From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: Tue, 8 Aug 2000 18:09:44 -0500 Subject: becoming judas (11/12) by darkstar Source: direct Reply To: clone347@aol.com from: darkstar (clone347@aol.com) rating: pg-13. classification: see part one disclaimer: see part one summary: see part one - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - becoming judas 11/12 darkstar - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The sky was restless, changing from sun to storm, from peace to violence in little more than a change of the wind. Gray clouds churned and toiled among themselves and against a sun that struggled to shine through gaps in the clouds. The uneasy earth only mirrored the tension mounting in his own gut with each step. He had been on the move for three days. Walking, running, jogging, sometimes staggering but always moving. He could sleep when he was over the border. When he was sure he had not been followed. The disrupt had ran out of energy over forty eight hours ago, and each minute since then had been one of mounting anxiety that he would turn to see a shadow team sweeping down on him from the horizon. But there had been nothing, which in a way frightened him all the more. Mulder's fingers ached from clenching his gun but he would not release his weapon for a moment. Something dangerous rode on the wind, something that tasted of fear and evil and death. And despite the precautions he had taken, he couldn't help feeling that that same darkness was laying wait for him in Soledad. But that was impossible. If Pavlov had indeed found his location, he would have taken him long before now. He realized the logic but still didn't let go of the gun or slow his pace. If the danger compounded with each mile he traveled, so did a growing seed of hope within him. Scully was the light at the end of the very long and black tunnel he ran through, a light he had to see no matter the cost or the peril to himself. She walked the halls of his memory freely, images of her laugh, her touch, her smile sustaining him when his body begged to stop. A square of brown appeared on the far horizon, standing apart from the parched earth only by the way the torrent of sky rushed around it and over it rather than above it. Soledad. Beyond it lay the border and a continent of desert and mountain and jungle. He could lose his way or he could lose himself but once he was in the middle of it, even the sharp eyes of the Colonists would be a distant past. A chill not from the wind passed over him, the same breath of warning in his ear. Mulder shook it off but had the sense to suspend logic enough to walk not run toward the town. A very slow, very careful, very deliberate walk. Shadows may be shadows but he had chased them long enough to know that they meant what they said. Call it premonition, call it paranoia, but it might just save his life. ************* "Command central this is Position One. Target is approaching due east, I repeat, target is approaching due east. All posts alert." The young soldier finished his report, then pressed his back against the clapboard walls of a run down store and threw the safety off his rifle. Everyone had their own theory on the identity of the mystery man they had been ordered to capture- alive no less. Some said he was a rogue agent, making a run for the border and the resistance. Others said he was a Commander gone AWOL. Still more insisted he was a trained assassin who had gone delusional and now must be captured and re-educated. Personally, he didn't care which story he took his theory from. All meant someone highly capable and highly dangerous. This was his first mission. He was nervous enough after seeing that....thing...or whatever it was that their leader had mutated into. One thing he did not need was ghost worries about some assassin, or a Commander, or a rebel agent. He eyed the street the target would have to take, since the dirt road was the only street in the town. If things went well he would have a clear shot at wounding the man. If he was the one to bring the target down, it would atone for his earlier loss of control- and of lunch. The soldier tightened his grip on his gun and waited. The target appeared minutes later, and even without his binoculars the soldier could see him walking past the edge of the town, taking it slow and casual with his hands in his pockets. If he used the binoculars, he could see the man's face clearly. It was blank, without emotion or suspicion. "This is One, visual is confirmed. Target has just entered the town. Is not aware of net." he spoke into his earpiece. "Requesting permission to neutralize." There was a pause and the crackle of static before his team leader replied. "Position One this is Command Central, you had go to bring the target down. Non-lethal force. We want him alive." "Yes sir. Alpha over and out." He clicked off the transmitting end of his earpiece and lifted his binoculars to his face again. A ricocheted gleam of sunlight struck the glass, blinding him in a flash that was gone after a second. When he looked up the street was empty. "What in the-" he scanned thestreet, finding only dust ghosts and buildings. The man had vanished, almost like he was never there. The soldier clicked the transmit button on his earpiece, frantically searching for any sign of the target. "Command this is One, I have lost visual! I repeat, visual confirmation no longer possible! He just vanished...." The very soft click of a safety being released just behind his ear told him otherwise. His muscles began to freeze in a wave of paralysis slowly rippling over his body. Turning his head to the left, he saw the target standing over him, that same non-expression masking his features. "Surrender and I won't have to kill you." the man said, looking down at him from behind the business end of a silenced nine millimeter. The soldier stiffened with pride despite the fear running wild inside him. "An Enforcer *never* surrenders." As the nerves in his fingers regained feeling, he tightened his grip almost imperceptibly on his gun, waiting for one slip in the target's guard. "Suit yourself." There was a very real sadness in the man's eyes as his fingers increased pressure on the trigger. He reacted at the same moment, swinging his rifle up a moment too late. The bullet beat him to the punch, entering his temple and exiting through the base of his neck along with most of his brains. But in the half-second between the entry and exit, the sudden pain was cut off by and equally as sudden blackness as his life was stolen away. Mulder wiped away the blood that had splattered his clothes in distant regret. The kid was young, one of the few that had actually believed in the cause he was fighting for. It had been in his eyes, the moment before the bullet fractured his skull. He pushed all thoughts of tragedy aside. This was war and death was just one of the casualties. "Postion One?" An earpiece microphone sputtered to life from what had been the soldier's ear. "Have you reattained visual? Come in, position One." He reached down and picked it up, wiping away the gore with his shirt before speaking into it. "We're sorry, this number has been disconnected." There was the static of shocked silence for one moment as the leader recovered his composure. "Identify yourself." "Among you my title is Commander Mulder. Come and get me, boys." Before the other man could answer, Mulder dropped the tiny microphone on the ground and crushed it with his foot. He picked up the dead soldier's gun, along with the two spare ammo clips the boy had been wearing on his belt. Scavenging from the dead was distasteful, but it was the easiest way to get weapons. There was always more than enough death to go around. He looked up to see the face of a little girl watching him from a window in the building to the left of him. She stared until her father or a brother pulled her away from the window, pulling the curtain after a wary glance himself. So the town was not deserted after all. The residents were staying inside. If he had any doubt about the ambush, it was gone now. Mulder just counted himself lucky he saw the blink from the soldier's binoculars when he did. But there would be others coming and he had to be ready. Mulder tucked his handgun and the spare clips of ammo in his belt. He cast one lingering glance on the man he had just killed, then disappeared back into the refuge of the alley. ************* "What do you want us to do now, sir?" Pavlov didn't tear his gaze away from the street, looking calmly out the window as if he was watching a tranquil sunrise. "The objective has not changed. Find the target and apprehend him. Alive." "Sir, he killed one of my men in cold blood!" the team leader protested, silenced at a raise of Pavlov's finger. "This is a combat situation. People die." He let his words sink in before continuing his order. "Send your men out in pairs, starting from Position One and working their way through the town. Don't worry, commander. Justice will be served, and I promise you will be there to watch when it is." Not entirely satisfied but unwilling to challenge his superior, the soldier began issuing orders to his men. His team was close, and all of them by now knew that one less of their group was walking away from the mission. He hoped that in itself would be enough for one of them to make a "mistake" that would prove lethal. If not, he might have to make one himself. ************* Mulder crouched in a doorway, across the street from the alley and the dead soldier. It helped when you knew the standard response protocol of your enemy. He had led missions not entirely different from this one, and knew that the leader's first move would be to send a pair of men to the last known position of the target. The other four would be closing on from other sides, but he could deal with them later. It turned out he didn't have to wait long. The two came out of the woodwork like any other resident poltergeists, guns at the ready. One played sentry at the same time the other checked the body. It was the sentry that spotted him first. The stacatto crack of gunfire broke the whisper of the wind, and the bullets drove into the doorframe uncomfortable close to his head, chips of wood spraying out to sting his cheeks like tiny needles. Mulder raised the Uzi to his shoulder, squeezing off a two-round burst before rolling out from the doorway and into the street. He landed on his feet, drawing the rifle up again for two more shots. This time both struck the sentry, one in his shoulder and the other in his throat. He didn't wait for the soldier to hit the ground, diving behind the shelter of a rusting car as the other Enforcer charged him, paving the way with a stream of steady fire. Bullets shattered the windows and punched holes in the metal siding, and every so often he would feel a slight tug on his clothing as one passed too close. The waiting game was over. Instead of standing, he fell to his stomach, sending a spray of bullets underneath the belly of the car. A garbled scream ended the soldier's gunfire as the bullets cut his feet out from under him. Despite the primal adrenaline of warfare, Mulder retained enough mercy to put another bullet through the man's head before leaving. This time he ran down the street, hugging buildings and the ground as he moved in the direction the two had come from. A shadow Enforcer team meant only one thing. Pavlov was here to bring him back. He remembered the stiletto in his pack at the same time a rash of gunfire opened up at his heels. A spasm of instinct hurled him to the ground, bullets kicking up clods of dirt around him as he worked to bring his rifle up into firing position. A sliver of lead fire seared its way across the skin of his cheek, a thin line of blood warming the area where the bullet had grazed him. The shelter of a corner shielded him from the gunfire. This kill had to be quick and it had to be neat. He wouldn't get a second chance. Jamming a fresh cartridge into his gun, he picked up the waiting game where he had left it off. The bullets stopped coming the instant before a soldier appeared around the corner. Mulder squeezed off two shots in reaction, killing him but allowing his partner to move in. Now he was the one looking down the barrel of a gun, into eyes filled with stone cold hate. "Drop your rifle!" The soldier yelled, brandishing his gun. "On your face!" A slow sigh of defeat sagged his shoulders as he tossed the rifle aside. The soldier retrieved it cautiously, glaring back at Mulder and daring him to try anything. "I said *on your face*! I already have a reason to shoot you- don't give me an excuse!" He lowered himself to the ground, hands folded underneath his stomach. There was the soft buzz of static in the background as the Enforcer radioed his commander. "Command central this is Position Three. I have him." The response was quick this time. "Keep him contained until reinforcements arrive. All units are moving your way." The soldier turned his attention back to Mulder. "Ok, scum, hands behind your head." "If you insist." Mulder rolled over, his hands coming up with his pistol, a single shot dropping the soldier before he had time to react. He was on his feet before the other man's body hit the ground, moving to retrieve his rifle. Now the field of play had opened up into two choices. He could continue evasive maneuvers or he could sit and let them come to him. His eyes lighted on a fire escape in the building beside him, leading up to the roof and an idea began to form in his mind. No, he would not run this time. Let the soldier boys come. *************** "Sir, we've lost contact with all but two of our positions." The team leader could barely control his frustration as he turned back to Pavlov. "Who is this guy ? He's taking them out one by one like he was one of-" His words trailed away at the impossibility of the thought. "One of us?" Pavlov turned at long last from the window. "You are quite right in assuming that. He is a Commander, with experience in both shadow units and assasination detail until he went AWOL on leave." The soldier was stunned. "And you didn't think that information would be important to the success of this mission," "Success is slowing him down. We've accomplished that. One of your men seems to have control of the situation, and I suggest we waste no more time here. Which way did the communication come from ?" "Near Position Eight. A warehouse not far from here." "Then we should move now." Pavlov began to move at a fast, clipped walk. "The other pair should be arriving as we speak." *************** Mulder lay flat against the roof, his chest and lungs heaving from the hurried climb up the fire escape. And not a moment too soon, for the sound of footsteps and voices announced the arrival of the last team. Two voices, each displaying different levels of shock and anger at the bodies of their comrades. One was loud and irate, burning the air in a streak of language that would have made Scully's Navy brothers blush. The other said nothing more, but Mulder could hear footsteps as he moved into a wary position. He would take the big mouth first. The elevation gave him an almost unfair advantage. He chose the true aim of his 9 mm over the messier firepower of the Uzi. All thoughts of death and tradegy and casualties were gone from his mind, pushed aside by finely honed instincts of war until he was almost proud of himself for orchestrating such a kill. Rising to his feet, he fired twice. The first bullet went true to its course, killing the loud soldier instantly. The quiet one was harder, ducking out of the path his death was taking toward him. He brought his rifle up, already firing, towards the roof, but Mulder had already pulled the trigger a third time. The bullet struck him in the chest, knocking him backwards and sending the stream of gunfire in another direction. It was over that fast. Little by little Mulder became aware of the sweat and blood, both his and his enemy's, which soaked his skin and his clothes. He rose to his feet, staring down at the dead soldiers as he moved toward the fire escape. Their ammo clips would come in handy.... The crack of a pistol jerked his guard to the left, down the street at the same moment the knife-like sensation of a bullet gouged through his ribs and out his back. The team leader and Pavlov. He hadn't expected them so soon. In a cry more like surprise than anything, Mulder fell to his knees on the roof, clutching his side. Blood seeped through his fingers, staining his hands, and he gasped as the air hit his wound, heightening the first promises of pain. He pulled his hand away, running a two second assessment of the injury. The wound felt shallow, and in all likelihood he was lucky. It looked like the extent of the damage was the chunk of flesh it had torn away, before bouncing off his ribs and out of his body. He didn't feel fortunate. He felt sore and he felt stupid as yet another voice, one he surmised belonged to the team leader, called out to him. "Throw down your weapons and then proceed slowly down the fire escape." None came readily to mind, the block of pain making it difficult to concentrate, and Mulder realized that for now he would have to play along. He tossed the 9 mm and the rifle over the edge of the roof, then reached to do the same to his pack. A gleam of silver winked up at the sun as he noticed the stiletto sitting in the front pocket. An option. Pulling the weapon out of the pack, Mulder slid it up his sleeve and then hurled the rest of the back pack to the ground. Shaking his head to clear away the red fuzzies that often came with injury, he rose to one knee, then to his feet. His hands, slick with blood, maintained an unsteady grip on the rusted rails of the fire escape as he moved down one step at a time, very glad that it was only two stories. By the time he reached the ground, the soldier and Pavlov were waiting for him. The team leader, or at least that's what Mulder guessed him to be, kept his fury back except for his eyes as he trained his rifle on him. Pavlov carried no weapon, but wielded his trademark smile like a dagger. "You've cause quite a lot of trouble, Mulder." he said smoothly. "Six Enforcers, all dead at your hands. They're not going to like that very much back at Headquarters." Something in the way he said that tipped off suspicion in Mulder's mind. "But I'm not going back, am I?" he asked, knowing the answer before he asked the question. "Perceptive man. It's true at one point I wanted you alive. Your behavior has changed that. Now I see that you are too much of a risk to be kept around like a time bomb on a short fuse." "Sir-" the team leader diverted his attention to Pavlov for one moment. "I may be mistaken but the law requires you to bring any deserters back alive to stand trial for high treason. Killing this man would be illegal." Pavlov's smile wore thin as he turned to the man. "Thank you for the advice, Commander. You and your team have been most helpful." His hand descended on the back of the soldier's neck with such force that Mulder heard the bones crack even from where he was standing. The Commander's body went slack as he crumpled to the ground, open shock following him into death. "You killed your own man," "No witnesses." Pavlov said. "I wouldn't want the High Command to get word of this little incident. Losing a whole team would be bad on my record, especially when I failed to bring the target back alive." "So I'm next on death row," "You could say that. So is the woman as soon as I find her." He took a step back, noticing the way Pavlov's flesh was starting to ripple and wrinkle in places and ways totally unnatural to a human body. Then he remembered. Pavlov looked human enough but he was truly an alien underneath all the trappings... "But that's just it. You won't." he said, his hand closing around the cylinder handle of the stiletto as he gathered himself for a sudden attack. "And at risk of sounding cliched, this town ain't big enough for the both of us." The stiletto whispered softly as the blade slid out of the cylinder. Pavlov cocked his head to one side, the smile distorted as the flesh of his face began to lose shape and form. "You're right. It's not." he said, the words turning into a hiss as his human appearance fell away totally. A grumble of thunder above them split the sky almost the same way Mulder's heart split his chest at the deep-seated unease, even fear, that came bubbling from the depths of his being. He was standing toe to toe, eye to eye, with a nightmare. He thought he had seen horror in the newborn versions of this creature, but though the appearance was identical, it was totally different. The monsters he had killed had been new to the world, equipped with instinct and primal strength but none of the evil and cunning and assurance reflected in the ebony eyes that watched him now. Now, as he stared into razor teeth and dagger claws and a hundred different ways to die an agonizing and bloody death, Mulder felt very close to terror, closer than he would ever like to admit. The thing leaned back on it's haunches, a thin black tongue flickering out of it's mouth. He had no more time to reach afraid. An unearthly shriek scraped the sky under the roar of thunder, and it scared the earth itself to tears. Soft pitter-patters of rain begain to fall around them, but Mulder barely noticed. For a fraction of a heartbeat the creature paused, muscles coiling, and then an intense scream erupted from its jaws as it pounced *************** A gray torpedo of slashing claws and glistening fangs hurtled toward him, catching Mulder solidly in the stomach and propelling him backwards and flat onto his back. He didn't have time to wait for breath to return as he rolled over, out from under the powerful jaws. The fire that flared up from the wound on his side was dwarfed by the mind blowing pain raking his arm as the claws caught his shoulder. He screamed, stabbing the stiletto into the monster's heart in an attempt to gain release from the agony. The alien recoiled, it's tongue flickering out in a low hiss as it looked down at the weapon. Mulder backed away as fast as he could, trying desperately to make it to the guns, but when the thing looked up, he swore he saw Pavlov's same smile. A voice that sounded like Pavlov's spoke directly into his brain. The creature grasped the cylinder of the stiletto, hissing again as it pulled it out of it's flesh, sticky threads of black clinging the point. Mulder watched helplessly as the only weapon that could do anything to save his life went sailing through the air above his head, down the street. He threw himself backwards, his hands finally closing around the Uzi as the Pavlov-monster charged him again. Now he was on his feet, jerked up by the iron cords of adrenaline and desperation. His fingers squeezed the trigger and held it down as a steady stream of bullets plowed into the alien. Each one seemed to disappear into the slimy meat of its flesh, a tiny spurt of black blood the only thing marking the damage. The gunfire was not meant to kill, because it could not, but he hoped it would hold back the beast just long enough for him to reach the stiletto. He was moving, as fast as he dared, never letting go of the trigger. The ploy seemed to be working, for each time the alien charged him, the thud of bullets would drive him back. It threw its head back and shrieked it's frustration amidst the rain and the storm. The stiletto was within sight, a flash of metal and of hope in the mud, when the unthinkable happened. The bullets stopped coming. He stopped cold in shock and frustration, desperation setting in as he realized he didn't have another clip. "Pavlov" must have realized the same thing, for his smile returned, made even more demonic by the rows of teeth flashing death in his direction. The alien raced toward him, claws extended and jaws gaping. Mulder ran. Faster than he ever had, faster than he thought he could, like a giant spring had been released, and was throwing him through the air. Just not fast enough, as a heavy weight slammed into him from behind, knocking him to the ground an arm's length away from the only thing that could save his life and Scully's. The claws sank into his shoulder again, flipping him over onto his back. He tensed, expecting his death to begin in slashes and screams. Nothing happened. Instead, the creature leaned forward, its face inches from his own while it kept him pressed firmly into the mud by its weight. The voice returned, speaking in his mind with a breath almost as foul as the odor in his face. The words were much less cultured now, more primal and truly alien. Pavlov drew one claw across Mulder's throat just enough to break the skin into a scarlet choker of blood. There was triumph in those words, the gloating of one who knew for certain the victory was his. He kept his eyes focused on the alien, but his hand stretched out in a painstakingly slow grab for the stiletto. Yeah well if the thing would be arrogant a moment more, Mulder might have a last chance at life. The creature's tongue shot out, black and slimy, across his neck, lapping at the stray blood. the voice promised. The pleasure in Pavlov's tone when he spoke of it made Mulder's blood boil. He kept his emotions in reign, however, because his fingertips were flirting with the cylinder. Closer....closer...got it! He closed his fingers around it, pressing the button to release the blade as he let his rage build his strength. The creatured raised one hand, claws fully extended and shining with wet blood. His muscles tensed like a steel spring, ready to strike at the perfect moment. There was a pause. "Think again." Mulder said, staring straight into the coal black eyes as he released his hand in a vicious arch that embedded itself firmly in the alien's neck. "Game's over, Pavlov. You lose." A scream unlike anything he had ever heard in his life tore lose from the creature's throat, and it clawed at the back of its neck, ripping it's own flesh in an attempt to undo the fatal damage. Mulder shoved the monster off of him, rolling to the side and breathing in gasps and heaves as the pain tried to take over. He fought it back, clinging to consciousness long enough to watch his enemy die. Pavlov thrashed about in the mud, shrieking and hissing. The noise grew less and less as his body began to disentigrate, eating away at itself. Finally there was nothing left except a puddle of bright greenish ooze that mixed with the mud and the shades of red and black blood. Mulder closed his eyes, letting his head sink against his arm. He lay in the mud, staring up at an upside down view of the slackening rain. Overhead the sun dared show its face again, peeking out in rays of palest yellow now that the nightmare was gone. Part of him realized the magnitude of what he had just done. The rest was too tired and sore and bleeding to take pride, or to care, or to do anything besides lay where he was. He didn't want to move again. Ever. His eyes eased shut, not sure when or if he was ever going to open them again. "He's alive, Father!" The voice of a little girl snapped his eyelids right back open. "I told you he was alive!" There was the sound of footsteps skidding to a halt and then the face of the little girl from the window peered down over him. "Hey, mister." she said, smiling. "What's your name?" "Mulder." "My name is Melissa. My daddy is a good doctor. He can patch you up." Another face joined hers, a man about forty-five with a kind look about him. "Melissa, go tell Mommy to get a room ready." "Ok." the child brightened. "But what's that green stuff right there?" "Don't touch it. Just go tell Mommy." The man looked back down at Mulder. "I didn't know those things could be killed." "There are ways." Mulder groaned as he turned his head. "Not pleasant, as you can tell. Do you see a metal cylinder on the ground anywhere near the... ummm....green stuff?" The man walked away for a second then returned holding the stiletto. "This?" "Yeah...it belongs to me..." "My name is Doctor Warchol." The doctor helped Mulder to his feet, supporting him as they walked towards the house. "You can stay at my house until we clean you up. Once the rest of the town figures out it's safe to leave their homes, you'll be a pretty popular guy. We share your feelings towards the Enforcers, if not your courage." "I can pay." Mulder grunted, fighting the urge to throw up. "Hard cash." "No need. We've had our share of resistance fighters in our time, but none have taken down a whole shadow team singlehandedly!" Warchol laughed like he found the concept amusing. "No, we'll take good care of you while you're here." "If you can just patch me up and give me a room for the night, I'll be out of your way." "Oh." the doctor sounded disappointed. "You have someplace you gotta be?" Mulder turned his head back toward what little of Pavlov the earth hadn't absorbed, thinking of the alien's words. "Yes." he answered. "I do." ************* The west coast of Chile Two months later: He had heard the footsteps before he had seen the man that caused them, a lone figure in moonlight walking towards the house from the direction of the mountains piling up behind them. Skinner chose stealth over confrontation, picking up his shotgun and moving between the door and a window, so he could maintain visibility. The man looked non-threatening, but years of experience told him not to believe his eyes too readily. For all he knew the stranger could be an assassin sent to finish the job on Scully. They'd had to get through him first. And that was something Skinner knew would not happen. However there was something familiar about this "stranger", in the way he walked, in his build. True, the man was coming around the back way but the house faced the ocean so he reasoned anyone would have to. Not that they'd had many visitors. His thoughts flashed to Scully, asleep in her room. If push came to shove would she be able to get out in time? Would she even want to? He flipped the safety off the shotgun. It was up to him to make sure those questions never had to be answered. The man stopped at the door, his face still cloaked by the veil of night. Skinner moved away from the window, stepping back and bracing himself for a gunshot and the mayhem afterwards. Knock. Knock. Knock. The soft sound was almost anti-climatic, and while his muscles relaxed, his grip on his gun did not. "It's open." he said, just loud enough for the man to hear without waking Scully. The doorknob turned, and the door swung open. He blinked twice as the face became visible, the one man he had never expected to see. "Agent Mulder..." he cleared his throat, stepping back but not lowering his gun. "Come in." Skinner watched Mulder as he did so, walking inside and dropping a worn back pack on the floor. It was his old friend all right, but so many things had changed about his face and his eyes that it was no wonder he had mistaken him for a stranger. If it was, however, truly Mulder and not a hybrid or a clone. "Why have you come here?" he asked. Mulder seemed surprised to a degree at the question. "I got your letter. You said to come." "I sent that almost three months ago. Why didn't you come sooner?" "I had some loose ends to tie up." Now that Skinner had a clear look at Mulder, he could see the ugly red scars running down his arm from his shoulder past his elbow. "Loose ends" was certainly an understatement, so it appeared, but there would be time to swap stories later. "I thought you had obligations." He chose the most diplomatic word possible, but found it hard to keep the edge off his voice. For over a year Mulder had stayed away, and then he shows up now, now when it was almost too late... "I did." he said. "But I no longer have to answer to them." He pulled something out of his belt and set it on the table. A 9 mm handgun, equipped with silencer. There was a moment of silence. "Where is she?" "She's asleep." Skinner said, sitting down in a chair and laying his own gun idly across his lap. "That's all she does now. In between doctoring and walking for hours on end." He shook his head. "Does she eat?" The open concern suddenly flooding the man's voice dispersed any doubts to his identity. It was trademark Mulder, the way any mention of Scully flipped a switch that turned on emotions otherwise dormant. Scully used to talk about him the same way, before... "When I can talk her into it." He had no intention of softening the truth any longer. "Your death has been hard on her. Harder than I imagined it would be." "You said she was fine." "I *said*," Skinner glared up at his former agent with a look used a thousand times before. "that she was coping. There's a big difference between that and *fine*." He sighed, a sadness of sorts creeping around his voice. "It doesn't matter, not anymore. She's not even bothering to cope now. As long as she had her vaccination research, some way she thought she was fighting back, she could make it." "What happened?" "She hit a wall. I'm not the scientist she is, but the tools I found for her just don't cut it all the way. She wanted to take her information to the resistance." Worry edged Mulder's next question. "You didn't let her, did you?" "No." he replied. "She gave up on the idea and gave up on the rest of life at the same time. I don't know if even you can reach her now." "I want to see her." "As I said, she's asleep." "I won't wake her." he promised, a sort of almost pleading to his voice. "I just want to see her, that's all." Skinner opened his mouth to refuse, but one look into Mulder's face changed his mind. The pain and guilt and sadness reminded him without words that Scully had not been the only one to suffer during this time. "All right." he nodded. "But do it quietly. Her room is down the hall." He didn't get up from the chair, watching as Mulder disappeared down the hallway. There was something about the way the man moved, a purpose in his step that convinced him that he would have found her anyway, even if he had told him no. The man had come too far and searched too long to stop at anything less. ************** Mulder hardly dared breathe as he opened the door to her room, half-believing that if he did, he would wake up back in New Orleans to find it all a blissful dream floating amid a sea of nightmares. But it was not a dream. He never dreamed of things so beautiful they made his eyes hurt like they were hurting now. Or was his heart that felt the pain? She lay like a butterfly in a chrysallis of moonlight, the beams of silver spread over her like they were protecting her somehow. Her hair was the brilliant copper red of old times, spilling around her like a cascade of spun fire. The ivory of her skin seemed almost translucent in the light, soft and pale. It was her face that melted the night into nothing by comparison, stopping his breath and stopping his heart. Her eyes were closed, tiny wrinkles along her brow furrowed in concentration even as she slept, lips parted slightly. It was a different face, sadder, but marked with something he had not seen in a long, long time. Innocence kissed her features as she slept. He should go, leave forever before the horrible decay of his soul spread to her as well, taking away the thing he had most wanted to give her. Peace. But he could no more move than look away, trapped by a power she did not even know she had over him. Before he could know or care what he was doing enough to stop himself, Mulder reached one hand out toward her, needing to touch her just once. Once to assure himself that it was real and she was here and both of them were alive. Then he could leave and go meet his fate a happy man, because he would die free and he would die with her face on his mind and across his soul. His fingers brushed the skin of her cheek, following the familiar line of her face in a simple gesture he had ached to do so many times during the past year. A lock of hair had fallen across her eyes, and he curled it around his finger, smoothing it to the side. Mulder pulled his hand back like it had been burned, a pain truly like fire stinging his flesh. Struggling to breathe around the intense tightness of his chest, he turned and walked back toward the door. Her whisper struck him like a harpoon in the back. "Mulder???" He had awakened her. How could he be so stupid? Now there was no easy closure, no melting into death unmourned and unnoticed. Swallowing hard, he turned around. Scully felt her face shift as her emotions ran from shock to surprise to joy to shock again until they all collided and tears thickened her voice, nearly reaching her eyes before she remembered that this was Mulder. She didn't cry in front of Mulder. "You're alive..." she could barely speak, the heavy weight of emotion crushing her words. "No." She shrank back against the wall, holding her hands in front of her to ward off whatever demon had come to visit her. Mulder, her Mulder, was dead. She had heard the gunshot! "NO!" Her voice was louder this time. "Get away from me! You're not him! I heard the shot- I know he's dead." "Scully, it's me. There was a shot, but it wasn't me. I'm alive." He walked toward her slowly, his hands up to show his meant no harm, until he stood beside the bed again. "I escaped...and I've been looking for you ever since." The lie soured the back of his throat, but he would rather die for real than have her know what he had done in her name. Who he had killed, what he had destroyed. "Mulder..." her voice collapsed and she wrapped her arms around him with all the desperation that was in her. He was alive...he was here....why had Skinner lied? Mulder held her in the embrace, remembering all the times he had feared he would never hold her again, never be near her. She clung to him tightly, almost cutting off his breath, but he welcomed it. More tangible proof that it was really happening. Scully found her senses a moment after her face was buried in his chest, and pulled away just as suddenly. She leaned back on the bed, wrapping a blanket around her as the night air sent a shiver through her. "How did you escape?" "Get dressed." Mulder said. "We'll take a walk. I can explain everything then." His smile was warm and she found herself smiling back like she never thought she would. "Ok. I'll be out in a moment." He squeezed her hand one more time, and she found herself staring unbashedly as he walked out the door. It was impossible. Flat out impossible. But it was him so she'd better get dressed. ************* The moist sand felt delicious on her bare feet as they walked along the shore. She smiled as she remembered how Skinner had watched them like a hawk until they had gotten out of sight, his shotgun still held ready. It reminded her for all the world of the way her father would act if she was on a date. But she was all grown up and this was no childhood sweetheart. It was Mulder. He had told her the story of his escape, how he had double-crossed Pavlov and his men after offering to exchange his life for her safety. From his words, he had only told Skinner that he was making the deal, not how he planned to overturn it. Scully was glad Skinner hadn't lied to her, tried to change reality for a truth that might fall easier on her. Mulder had been searching for over a year, he said, from the top of Canada on down. The Lone Gunmen had helped him find her in the end. When she asked how they were doing, he fell into silent sadness, and told her how they had been killed in an Enforcer raid. Now there was nothing left to say, so they walked without speaking, enjoying each others company. The more she looked at him, the more Scully noticed that something was wrong, that the shadows under his eyes and the pain on his face came from far more than the memory of a friend's death. He wasn't telling her something, and that something was killing him. "Mulder, something's wrong." She stopped, looking up at him. "There's something different about you. Something you're not telling me. I want to know what it is." He smiled at her, his hand finding hers again. "I'm just tired." he said. "It's been a long journey. At times I never thought I'd be standing here right now, with you." His arms formed a circle around her. She leaned into his embrace readily this time, resting her head against his chest and allowing a smile of her own to cross her face. "Neither did I." she admitted. Closing her eyes, Scully let the sea breeze, spunky and spiked with a hint of salt, to play with her hair and cool her face as she relaxed. This was Mulder, she reminded herself. She could trust him completely and totally, because he would never lie to her... Scully felt something flat and stiff like leather push into her cheek, and pulled back a little to notice that there was an object in the inside pocket of his overcoat. "Mulder, I didn't know you kept your FBI badge..." she said, reaching toward the wallet, or whatever it was. "I didn't." his voice sounded surprised, and his eyes matched it. "I shredded it when we changed our identities. You were there." "Then what's this?" she pulled out a thin brown object that looked for all the world like a badge of some sort. "It's nothing- give it back." His hand moved to grab it, but she was faster, pulling it away teasingly as she dance out of his reach. "Let's see what we have here...." she said, flipping back the cover. "Commander Fox Mulder, Shadow Team 4280-" The teasing note in her voice died straight away and when she met his eyes, her gaze was dark with fear and suspicion. "This is an Enforcer identification badge. Krycek had one..." This was not true, this was not happening... Mulder would never turn on her. Would he? "So did all the other bounty hunters we killed." The betrayal suddenly became clear to her, and Scully dropped the badge in the sand, moving back from him. "Why do you have one?" The cold dread in her voice shook him to the core. He was stunned that this was happening. How could he have forgotten about his ID? Oh yes. He had been preoccupied with seeing her again. And now, he had reached his goal but had it come to this? "Scully, wait-" he took a step toward her, his hand held out as he begged her to understand. "I can explain." "Don't-" She held up her hand, a detachment to her tone he recognized as the way she always spoke to Pavlov or a guard. She had never used that voice with him. Never. Until now. "I'm sure you'll have a very good reason and an even better lie." Now a little of the coldness wore away and her words were colored with pain. "Just tell me if you're one of them or not." He couldn't meet her eyes, staring miserably down at the earth as he spoke, dreading her reaction. "Yes. I worked for them." Only when the words were out in the open, breathed like a plague into the air, could Mulder look up to see her flinch at his answer. The open shock of betrayal in her eyes wasn't so very different from Samantha's the moment before he had shot her. But he had done this for her...she had to believe that. "I can explain Scully..." he moved closer. "If you'll just listen for one moment." His fingers made contact with her shoulder. "NO!!" The word flew into the air in a mangled scream and she turned away from him, running down the beach back toward the house. Skinner was there...Skinner could protect her.... Unless he was in on it too. The thought frightened her beyond words, adding fuel to the fire that drove her forward. She could hear Mulder's steps fall heavy and fast behind her, the way he called for her to stop. If she did, then what? He would kill her? Was that his assignment here? No, she would not stop. She had to run, get away. The sea and the sky and the sand became a blur around her, the beauty of the night choked by her terror and the utter horror from the truth. "Scully- stop!" Mulder ran after her, the speed at which she fled surprising him. He was having trouble catching up with her, and if she didn't stop when he did he would have to stop her. It wouldn't exactly help his case. She had to know the whole truth. The truth he should have told her from the beginning. Now he was in reach of her, gaining speed and asking her to forgive him as he jumped forward. The weight of his body hit her from behind, knocking her to the ground. Another scream tore from her throat as she kicked and struggled against the hands that held her down. "Scully, listen to me. Just for one moment." "Let me go!" "No!" "I said to *let* *go*!" She drew back her hand, and slapped him as hard as she could. The sound of the blow froze both of them as realization set in of what just happened. The thought was paralyzing. Mulder moved back, letting go of her, but she didn't run. When he spoke again his voice was soft. "I can tell you what happened." "I know what happened!" she spit the words out, trying to feed from her hate rather than the tears that she knew were in her eyes. "You sold out! They released you from the camp because you handed them your allegiance and your soul on a silver platter! What did they offer you Mulder?!? Freedom? Money? Your sister?" "You." His voice was low and pained as he spoke, but she had no room left for sympathy. Surprise, however, was another matter entirely. "What did you say?" "They offered to release you if I joined them. They were going to sell you as a slave." Now that he had her attention, he had the hope that she would somehow understand. "Please believe me Scully. I couldn't let them do that." "Believe you." Her echo of his words was bitter, and she looked up at him, her soul bleeding through her eyes. "When you told me you had escaped I believe you. When Skinner told me you were dead, I believed him. I mourned for you Mulder! I felt like I was dying because I !believed! the lie that you were dead." She rose to her feet. "But now I wish you had been." Her words hit like a blow to the head, and Mulder couldn't look at her. Then he realized she was walking away from him, and he couldn't let that happen either. Springing to his feet, he grabbed her elbow. "You can't walk away from me yet. Not without knowing why I did what I did." "I don't care." She tried to pull away from him. "I need to go." "No! You have to hear this. When I'm finished you can leave and never look back but let me talk." Scully didn't answer, standing in angry silence for a moment. "Let go of my arm, and I'll listen." she agreed, not bothering to look at him. The pressure on her arm disappeared, but still she kept her face turned away. The sight of him made her sick, the thought that the one person she trusted completely had betrayed her completely. "You saw me at the slave auction. It was Palov's idea. He knew what seeing you there would do to me." "Why should you care what happened to me? You were quick enough to save yourself when the deal was offered." "The deal wasn't for me, Scully. I signed away my allegiance, as you called it, to get them to release you. You were dying in there. No, you won't admit it to me or anyone else. But you were." When she didn't move, didn't look at him, he continued. "Have you forgotten so soon? I was right there with you. I took solitary to get you medical treatment. I killed a man to keep you safe. I looked away when you cried and I held you when you got sick, even though you wouldn't tell me what was making you throw up. How could you even think I would betray you?" When Scully blinked, the pools of tears in her eyes overflowed and ran down her cheeks. She wanted to believe him, wanted to with every part of her, but he had lied once. What was to keep him from lying again? What one thing kept their whole relationship from being a lie? Everything she had thought they were and wanted them to be... "I want to believe you, Mulder." she spoke very softly, like the falling of snow at midnight. "But you have to convince me that it's not another lie." "You heard a gunshot." he said, pulling out his darkest demon in an attempt to just make her look at him. The thought of baring the decay of his soul was no pleasant, but he would do it for her. "When you were being released." "So?" "So that was when I shot my sister." Scully snapped her head back around to meet his gaze so fast her neck popped. Truth or lie was forgotten in the pure, numbing shock of what he was saying. His sister...his faith...his belief. "You what?" "I shot her, Scully. In cold blood. That's why they let you go. It proved my loyalty to them. But it saved your life, and that was why I did it." She stared at him, her eyes uncomprehending of the truth or simply refusing to believe. "You killed her because of...me?" "There was no other way." It was so much easier to be angry, to push away her humanity with walls of iron hatred and righteous indignation. She had asked for the complete, total truth and she had gotten it. Along with every ounce of the bone-crushing guilt that accompanied the knowledge. And she still couldn't look at Mulder. Not out of loathing for him, but out of loathing for herself, what she had caused him to do. She walked away. Mulder watched her disappear back toward the house before dropping to the ground. He stared at the sea, listening to the breakers pound and beat on the surf. It couldn't drown out the groaning of his own soul. If he had his gun, he would have ended his suffering right there. Scully didn't believe him. She thought he had sold out, had cashed in to save himself. He had thought his universe was dead, but now the decaying bones of it crashed down around him. So he had not been alone in that kind of pain. "So do I Scully." He said, laying back in the sand and closing his eye. "So do I." to be continued.... - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - becoming judas 12/12 darkstar - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Morning found him still on the shore, kept company by a very inquisitive flock of seagulls who scattered the moment he sat up. Disorientation burned away like mist under the sun to give place to the deep-seated pain that had followed him into sleep. Scully hated him. She had heard his explanations, read his motivations and trampled on his soul when she had walked away without so much as a backward glance. Was it so easy for her to hate him? Mulder didn't know why it wouldn't be He was thoroughly sickened in disgust with himself. Sometime he would have to go back to the house and face her and Skinner and the look of sad betrayal that would paint each of their faces. Sometime was not now. The sea hadn't changed overnight, still as vast and timeless as always. The thought struck him that it would be easy, oh so easy, to start swimming slip quietly away from himself and the rest of the world. He certainly would not be missed. But that would be running away. If he was brutally honest, that summed up his problems in one nice neat little ball. He might say the time he had spent with the Enforcers was against his will, and it would be a layer of the truth, but he had been running. From his guilt, from his pain, from his sister's memories. When he could run no longer, he had literally fled. Then when he found the thing he most ached for, when he had found Scully, he had run away from the truth about himself. He could kid himself all he wanted that the deception was to spare her feelings. Mulder knew that in reality it was to save his own. To keep the fragile illusion that he could be her white knight going for just a little while longer. Everything he believed about himself was centered in her belief of him. That belief was gone, dashed to pieces by his own manipulations and lies. Enough of running and hiding. He would face all of his demons all at once. Then he would destroy them and himself in the same process. Would that make her happy? Would it atone for the misery he brought into her life? It would have been so much better if Pavlov had killed him, or if he had bled to death afterwards in the mud. A tall shadow fell across the sand beside him and Mulder looked up to see his former boss standing over his shoulder. "You never did tell me about those loose ends you mentioned. " Skinner said. "I wouldn't be asking, but I thought it might help clear up a little mystery. Like why Scully came in last night looking like she wanted to cry. She might have in her room- I didn't follow her. Why she hasn't said a word all day today. Little details like that." His jaw tightened as his gaze pierced Mulder's. "She's protecting your secret but she doesn't have to. How long did you work for them?" "Up until three months ago." "I know you had your reasons but for her sake and yours I hope they're good." "The head interrogator offered me a deal. Sell out and she got out." "Did you have a choice?" "Not one that I'd ever make." Mulder rose to his feet, brushing off the sand that coated the back of him. "She had been sold. Not just to your average run-of-the-mill hormonal pervert. The Smoking Man bought her. I couldn't let her be reduced to that... to him." He stopped talking, waiting for the harsh words he knew were coming, for Skinner to shoot him or hit him or anything. If the AD lost control in any way, he hid it well. Skinner felt what could have been anger toward Mulder change course for the kind of understanding and sympathy that could only have come from one who had walked the same bloody road himself. He remembered the devil deals he had made, of one in particular when he too tried to bargain for Scully's life. The only difference was, he had lost. Now, staring at the demons in Mulder's eyes, he wondered if he was seeing himself if things had gone differently. "Why didn't you just tell her?" he asked. "You know how she is, sir. She would never have let me do it. If she thought I was alive, she would have driven you insane trying to find me. And I...I didn't want her to know." "I know you may not believe it now," Skinner said. "But you're no sellout." Mulder's smile was bitter. "Try telling that to her." "I don't think I have to. She understands more than you give her credit for. Just give her some time to digest it, and then talk to her again." "No." He said the word simply, without emotion. "I've done too much damage already. I'll just take my bags and be gone." "Mulder, you've gone through too much to let this die. Both of you have. I saw the scars. What gave them to you, I can't imagine." "I ran into an alien. I fought him." "And lived?!?" Skinner asked, disbeliving, a new respect in his eyes for the man in front of him. Mulder shrugged, walking toward the house. "I thought I was lucky then. Guess I was wrong." ************ A light rain cried all the tears she couldn't as Scully looked out the window, watching the raindrops slide down the pane. Mulder was gone. When he had walked into the house, she almost hoped that he would want to talk, would say anything to her. But he had only looked at her once, and even that was out of the corner of his eye on his way back out the door. He hated her. Hated her for giving him reason to commit such nightmares, for consigning him to live and dwell among the men he most hated. She was so sick of being used as a tool to find chinks in his armor. Since her abduction, Scully had lost count of the times They had hurt him through her. And now those same people used her again, forced him to make a choice. Her or Samantha. Why he had chosen her, she couldn't fathom. She was nothing more than a thorn in his side, a weight to drag him down. Samantha embodied his life and his hope and his love, the reason he set out to find Truth in the first place. Why he killed his sister to save for her the rags of her dignity, Scully didn't know. It certainly wasn't worth it- she wasn't worth it. Maybe he did it out of duty, maybe out of obligation. Either way she was certain he loathed her for it. He hadn't even said goodbye. Neither had she. As much as she long to beg him to stay, she would not. Could not. The barriers of pride were stubborn, and strong. So she had watched him go through a blurry film of tears but not once asked him to change his mind. She couldn't do that to him again, keep him somewhere she knew he didn't want to be. "He thinks you hate him." She turned to see Skinner sitting in his accustomed chair, watching her calmly. "How could he?" she asked, astonished. "I'm the one to hate. I caused all this..." "Stop that." His voice sharpened a little with the command, then eased up again. "Mulder makes his choices for himself. We can't change his mind any easier than we can change him, once he gets set on something." "It doesn't really matter." Scully said, not even bothering to make an attempt at actually believing what she was saying. "He's gone now." "Then I suggest you go after him." "I can't." It would be a weakness, the little woman running after the man she loved when he did not want her. "Why not?" "I just can't." He stared at her for a moment. "You're a strong person, Scully. Quite possibly the strongest I've ever known. But strength like yours can be a virtue or it can be a crutch." "I'm not sure I follow you." "Don't follow me. Follow him. Tell him you forgive him. It's all he wants to hear." Did she really? Did she really want to forgive and forget all the heartache he had put her through, and forgive herself in the same moment? "It's too late." "I got here ten minutes after he left. He can't be much more than fifteen minutes away. Which way was he headed?" "To the coast I think. North, like he was following it to the mountains." "He can't be that far away. Do it Scully. Do it for him, do it for yourself. If nothing else do it because it's just the right thing to do. But get out and stop him." She smiled a little, her mind made up. Leaving the window, she walked over to the door, not bothering to put on a jacket. She had always like the rain anyway, the gentle soothing feel of moisture on her skin. The rain fall was so light, it hadn't been able to wash away his footprints in the sand. One by one they stretched in a line beside the ocean and one by one she followed them. ************ The rain began to fall harder as her steps took her away from the indian village and higher into the green slopes of the mountains. She had all but lost his trail, but the chieftain said a white man had passed through town before she had, heading for the rocks. This was the only trail fit for any human to take, and while Mulder was agile, he was no mountain goat. Or so she hoped. Questions and doubts assailed her with the quickening of the rain fall. The rocky path forced her to concentrate on her footing, not on the voices of her own fear, and Scully devoted all her energy to moving faster so she could drown them out completely. The air was thin, though he was not very high up at all yet, causing him to pant for breath as he sat down on a moss covered log. His hair and clothes were soaked with the rain, but they could have been on fire and he wouldn't have noticed. His gun was dry and so was the Bullet he had been saving. It was a good place to die. The mountains sloped up from the south, growing larger and larger like great emeralds as they expanded north and east. To the west, directly in front of him, stretched the sea like a cloth made of beaten sapphire. The cliff he was standing on was about two hundred feet over the water, falling down in a waterfall of rock into the ocean below. Perhaps he would stand up when he died, so he would fall into the sea. Make up for all those times he had forgotten to feed his fish. Better yet, no one would find his body. Not that anyone would be looking. Death was patient enough when you wanted to help him along, and Mulder felt no need to rush as he set his pack beside him. He opened it, taking out two pictures. One was older than the other, the colors faded with age and wear, but both were crinkled with the marks of frequent handling. One was of his sister Samantha, smiling as she posed beside a boyish version of himself for the camera. The second was the newer of the two, a polaroid snapshot with Scully's face eyeing the camera in an expression halfway between amused exasperation and a smile. Her eyes were sparkling, and though there were faint shadows under her eyes, she looked genuinely happy. Mulder remembered the day he had taken it, right after her cancer had gone into remission, which was probably what made the shadows. He had found an old polaroid in a desk drawer with a few exposures left, and under pretense of "using the rest of the film" he had taken several pictures of the office and Scully. This was the only one left. Even looking at it now, he could remember like it was yesterday. Life had been sweet, happy, and oh so fresh since news of her remission. He had almost lost her then, and the memory of the simple joy in knowing she was going to live radiated through the photo. With such tenderness more like a gesture of reverence, Mulder ran his fingers over her face lovingly, then folded the photo in two. He placed it along with Sam's picture in his pocket. The next object he took from the bag was sentimental in a much different way. Every piece of metal that fashioned his 9 mm was etched with memories, those that were dark and cruel and rank with despair. He recalled Scully's words once, that those who lived by the gun died by the gun. She had meant it to make a point, but it was as true then as it would become in a few moments. True in a very, very personal way. ********** Her problems started with a fork in the trail. The path branched off in two directions, one leading to down to a small cliff and the other snaking up and northward into the heart of the mountains. Logic told her that if Mulder was going away, he would have taken the high road. A nagging little whisper that refused to be silenced told her to follow the lower road, but it could not explain why. It made no sense at all, but something about that road felt like Mulder. The same feeling was coupled with a sense of urgency she couldn't put her finger on to determine the cause. It was the same feeling she had felt the other night, like something dreadful was going to happen, something unknown. Scully bit her lip, knowing she would kick herself later for following an emotion, and walked down the lower path. Just because the elevation wasn't as high didn't make the going any easier. The rain turned the path treacherous, and Scully found herself sliding as much as she walked. The skin of her palms was torn, bleeding in places from the sharp rocks her hands seemed to hone in on. Still she pushed on, faster and faster, as the urgency grew with each step. She first spotted the ocean, glittering under the sun, when she was on top of a small pile of rocks that led down to the ledge of the cliff itself. Her gaze zoomed closer when she first noticed the unnatural black of an overcoat, her eyes expanding the vision to include the man wearing it. A man facing the ocean. With a gun to his head. And his fingers on the trigger. "Mulder!!" the pieces flew together and out of her mouth in a scream. Forgetting where she stood, Scully stepped toward him, her legs folding under her when the step landed on air. She fell down the pile of rocks on her knees, the top two layers of skin peeling back until she landed on the ground. The pain was all but ignored. Mulder...she had to get to Mulder...had to stop him... He whirled, frozen in surprise to see her and then in surprise to see her fall. "Scully- what are you doing here?" The gun didn't move from his head but then again his finger didn't tighten. She pushed herself to her feet, gasping for breath in between her words as she spoke. "Forget me...what are !you! doing?!?" Mulder's face was frightening in the lack of emotion he showed when he answered. "Taking care of business." "With a gun to your head!" "Go away, Scully. This doesn't concern you." He eyed the blood on her hands and now running down her legs. She had rushed....but why? She shouldn't be here, not when she had made it so crystal clear she wanted nothing to do with him. She looked like she had rushed to see him, but why? She had made it perfectly clear she wanted nothing to do with him. "You're wrong." She moved closer to him, until he began to move back. "It has everything to do with me." Still breathless, she continued to speak, throwing pride and caution to the wind. "I know what you did for me... because of me." The thought was painful and she swallowed to clear the tightness in her throat and her chest. "Mulder...I was angry at first, but only because I thought you had betrayed me. I trusted you, Mulder. Only you. But when you told me about your sister I knew the truth." "Why did you leave?" he asked her. "I had to. I couldn't stand there and know that everything you've had to do and have done has been my fault. If you should point the gun at anyone, it should be me! I should die! Not you!" "You haven't done anything, Scully." He said. "I was wrong to lie. I was wrong to get you captured in the first place. Now my sister is dead and so am I." "Mulder..." she held her hand out toward him, pleading. "Don't do this. Give me the gun." "We all have to pay for what we've done. So excuse me while I finish the job." He edged away from her, toward the ledge, until he was standing on the very edge. His fingers tightened on the trigger. . . "NO!" Scully lunged forward, her hand closing around his and the gun at the last second, knocking it back so that the shot went wild and shattered a rock instead of his skull. But her momentum didn't slow down and in horror she saw the edge of the cliff hurtle by underneath her, as she and Mulder plunged over the edge. The fall was over very soon, but it passed like time had been put on slow motion. She was aware of her screaming, of Mulder's startled cry. Of the way the colors of green mountain, gray sky, brown rock, and blue ocean melted together like a smudged oil painting. Of the rain, falling down in slivers below them and above them and around them. Of the way his hand found hers, pulling her close to him even as they fell into something like certain death. It was all very slow...her stomach rose up into her throat as they must be gaining speed. . . the blue of the sea became predominant, edging closer and closer and closer... The air was beaten from her lungs by a giant fist as they plunged through the surface, the icy cold stealing her breath as much as the force of impact. Disorientation struck next, and Scully twisted and turned in a frantic bid to discover the lost path back to air. Finally she found it, swimming upward in fast, swift strokes. Her lungs went from burning to screaming for air and she realized she wasn't going to make it in time... A hand grabbed her by the back of neck, hauling her through the film of the surface and into air. She gasped for breath, arms flailing wildly until someone pinned her against them. His voice was soft against her ear, quick and breathless from leftover panic. "It's ok..." he soothed her, holding her against him. "Breathe, Scully. I got you. Just breathe. It's going to be ok. We're alive." His touch calmed her as much if not more than his words, and she opened her eyes to see his face inches away from hers, eyes flooded with concern. "Are you-" "I'm fine." she interrupted, knowing the question before he asked it. Even when she reassured him, his arms didn't move from their protective embrace, though she knew it must be hard for him to tread water and support her weight. As much as she hated to, she pulled away enough to start treading water on own, keeping her hand in his. "Don't ever scare me like that again." she said. "And I suppose that knocking me off a cliff isn't startling at all in its own right." "I couldn't let you-" "You should have." He sighed, looking away from her back up at the cliff. "I can't live like this. I can't take the guilt." "You don't have to." "But I do." His eyes snapped back to meet hers, and the raw anguish hurt her more than the fall ever did. "I shot my sister, Scully. It was really her, for the first time ever, and she had been in the camp the whole time, and she had searched for me and..." his torrent of words slowed again. "I shot her." The talk was dangerous. Scully knew it and pulled his chin up with one hand so that they were eye to eye. "You saved me, Mulder." He had to believe that, had to know how grateful she was to him. "Even now I have nightmares about that place, about the room and the men and the auction. Sometimes in those dark dreams, the Smoking Man takes me away and I see what my life would have been like." She shuddered from more than the water. "But you kept me from all that. At an unfathomable cost. One that I'm afraid I'm not worth." "I'd do it all over again." he said, his eyes heating up to the familiar intensity that drove her mad. "In a heartbeat. It's what scares me. I loved- love- my sister beyond imagine, but I would sacrifice her again. You are worth it and so much more than I have left to give. . ." Now it was her turn for speechlessness. The subject was growing uncomfortable, hitting closer and closer to the taboo of her feelings. She found a smile to put on her face, and cast it with a mischievous twist in Mulder's direction. "Are we going to swim here until we become fish bait or are we going to start heading home?" "Lead on, Dr. Scully." He smiled back. "In fact, I'll race ya." No sooner had he gotten the words out than he was off, cutting through the water back in the direction of the house. "Not fair!" Scully stopped long enough to shout her protest after him but it did no good. He was already a good fifteen yards ahead of her. Taking a deep breath, she plunged forward. "Look who's calling not fair." Mulder complained, dropping onto the sand, his chest moving up and down as he tried to catch his breath. "I could have won if you had told me how fast you could swim. I was taking it easy on the weaker vessel." "Weaker indeed." Scully snorted, shaking her head and smiling for real as she sat down next to him. "This 'vessel' is a Navy brat, remember? I could swim before I could walk." He mumbled something unintelligible, then they both lay side by side in the sand, staring up at the sky of evening. The rain had stopped mid-way through the afternoon, the clouds peeling away to reveal a freshly washed night sky. "We'd better go." Scully said. "Skinner is going to be worried." It was still up to her to be the practical one, now that things were back the way they used to be. But that wasn't right. Things would never be the same and both of them knew it. Whether the change was good or bad, she didn't know. "Yeah. We wouldn't him to have a stroke or something." "Mulder," she scolded him. "He's not that much older than we are." "Then we'd better get back before we have strokes." She laughed and rolled to her feet. A sobering thought penetrated her happiness and when she spoke again it was much more serious. "You aren't staying here forever, are you." Her thoughts ran to the moon and back in the space of silence before he answered. "No." "How long?" "You'll know when the time comes." They said nothing more about it, but the phrase turned over and over in Scully's thoughts on the long walk home. ************* The more she tried to cling to every day, the more time slipped like liquid through her fingers until a week had passed by. She had tried smiling again, and food was much more interesting than before. But then every was more alive when he was around, even herself. Sometimes it was funny, the way they tried to compress a year of lost time into a few days, like when the village witch doctor had offered to marry them. Other times she would remember that nothing lasts, and then a sense of sadness would set in until Mulder's smile drove it away again. Today was different. There was something about him that had shifted ever so slightly, like each moment meant more now than before. He brought her flowers at breakfast. Mulder never brought her flowers. And if that alone wasn't enough to confirm her growing realization of what was happening, his bag sat by the door of his room, neatly packed. Goodbye was something she had never been very good at saying, especially to him, so the day wore on under the beautiful illusion that it would be just like any other. Until evening, when she found herself sitting on the porch with Mulder and wondering what to say that could fill a silence that stifled both of them. She looked at the sky, she looked at the sea, until she could run no longer, and looked at him to bridge her thoughts. "You're going back to them." It wasn't a question, not really when the truth was so painfully obvious. "I have to. Your work on the vaccine can help the entire world if I can get it to the resistance." His eyes told her he found no pleasure in the thought. "Let some else save the world." She said. "We've played hero long enough." "You know I can't do that." He sounded so assured, even to his own ears, that he half-convinced himself. And he had thought it was hard to leave her then. Watching from a window was nothing compared to this closeness, the sad and wonderful pain. "When are we leaving?" "We-" Mulder echoed, then shook his head. "No, Scully, you're not coming with me. Not this time." "You're going to have to stop me." Scully said, her jaw tightening as she dug her heels in for a fight. No way she was going to let him out there without her. Not a chance. "I can if you want me to, but I'd rather it not come to that." "You don't want me?" Her eyes were blue with uncertainty in that moment, and Mulder fell over himself in haste to clear up the misunderstanding. "It's not that." "It's too much of a risk. You're safe here. If I took you with me and someone-anyone- saw you, it would start all over again. I refuse to let anyone else hurt you because of me." "We could be careful." There was hope in her words, there always had to be hope... "Not careful enough." His hand closed around hers, a simple intensity in his eyes begging her to trust him. Scully had to remind herself that breathing was a normal body function. What was it in his stare that had such a power to unnerve her, melt her resolves like wax under a flame. The same flame that was burning inside her now, whispering thoughts of strangely familiar desire in her ears. "What about Pavlov?" Even now the sound of the name conjured dark shadows of memories she had tried to forget, but that still sent chills through her spine. She could still feel, at times, his hands on her temples, the ghost of his presence in her mind. "He'll be suspicious." Pavlov. He hadn't told her yet, not wanting to darken the stolen happiness of their time together with thoughts of that kind of past. "He's dead." New understanding lit up in her eyes as her fingers traced the scars on his arm. "Did you fight him?" "Yes." Mulder looked down at the scars himself, the searing pain that caused them still in his mind. "He tracked me when I left. Wanted to find you too. We fought. I survived." "What will you tell your superiors?" "I have a story ready. They'll believe it." It was a skill he had honed to perfection, the art of convenient lying. Another little silence settled over them, each wondering what to say. Scully picked at the fabric of her dress as she marshaled her courage to ask the one question she truly needed an answer to. When he was coming back. When, not if, as she feared it would be. "When you coming back?" She hardly dared speak the question that came out in a low soft tone between regular speech and a whisper. Mulder thought to himself, sighing at the complete and total honesty of what he was about to say. In a life of lies and greater deceptions, he had to be honest with her. Especially now that he was going back, and wasn't sure how long he could remain honest with himself. "I don't know." He said. "Once I'm back in, it'll be hard to slip out unnoticed. If they got suspicious..." "I know." Her lips moved in a fraction of a smile. "Too risky." She raised her eyes to meet his again, trying desperately to cling to the shreds of her self control. "Will you kill?" "If I have to. I'm planning on using my targets as couriers to get your vaccination work and any other information I can get to the resistance." It was a daring plan, bordering insanity, but he didn't care. Rationality had never been a strong point with him. "But you'll kill them...if you have to." He nodded, unable to answer her with words. The patch of silence stretched longer this time, and Scully felt she would scream if for no other reason than to make noise. A glint of gold around his neck caught his eye and coaxed a smile into life. "You wore it." She said, touching the necklace lovingly with her finger. "Always. Didn't I say we'd see each other again?" "Since when do I believe everything you tell me?" "Since you do you believe anything I tell you?" He unclasped the necklace and held it out to her. "I used to wonder how a piece of metal and gold could mean so much to you, but now I know. I've lost count of the times I would see it and remember you when I thought I couldn't stay sane another day." Uh-oh, they were nearing the minefield again, that area of conversation charged with explosive true feelings. Mulder's emotions were beginning to show through, as she had expected. If she wasn't careful she would fall into her own feelings and wouldn't that be a mess. But she craved the release so badly, more than she craved her next breath... "Keep it." She closed his fingers around the cross. "You need it more than I do anyway. Maybe it'll keep you out of trouble." Scully didn't add what she was thinking. "Let's not ask for too much." Mulder let got of her hand long enough to fasten it around his neck again. When his eyes grabbed hers, she knew she was in too deep, that she should get away very quickly before something happened that they would both regret. "I have to go." She said, turning away from him. "Why?" His hand captured hers, and she was struck paralyzed, unable to pull away yet unwilling to look at him. She feared nothing more than what she would see not in him but in herself. He cupped her face with his hand, turning it back toward him. "Why can't you let down the walls?" That voice, his voice, unnerved her. "Why do you always push away?" "I...have...that is I..." Scully gave up on the explanation she knew would never get it out right. Partly because she didn't have one. Not now. "We can't." His arms were on either side of her, trapping her in a prison that was gentle like velvet but strong as iron. She couldn't escape. "Tell me why we can't." He could see it in her eyes, the pieces of her marble facade crumbling in bits and pieces to reveal the light of her soul. Mulder felt himself drawn toward that light like a moth pulled toward a fire. This felt so right- what could she have to hold back? There was no answer from her, but her eyes told him she had none. He was going to take another risk. She didn't want to do this. She wanted to do this. He was leaning forward. She should pull back. She should meet him halfway. This was not happening. This was not. . . Her thoughts came to a screeching halt as he touched his lips to hers. At first she was paralyzed, shocked by the contact. It was a kiss that was not a kiss, hesitant and uncertain much like his eyes when he pulled away, waiting for her reaction. For a moment she didn't know if she could respond. Then she knew beyond a shadow of doubt she could, and what she wanted to do. A horrible feeling took root in his gut and spread through his body. He had done something wrong, had taken a liberty that was not meant to be. She wasn't moving, wasn't talking. She didn't want the same thing he did. "Scully, I'm sorry-" She cut him off in a second kiss that was neither hesitant nor uncertain. It started slow, soft, building intensity until it was like a star was being born between them, in glowing whites and electric blues that couldn't drown out the color of her eyes. He lived and died and found paradise all in the few heartbeats before she moved back, resting her forehead against his. Stars did not explode. Mountains did not fall. The sea did not dry up. If the earth stopped spinning, she didn't notice it. The absence of sound was sweet, almost like a drop of sugar melting on her tongue. If only for a moment, the universe had existed for them and them alone. Then the moment was gone, dissolved as she watched helplessly. Words seemed criminal but she spoke anyway. "Good night, Mulder." She planted a kiss on his forehead, then disentangled herself from his arms. His gaze continued to surround her completely, a sad smile leaping from him to her like a charge of static electricity. Scully realized he knew the same thing she did. She had said good night because she simply could not tell him goodbye. ************ In the moment before she opened her eyes, she knew he was gone. The pale light of a day freshly dawned flooded her window, but the morning felt different. Or was it her that had changed? She lay on her back, not moving yet, the tingle playing along the edges of her nerves. Did she want to get up and see if her gut feelings were real or did she want to go back to sleep and pretend otherwise? A few more hours wouldn't make much of a difference, even on the slim chance that she could sleep again. She stood up, touching the crucifix and reciting a hasty Hail Mary as she left her room. The door leading to the porch was open, and the morning air was cool on her legs as she walked down the hall. Another door stood ajar as well, the door to the room he had slept in. Scully took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she pushed the door open. Not wanting to believe even now, that this was it. The room was empty, the light playing on a neatly made bed and tidy floor. The space looked larger, perhaps because she felt the hole around her own heart so keenly. She took a step forward, then another, allowing herself to imagine him in the room. Picking up a pillow, Scully buried her face in it, inhaling deeply the scent of salt and spice. She smiled. It still smelled like him. The room's only window lent a breathtaking view of distant mountains in the north. If she closed her eyes and concentrated, Scully could see the scenery clearer in her mind. The wet, cool sand of the shore. The huts and buildings and fishing boats of the village. Finally, the rocky faces of the mountains themselves, bearded with green. He was somewhere in those mountains. She wondered if he felt the same rays of sun that caressed her skin now. She chose to believe he did. Her arms were reluctant to put down the pillow, but she did, smoothing the wrinkles out carefully. There would be no tangible evidence of his stay, only the pictures and sensations of her own mind. She left the room behind, shutting the door carefully, and walked out to the porch. Skinner was sitting on the steps, his eyes turning from the sea to her when he noticed her presence. "He left a couple hours before dawn." He said, anticipating her question. "He... said it would be better not to say goodbye." "It was." Scully nodded. There was no goodbye that needed to be said. If she didn't have to watch him leave, it was so much easier to pretend that he was here, safe with her. That he wasn't risking his life alone for a world that didn't care. Except for her. She cared with ever fiber of passion in her soul. The porch looked different in morning. She found herself almost unsure whether last night had been real or just another beautiful dream. Unconsciously, her hand went up to touch her lips. It was real. No question there. And his promise had been real too. A vow made to her without words and sealed with a kiss and something more powerful. When he had put on her cross, he had swore to come back alive. She in turn had promised to keep the faith until he did. With a small sigh, she walked back inside, down the lonely hallway to her room. Later she would think about the repercussions of his actions, of the lives he would have to take and the blood he would shed. Later she would worry about the possibilities if he was found out. This morning she had to run a follow up visit on the chieftain's twins, both of which were driving the mother up the wall with cases of colic. Then she would spend the rest of the day gathering herbs to replenish her dwindling medicine supply. Maybe in the end she would take a walk along the ocean. Then she would go to sleep and wake up and do much of the same thing. But she would keep her promise. She would live for his return and with his memories. Taking a dress out of the closet, Scully held it against her in the mirror. It was rather new, or at least she had never worn it before. She looked up from the dress, startled by the face reflected back at her. It was as if she was looking at herself for the first time in a long, long time. A tiny smile skimmed along her lips, like a stone tossed over water, to splash into her eyes. Yes, the red dress would be quite nice after all. ************** A long tongue of flame licked hungrily at the edges of the paper, turning it brownish yellow right before it digested it's latest bite completely into ash. Mulder dropped it on the table, watching it burn. "You really should find another way to feed those pyromaniac tendencies of yours." Krycek said, eyeing both the fire and Mulder. "And explain to me again how you managed to turn a death sentence into a commendation." "Rule of thumb. People in power are always willing to move the blame to someone with a position they want." "So you pinned it on our friend Pavlov. What did you tell the High Command anyway?" He smiled a little as the fire continued to nibble away at the commendation. "That while we were on leave we discovered Pavlov and a renegade shadow team selling sensitive secrets to the resistance. Of course I had all the documentation and back account numbers I needed to back up my claims." "Forgeries, of course." "The only way to go. Actually it was easier than it sounds. As it turned out Pavlov wasn't the most popular guy in the world, and a lot of them had old scores to settle. I just threw them a bone and let the dogs go for it." A smirk spread across Krycek's face. "Letting them slug it out while the spotlight drifts conveniently to someone else. Of course that's also quite convenient because he's dead. You're getting good at this. That sounds like something I would do." "Hey now, be nice." "I was!" He leaned back against the refrigerator. "So how what the trip?" "What trip?" Mulder echoed, all innocence. "Scully." "I have no idea what you're talking about." Despite the intended seriousness of his tone, he couldn't quite keep a smile from the corners of his mouth. "Well I'm glad at least one of us had fun." He tossed a manila envelope to Mulder. "But it's back to the salt mines. We've got a hit tonight. And since you took your sweet time getting back, you get to do the honors." Krycek walked towards the bedroom. "Wake me up when it's time to go. And put the fire out before you set off the smoke alarms again." "Yes, father." The cheerful note in his voice disappeared as he opened the envelope. The slip of paper fluttered out with the name of a the target. Only one this time, a scientist who was to die for his work on a vaccine. Could he really do this again, kill to live and live to kill? Tonight he was going to find out. "Take my life! Please, take anything you want, but spare my work!" the old man winced as another crash came from his laboratory. That would be Krycek, doing his part of the mission. Now it was time for Mulder to do his. "You'd really die for what you work on." He said, his voice dripping skepticism. "Yes...gladly- but leave my work! You're human! You know what it could mean to us!" On the outside he was stone and hatred but on the inside he was smiling. This was the one. The man who would get the honor of saving the world. "Listen to me and listen fast." He said. "I'm not going to kill you." "What?!?" "Don't ask questions if you want to live." "But the work-" "This is your new work." Mulder handed him an envelope containing all of Scully's notes and a vial of her blood. His voice fell to a whisper. "The rudimentary stages of a vaccine." "A vaccine???" The old man's eyes widened, and he hastily shoved the envelope inside his lab coat. "Who are you?" "A friend who will remain nameless." There was another series of crashes and the sound of glass breaking, then Krycek's voice came from the lab. "I got it all, Mulder. Hurry up and pop the geezer so we can get outta here early." "Ok, do exactly as I say." Mulder flipped the safety off his gun. "I'm going to shoot you." "I thought you said you-" "I'm going to miss. You fall down and be a good little stiff. Don't move until you hear the car pull away. Then find yourself someplace were you can disappear. If you're found again they won't be near as forgiving as I am. Catch my drift?" The man nodded. "How can I thank you, sir?" "Don't get caught." His finger squeezed the trigger just as Krycek's footsteps came toward them. The old man's body slumped to the floor. "What took so long?" Krycek said. "You always finish before I do." "He was a talker." "Oh, one of those?" "Yep." Mulder walked back out of the building and toward the car. "Let's go find a bar." They had to get out just in case the old man couldn't hold still. "On me." "In that case lead on." They were three steps away from the car when a screamed curse split the air behind them, as did the sound of a cartridge being jammed into the gun. He whirled to see a kid not a day older than fifteen charging toward them, a rifle in his hands. In the orange glow of a nearby street light, Mulder could see the murder in the boy's eyes. Pure instinct moved his hand to draw his gun. One hair of a second was all it took to pull the trigger and "neutralize" the "threat" before he was the one to die. But he couldn't pull the trigger... "You killed my father you murdering-" The words turned into a gasp of pain as two bullets caught the boy in the chest and stomach. The hate in his eyes changed to pain and fear, and he fell to his knees, hands dropping the gun to cover his wounds. Blood bubbled from his mouth and down his neck, mixing with the stains from his chest. Mulder turned to see Krycek lower his still smoking gun, his expression slightly annoyed. "Let's go get that drink." He said, walking around to the driver's side of the car. "Let the cleaners take care of him." The fear in the boy's face intensified at those words, and he held out his hand out, his voice raspy and pleading. "Please...shoot...me..." The boy coughed and winced as more blood came up. "Don't... leave me...for them." A moment of pity softened his features as he moved toward the boy, fingers closing on the trigger of the gun. "If I have to." His whisper was lost amid the crack of the gun that ended the boy's life. Until now he had never considered death a favor. It had been so easy to forget some of the less glorified aspects of his job. Like the part where he had to shoot kids in the head, and then pretend to smile while their blood still stained his clothes. "Are you coming?" Krycek called. "Yeah." Mulder tore his gaze away from the dead boy and turned toward the car. As he pulled the car door open, he caught a reflection of himself in the moonlight. The gold of the cross still glittered around his neck. He had his answer. He had her. And he would survive until he saw her again. Even if he had to save the world to do it. *********** He lit his cigarette hurriedly, drawing in a lungful of the savory smoke before breathing it out to sweeten the air around him. Morleys were very, very hard to come by these days, and this only the third pack he had been able to find since the beginning of colonization. But the Smoking Man had the feeling that he would be smoking a lot more of them now. It was just one of the perks his new position offered. He had to admit, Pavlov's office was nice. The subtle grandeur of the furnishings remained intact, as did the girl he had met earlier. She waited for him in the quarters with all his other slaves, just one more acquisition to prove his prowess in the new society. It was too bad about Scully, really, she would have been quite a trophy once properly tamed... The smile that the thought gave him vanished when his secretary, a Samantha clone carefully schooled in the behaviors of the original, showed a young officer into the room. "What did you find?" he asked, peering at the man through the smoke. The soldier was to be trusted- after all his new rank as Commander had been a gift meant to earn confidence. The Smoking Man had not survived by displaying any of the arrogance or superiority Pavlov did. He preferred to demonstrate his talents at manipulation in other ways. Like this one. "Everything you asked, for sir." Another cycle of smoke passed through his lungs and out through the corner of his mouth as he took the envelope the officer laid on his desk, noting the red CONFIDENTIAL: EYES ONLY stamp. "So tell me, where did he go?" "Commander Mulder used a satellite disruptor to slip away from shadow team surveillance. He then crossed the border into Mexico at a town known as Soledad, where he fought and destroyed all members of the team, including Minister Pavlov." The soldier recited the facts with the clean crisp tone of a finely oiled machine. The Smoking Man liked that. Machines were very useful things, taking orders without question, and he liked his men to copy them. "From there where did he go?" "The trail was cold, since we were starting after he had already gotten back, but we were able to find particle signals leftover from the disruptor's original homing beacon." "And?" This could turn out to be well worth the time and trouble, not to mention money, it had cost to conduct a private search without the knowledge of the High Command. He leaned forward in his chair, waiting for the soldier to finish. "We tracked his destination to a remote part of western Chile, along the coast. On your orders, sir, we ran a reconnaissance satellite over the area and took the photographs in the envelope." The soldier paused, waiting for him to look over the pictures. The Smoking Man crushed his old cigarette in an ashtray and lit a new one as he pulled out the photographs. This called for a fresh rush of nicotine. As the drug calmed his nervous system, he found it quite simple to mask the pleasure at the information. The top photograph was grainy, blurred like satellite imagery often was, but the overall picture was surprisingly clear. He had no trouble at all making out a woman in a dress the color of red wine walking away from a house by the ocean. A woman with short copper hair. "I trust you told no one of this." It was a dangerous secret to keep, but very profitable, as that kind tended to be. "No sir, but my men can at the target destination in five hours. I included a mission profile with the other information. It indicates that we can take the woman with minimal expenditure of force. When do you want us to leave?" "I don't." "Sir?" The Smoking Man leaned back in his chair, letting two tendrils of smoke curl out of his nostrils like twin snakes. "You've done very well, Commander. I am impressed." The soldier relaxed at the praise. "I do my best sir." "And I will assume that you will continuing doing exactly that. Minister Pavlov is gone, tragically, but now is time for a shift in power among us. If you do well for me, I will make sure you are in on it when that shift begins." "Yes sir. Is that all sir?" "You may go." He waved the soldier away. "Take three days paid leave." "Yes !sir!." The young man left the room, a smile barely kept back from his features. Once the door was shut, the Smoking Man let his own smile out of hiding. The poor Commander had no idea that he would suffer a tragic accident on the way out of the building. The information on his desk was too volatile to entrust to anything other than his own keeping. And now the question remained of what to do with his insurance policy. As much pleasure as it would bring him to see Mulder's face when he showed him his precious little secret had been unearthed, that was not a joy he would indulge in. For now. He would bide his time, wait until the leverage could be used in a fitting way. Mulder could be an effective set of eyes and ears on the inside of things, doubly so since he was expendable if anything went wrong. Or the information could be a valuable smokescreen in the event his own career should ever fall into jeopardy. He inhaled the smoke deep into his lungs, the nicotine relaxing his muscles. Sealing the envelope, he opened the top drawer of his desk and carefully placed the information in a hidden panel above it. The game was not over. It had only just begun. finis. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - the end !!!! yayyy!!!! ::fireworks:: so how did you like it? send all coments, questions, and all other flavors of feedback can be sent to: clone347@aol.com, as can david duchovny clones. :P your comments are worshipped daily with incense and small shrines. the Muse and I thank you for reading. darkstar - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - COMING SOON : He sold his soul to save her life. Now he wants to be human again. But can he? Becoming Judas II : Resurrection. coming soon to a mailbox near you for a sneak preview go to www.angelfire.com/scifi/becomingjudas