even and held the paper bearing the date, November 27, 1973 in his hand. When Kennedy made no attempt to respond, Mulder went over and kicked him in the shin. "Now, shall we?"


J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.
7:30 a.m.

Scully nearly collided with Skinner on her way to the basement.

"Agent Scully. I was worried--"

"What's wrong, sir?" Scully asked. She had been having a relaxing morning so far, and was alarmed by her boss's stress.

"I called you at home. Nobody answered. I was afraid that..."

Scully smiled assuringly. "Mulder and I are fine, sir. Well, actually, Mulder is in big trouble right now. Or, rather, will be when I find him. I'm off to the basement, sir, I need to tell off Mulder for working when I told him not to."

"Scully," Skinner said slowly. "I was just down there. Mulder's not in the basement."

Airport
Washington, D.C
8:30 p.m.

Mulder's head hurt. His shoulder ached. The little bit of rest he managed to get on the plane had done nothing for his throbbing head. And when he thought back to what happened in that jail cell his head hurt even more.

It was like talking to a brick wall. A very _angry_ brick wall. Mulder had tried to get something out of him for 2 hours, but all he got were many angry stares. Mulder remembered how he banged (his now throbbing) wrist into the wall in frustration. But something must have paid off, for as soon as he began to exit the cell, Kennedy spoke.

"Marcus Berkowitz. Not him personally. His kid. Wanted a lot of cash for the papers. Was very nervous. Seems his old man doesn’t know he stole the papers from him." Then Kennedy was silent again.

That little piece of information was barely anything to go on, but it was better than nothing. Marcus Berkowitz’s kid. Berkowitz was one of the names on the paper, Mulder noted. The person who was not yet retired, too, his photographic memory told him. , Mulder had thought as he left the jail.

But now as he walked through a crowed airport, he was beginning to think how he would be able to prove it. He’d have to locate this Berkowitz kid, but then what? He raised a tired hand to rub his head; it was pounding too fiercely now for him to concentrate now anyway.

He glanced down at his rumpled clothes and decided a change at his apartment was probably a good idea before he headed back to Scully’s. Then maybe he could stand her yelling. He sighed as his head seemed to throb in protest.

Apartment 42
Alexandria, Virginia
9:13 p.m.

Scully checked her watch again. And again. And again. She tore her glance from his watch and stared around Mulder’s empty apartment for the thousandth time. She had been sitting her for over two hours, after she had scoured the FBI and every place she could think of in D.C. Even Skinner helped her check the FBI. She had been worried, and hoped that Mulder had just decided to take another drive. But still……

She got up from her place on Mulder’s couch and began pacing. She could tell he hadn’t been back to the apartment. The piles of clothes he always left on his bed were still there. She always thought he thought of his bed as another dresser, instead of a place to sleep. "That’s what my couch is for, Scully," he had once told her. She looked back at the couch and saw the neatly folded ( she thought) blankets at the bottom of the couch, and knew he hadn’t used them since before they left for California. She laughed at the fact that only two things folded and neat in this apartment were the two things he rarely used: blankets and his bed.

Scully stopped pacing and sat back down on the couch. She checked her watch again. 9:15 p.m. She was beginning to grow _very_ worried. she told herself. She started to play with her hands, and tried very hard to stop thinking of the bad situations Mulder could get himself into. Scully dropped her hands to her lap and sighed.

The sound of a key turning interrupted her thoughts. She watched the door and was soon met by Mulder, smiling at her with a sheepish grin.

Apartment 42
Alexandria, Virginia
9:13 p.m.

Mulder approached his door thinking of the excuses he could tell Scully. ‘I went for another drive, Scully’, ‘I just needed some time to myself’, or ‘I was abducted by aliens and they made me write that letter to you’ were some of the excuses he had come up with thus far. He smiled at the last one. The things he could think of when facing an angry Scully and a migraine the size of Texas.

He reached into his pocket and clumsily retrieved his keys. He found the right one and slipped it into the keyhole and turned it quickly. He opened the door and was surprised, though he knew he shouldn’t be, to see Scully staring at him, her eyebrow raised.

He grinned at her sheepishly. "Ah Scully….," he began, but had to stop when a large pain hit his head. He closed his eyes, and swayed.

Scully’s expression changed completely. She soon rushed to his side.

"Mulder," she said, and reached out to steady him.

Mulder vaguely heard her calling his voice, but it sounded far away. His headache decided then to hit him full force and tried to steady himself, but found the task difficult. He felt Scully’s hands trying to do the same, but they were both failing. Scully called his name again and he barely heard it. The next thing he knew he didn’t hear anything and everything was black.

9:15 p.m.
Mulder's apartment

Scully tried to slapping Mulder lightly to get him to come around, but he wasn't responding. She considered calling 911, but wasn't sure that was the right thing. After all, she was a doctor, she could handle it.



She finally decided to call Skinner.

"Yes, sir, I, um, need your advice on something."

"Concerning your partner?" Skinner asked.

"Yes," Scully said. She suddenly felt very stupid.

Scully heard his sigh. "What's the problem? Did you find him?"

"Yes, I did."

"Well, where was he?"

"Actually, sir, I don't know. He's not really up to speaking right now."

There was a pause. "Do you want to elaborate on that, Agent Scully?"

"He came home, I was waiting for him in his apartment, and just passed out cold on the floor."

Skinner's voice remained even. "Well, does he look beat up? Do you think anyone hurt him?"

"No, that's just the thing. He doesn't look any worse than the last time I saw him. Except that he's unconscious now."

"Maybe you should call 911," Skinner said.

"I don't know... I think I should too, but something tells me they're not going to know what to do either..."

"Dana," Skinner said gently, and Scully jumped, hearing her first name uttered from her boss's mouth. "With Mulder, things aren't always as they appear. You know him best, what do you think you should do?"

Scully sat on the floor, staring down at her unconscious partner, her mouth slightly open in thought. In response, he suddenly gasped and his body lurched off the floor. As quickly as he had awakened, he fell back to the floor, his eyes squeezed shut in pain, but he was awake now.

"Hold on, sir," Scully said. "I think he just came to."

"Scully?"

"Yeah," she said. She put two fingers on Mulder's neck and found his pulse fast, but strong. "Sir, I need to go. Take care of him. I'll call you back when things are under control."

"All right, bye."

Scully turned her full attention to Mulder who was groaning.

"Mulder," she said. "What's the matter?" He didn't answer her. "What hurts? Who hurt you? You need to tell me."

He struggled to sit up but Scully put a hand on his shoulder, keeping him horizontal.

"Not yet. Who do this to you, Mulder?" she said.

"No one," he gasped out. "Scully. Exedrin."

"What the hell are you talking about? Exedrin?" Scully took his arm and slowly
pulled him upright. He kept his eyes shut but even so continued to wince occasionally.

"Do you think you could turn those lights off?" Mulder said. His voice sounded weird to his own ears, pounding in his head.

"Uh, sure," Scully said. She got up and turned the lights off. "Better?"

Mulder groaned. "Yeah." He pushed himself to his feet and went over to the couch, stumbling a little. Kicking off his shoes, he collapsed onto the couch.

"Uh uh uh, Mulder, you're not getting away that easy." Scully sat down on the edge of the couch. She turned Mulder's body so he was facing her. "Now c'mon, tell me what hurts."

"My head. It's okay. Probably just the aftermath of the concussion. I oughta know about that." He gave a half-hearted laugh.

"You don't look so okay," Scully said. She studied his face for a minute; it was tight with pain lines. "Do you want what the hospital gave you, or the usual Tylenol?"

"Um... hospital's stuff."

Scully frowned. Mulder had never taken anything stronger than extra-strength Tylenol unless it was dripping into him via IV. He hated the way it fogged up his brain. But now he was asking for it. Scully stood and got the medicine and a cup of water.

"Drink," she said and he opened his eyes and took the glass. Downing the pills and half the water, he murmured thanks, handed her the glass and let his eyes drift shut.

"Mulder," Scully said.

"Later. I need to sleep. Okay," Mulder said, and was asleep.


Mulder's apartment
4:17 a.m.

His head still hurt, but he felt considerably better than he had last night. He did want to sleep, but his brain wouldn't let him rest. So here he was, up at the crack of dawn, logged on to the FBI net on his laptop. On his screen was an in depth profile of Marcus F. Berkowitz.

According to this, Marcus F. Berkowitz had two children, a girl and a boy. Susan, age twenty-three, was a successful banker, living in upstate New York, married to a Mr. Ralph Bryant. Caleb Berkowitz, twenty-six, lived in D.C. with some government job, the profile was unspecified.

The unspecificness caused Mulder suspicion. Caleb Berkowitz, in the same exact position as Mulder was. Son of a conspirator. Quite a position to hold.

Mulder took off his reading glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He glanced down at his watch. 4:24 and his head was already throbbing. Some vacation.


Mulder's apartment
7:14 a.m.

Mulder grabbed the ringing phone.

"Mulder."

"Mulder? This is Skinner."

"Sir?"

"Yes," Skinner said. "I was just checking up on you. You had Scully pretty worried last night. Are you all right?"

Mulder rubbed his forehead. "Yes sir. Thank you sir."

Skinner felt awkward for a moment. "Can I speak to Agent Scully?"

"Actually, I don't know where she is," Mulder said. He hadn't even considered that Scully might have stayed the night. Peering into his bedroom and the office, and finding them vacant, Mulder said, "She's not here, sir. I don't know where she is. Maybe home."

"She didn't stay over? I would have thought..."

"I don't know," Mulder said. "Sorry to do this, sir, but I have to go. Get ready for work."

"Mulder, you're on vacation. Do I need to remind you of this?"

"Actually, I thought I might come into the office today. I need to do some looking-up and the Net's database doesn't have everything. I'll see you later."

"No, Mulder, wait. I don't want to see you in work today." Skinner sighed. "Agent Scully is very worried about you and, frankly Mulder, so am I. You gave us both quite a scare last night."

Mulder blinked, confused. "Sir?"

"Agent Scully called me when you passed out and she couldn't wake you up. She was scared and so was I."

"I'm sorry. I really need to go now, sir."

"Mulder, don't come into the office. I swear, if I see you, I will call up Agent Scully and we will drag you home together. Do I make myself clear?"

Mulder dropped down on the couch. "Yessir."

Skinner said, "And Mulder. I don't know what you're getting yourself into, but don't. I know I can't stop you from your private investigations, as long as you don't make them FBI business, but, be careful."

Mulder hung up the phone, still wondering why his boss was so interested in his well being. Truth was when Mulder woke up he half expected to find himself in another hospital. He was surprised when he didn’t. He rubbed his head again and his eyes wandered toward his kitchen.

He got up and entered it; he hoped he had something in his fridge. he thought as he approached the refrigerator. He stopped when he saw a note stuck to it by his lone magnet.

Mulder,
Had to meet my mom for breakfast. I’ll be back to check on you. If you even _think_ of leaving your apartment, I will personally shoot you.
-Scully

PS – I’ll bring some groceries as well. I noticed your cupboards were bare.

was the first thought that came to Mulder’s mind as he read the letter. As he thought of Scully bringing food, he suddenly realized how hungry he was. He hadn’t eaten since the Chinese he had with Scully the night before last.

His eyes strayed to his keys, which were sitting on the kitchen table. He didn’t know how they gotten there, but they were sitting in the middle of the table along with his wallet and badge. he thought dismissively as his hands reached for the keys. For a minute he stood there, thinking. He held the keys in his hand, his fingers grasping them, toying with the idea of leaving.

He shook his head. his brain told him. He shook his head against his thoughts, but knew they were true. How many times had he "ditched" Scully? More than he could count, he realized. He dropped the keys back to the table, but continued to stare at them.

Caleb Berkowitz. The name came back to him, like a bad dream. The one who gave Kennedy his "information." Mulder’s mind ran through the info he had from Kennedy and came up with, at least in his mind, a situation.

A rich kid. Probably ignored as a child. Needed to fit in, so he went for the heavy "stuff." Drugs maybe, booze more likely. Addiction followed. He needed some serious cash to keep up with his addiction and he probably didn’t have a problem getting the money, for a while. Through high school, he had to hide his secret. Asked dear old Dad for cash, and made excuses. New shoes. Have to take the girlfriend out to dinner. All was well until Dad found out about his addiction. Cut him off. Stealing followed, that Mulder knew from some light charges that "Daddy" most likely used to his power to get cut in half. And now Caleb probably resorted to selling his Daddy’s secrets to keep feeding his addiction.

Mulder mused and sat down at his kitchen table. He pushed some papers out of way and ignored how much his apartment needed to be cleaned. He began to go through papers until he found a blank sheet and grabbed a pencil from the stack he had placed on his table when he first arrived home.

He tapped it lightly, thinking. Caleb. He wrote the name on the paper and stared at it. Marcus Berkowitz’s kid. Berkowitz. He wrote that name down and stared at it. Had his father ever known anyone by that name? He knew his father had many "friends", but could this Berkowitz be one of them? He father didn’t leave a paper trail. At least not one he could find.

But that didn’t that one didn’t exist. Maybe he wasn’t looking hard enough. He recalled his father did keep books, but he always dismissed them as work, though when he asked to see them, he was greeted with an angry word, and if no one was around, perhaps a slap or two. He learned at a young age that his father’s work was not his business, and to stop while he was ahead. His mind remembered how much "work" his father toted around Samantha’s abduction. Some big folders, blue mostly. They were off limits, Mulder had learned quickly. Not to be touched. Even Bill Mulder would get angry if Samantha touched them, though he was never as harsh with her as he was with Mulder.

He remembered how his father had brought a lot of work to the summer house, in
Quonochontaug, the summer before Samantha was taken. A summer he had blocked out, though a few memories still peaked through. He even remember one particular instance, when he touched his father’s papers.

It was a rainy day, with no where but inside for young Fox and Samantha to go. Board games were boring, videos had lost their appeal, and rough housing was now the choice of activity.

Samantha’s happy shrieks filled the hallways as they ran about. Their mother was out, a lunch date or something, she never told them much of where she went that summer.

He caught her, by the stairs and she screamed for him to let her go.

"Fox! Let me go!" But there were giggles in her voice, and he smiled. At that time, there was nothing like tackling your little sister to pass a rainy day.

Bill Mulder sat in the dinning room, papers spread on the table, instructions carefully given that they were not to disturb him.

Samantha twisted from his grip, laughing. She smiled, her brown braids swinging as she turned to run from him again. He ran to catch her, but paused as she ran toward the dining room.

"Fox? You give up?" Her blue eyes teased him, and he resumed his chase.

It happened fast. He didn’t even remember how. But somehow a load of his father’s paperwork ended up on the floor. All he could hear was his father’s voice booming and echoing off the walls. The rain pounded on the roof and he and Samantha were silent.

"I’ll—I’ll pick it up," he had stammered, and bent down to pick up the paper.

He will still remember the beating he got that day for years to come, but as Mulder remembered the day now, he only remembered one thing.

The paper.

The one he picked up and tried to hand back to his father, even as he blew up at him.

The paper that held a signature at the bottom.

One he never thought was important until today.

One he never even thought he would remember. Until today.

He remembered the huge sloppy letters that read Marcus Berkowitz.


Airplane
11:16 a.m.

Mulder closed his eyes and leaned his head back. "I really shouldn't be doing this," he muttered.

"Excuse me?" the lady next to him said.

"Nothing," Mulder said.

It was a fairly short flight and they made it without hitting any weather or technical difficulties. Mulder managed to get out of the airport extremely quickly, seeing as how he had no baggage, and hailed a taxi.

"Rudyard Street, Quonochontaug," he said.

The cabbie turned around to get a look at his passenger. "Hey guy, that's pretty far. You sure you got the money on you?"

Mulder laughed, realizing that without his suit and a badge in his hand, he looked like any old guy off the streets. Especially with the long scar across his cheekbone-- earned from their last case-- which made him look a little tough.

"Yeah, I've got it."

"Okay!"

Mulder paid the driver and stepped out in the yard of his old summer house. Pulling the key out from under the mat, he unlocked the door and stepped inside. The house, though a bit mustier than he remembered it, smelled and felt exactly the same. He dropped down on the couch and thought that being here was a bit comforting even, in a way.

What Mulder was afraid of, was if what he would _find_ here would be comforting.



Scully's mother's home
12:16 p.m.

"Just a minute mom," Dana said. She pulled her cell out of her pocket and pressed one. "Scully," she answered.

"Yeah, Agent Scully, it's me."

"Sir?"

"Uh, yeah," Skinner said. "Scully, do you know the current whereabouts of Agent Mulder?" He sounded uncertain.

Scully took a sip of her tea and looked across the kitchen table at her mom, who was eating her sandwich and looking at her daughter questioningly.

"I believe he's at home, sir."

"His cell is turned off."

"Did you try his home number?" Scully said.

"Yeah, no one answered. Look, Scully, it's not my job to keep track of where my agents are twenty-four/seven; especially not when they're on vacation. But someone has got to keep an eye on that partner of yours."

"Sir," Scully said slowly. "To the best of my knowledge, Mulder is still at his apartment. He might just not be picking up the phone, he does that a lot. I'm at my mother's right now, but I'll be going back to Agent Mulder's house within the hour. I'll be happy to call you when I find him, all right?"

"Yes, Agent Scully. Thank you. Sorry to disturb you."

Scully was a bit taken aback by her boss' concern and his recent dropping of his well-I'm-higher-than-you-on-the-food-chain-so-there attitude. "No trouble. Goodbye, sir."

"Bye," Skinner said.

"What was that all about?" Maggie Scully asked.

"Nothing much," Dana said. "Just my boss checking up on Mulder."

"Oh, what's the matter with Fox, now?" Maggie asked.

Dana laughed. "Nothing's the matter with him _now_. Gosh mom, you act like he's always causing trouble!"

"Well he is, isn't he, dear?"


Summer house at Quonochontaug
12:30 p.m.

Mulder was ripping out drawers, trying to find something.... something..... anything! Truth was, there wasn't much left to the place but dust and some moth eaten furniture.

PALM, Mulder remembered. The clue his mother had given him. But his father hadn't left him with any clues.

A crash from the other end of the house caused him to jump. His hand reached down for his gun, but remembered that he was on vacation, he didn't _have_ a gun. Moving slowly, pressed against the wall, Mulder made his way into the front room where the crash had come to. Standing in the front doorway was a man, about Mulder's height, looking as startled as he. Mulder recognized the man.

"Caleb Berkowitz," Mulder said, slowly. Caleb's eyes widened, then his hand reached out, grabbed the poker from the fireplace which was leaning against the wall next to him, and in one swift motion, brought the poker up and whacked Mulder over the head with it.

Mulder saw stars, and then black.


Mulder's apartment
1:01 p.m.

"Mulder?" Scully opened the door to his apartment with the spare key that she possessed and stepped inside. "Hey Mulder?"

No answer. Scully went into the back rooms but found the whole apartment vacant.

"HE DITCHED ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Mulder’s apartment
1:21 p.m.



Scully sat at Mulder’s cluttered kitchen table to think that one over. He must have been in a hurry because he left his badge on the table. Scully picked it up and flipped it open, as if it held some key to where he had headed.

But as she turned to find a piece of paper left on the table, she knew the idea that he had just gone for a drive was very slim. She picked up the piece of paper and frowned.

Caleb Berkowitz.
Paper trail.

She sighed. The words meant nothing to her, but she would bet a month’s salary that they meant something to Mulder. She turned and almost knocked a stack of papers on the floor.

Scully carefully went through the papers. She was about to give up when her eyes came across a blue folder. The blue folder she recognized immediately. She opened it and flipped through it quickly, noticing the last sheet was missing.

So that was it. Mulder was on a quest. He wanted to know why his father’s name was on that sheet of paper. And, Scully knew, that he had every right to find out the reason. It was just you never got answers without a price. And that price was usually expensive.

She sighed. Now she knew why had he run off, but where was another story. She glanced back at the piece of paper she still held in her hand. Curious, she flipped it over.

Flight 416. 10:03 a.m.

Scully mused as she pulled out her cell phone and quickly dialed information and got the airport’s phone number.

"I’d like to know some information about a flight," Scully said as soon as a friendly woman from airport information picked up.

"On which flight, ma’am?" the woman asked in her cheerful voice.

"Could you tell me where flight 416, which left at 10:03 a.m., was heading?"

"Sure, please hold a minute, please." Scully heard the clicking of computer keys and after a minute the woman’s voice returned.

"That flight was heading to Province, Rhode Island. It arrived on time at 10:57 a.m. Can I help you with anything further?"

"No thank you," Scully quickly answered, thanked the woman and hung up the phone. There was only one place in Rhode Island that Scully knew Mulder had in mind. Scully, ignoring the fact she could drive to Rhode Island and size of her credit card balance, dialed back the airport and make reservations to be on the next plane to Rhode Island. She didn’t want to waste time driving there. Mulder better be ready to pay for this when she found him and dragged his sorry recovering ass back to D.C.


Quonochontaug, RI
3:12 p.m.

Mulder groaned as the rays of sunshine peeked through the window, shining on his face. His eyelids flickered as he tried desperately to open them. Finally he succeeded and immediately closed them again against the bright sunlight.

Remembering who struck him over the head, Mulder quickly pushed himself up. The room swam before him, and a huge wave of dizziness hit him. He sat up carefully, and closed his eyes, trying to will the dizziness away.

Finally the room came back into view and the dizziness subsided. Mulder carefully and slowly got to his feet, steadying himself on the fireplace. He looked around and saw a poker laying on the floor. He grabbed his head again.

Suddenly Mulder heard a noise. Like a door opening. Mulder carefully bent down to pick up the poker, his head protesting with every movement. He gripped it, deciding this time he would get some answers out of Caleb.

Quonochontaug, RI
3:15 p.m.

"Yeah well, same to you buddy," Scully muttered as she walked away from the cabbie with disgust.

She interrupted her thoughts as she gazed at the house before her. The last time she had seen this place was…..a while ago. Mulder’s demons remained in that house. She shuddered as she thought about how Mulder acted that….last time. She walked to the door, surprised to find it slightly ajar. She carefully pushed the door open and stepped inside, almost tripping as she did.

She eyed the rooms carefully, although emptiness was the only thing that greeted her. It was so quiet that it was almost "spooky." She held some noises from her left and quickly gripped her gun, hoping if anyone was in here, it was just Mulder and no one else.

The noises stopped, and that worried Scully more. She now withdrew her gun, praying to God that Mulder hadn’t gotten himself into major trouble again. She rounded the corner, her gun drawn, and almost smiled at the sight which greeted her.

Mulder stood by the fireplace, poker in hand, ready to strike the first person who entered. They made quite a pair. One with a poker extended; the other a gun aimed. Both dropped their weapons once they realized who they were aiming for.

"Sorry, Scully," Mulder muttered, his gaze dropping to the floor.

Scully smiled and rescued her gun. She was so happy that Mulder was all right, she almost forgot he ditched her. Almost.

"Mulder," she said, ready to begin her lecture. Then she noticed the lump at the top of Mulder’s forehead, almost hidden by his hair. She also noticed how he was slightly off balance as he stood. She frowned in concern.

"What happened, Mulder?" she asked as she walked closer to him, and laid a hand on his forehead, causing him to wince.

"I was just-" he trailed off like a little boy who had just been caught with his hands in the cookie jar.

Scully lifted his chin up to get a better look at him. "Investigating?" she said quietly.

"Yeah," he answered, shutting his eyes.

"Uh uh, Mulder. No sleeping when you could have a possible concussion. Awake for at least 12 hours, remember?" She looked into his eyes, only concern on her face. She would deal with the rest later.

"So how did it happen?" she asked, as she put a hand around his waist.

"Poker to the head from behind," he admitted.

Scully grew alarmed. "From who?"

Mulder winced as he jerked his head to turn to her. "Let’s just say someone who less then enthusiastic to see me." He closed his eyes again

"Doesn’t that cover half the free world?" Scully teased trying to keep him awake.

"That hurt, Scully," Mulder answered, but didn’t open his eyes. Scully jerked his shoulder a little and his eyes perked open, full of pain.

"Sorry. But you can’t fall asleep."

"I wasn’t falling asleep. I was resting my eyes."

They reached the outside and Scully realized that neither of them had a car. She helped Mulder sit on the steps and pulled her cell phone to call a cab.

When she finished, she turned and found Mulder staring at the ground.

"Mulder?" she asked worried.

"I just thinking, Scully. Not slipping into a coma. I’m lucky I have a hard head." He gave her a weak smile.

Silence fell between them.

"Scully, you think someone could hide something so well that he doesn’t even leave a clue?"

Scully moved next to him on the step, knowing right way what he talking about. She thought for a minute. "I guess I would have to say no, Mulder. Everyone has skeletons in their closet. Someday they get discovered. I learned that even if you don’t get discovered in this life, you can’t hide in the next one."

Mulder was quiet, thinking. "I don’t know if I can have faith like that Scully. I think the idea of a next life is…"

"Unconvincing?" Mulder looked at Scully surprised. "Mulder, everyone has doubts. Even me." She paused. "I already have."

"But what if this goes deeper, Scully? Suddenly I’m having doubts in everything. Everything I ever believed in." He was silent again. Scully didn’t know why he was telling all of this to her, but that didn’t matter.

"Ever tell you I was Jewish, Scully?" He looked at her.

"I don’t believe you ever did, Mulder."

Another pause.

"Well, I was."

"Why the past tense?"

Mulder looked at the ground, suddenly seeming to find it very interesting. A few minutes passed until Mulder spoke again, very quietly.

"I don’t know."

Mulder's apartment
2:17 a.m.

Mulder was beyond exhaustion, but knew he wasn't allowed to go to sleep for another hour yet. Scully was sleeping in the other room; she had left him around ten with strict orders not to sleep until three fifteen, and then when he was ready to turn in, to wake her up first, so she could check him out.

Ugh, next time Scully forced him to stop working and get some sleep, he'd comply readily.

"Never knew what I was missing," he mumbled.

"Hey," Scully said from the doorway.

Mulder looked up and blinked at her. "Hi," he said.

Scully was surprisingly peppy for two in the morning. "I was up so I thought I'd check and make sure you hadn't fallen asleep on me." She sat down on the edge of the couch where he was stretched out. "C'mere." With her thumb and index finger, she pulled his chin close to her face and examined his eyes. Bringing her other arm around the side of his head, she probed the bump, apologizing softly when he winced and ground his teeth. When she was done, she gently pushed him back down on the couch, and retrieved a cup of water and two pills from the kitchen.

Mulder recognized them immediately. The medicine he had been given after his last three consecutive concussions.

"No," he said. He turned his head away.

"Mulder." Her voice was low, commanding.

"Uh uh, Scully. I don't like the way they make me feel."

"I know. But I bet your head is killing you, and frankly, I think it would be in your best interest to be out of it for a little while. That way you can postpone the scolding you're going to get."

"No," Mulder said, and closed his eyes. The pain was making him fuzzy enough; he didn't need the help of any drug. He would have preferred for Scully to leave, so he could have some private time, but he was too exhausted to argue. Stuffing his face in the pillow, he fell asleep.


Mulder's apartment
2:26 p.m.

"Uhhhhhh," Mulder said when he entered the kitchen.

"Up already?" Scully teased. She was enjoying a late lunch of Chinese take-out, and playing solitaire on her laptop. She watched with a doctor's eye as her partner dropped into the other kitchen chair and let his head fall to the table top. "Hey Mulder," she said.

No answer.

"Hey Fox," Scully said.

"Don't call me that," he mumbled.

"Fox..."

"What?" Mulder snapped, sitting up abruptly, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain.

Scully felt bad. "Sorry. I need your attention though, I got some more information on your guy."

Mulder didn't answer her but continued to glare.

"Well, I know that you know Caleb Berkowitz has a government job, but you're not sure what exactly it is. Well I found out."

"Hold on a sec," Mulder said. "How do you know that?"

"You told me. On the flight home last night."

Mulder blinked. "Oh. Okay."

Scully cocked her head, becoming very worried for a minute. "Mulder what day is it?"

He chewed his lip. "Friday?"

"Close enough," Scully said. "Year?"

"Ninety eight. Okay?"

"President."

"Oh God, I really don't know," Mulder said. He tapped his fingers on the table. "Hillary?"

"Mm hm. Okay, so about Caleb Berkowitz. Apparently he's got a job with the Air Force. He's not a pilot or anything.... more like Air Force Intelligence."

Mulder snickered.

"And no mentions of an oxymoron, got that G-man? That's Military Intelligence. The joke only works for that," Scully said.

"Damn."

"All right, so we've got an intelligent guy on our hands. He's in a government position, probably waves around a badge often, has access to some places you and I don't."

"Area 51?"

"Don't even start, Mulder. Now Mr. Berkowitz works with a small group of other intelligent men who flash their badges a lot, and together they are part of something called Project Allyanna. Ever heard of that?"

"Uh uh."

"Me either. Shall we find out?"

"What are you talking about?" Mulder asked.

"Well, c'mon. Let's go visit good ole J. Edgar. I'm sure he misses you."

J. Edgar Hoover Building
3:39 p.m.

His office. Mulder smiled at the mess of papers that sat on his desk and beat-up garbage can that sat in one corner. he thought

Immediately he sat down in his desk and propped his feet up on desk and turned his chair to meet Scully’s face. She gave a smile up her own. He definitely was in his environment here. She sat down in another chair and faced him.

Mulder turned to his poster and sighed. "It’s great to home."

"Depends on your definition of home," Scully replied with just enough of a smile to prove she was just teasing. She took a seat in her usual "area" and watched him rifle through his papers. She had _tons_ of her own paperwork to do, so she left him on his merry little way as she did what she had to do. She had expected Mulder to boot up his computer and start trying to get what info he could on Project Allyanna. And while he had booted up his computer, he was still rifling through papers. The truth was she was vaguely interested in Mulder’s search. She wished he could find the answers, then maybe she could stop growing gray hair worrying about him like a mother worrying about her child, or a wife about her…..husband. Scully had to smile at that comparison. Many people had made the assumption that she and Mulder were married, just on the way they acted. She had to stop and explain the fact that they were just partners, and sometimes it grew tiring. She recalled an instance only a few days ago. They were coming back to D.C. from LA Mulder had just gotten out of the hospital, and refused to sit still. She been trying to get him to calm down in the airport, and he had smiled and waved her off, walking toward the gift shop where he would buy the seeds Scully had been denying him for the last few days. Not healthy. Scully had watched him watch off, sighing.

"Husbands are more trouble than they’re worth, aren’t they?" a woman behind her had commented, obviously overhearing their conversation. Scully had opened her mouth to say he wasn’t her husband, but suddenly she had grown very tired of having to explain that. So maybe it was wishful thinking, but instead of explaining she had just smiled and said, "Yes, they are, but they’re worth it."

The woman had smiled back, nodding. Scully had been so lost in that thought, she hadn’t realized Mulder was holding a paper up, a suspicious look on his face.

"Scully?" She looked up, surprised to see him looking toward her. "Was anyone in this office?"

The question wasn’t accusing; it was more of an inquiry. Scully frowned. "I have no idea, Mulder. Why?"

He took his glasses off and sighed, rubbing his temples. "It’s just that….." He sighed again, and laid his glasses on top of the papers in front of him, shaking his head as if he wanted to clear it. He seemed preoccupied all of a sudden. Suddenly he jumped out of his chair and grabbed his coat.

Scully got up and caught his arm. "Where are you going?"

"Out," he replied, then realized that was a stupid answer. He paused and met her eyes. "I need to get some answers."

"From where? I let back into the office Mulder. I was hoping maybe for an hour or two you’d lay off. You don’t…"

"Yes, I do Scully. The office isn’t going to give me any answers." He began to walk again, but she got into his path.

"Then who is?" She stood her ground; she had given him information after all, so she was in this too. He didn’t have to do this alone. Why did he always think he had to do it alone?

"Wherever you’re going, I’m coming," she replied, not giving him a chance to answer her first question. She saw him begin to protest, and she sighed. She was not about to be ditched again. But he seemed to send her a message. He started on the X-Files alone and she knew the day she walked through the door of this basement office, Fox Mulder had wanted to be left alone. He knew she wanted to "debunk" his work, and had tried to give her the message that it didn’t matter what she did, Fox Mulder was fine on his own. Didn’t need a partner. Didn’t need a "spy" was probably more accurate. And it had taken time, but he had begun to respect her. Not agree with her, not by a long shot, in fact it was she that was probably just a little more bend on his way. His "trust no one" motto was easy to see but Dana Scully had broken through. She had become the one person he trusted and that was not an easy task. Yet he still seemed to be alone. She was here, damnit, she wanted to shot, but knew it was useless. It was his expression, his fight: Fox Mulder vs. The World . Well, not anymore. She had broken through his barrier and didn’t need any his "I need to do this, Scully" crap.

"Mulder, I found that information on Berkowitz for you. I’m in this as must in this as you are. It’s not just your fight, Mulder." Her words were soft, yet they hit Mulder like a ton of bricks.

"Scully, I’m sorry," he began as he realized she was right. She was in this. Her abduction, Samantha, those two events the breakdowns of his life, and as he thought about he realized one thing: his father could be involved in both of them. "Daddy Dearest" was around when Scully was gone. Of course Mulder hadn’t spoken to his father then. He had just kept to himself. Scully had family she could open up when something went sour, Mulder didn’t.

"Mulder, one thing you have to learn is everything is not your fault." Scully walked closer to him and they stood a foot apart, their height difference very apparent. "Now who is that has your answers?"

Mulder shrugged avoiding the answers. "I talked to Frohike last night. He and the Gunmen owe me a little ‘research’."

Mulder eyes shifted toward the door, which Scully realized she was till blocking. She grabbed her own coat and together they head out the door toward the elevator. They entered it; they were the only ones in it.

"And they could find something?" Scully was trying to make conversation. Mulder had let her in on his "search." Now if only she could get him to open up more. So if making small talk was one way to get there she would do it.

Mulder shifted positions. "I e-mailed them this morning. Byers said he heard of Air Intelligence project called "Allyanna" in the 70’s. But the project was closed down in 1978. They trying to dig up what they can."

"1978? And it would resurface now? For what purpose?"

"Maybe it never ‘closed down’ in the first place," Mulder commented as the elevator opened to let them out. Scully stood still for a few seconds, considering his words.

"Come on, Scully, Frohike’s awaiting," he teased as he held the door open for you.

Scully thought as she walked out the door.

Lone Gunmen's dwellings
4:00 p.m.

"Password, please."

Mulder pounded at the door until he was afraid he would break right through it. "I'm not in the mood for games now, guys. Let me in." Little pig, little pig. Truth was, he hadn't the slightest what the Gunmen's latest password was.

"Frohike, open the door," Scully said, her voice commanding.

"For you, anything," came the reply. The door swung open, revealing Mulder's
three paranoid friends.

"Hi buddy, why didn't you _say_ you had brought your lovely partner?"

Mulder pushed past them, and made his way through the cluttered room. Taking a seat on a stool by the computer, he said, "What'd you find for me?"

Byers sat down next to him and began typing on the keyboard. A screen popped up. "Apparently Allyanna was ended abruptly in 1978, as I told you before."

"And..." Scully inquired.

"And, for the early Allyanna at least, I came up with a whole stack of information, but its all random. Dates, places, first names. Nothing fits together. I even tried to decode it, but it seems pretty straight forward. As nothing." Byers showed them the list.

Mulder squinted in concentration. "Print me out a copy of that, will you?"

"Sure." They did, and Mulder put the printout into his extensive file of Marcus Berkowitz.

"I'll take a look at those later. Now what did you find about the re-emerging Project Allyanna?"

Langly shrugged. "Not much. A legal lookin' document and some signatures."

"On the database?" Scully asked.

"Yes. I'll print that out for you too, if you want, but it's not too clear. It apparently was scanned on, and the nothing but the signatures is clear."

"I think we'd be interested in those," Scully said slowly, with a look over to Mulder, who nodded.

The printer hummed, and a single page shot out. Mulder slipped it in his file. "Anything else?"

"Want to see what we did to our copy of Mortal Combat? It's now interactive and you can play with up to eighty-six players, plus you have a choice of various nuclear and biological weapons as well as the normal machine guns and such."

"I'll take a rain check, thanks," Mulder said. "See you, gentlemen."

"Bye Mulder."

Walking to the car, Scully had to take several quick steps to keep up to one of her partner's long, determined strides.

"They really didn't help us much, Mulder."

He shrugged. "We'll work with what we can get. These guys are the best, we're not going to get any better than this info here."

Scully peered up. "I've never heard you give in so easily."

"Well, let's just say I have a feeling we can get something out of this."

"Yeah? Want to share with me exactly _what_?" Scully asked. They had reached the car and she pushed Mulder over to the passenger’s side.

"Are you sure your feet can reach the pedals on this car? I'm not sure exactly what. But I know a good source for analyzing signatures, and I think I can get something out of those dates and stuff."

"That's still not a lot," she argued.

"Well, if we get bored, we can always go over and play Mortal Combat."


Mulder's apartment
6:38 p.m.

"Scully, I got something."

"Hm?" Scully looked up from her own pile of dates, places and first names. She had been getting nowhere and hoped Mulder was having more success than she. Hearing his voice was a great relief to her, especially saying the words "I got something."

"Yeah. Look at this date, October 9, 1986."

"What about it?" she asked.

"All the other dates are before 1978, when the project terminated. But this is eight years after. And I think I've seen this date before, I'm not sure where."

"One of Kennedy's files maybe?"

Mulder shrugged. "I don't know. Can you look for it, and I'll keep going through these? I think I've got a system to connect the places to the dates, but I'm not sure about the names."

Scully, hopeful she could outsmart her partner at one thing, said, "Tell me the names, maybe I'll get it."

"Um.... Henry, Oliver, Hart, Martin, Alloicious."

She winced on the last one. "Are those any of the names that have shown up in Kennedy's documents, or Caleb Berkowitz's?"

He shook his head.

Scully stared at the ceiling for a minute. "How about middle names?"

"Actually, I don't know. You may be on to something. See what you can do, okay? I'll be right back." He stood, arched his back in a stretch, then headed for the bathroom. Closing the door after himself, he stood in front of the sink, placed his hands on the rim and leaned forward to get a good look in the mirror. His eyes, he noticed, were bloodshot, and his complexion pale. His head had been pounding for a while now, but he hadn't wanted to mention anything, lest he startle Scully back into her doctor mode. He let the water run for a minute, until it was as cold as he could get it, and cupped his hands under the faucet and brought the water up to his face. It woke him up a bit and, after a three more splashes, he wiped his face with a towel off the rack and returned to the living room.

"Find anything?" he asked.

Scully shook her head. "But I'll keep looking," she said. "Why don't you get back to work on connecting dates to those places."

He nodded and collapsed back on the floor, crossing his legs Indian-style. Swallowing a yawn, he picked up his stack of papers, slid his reading glasses on, and began working.

Mulder’s apartment
7:37 p.m.

Mulder sighed as he turned yet another page. He had found nothing and the pounding in his head that had been a minor problem before was slowly becoming a major difficulty. The words were beginning to blur before his eyes. After all, wasn’t Scully warning him that one of these days he would get eye strain. ; Mulder went back to papers, blinking when the headache and blurred vision refused to vent to his own determination.

He squinted, and was relieved to see some of the words more clearly than he could before. He glanced at Scully, glad to see her engrossed in her own notes. For a minute he just looked at her and smiled. Her eyes were quickly scanning the written text before her, the light reflecting off her own pair of glasses. Her hair fell into her face and she looked so involved, so determined. So….cute.

Mulder shook his head, trying to get the flurries out. He turned his attention back to his squinting to read his papers and away from thinking of Scully. He brought his finger up to follow the words, hoping it would make them easier to read. He was concentrating so hard he barely heard Scully’s voice as she spoke.

"Are you okay, Mulder?"

He looked up at her voice, and let the papers fall to his lap. He felt a yawn wanting to come on, but fought it off. "I’m fine, Scully,’ he replied, though his voice sounded a little weary to his own ears. He hoped Scully didn’t notice.

No such luck. Immediately, she put her own papers down and turned more of her attention toward him. "Mulder, you’re squinting."

Immediately he denied it. "No I’m not."

"Yes you are."

"I’m not." Mulder suddenly felt like he was about to get himself into a game of "are, not", a game he had last played as a child. These days it seemed less a game, more a bargaining chip.

Scully, meanwhile had moved closer toward Mulder. She took his glasses off, folded them neatly and placed them on a table. She took the papers off his lap. "Mulder," she said with a sigh, "when were you going to tell me you felt bad?"

"I feel fine," Mulder repeated beginning to hate those words and the meaning they conveyed.

Scully ignored his words and pushed forward. "How long have you had the headache?" she asked an a no-nonsense voice. Mulder knew it wouldn’t be long before she launched into her "doctor" voice and the actions that came along with it. He relented, knowing he wouldn’t win. When did he ever win, anyway?

"Not long," he admitted and she raised her eyebrows in a look that said, "tell me the truth, Mulder." He sighed. "Ok, well maybe a little longer than that."

Scully let her expression relax and sighed. "Mulder, this has got us both occupied now that neither of us can think straight."

"But we’re close, Scully."

"Aren’t we always, Mulder? Close to the truth, too close. Mulder, I don’t want to think about getting too close. Think of all the times you got too close."

Mulder nodded, recalling the pains he endured from getting to close to "their" plans. Of course he never thought that the "they" he was searching for could be as close as immediate family. He’d always known his father was involved, he just didn’t want to admit to himself that his father had Samantha taken. He had fooled himself, and denied the truth. He had no idea any more. He sighed and let his body slump a little, tired from the thoughts.

Scully was next to him as soon as he slumped. "Mulder, you need some sleep," she reasoned, "and some Excedrin." She got up and walked into the kitchen. Mulder heard the tap run for a second then Scully reappeared, glass and pills in hand. She handed both to him and watched him swallow them carefully.

"Off to bed," she said getting up and offering him a hand. Normally he would have shrugged her hand off and gotten up himself, but he was too tired to be macho. He accepted her hand and she helped him regain his footing. He had barely gotten up before Scully was steering him into his bedroom. He noticed she had pushed the junk he usually kept on his bed off. To where, he didn’t know. She pushed him down onto the bed gently, and he landed with a soft thud.

"Scully, you need rest too. Go home," he told her.

Scully smiled at his remark. "And leave you alone with just your conscience to follow orders? In your dreams, Mulder."

"On the contrary, Scully. Having you stay is part of my dreams," he teased and he thought he saw Scully do a very unScully-like thing: blush.

"Did I just see Agent Scully blush?"

Scully smiled and pushed him down, and took his shoes off. "I think your tired mind is seeing things." She sat down on the edge of the bed and took a good "doctor" glance at him. She gripped his wrist, taking his pulse, and watching her watch.

His hand gripped her wrist as she finished. "I’m fine, Scully. Just a little tired."

"There is no such thing as a little tired for you, Mulder," she teased as her head brushed his forehead. She paused slightly then moved it away. Mulder knew she was checking his temperature and trying to do it without him knowing.

"I don’t have a fever, Scully," he said as he settled against the pillows most comfortably. Suddenly he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open.

"Go to sleep, Mulder." He closed his eyes, the fatigue catching up with him. The last thing he felt as he fell asleep was Scully’s hand again brushing his forehead.

Mulder's apartment
11:21 a.m.

Scully was long gone by the time Mulder managed to drag his eyelids open. Actually, considering the long list of recent injuries he had obtained, he wasn't feeling too bad. Walking to the living room where they had been working last night, Mulder discovered that Scully had had some progress.

On a post-it, in her neat script she had written out the names: Henry, Oliver, Hart, Martin, Alloicious. Under that, she had written, Thomas H. Moralis, Edward O. Sigourney, Marcus H. Berkowitz, Benjamin M. Kahn, Alec A. Harris.

Mulder's phone was ringing. He instinctively reached to his pocket for his cell phone, then realized a. he didn't have his cell on him and b. the ringing was coming from the table. He reached up and grabbed the phone and brought it to his ear.

"Mulder."

"Hi, it's me. Did you find my notes?" Scully.

"Yes, they're right here. What's all this mean though?"

She said, "Look at the middle initials on all of those names. Each middle initial matches up with a first name on that sheet the Gunmen gave us."

Mulder pulled himself up so he was sitting on the couch. "So those first names are actually middle names."

"If my theory is right, yes. It's a simple way of coding who did what but, I have to say, it did throw me off for quite a few hours."

"A few hours?" Mulder asked. "How late were you working."

On her end, Scully shrugged, then realized Mulder couldn't see her and said, "I don't know. Until midnight maybe."

He frowned. "Are you home now?"

"No, I'm at work."

"Scully....."

"Don't worry, _mom_, I got enough sleep. It's pretty late, why don't you come on over now."

Mulder glanced at his watch for the first time that day and saw that it was, indeed, late.

"Sorry partner," he said sheepishly. "I didn't mean to leave you with all the work. Guess I overslept."

"That's okay, you needed it. Come on over when you're ready, I think I found something."



J. Edgar Hoover Building
12:03 p.m.

"What'd you find?" Mulder said when he stepped into the room.

"Good morning to you too," his partner replied. She waved him over. "Look at this. See after every name and place here, right above the letters, is a number? Look, this is one, and two, three, four etc. I put them in order. Then I put all the dates out in chronological order. By using the little numbers after the names and places, you can match them up with whatever date comes chronologically first, or second or whatever. Look." She handed a piece of paper to him.

May 16, 1964 Edward O. Sigourney (Oliver) Melbourn, MA
Nov. 11, 1964 Marcus H. Berkowitz (Hart) Los Angeles, CA
June 8, 1966 Benjamin M. Kahn (Martin) Fort Wayne, IN
August 29, 1969 Alec A. Harris (Alloicious) Hathaway, ML
October 25, 1971 Thomas H. Moralis (Henry) Norwalk, CT

Mulder was shaking his head. "Scully that's great, I would've never thought of that. But what does this all mean? I mean, what is the actual meaning of this connection between the person, place and date?"

"Maybe the 'club's' meetings?" Scully suggested.

"I was thinking that too, but they must've met more often than that." Mulder dropped down onto the couch and, resting his chin on one fist, assumed the thinking position.

"Or maybe they didn't. Maybe that's how they were so secretive, because they hardly met at all. And they kept choosing new locations to meet. So when they "closed down", they just met a bit more infrequently, but still continued the work."

Mulder was silent. Scully watched him consider this, and jumped when he stood abruptly and marched to the door. "All right, well, I'm going on the database to see if I can find anything else. I'll look up those places and dates..... see if I come up with anything."

"What should I do, Mulder?" Scully asked.

He shrugged and flipped on his computer. Scully sat silently on the arm of the couch and waited for Mulder to turn around and give her some order. When he didn't after several minutes, she began to wonder. Mulder had never been like this before. He seemed sort of..... cold. She wondered if he was, perhaps, jealous, that she had pieced together so much information when he couldn't find anything.

"Mulder," she began.

"Not now, Scully, I need to do this."

She sighed. Partners. "Okay, well I'm going out to get some lunch. Unlike _some_ people, I didn't get to sleep in, and I'm ready for a break." She waited for him to turn around, again, but he just nodded.

"Sure, Scully," he said, eyes glued to the screen. Scully grabbed her jacket off the coat tree and left.

1:30 p.m.

"Damn it!"

Mulder wanted to throw his computer through the wall, and if it didn’t help him soon, he just might. The dates and names drew blanks. According to what he could find, Project Allyanna might as well have never existed. He sighed. It was so frustrating! He slammed his hand on the desk, barely missing pounding his coffee mug into a million tiny pieces.

These man had normal jobs. They had families and wives. They were part of the community, even donated money to the PTA. They were the last people anyone would suspect were involved in dirty government business. They were the perfect next-door neighbors, the ones with the perfect children and the perfect dog.

But Mulder knew looks could be very deceiving. The "perfect" children grew up to be in therapy and became drug addict because of the lack of love they received from their parents. The "perfect" dog was a neglected animal, only cared by the children, who turned to it for their only sense of love and comfort. The money donated to the PTA wasn’t always "clean" money, and it always had a few strings attached. Their "wives" were detached, and sought other men to satisfy them. Yes, Mulder knew the game well.

He looked back at his glaring computer and saw his reflection in the screen as the black screen saver came up. A thirty seven year-old man who still didn’t know the secrets of his childhood. A man with nightmare’s of his sister’s abduction. One who may be smart, but was never smart enough to find his sister. One who never seemed to get it right.

He shook his head and picked up his coffee cup, downing some of the cold liquid inside. He was failing Samantha, but that wasn’t what bothered him as much; what bothered him was that he was failing Scully.

Scully. His partner. The person who, since she had been partnered with him, had been abducted, had been through cancer, and had discovered a daughter that was ‘never meant to be.’ Maybe if he found out how his father was involved in the big ‘web’ of things, he could find his sister. But at the very least he wanted to give Scully answers. He wanted answers. The thoughts made his head swim. Answers came with a big price tag today, and Mulder was unsure of his credit card limit before it cut in two.

He had been lucky. Found some breaks. But those breaks usually came with a near death experience. Nearly dying on the ice and in Eisenhower Field and seizures from getting a hole drilled in his head with just a couple. Scully was right, as soon as he good close, he was in danger. They were both in danger.

He glanced around his office and he eyes fell to the filing cabinet. He slowly got up, wincing as a unexpected pain hit his head, and walked to it. He bent down and opened the drawer and located the file he wanted. Well, the files he wanted. Samantha’s and Scully’s. He looked at both folders in his hand and sighed. A headache was definitely coming on. He took both folders back to his desk, intending to go other thoroughly, hoping to find something he missed the other thousand times he had looked at them. He dropped them on the desk and jumped as he heard a ping. A glance toward his computer screen told him it was his e-mail alert. He frowned and clicked on the icon to open it. He paled at the words the e-mail contained.

A warning, Mr. Mulder. A warning before it’s too late.

J. Edgar Hoover Building
1:47 p.m.

Scully strolled into the building, a take-out bag in her hand. She had gone back home and taken the shower she’d skipped this morning, then decided to bring take-out to Mulder in the office. He was distant, and Scully hoped he wasn’t going to get himself in trouble. She always tried to stop him, but Mulder got himself deeply involved, always routed to his search. It would take a crowbar to get him away.

She took the elevator down to the basement, watching with a half-interested eye as the numbers lit up. The doors opened and let her into the basement. She quickly made her way toward the office, not surprised to find the door closed when she reached it. She gently turned the knob.

"Mulder, I brought lunch," she said as she walked in, but got no response.

She walked in further and found him staring at the computer, a file in his hands, which seemed to be trembling just a bit.

"Mulder?" she said, hoping to get his attention.

He looked up at her, his face blank and pale, and immediately Scully felt concern for him. "They know, Scully," he said softly, almost a whisper. He let the folder drop back onto the desk.

"Who knows, Mulder?" she asked as she approached his desk to get a good look at him. His eyes seemed slightly dilated, though Scully knew that could be because of the computer. He looked slightly flushed, though not any more than last night, and he had only been mildly warm then. Nothing much to worry about so she let it drop. But he was pale and did look a bit shaken.

"_They_ Scully,’ he repeated and Scully gripped his wrist.

"Mulder, your pulse is racing. What happened?"

Mulder shook his head as if to clear it and pointed to the computer. "That, Scully. I got that e-mail a little while ago."

Scully let go of Mulder’s wrist and turned to read the screen. She sighed at the words.

"They could just be trying to scare-"

"No, Scully. They know what I want." He sighed and leaned back against his chair. "They are going to bury themselves deeper. If I go any further, they’ll take action. And not just against me. That would be too easy."

Scully nodded, understanding. The unspoken risks were left to air out in the moment of silence that passed by them.

"So, we’re more careful," Scully said finally.

"Careful is only a word, Scully."

"Then we play it their way."

"Their way?" Mulder asked, sitting up.

"Well, usually in this kind of fight, one person is left standing. We’ll have to make sure it’s us."

"That’s harder than you think, Scully."

"Everything is harder then you think, Mulder. But we’ve both got something on our sides that may help."

"What’s that?"

Scully leaned in closer toward Mulder, her cross dangling. She grabbed Mulder’s hand. "Faith. In each other."

Mulder's Apartment
6:17 p.m.

That night, back at Mulder's apartment, the two agents were spread out on the floor reviewing paperwork with large cups of cold coffee by their sides when the phone rang.

"Mulder."

"Agent Mulder, is Agent Scully there with you?" Mulder recognized the gruff voice as Skinner.

"Sure, sir, here you go." He handed the phone over to Scully who gave him a look like "how'd he know I was here?"

"Sir?" Scully asked. She pulled herself up and sat crossed-legged, her back against the wall. When she leaned her head back, her hair spilled stark red against the white, and she seemed to be studying the ceiling as the AD spoke. Mulder watched her listen silently until she said, "But sir, I..." Skinner apparently cut her off and then Scully said resignedly, "All right. Yes, sir. Bye."

She handed the receiver to Mulder who reached over and hung it up. "What'd he say?" he asked.

Scully sighed. "Evidently someone in VCS overheard that I was presently free and partnerless, and they want me to do the pathology report on one of the cases they're in the middle of."

"Partnerless?" Mulder echoed.

"Yes, you, mister, are on vacation, remember?"

"Oh yeah, how could I forget?" He mumbled. "So when do you have to leave?"

"Well the case is in Fairfield so they want me down there tomorrow morning."

"Fairfield...."

"Connecticut."

Mulder pulled out his folder which was beginning to get dog-eared from constant reviewing and traveling. "Scully, the last meeting that the 'club' had was on October 25, 1971 in Norwalk, CT. That's right next to Fairfield, isn't it?"

"I think so. What are you saying, Mulder?" She asked slowly, not wanting to encourage her partner's idea in anyway until she knew what exactly he had in mind.

"I'm saying how about I go with you? I could say its a trip, not a business trip, but just a trip on my vacation, and I could check out the town where they had their last meeting while you work on the pathology report for the VCS. Then at night we could conference and you could help me. Hey, were you able to connect any name to that set of place and date?"

"Yeah, Thomas H. Moralis, referred to as 'Henry' in the documents."

Mulder sat still for a moment, trying to think of what the documents had said about "Henry". His photographic memory was pulling a blank on him at that moment. "Scully, I'm going to go through and see what these say about 'Henry' and then pack. You go home and get some sleep and I'll meet you tomorrow morning at the airport."

"Mulder, wait, _wait_," she ordered. He stopped from where he had begun sorting madly through the files, trying to find the one he wanted.

"What?"

"Mulder," she said. "You _can't_ go to Connecticut with me. First off, you're still recuperating, and second, I have no idea how long this is going to take. What if we're still away in Connecticut and Skinner calls up and orders you to come back on duty and you're not at home? Huh?"

"Then I'll come home," he said patiently. "Go, Scully. You need all the rest you can get. What time did Skinner say your flight was?"

Scully stood and shrugged into her jacket. "Eight-thirty five," she said. "Look, Mulder...."

"No buts about it, Scully, this is perfect. See you tomorrow." With that, he pulled open the door, gently shoved his partner through it, and slammed the door.


Time Unknown
Place Unknown

"He's going where?" The voice was calm, as always, and surrounded in a shadow of smoke.

"Norwalk, Connecticut."

"Our meeting," the calm voice said. "It was too long ago, he won't find a thing."

"But sir," the other was getting nervous. "He's on to us. He's too close. We _need_ to do something about this."

Fairfield, CT
11:35 a.m.

If Scully learned anything from her partnership with Mulder, it was that when he wanted to do something, there was no stopping him. She’d found him at her doorstep at 7 a.m. this morning, duffel bag in one hand, his laptop and growing file of papers in the other. He practically rushed her out the door; she was barely ready herself. He spent the short flight reading file folders, barely looking up at her, even when she called his name. Scully didn’t know what he was up to, and that worried her a little. Hell, it worried it a lot. But, Mulder was good. Afraid he would totally disappear on her, she made him check into a room in hotel a floor above her. He checked in, and ran out before anyone from the VCS could see him.

That was about a half-hour ago. She was a little worried to see him run of at first, but reminded herself that he was a grown man and not a child. Though he sure acted like it sometimes. She checked her watch and remembered she was supposed to meet some of the team for lunch and a briefing. Her cell phone in her hand, she left the hotel room, letting the cleaning woman as she did.

"I haven’t had time to mess it," Scully said to her as she passed her by.

"Just doing my job," the woman replied.


The blond woman watched Dana Scully disappear down the hallway to her briefing. She pushed her cart into the room and quickly shut the door. Walking through the room, she eyed everything carefully. Finally her eyes came to rest on a piece of paper on the bureau. Picking it up, she let out a sigh of disappointment.

"Mulder, room 304 extension 2376," she read aloud.

Flipping open a cell phone of her own, she punched in a long memorized number.

It only had to ring once.

"Well?"

"She’s here. And so is he. Room 304."

"Good. Go ahead with the plan."

The blond ended the call and leaned on the bureau, taking a long look at herself in the mirror. Her brown roots still showed despite the newly redone dye job and her blue eyes were filled with nothing but sorrow.

"Oh, Fox," she said, still staring at her reflection. "Why can’t you quit while you’re ahead?"

She turned away from mirror and went back to her cart, pushing it out of the room.

Norwalk, CT
1:30 p.m.

Mulder pulled the keys out of the ignition and stared at the building in front of him. Deserted and run-down, he would bet it was clean. But still…..

It wasn’t deserted and run-down in 1971. In fact it was very much in use. It was a building that belonged to a county club, a very predominant one at the time. This was also known as the gentlemen’s club building, and Mulder would bet his next paycheck it was used for a lot more than poker.

His research told him a lot more about the club; how it conveniently burned in 1973 and the country club had plans to fix it, but funding fell through when the club almost when bankrupt. So instead of a newly constructed building, Mulder was staring at the surviving parts of a fire.

The fire in 1973 wasn’t bad; Mulder suspected it was more of a cover-up then anything else. Make the club’s work "disappear." Someone must have been poking around, but who? All Mulder could do was stare at the building, knowing the chances that it would be useful were slim. Slim was good enough for him. He was hopeful. He wanted a break.

He wanted an answer. He wanted to know what happened.

He wanted to know where his sister was.

She wasn’t in that building, he knew. Not in a building that burned on November 30, 1973. But something was.

He told Scully he needed to do something about this. He never said what. Truth was, he wasn’t sure himself. Perhaps he was only pulling on a thread, but he must have something if "they" sent him a warning.

He must be close; close how? He pounded his fist against the steering wheel in frustration. An Oxford education man, a profiler for the VCS for years and he couldn’t figure out how close he was. Somehow his college education seemed useless at this moment. His mind strayed to Scully; at least if she were here he could bounce crazy ideas off of her. She had been better at this then him, he’d even be frustrated at that. It seemed everyone thought he was getting close besides him.

After another pound on the steering wheel, Mulder felt another headache coming on. He grabbed the aspirin he’d brought (Scully’s last minute idea for him), tossed back a couple, and opened the door, stepping out of the car for some fresh air. Yes some fresh air would do him good.

Fairfield, CT
1:39 p.m.

Lunch went fast, as did the briefing. Scully had enough notes in her head to fill a notebook. She had a full autopsy scheduled for the latest serial murderer’s victim at 3, and tons of paperwork after that. Hoping to get Mulder on his cell, she hit memory one on her one phone.

She frowned as the phone rang and rang with no answer. she thought. Then again, Mulder did tend to leave his cell phone in the car every one in awhile. Still she couldn’t shake the bad feeling she had.

Town Hall
Norwalk, CT
1:40 p.m.

Finding the Town Hall hadn't been too difficult, but trying to get a shred of information from the burly, intimidating, eighty-year old lady behind the desk was another story. She gave Mulder a phone number, supposedly the number of the former owner of the Country Club, but Mulder wouldn't be surprised if it ended up being the number of the local pizza parler. All he knew was that he felt foolish arguing with the senile clerk, and wanted out. He thanked her a bit less-than-politely and made his way outside.

Walking to his car, he could see the parking lot's asphalt heating up in the late April sun. Considering the amount of stress he'd been under lately and the fairly long trip he had endured up to Connecticut, Mulder was in a good mood. The air was warm and he rolled up his shirt sleeves (he had removed his jacket before entering the Town Hall) and took a deep breath, savoring the sweet air. Sure, he hadn't accomplished alot, but he had a phone number now, and some direction. He fingered the slip of paper in his pocket, yup, still there. His photographic memory told him (203) 227-5389. The lady had told him that it was a Westport number, a town close to here, and that the man's name was Gerald Metts. Mr. Metts and his wife, Sylvia, owned the Country Club for years before it burned down. They would be able to give Mulder some information.

Inside the car was hot, and the metal inserted part of the seatbelt burned his fingers when he pushed it into its counterpart. Mulder stuck the key in the ignition, and as the car started up, he fiddled with the radio and finally settled on Chantilly Lace which was playing on the local oldies station.

"Ooh baby that's what I like," Mulder said. He rolled down his window and pulled out of the parking lot. He got onto the Merritt Parkway and headed North towards Fairfield. Under his breath he sang the lyrics along with the Big Bopper, and when he felt something hard against the back of his head, it took him a moment to realize that it shouldn't be there. Slowly, he turned his head around, only to be smacked back.

"Look straight ahead, keep driving." A woman's voice. Somehow familiar. "Get off at exit 43. That's right, keep driving."


Room 232
Hi-Ho Motel
Fairfield, CT
6:56 p.m.

Scully settled back on her bed and reached across to the bedside table for the remote control. She flipped. Channel two, news. Channel three, same news. Channel four, rerun of Frasier, Channel five, Caught on the Job III. Channel six, news. Channel sixty-one, rerun of the Simpsons. She settled for the CBS news (channel 2), and watched police she didn't know catch a kid she didn't know in a building she didn't know. It was nice to once and a while be able to watch law enforcement do their jobs without having to have any connection to it. A lady her blonde hair swirling around her in the wind from a near-by helicopter gave a short speech about kid and what was going to happen to him, then winked off and was replaced by two men in business suits sitting behind an oval counter. Sports news is next. Scully flipped the t.v. off and threw the remote across the bed. It slid on the beige velour hotel blankets (the nice thing about hotels was they always gave you nice, thick blankets) and fell to the carpet without a sound. She groped for the light, fumbled, then managed to twist the grooved dial until the bedside lamp flicked off. Without a single moment of worrying where her partner was and what he was doing, Scully drifted off to a carefree nap. she told herself.

Merritt Parkway
1:53 p.m.

Exit 43 was growing closer; the turn-off was straight ahead.

"Don’t miss the turn-off," the woman behind him warned, keeping the gun right on the back of his head. Her voice was very familiar, yet Mulder couldn’t figure out why. While she held gun to the back of his head, she wasn’t rough. He’d been held at gunpoint before; he usually knew what to expect. But this time was different.

"There," the woman instructed and Mulder quickly turned off the highway and found himself soon cruising through a neighborhood of beautiful homes. Connecticut really was a beautiful state; too bad he wasn’t really here for a vacation.

"Make a right. Now a left." Mulder followed the woman’s instructions to the tee. He’d learned the hard way before how you shouldn’t piss of someone holding a gun to your head.

"Turn into this drive, and ride all the way down. Then stop the car."

Mulder turned the car down a long paved drive. To either side of him, all he saw were trees. Green greeted him wherever he looked.

The driveway was a lot longer than one may think it was, but finally Mulder found himself staring up at a grand house, certainly bigger then any house he’d seen recently.

"Turn off the engine." Mulder heard the woman turn her head either way. He could sense the nervousness in the sound of her actions. Mulder did as he was told. If "they" sent this person, she was awfully nervous. Not at like any other run-ins he’d had with "them."

"Now get out of the car, slowly. Don’t make any fast moves." A pause, and a gulp. "Don’t force me to use this thing."

Mulder thought as he got out of the car. He heard the woman get out behind him, but the metal was gone from the back of his head. The woman was still in back of him and he decided to risk turning around.

He heard her step, but she didn’t protest his turning toward her. She still held the gun at him, though not as convincingly as she could. He got a good look at her.

A blond. No, wait. She was a brunette with a dye job. He could see the brown roots in her hair. Her hair fell just below hr shoulder, in waves. While she tried to look serious and threatening, he could tell she other motives in her blue eyes.

"Who are you?" he asked, as he took a step closer.

The woman didn’t move this time. Instead she lifted the gun up higher. Maybe she knew how to fire a gun right after all. He glanced back up toward the house and saw some people approaching them.

"What’s going on?" he ventured to ask as he saw men grow closer to them.

"Fox, when are you going to learn that asking questions only gets you hurt?" the woman replied, her gun still held steady at him as the men got closer.

he thought, as he cast another glance at the men. He took a step.

"I won’t shoot," the women said, her voice lowering. "But don’t try to flee. I’m warning you."

The men had reached them. Some men in black, along with someone familiar, leaving a trial of smoke behind him.

Mulder knew he was in shit this time. Casting a look toward the woman, he took a step and turned the trees that sounded him. It was broad daylight, yet nothing was around them. He would guess this land and a great deal of land surrounding him, was their property. Once again, his college-educated, high IQ mind was drawing a blank, so he did the only thing that came to mind: he ran.

He soon learned that was a stupid thing to do. He hadn’t even reached the edge of the trees, when he felt a shot hit him in the shoulder, sending him down to the pavement. As his head hit the edge of the pavement, his last thought was of Scully at the motel.

Place Unknown
6:45 p.m.

The first thing he heard as he came to, was a calm voice telling him to stay down.

"Scully," he croaked, his voice dry. His shoulder felt like it was on fire and his head pounded in time with his breathing.

"No," the voice replied back. As Mulder came around more the memory of what happened that afternoon came back to him. He opened his eyes and tried to focus on his surrounding.

He was in a bedroom, he realized. He was laying on a bed, with a woman sitting on the edge of it next to him. He frowned. He remembered what happened, but had figured he’d probably be dead now. Instead the woman was rifting through a bag next to her.

He tested his voice again. "Who are you?" The woman looked up at his inquiry. She sighed.

"That’s not important now. I’m sorry," she confessed. "I’m the one who shot you. But I told you not to run, Fox. If I didn’t shoot, one of them would have. And they wouldn’t just hit your shoulder, either."

He frowned. She looked so familiar. Her voice was even familiar. But his mind couldn’t place her. Had he met before?

"I know you," he said, trying to push himself up. "We’ve met before."

The woman smiled. "I guess you could say we have," she replied, gently pushing him back down into the pillow. "You need to rest. I’m not as great a shot as I used to be. No where near as good as your partner. I had to dig the bullet out of your shoulder. You lost a lot of blood, and to top it off, you also have a concussion."

He looked at her. He had a million questions he wanted to ask her, but his clouded mind wasn’t cooperating with him. He heard footsteps near the door. The woman turned, a bit panicked. She turned back to the bag she had been looking through and withdrew a hypodermic.

"I think it’s better if you sleep now," she said, adding an "I’m sorry" as she pushed the needle into his flesh.

As he began to drift off, he heard the door open and footsteps enter.

"Well, Doctor?"

"He’s sleeping."

"Good. Remember the plan."

A sigh. "Right, the plan."

Mulder heard a slap.

"Don’t get weak on us, Samantha. You know what will happen then."

Room 232
Hi-Ho Motel
Fairfield, CT
8:29 p.m.

Scully hadn't meant to sleep more than twenty minutes, but when she opened her eyes she saw that it had gotten dark out. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she picked up the radio alarm clock and squinted at its red digital display. 8:29. She took a deep breath and stood abruptly, stretched, and realized how refreshed she felt.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Scully felt ready for action again. However, she had long finished her pathological work (at least for the day), and couldn't think of anything else to do. She considered going down to the local VCS office and seeing if the guys there needed any help, but a moment's thought discouraged such action. She hated violent crimes almost as much as she knew Mulder did. Speaking of Mulder, where _was_ her partner? Scully dialed him up on his hotel number, and when nobody picked up, she tried his cell phone. She listened to it ring for several minutes then gave up, figuring that if he wasn't answering his cell, he must be doing something more important. _What_, was what she was afraid of. Picking up her phone again, she punched in the number of Detective Roger Yemma, then quickly hung up, remembering that nobody else knew that her partner was in town with them. With a sigh, Scully picked up the phone again, and this time dialed Room Service.


Place Unknown
8:32 p.m.

"Will somebody turn off that damn phone??" The man dressed in black demanded, turning to his companions angrily. One of them crossed the room and reached into Fox's suit jacket (which had been thrown over the back of a chair) pocket and pulled out the phone. After several unsuccessful tries to cease its ringing, he threw the phone across the room and watched it spark and crackle as it smashed into the concrete wall. Mulder winced, knowing Skinner would not be happy hearing that his agent had lost another piece of Bureau equipment.

The hell with Skinner, _Mulder_ wasn't happy. The men in black (he giggled a little bit thinking of them this way) had shaken him awake less-than-gently from his drug induced sleep minutes before and half led/ half dragged him into this room, and deposited him in a chair. Mulder wasn't tied down, but his headache and the pain radiating from his shoulder refrained him from getting anywhere.

Mulder looked up as the man holding a cigarette approached him. "Hello Fox," he said, his voice irritatingly calm.

"Fox" spit at his feet. "What do _you_ want?" he demanded.

The Cigarette Smoking Man pulled up a chair and sat inches away from Mulder. Smoke blew in his direction and Mulder turned his head, struggling not to cough.

"I'm here to help you," The man almost called him Fox, but refrained. "I know what you're looking for, and why you're here. And I also know that I can't discourage you from looking. So I thought I'd help you."

"If you can't beat 'em, join 'em," Fox snarled. "Yeah right."

The Cigarette Smoking Man sighed. "Do you want my help or not?"

"I don't want _anything_ from you. Just leave me alone," Fox shouted. He wasn't sure why CSM's apparent readiness to help him was infuriating him so, but he was angry as a bat out of hell.

"Suit yourself," CSM said. "But I'm afraid I can't let you go just yet. Now would you like some dinner while you..... wait?"

Dinner sounded like a terrific idea to Mulder who hadn't eaten since a late breakfast, but he knew that the food could very well be poisoned. Of course, it wasn't any more dangerous than letting himself be injected with the drug that helped him sleep earlier on, but he had hurt so bad then.......

"Like I said, I don't want _anything_ from you."

"Suit yourself," the man said again, and blew smoke in Fox's face.

Room 232
Hi-Ho Motel
Fairfield, CT
8:39 p.m.

Ten minutes had passed and Scully found herself staring at her cell phone, willing it to ring. Wanting to pick it up and say "Scully" and hear Mulder at the other end. Have him say he’s fine and that he’s going to pick up some food, does she want some.

Yet after staring at her phone for 10 minutes she began to think of the chances of that situation coming true slim to nil. Probably nil. Knowing Mulder, they were nil.

She had called Room Service for some food (God knows why), and it hadn’t arrived, and she figured it wouldn’t for awhile, so she decided to take a walk up to Mulder’s room.

She reached room 304 and, even though she doubted he was there (she had tried his room already), she gave it the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was sleeping and didn’t hear the phone, he was still recovering after all.

After a few knocks she got no answer. Curious, she turned the knob in her hands and was surprised to find it open. Mulder never forgot to lock his rooms before; it was strange. Scully shrugged it off, hoping it was the cleaning person who forgot to lock the door. She pushed open the door and found the room in the same condition she’d seen it in when Mulder first checked into that morning. It was spotless; the new thing Mulder had added to the room was the duffel bag he had thrown onto the bed. She frowned.

Maybe he was still looking, but she doubted it. Gone out to eat and not picking up his cell phone? Maybe.

Scully walked out of his room and almost collided into a cleaning lady.

"How you seen a brown-haired man, about 6’, a very determined look on his face?" Scully asked the woman.

The woman shook her head. "Haven’t seen anyone near this room, expect you now. And I’ve been working this floor since 2 this afternoon."

The answer made Scully frown even more as she thanked the woman and made her way back to her own room. As she unlocked the door, she could hear her cell phone ringing form within. She rushed in to pick it up.

"Mulder?" she said into the phone.

"Your partner is safe, for now."

It was a woman’s voice. Friendly, yet not.

"You better get here soon if you want him back. And you better come alone. Take the Merritt to exit 43. Pull over there. I’ll contact you again with further directions. If anyone asks, you never heard from me. And hurry, they may not kill him, but his spirit is in danger."

The caller hung up abruptly, leaving Scully gaping at her phone. She grabbed her coat, gun, phone, and headed out to her rental car.

Place Unknown
8:49 p.m.

The smoker was getting bored with him; that Mulder could tell. He glanced down at the broken pieces of plastic that once made up his cell and sighed. What was going here?

Another drag of his cigarette and he spoke again, after he had left Mulder in silence for almost fifteen minutes.

"You don’t want the truth, Agent Mulder?" So now they were off "Fox" and back to "Agent Mulder." Mulder felt like spitting in his face again. Mulder remained silent, not wanting to give the man any idea of what he wanted. His shoulder was throbbing in time with his head now, but the last thing he wanted to do was give this man what he wanted.

"Very well, then. Maybe you’d like to speak to someone else then." He turned to one of the other men in room. "Go get Dr. Leeves."

Mulder had no idea who "Dr. Leeves" was but his mind told him it must be some one of some importance. Five minutes later, a woman entered the room. It was the same woman that had kidnapped Mulder and shot him. But it was also the woman who was familiar, in some way. The one he couldn’t place. His photographic memory was useless to him now.

The CSM took another drag of his cigarette and got up from his chair. "Allow me to make some introductions. Fox Mulder this is Dr. Samantha Leeves."

Suddenly his brain made the connection at once. The connection of an eight-year-old eye’s to that of a thirty-three-year-old woman’s eyes. One in the same. He had lied to him when he introduced that other woman, telling him she was Samantha. That other woman saying that she was his sister, that that smoking bastard was her father, that she didn’t want to see him again. The pain he felt as he watched he walk away, get into the car with _him_, and drive away, out of his life. How, in that diner, he stood there watching them, and feeling nothing but an emptiness inside. An emptiness that led him to think he was a failure. And the bit of hope inside of him that told him that was only a clone of her. But that didn’t even look like her. Here she was. A beautiful young woman, obviously schooled and smart, looking nothing like the other "sister" he had been introduced to, not just once but twice. Everything was lies. He didn’t even want to believe this was her, but he knew. He saw her blue eyes and knew. Her voice was a matured, cultures version of a cheerful eight-year-olds. An eight year he knew so long ago, so long it seemed as if it were another life. How was her sure it was her? How was he sure it wasn’t another game, another ploy? He let his hazel eyes wander toward hers and together they meet with her blues.

She managed a small smile, an effect that was tying to them both.

"Hello, Fox."

It was then that he truly knew.

Off Exit 43
Fairfield, CT
8:56 p.m.

Scully had reached the exit and pulled over to the side, but so far she hadn't received a call giving her more directions. Sitting in the dark, she shivered, feeling unusually paranoid. she scolded herself. Regardless, she reached up and flipped on the light and immediately felt better. She watched the cars swerve to the exit, then drive down the ramp and onto the main road and disappear into a sea of a million rear headlights. She jumped as her phone rang.

"Yes," she answered cautiously.

"I need you to wait." A sigh. "I _do_ want to lead you to your partner, but we need a few more minutes with him first. I can't-- just come by in half an hour. Two twenty-nine Hillside Drive. If you come any earlier, you will will be taken care of, _trust me_."

Scully thought. "All right," she said. "But," her curiousity got the best of her. "Is he okay? What's being done to him?"

"He will be okay." The voice said, and then there was a dial tone.


229 Hillside Drive
8:59 p.m.

Where Samantha had disappeared to, Mulder didn't know. But he was glad that she was back; spending another minute alone in the big room with the men in black, and the smoker (who was watching him from an opposite corner) would have killed him for sure.

Before leaving the room, Samantha had explained to him that _she_ was his sister, and not the clones he had seen before (though she did seem to know something about them, she didn't mention it) and she had said something else.

"Stop chasing, Fox," she had said. "Its not real. The aliens, what you've _seen_, its a distraction from _him_," she pointed to the man in the corner. "He wants to keep you busy, but there's really nothing there. It's _all_ planted." She seemed to want to add something, but she had stopped then and walked briskly off.

Now she was back. She knelt by his chair and took his hand. "I'm sorry we had to do this to you, shooting you and.... and all, but it was for your own good. I love you Fox, I'm your _sister_, and I don't want you to continue to search for something that's not there. To search blindly."

"But Sam," he protested, and stopped for a second, the name feeling strange on his lips. "Sam, I've _seen_ the aliens and, and other things. And what about burning down the X-files, why would they have done that if there was nothing there? Why not let me continue to search blindly, as you put it. What has changed that they're now letting me on to the big secret?"

He trusted her, Samantha realized, as he said that last sentence. He believed that she was there to help him, and he believed what she said. The pain in his eyes, he truly thought that all his searching had been for nothing. The poor man.

"Nothing, Fox," she said, and the strain of trying not to cry was evident in her voice. "Nothing, we just thought that it was time you know that we were... fooling you."

Mulder thought. "What do you have to do with all this? Why work with these bastards when you could live a normal life. Why work so hard to protect if there's nothing there. Why don't you just leave now... you could.... you could stay with me, and get a job in D.C or something. You're smart, you could do it."

Without answering, Samantha took her brother's hand and helped him from the chair. She led him slowly to the door, stopping every few minutes when he swayed (his injuries must be killing him) and finally left him outside, sitting on a stone wall that circled the property. "Stay," she said softly. "Scully will come pick you up." She then walked slowly back into the house and with a last look, shut the door behind her.

The smoker was standing, ready for her.

"Did he buy it?" he demanded.

"Yeah," she said, and ran from the room. Once locked up in the privacy of the second story bathroom, she pulled out her cell phone.

"Are you coming?" she asked.

"Yes," Scully answered.

Outside 229 Hillside Drive
9:15 p.m.

Mulder shivered, wondering since when the weather had grown so cold. It had been so nice that afternoon. But, he thought it might be something else, too. Shock, the sensible part of his mind answered. From his injuries and.... from something else. He shivered in the night air and wondered what was going to happen.

He had just been through a day that he didn’t even know how to begin to explain. He started searching for his father’s involvement in his sister’s abduction and had found her instead. Yet she dumped him out here, and if he went back in he would dead. Not to mention his shoulder and head were aching badly. So if he did want to go bad in, he’d probably pass out on his way there. He sat there and thought.

His father was involved; that he knew, that he set to prove. They were trying to confuse him. After coming to this place, he’d actually been confused about what he had really been looking for after all. Was that their plan? Or did he really lose sight of what he was looking for? He’d been looking for so long, he wasn’t sure what "their" plan was anymore. It seemed to forever change. Find an answer to one problem, get another problem with whole new set of questions to answer.

The cold was getting to him. He was sitting on a rock outside a house that could hold the answers to everything, yet for once in his whole search, he felt tired and uninterested. What was wrong? Maybe he had lost the one thing he told Scully he’d regained: the faith to keep looking.

Confusion was all he felt as he surrendered to the darkness.

The next day
Hospital
9:35 a.m.

The sunlight on his face was the first thing he noticed as he slowly awoke. The next thing was the sheets beneath him. Then the sounds came: wheels down a hallway, speakers paging doctors, and the sound of a long sigh.

A hospital. He knew at once that the sigh was Scully, that she was at his beside and that he would be okay.

"Mulder, I know you’re awake. Stop playing possum," he heard her say and opened his eyes to find her, as she did always when he was hurt, sitting at his beside. She smiled.

"Hey," he croaked and she reached for the water on the table besides the bed. After she helped him take a few sips, he decided to try talking again.

"What happened?" he said, not knowing if he talking to himself or Scully.

Scully answered. "I was hoping you would tell me Mulder. I got a mysterious phone call leading me to you in front of a darkened mansion. How you got there, I have no idea."

"She took me there, Scully."

"She, Mulder?"

"Sam, Scully. I saw her. He has here. That smoking bastard has her. He could have killed me, yet he showed her me and let me go."

Scully sighed again. "I don’t know what you are talking about, Mulder. You saw your sister?"

"Yes, Scully. She’s alive. But I didn’t find anything else. I think I’ve lost it."

Scully got up from her chair and sat on the edge of his bed. "Lost what?"

"The faith to keep looking."

Scully shook her head. "I don’t believe that Mulder. You’re just blinded. It’s only a matter of time before you see again."

Mulder let out a sigh of his own. "Maybe, Scully. We’ll see." He sounded lost and unconvinced. He glanced around at his surroundings. "I gather we’re still in Connecticut?"

Scully nodded.

"So when do I get out of here?"

Scully smiled. "No so fast, partner. You have a minor concussion, and a new bullet wound to the shoulder, the opposite one I might add. There was no exit wound, but no bullet, so I gather someone with knowledge in medicine removed it. However it still has a nasty infection that’s going to keep you here a couple of days on IV antibiotics, not to mention the fact that you were dehydrated, have a tiny bit of exposure, thanks to the record lows last night, and you were running a 103 fever when I brought here last night."

Mulder looked down at his IV. "Is that all?"

Scully just gave him a look. Mulder stared at his hands as silence grew between them.

"Scully?"

"What?"

"Think when we get back to D.C. you’ll come to temple with me?"

Scully raised her eyebrows. "I thought you said you’d lost you religion."

"Lost and giving up are two different things Scully. I was thinking I might give me some of the faith I need. I know your Catholic, but-"

Scully nodded, interrupting him. "Sure, Mulder, I’ll go with you."

"Good." It was a start for him.

29 Hillside Drive
Time unknown

"You did a good job, Samantha."

All she could do was nod. She’d deceived her brother and confused the hell out of him. It sure didn’t feel like a good job. All she could feel was sadness and anger at herself as the smoke filled the room.

Place Unknown
Time unknown

It would be a start for her. A turnaround. A slow one, but a turnaround none the less. She checked her watch.

"Dr. Leeves?"

She looked up at him.

"You’re late, Mr. Berkowitz."

"You should know that my father was never on time. You know what they say. Like father, like son."

She sighed. "Did you get the info I wanted?"

Caleb Berkowitz nodded. "It’s right here. Why do you want a transcript of all these meetings anyway? You know what happened there."

Samantha smiled. "They’re a present for someone. A gift of faith."

End.
Until the third installment.
Yes there will be more. :-)
Look for the third installment of our fifth season alternate universe series "Pieces of the Past" sometime in the future.

Please send all feedback to JenR13@aol.com and JRDG1013@aol.com . We crave it. :-)