Category Archives: Uncategorized

Tool Time!

Tool Time!

Author: Starfleetofficer1

Summary: Mulder and Scully are acquainted with Tim the Tool Man Taylor.

Category: Humor, Crossover, X-file

Rating: PG

Two weeks exclusive with VS15.

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. I also don’t own Home

Improvement or any characters from the show.

Author’s Note: Takes place in an alternate universe where Brad Taylor is 12, Randy

Taylor is 11, and Mark Taylor is 8, in the year 2007. Just shave off a few years…I’m

sure the kids won’t mind too much and I *know* Tim Allen won’t mind at all. 🙂

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J. EDGAR HOOVER BUILDING

WASHINGTON, DC

MONDAY, DECEMBER 16th, 2007

0900

“You owe me big time,” Mulder heard, and lifted his eyes from his computer screen.

Standing in the doorway was his partner, obviously back from her meeting with AD

Skinner.

“And how is this news?” he asked with a smirk.

She strutted in, and sat down on the edge of his desk. She had his full attention.

“’Tis the season for team building seminars.”

“By the look on your face I’m guessing you told Skinner I was suffering from that

annual severe hem—”

“No, much better,” she said with a smile. “I made the argument, Mulder, that team

building exercises were supposed to not only improve our relationship but teach us

skills we didn’t previously possess.”

“And where does the excuse come in?”

“It doesn’t. We’re going somewhere instead of Oklahoma for the next seminar.”

“Where?” Mulder asked, still not convinced that it was time to panic. Scully was,

after all, smiling.

“Detroit, Michigan.”

“What’s in Detroit, Michigan?”

“Ever watched Tool Time, Mulder?”

He simply gave her a ‘look’. “You know how I am at fixing things.”

“You get as far as the instructions and give up. Trust me, I know. Our dryer still

beckons.”

“I thought you said you called a repair man for that.”

“I did, and he bailed. I told you this on the way to work this morning. Weren’t you

listening?”

Realizing that he was stuck, he went for the humorous approach. He grabbed a

candy bar and shoved it in his mouth.

“Need a moment?” Scully asked, catching his reference and chuckling softly.

“Anyway, we’re going to Detroit as members of the Tool Time audience, and then we

get backstage passes and a personal lesson from Tim the Tool Man Taylor.”

“A personal lesson on what?”

“Knitting. What do you think, Mulder?”

He rolled his eyes at her sarcasm, and said, “We don’t need to learn to fix things,

Scully. We’ve got repair men to do that. And besides, I sort of know how to fix a

radio.”

“Knowing how to fix one thing doesn’t help you in the field when you really need to

independently operate.”

Mulder sighed. “Scully…”

“Would you rather Skinner make us go to Oklahoma?”

“No,” he admitted emphatically. Then he leaned back, surrendering. “When do we

leave?”

“This afternoon. We’ll meet with Tim Taylor tonight, before the show, so he can brief

us on what he expects us to do. And then tomorrow we’ll appear on the show with

him, get our lesson, and we’ll be done.”

“How did you find this, anyway?”

She suddenly looked slightly guilty.

“You haven’t been cheating on me with Tim the Tool Man Taylor, have you, Scully?”

He asked jokingly.

She shook her head, smiled slightly, and said, “I was going through some X-

files…and I found one in Detroit, Michigan. Where the Tool Time show is filmed,

actually.”

“Scully!” Mulder exclaimed. “You went out of your way to find an X-file!”

“I stumbled across one.”

After a brief silence, he couldn’t help but insist, “Well, out with it, what is it?”

“Over the last twenty years, various television shows have filmed in the current Tool

Time set area. And every time the show turns three, the main character, the host,

or whoever appears on every episode ends up having a terrible accident and the

show gets cancelled.”

“Let me guess. Tool Time is about to turn three.”

“During the time we’re scheduled to be there.”

“Remarkable. Scully, this is amazing. Either you really think I need help fixing things

or you were bored one night…either one doesn’t bode well for me.”

She merely smiled.

“I’ve seen the show one time, and they made a joke about Tim’s clumsiness. Do you

know if the other show hosts are accident prone?”

“Not really, but I’ll look into it on the plane.”

“Is it me or do you seem a little excited about this one?”

Scully looked down, and said, “Mulder, I have a confession to make.”

“Go ahead,” he said, giving her a confused look.

“I’ve never missed an episode of Tool Time since the show first aired. I’ve taped it,

I’ve put it on the TiVo, I’ve downloaded episodes on the Internet off of FOX’s

site…I’ve never missed an episode.”

“Explains why you’re always the one to fix everything…” he said with a small smile.

“But why not watch Bob Vila? I hear he’s a little more…professional.”

Scully nearly glared at him. “That’s like suggesting that a Trekkie go as Darth Vader

to a Star Trek convention, Mulder!”

He smirked. “I knew you liked that case…”

“Don’t change the subject! Bob Vila’s name is a taboo to Tool Time fans.”

“Scully, it looks like you’re a full-blown fan. As in ‘fanatic’.” He chuckled. “Tim Taylor

isn’t competition, is he?”

Her face softened. “Of course not,” she said, smiling at him. “But don’t ever suggest

watching Bob Vila’s show over Tool Time again,” she added harshly.

He held up his hands. “Sorry I asked.”

“We’d better get back home and pack.” She was grinning as she headed for the

door, and Mulder gladly followed. Anything that got Scully this excited was well

worth attending.

Having seen the show once, he couldn’t help but say, “Can everyone guess what

time it is?”

“Tool time!” Scully said without fail, and turned around in the doorframe and kissed

him quickly before grabbing her coat, and leading the way out the door.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

TOOL TIME STUDIO

DETROIT, MI

MONDAY, DECEMBER 16th, 2007

1600

“What’s with the tie, Al? You haven’t gotten this dressed up since that flannel

convention.”

Al frowned at Tim’s attempt at humor, and put his hands on his hips casually. “I just

thought it would be nice to get a little dressed up for the FBI agents. I am surprised

you haven’t left town, though.”

“I was thinking about it,” Tim said thoughtfully as he snapped on his toolbelt. “Then I

realized as long as we keep them away from your mother, we should be alright.”

Al smirked nearly imperceptibly, and said, “I highly doubt my mother has done

anything illegal.”

“That’s because you weren’t there when she tried on that 4X bikini,” Tim said, and

slapped his friend on the shoulder as he walked toward the set.

A man dressed in jeans and a golf shirt followed an eager-looking woman with a Tool

Time t-shirt tucked into jeans. She even had workboots on, and they both had their

side-arms attached to their belts. When the female agent approached Tim, she

extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Agent Dana Scully, and this is my partner, Agent Fox

Mulder.”

“Dana, Fox, nice to meet you,” Tim said, and shook both their hands. “I’m Tim and

this is my co-host Al Borland.”

“Nice to meet you Al. And it’s just Mulder, if you don’t mind,” Mulder said. He

looked a little reluctant to be there, and was eyeing Al suspiciously.

Tim’s sidekick was standing to his side, even more excited than Scully, nearly

bouncing on his heels. He seemed to catch Mulder’s odd stare, and explained

himself. “I’ve never met FBI agents before…” he started, “And I must confess…when

I was a young boy I often dreamt of becoming one.”

“You an FBI agent?” Tim said with a small laugh. “They don’t sell flannel holsters,

Al.”

“I happen to be a pretty good shot, Tim.”

“Like mother like son, huh?” Tim said jokingly. Scully laughed, and Mulder just

looked confused. As Al folded his arms indignantly, Tim turned to the agents. “So,

you’re coming on the show tomorrow…I just wanted to go over some basics, give

you a quick run-through of what we’re going to do so you aren’t surprised. Then

you’re welcome to join my family and me for dinner, if you’re interested.”

“Oh, that’d be great,” Scully said with a broad smile.

Mulder nodded in agreement, but didn’t look entirely enthusiastic.

Tim walked over to the work bench and said, “Tomorrow we’ll be going over basic

drilling and sanding techniques, and we’ll build some shelves. It’s important not to

split the wood when you’re drilling, and it’s also important to know what kind of tool

to use. And when you’re sanding, you don’t want an uneven surface, so you want to

use specific tools to get the job done. We won’t cut the wood, but later on I’ll show

you how to use a miter saw and a table saw. Have you two had much experience

with construction?”

“Scully has,” Mulder said.

Tim turned to Scully in expectation, and she said, “I’ve watched your show since it

came on the air. I have to admit, I’m a big fan. Hence the t-shirt.”

God, she sounds like a nervous teenager, Mulder thought in amusement.

“Well, good,” Tim said, clearly pleased. “See, Al, another satisfied customer.”

“Seeing the show since it’s come on the air means she’s seen all your accidents, too,

Tim.”

Mulder suddenly looked more attentive as he glanced at Scully curiously. The

comment was clearly made to be a joke, but Mulder realized the significance.

“Well,” Scully said before Tim could fire back at Al, “the accidents do prove to be

educational for the viewers. I’ve always wondered if they were deliberate.”

Nice, Mulder thought. Just the right question to ask. Except he’s likely to lie. And

that’s where I come in.

“Absolutely,” Tim said automatically. “We value the safety of our viewers above

everything else on the show, so naturally we want to show them what not to do in a

way that makes them laugh, but still communicates the lesson.”

“Often at Tim’s personal expense, of course,” Al said, a small smirk on his face. Tim

gave him a dirty look, and the smirk was gone instantly.

Yep. Lying straight through his teeth, Mulder thought.

“That’s very considerate of you,” Scully said with a smile. “So first we’re going to

sand the wood?”

“Yes, exactly. We’ll use a couple of different sanders, and have you both try each

one. We’ll have some of the wood pre-sanded, and some unsanded for us. Then

we’ll start drilling. Again, we’ll try different drills, and different techniques. And

some wood will be pre-drilled. We’ll construct the shelves, and then ask one of you

to shoot them to see if they fall over on impact.”

Mulder and Scully glanced at each other, and before Al could say, ‘I don’t think so,

Tim,’ the Tool Man’s facial expression changed from one of seriousness to a large

grin. “Just kidding, guys, I’d never ask you to pull out those things on stage…though

it might make it look cooler if you wear them up here.”

“We’re actually required to wear them,” Mulder said.

“Perfect,” Tim said with a smile. He looked between the two again. “So do you have

any questions?”

“Will we be issued tool belts?” Scully asked.

“Tool belts, safety glasses, and earplugs, on the house,” Tim told them. “And you

can keep them. We’re in full cooperation with the FBI.”

“Good to know,” Mulder said with a small smile.

“Tim has nothing to hide except his sense of decency,” Al said, and then snorted

before he started laughing. Everyone stared at him, including Tim.

“Nice try, Al,” Tim said with mock sympathy, and Al stopped laughing slowly. He

stood with his arms folded, slightly embarrassed. “So that’s basically all we needed

to go over…the make-up crew will take care of you before the show, and you’ll need

to get here at 8 AM to prepare for shooting.” He suddenly smiled. “That uh…that

takes on a whole new meaning around FBI agents.”

Scully smiled. “We’ll be here at 8.”

“I understand you’ll be appearing on two shows, and you’ll be receiving a personal

lesson from Tim tomorrow afternoon?” Al asked.

“That’s right, that’s the plan,” Mulder said.

“The second appearance will be shared with other guests,” Tim said. “They want us

to give the audience some variety, so you’ll be helping out with our tool cleaning and

care segment before we move into engine maintenance.”

“Okay, sounds good,” Scully said.

“Alright, on that note, I’ll give you a tour of the studio and then we’ll head to my

house. Al, you’re welcome to join us.”

“I’m sorry, Tim, I have a date.”

Tim did a double-take, and stared at Al curiously. “Bingo night, huh, Al?”

Al looked incredibly frustrated as he turned and walked away, and Mulder couldn’t

help but smirk.

“You’ll have to excuse Al. He’s never been known to let his social life get in the way

of his bingo, flannel, or his mother. Though not much could get in the way of his

mother,” he said with a small smile.

“I heard that!” Both agents heard from behind the set. Tim chuckled, and said,

“C’mon, I’ll show you around.”

They began following Tim around, studying the set carefully in case they spotted any

evidence for their potential X-file.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

TAYLOR HOUSE

DETROIT, MI

MONDAY, DECEMBER 16th, 2007

1830

“It’s so nice to meet both of you. Dinner’s ready…I hope you don’t mind Stouffer’s—

I was at work all day and didn’t have time to really prepare anything, especially since

Tim didn’t tell me you were coming until last night,” Jill, Tim’s wife, said with a

pointed glance at her husband. He started to back away slowly, nearly running into

the Christmas decorations on their banister.

“I’ll call the boys,” Tim said as he made his way toward the stairs.

“Stouffer’s is fine, Jill,” Mulder said with a gracious smile.

“We’re used to eating cold pizza and two-day-old Chinese food on the road,” Scully

said, aiming a pointed glance at Mulder that matched Jill’s glance at Tim.

Tim’s wife beamed at that, and said, “Well, then, this’ll feel like a home-cooked

meal.” She had a slight Southern accent, but Scully couldn’t quite place it.

After a roaring call for the boys, they heard pounding footprints down the stairs and

a blonde-haired boy came in first, followed by a smaller light brown-haired boy in

overalls and a younger boy in a golf shirt tucked into khaki pants.

“Brad, Randy, Mark, these are FBI agents Mulder and Scully.”

While the oldest and youngest boys beamed in shock and awe, the middle one,

Randy, suddenly got three shades paler and looked like he was going to be sick.

“Nice to meet you,” Mulder and Scully said as they shook the boys’ hands. Mulder

paid special attention to the nervous one in the middle, and realized what was going

on. “So Randy, right?”

Randy nodded ever-so-slightly.

Mulder looked completely serious as he said, “We’ve picked up some interesting

activity on your computer.”

Jill and Tim looked shocked, and Randy definitely looked ready to bolt.

“You aren’t burning CD’s illegally, are you, Randy? A little hacking on the side?”

Randy nodded his head, almost imperceptibly.

Then Mulder grinned, and tossled the boy’s hair. “Relax, Randy, I was joking.

You’re not in any trouble. But stop the burning—it’s not a good practice to start.”

Brad and Mark began poking their brother, Brad yelling, “Ooooh, he so got you!”

Mark turned to the FBI agents. “So you’re real FBI agents? Like you shoot bad guys

and stuff?”

Mulder and Scully smiled, and nodded. “We try to catch the bad guys and put them

in jail,” Scully supplied.

“That’s so cool. Can I see your gun?”

“No, Mark,” Tim said scoldingly. “Agent Mulder and Agent Scully aren’t here to show

you their guns.”

“And you’re way too young to hold a gun,” Jill told him. “You know that.”

Mark pouted.

Randy’s cheeks still hadn’t returned to their original color from their instant flush of

embarrassment, but he managed to ask, “So you guys really monitor kids’

computers?”

“No, Agent Mulder was kidding,” Scully said. “There are agents who check to see if

any computers connected to the Internet are involved in illegal activities. Including

music downloads and burning. But that isn’t our job.”

“Boys, go wash your hands for dinner,” Tim said. “And guys…” he walked over to the

railing where the three stairs that led down to the kitchen met the foyer, and the

boys halted to listen to whatever their father was about to say. “If you’re going to kill

each other, now’s the time. We’ve got the FBI already here.”

They grinned, and ran off. Brad pushed Mark on the way.

“Tim, if anyone gets hurt, I’m holding you personally responsible,” Jill said.

Tim shrugged. “What?”

“Thank you, Agent Mulder,” Jill said. “I thought we’d never convince Randy to stop

that illegal downloading.”

“Always happy to help,” Mulder said with a smile. “And it’s just Mulder.”

“Alright,” Jill accepted with a smile. She lifted the Stouffer’s out of the oven and put

it on the stove top, where she uncovered it. Tim grabbed some plates from the

cabinet behind her and they began serving the lasagna.

“What would you like to drink? We’ve got beer, Coke, Sprite, juice, water, iced

tea…?” Jill asked.

“I’ll have an iced tea,” Mulder said.

“Diet Coke?” Scully asked.

“I’ll get it out of the garage,” Tim said, and headed that way.

“So Mulder, Dana, how long have you two been partners?”

“Since 1993,” Scully said.

“Scully’s been watching Tool Time since it came on, too,” Mulder mentioned.

“Oh, you’re a fan of Al’s,” Jill joked.

Scully laughed, and was about to reply when the boys came storming into the

kitchen again, and lined up at the counter to get their food. Now three small

portions of lasagna were laid out for them, and Jill was pouring their drinks. She got

a beer out for Tim, and he grabbed it on his way in. He handed the Diet Coke to

Scully, and picked up his serving of lasagna on his way to the table.

Mulder and Scully followed suit, and soon everyone was seated at the dinner table.

Jill said a short blessing, and then Brad asked, “So…I don’t mean to be rude or

anything, but why are you here?”

Mulder smiled. “We’re guests on your dad’s show. The FBI organizes these team-

building seminars, and Agent Scully arranged for this unconventional learning

experience instead of going to Oklahoma for the next seminar.”

“We’re hoping to learn something about tools, and use what we know on the field,”

Scully told the twelve-year-old.

Randy snorted, and they all looked at him. Tim gave him a disapproving glance, and

Randy said, “Sorry…it’s just that…I hope you brought first aid kits with you.”

“Alright, alright, enough,” Tim put a stop to his son’s behavior before it escalated.

Mulder and Scully shared a quick glance. It was curious that everyone seemed to

think Tim was a klutz.

“Do you guys have a specialty, or do you solve all kinds of crime?” Brad asked.

“Well, there are lots of different divisions that the FBI has,” Scully answered,

“There’s counterterrorism, there’s violent crimes, there’s organized crime, some

agents deal with financial things, some agents deal with Internet things…you get the

idea.”

“We solve unsolved cases,” Mulder told the boy.

“Like where Jimmy Hoffa is?” Mark asked excitedly.

Scully chuckled. “Sort of, yes.”

“Have you seen lots of weird stuff?” Randy asked.

“Boys, what the agents deal with probably isn’t dinnertime conversation,” Jill told

them.

You have no idea, Scully thought.

“We have seen lots of weird stuff,” Mulder told him. “But yeah, your mom’s right—it

isn’t dinnertime conversation.”

“Well, to change the subject,” Tim said, “On Wednesday, Tool Time turns three, and

we’re going to have the agents on the show one extra day to celebrate. We’re also

having the boys from K&B construction come on the show at the same time. And it’d

be alright with me, Jill, if you want to come on the set, too.”

“Oh, Tim, I wish I could. I’ve got a huge meeting on Wednesday from 9 to 12 and

then a performance review from 2 to 4…”

“Good luck,” Scully offered.

“Thanks,” Jill said gratefully.

“You guys will have to go to friends’ houses that night ‘cause I can’t be home after

school,” Tim told the boys.

“Okay, sure,” Mark said.

Brad nodded, and Randy said, “I’m sure Brad will have plenty of fun at Jennifer’s

house!”

“Shut up!” Brad said, and shoved his brother.

Tim stuck his hand in the middle of the argument and said, “Not at the table, and not

when we have guests.”

“But you said we could kill each other,” Mark protested.

“Ever heard of sarcasm?” Tim asked, his patience growing thin.

“Nooooo,” Randy said sarcastically, which earned him a sharp look from Jill.

“Watch it, Mister,” Jill corrected. Then she turned to Scully. “Where are you two

staying?”

“The Comfort Inn on Woodward Avenue,” Mulder said.

Jill frowned. “Really? There’s a place called the Drury Inn…good for the budget, nice

rooms, not far from Woodward.”

“We can show you online if you’re interested,” Tim said.

“No, that’s alright, we’ve already gotten settled in our rooms,” Mulder said with a

gracious smile.

“And Mulder likes to pick motels that are more…historic,” Scully said jokingly.

Brad laughed, and Randy looked like he was holding back a retort that was just

begging to come out.

Mulder frowned in Scully’s general direction as he said, “There’s only so much you

can do on the government’s dollar. Besides, the messier they come, the less

cleaning we have to do when we leave.”

Jill smirked. “Sounds like Tim’s philosophy.”

“Hey, I resemble that remark,” Tim said with mock anger.

The rest of the dinner went smoothly, and when it was finished, Tim offered to show

Mulder and Scully the garage. They spent about a half hour talking about tools, and

Mulder had to admit that he learned something at the end of the conversation. He

wasn’t even bored.

They bid the family farewell, and the boys waved in excited admiration as they got in

their car and drove back to the Comfort Inn.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Scully asked on the way.

“I found Moe, Larry, and Curly pretty interesting at the dinner table,” Mulder joked.

“The boys were pretty well-behaved for kids their age,” his partner argued.

“If I talked to my parents the way Randy talks to his, at his age…” He didn’t

complete that statement. He didn’t really have to.

Scully smiled slightly. “They’re good kids. Tim and Jill give them a lot of leeway but

they lay down the law when they have to. And I think their freedom is partially a bi-

product of these times, and partially a mark of parenting genius on Tim and Jill’s

part.”

“Parenting genius?” Mulder asked, matching her smirk.

“The kids are free to explore their own boundaries and when they find them, they

don’t cross them because they’d rather retain their freedom. It’s a personal decision

not to cross the line too often. And that makes for a better-developed adult, I

think.”

“And when did you become an expert?” Mulder demanded jokingly.

“Tim…well…”

“Come on, out with it, Scully.”

“Tim sometimes talks about parenting on Tool Time.”

Mulder laughed. “You’re taking parenting tips from a guy who staples his fingers

together?”

“You can laugh all you want—Tim is a very wise and intelligent individual. And I still

think all those accidents are planned.”

“You do. Were you listening when he answered your question at the studio? Scully,

he was lying through his teeth. He doesn’t plan those accidents—they just happen,

because he isn’t careful.”

Scully was starting to get annoyed. “You’re just jealous.”

“Jealous?! Of the Tool Man? You’re grasping at straws, Scully.”

“What do you think about the curse, then?”

Mulder paused. “So we’re calling it a curse now?”

“The show’s about to turn three. We’ll be there when it does. What do you think?”

“I think we should pay close attention to that wiring system they have. It doesn’t

look new to me. And I think their fire sprinkler system looks like it was installed in

the ‘70s.”

“So you think whatever might happen would just be a product of luck, or poor

maintenance, but not a curse.”

“Do you think there’s a curse, Scully?”

Scully smiled slightly. “I just can’t see Tim planning an accident that seriously injures

him. He obviously has a high pain tolerance or he wouldn’t be able to demonstrate

what he does. But he would never endanger his life willingly. He’s got a loving

family and no reason to do so whatsoever. So I think if there is going to be an

‘accident’ two days from now, it’s either a product of luck, or poor maintenance, as

you think, or someone is actually targeting the inhabitants of the studio.”

“And if the latter is true, it’s our job to find him.”

“Of course. It’s what we do. Let’s go find Jimmy Hoffa, Mulder.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

TOOL TIME STUDIO

DETROIT, MI

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 17th, 2007

1000

“Does everyone know what time it is?” Lisa, the Tool Girl, asked the audience.

“Tool Time!” The audience faithfully recited, and Lisa continued.

“That’s right! Now, I’m proud to present, Tim the Tool Man Taylor!”

After a round of applause, Tim and Al walked out from behind the set and stood in

front of the false garage door marked ‘Tool Time’. “Hi, everyone, I’m your host, Tim

the Tool Man Taylor, and you all know my assistant, Al Good-God-What’s-Under-

That-Beard Borland.”

The audience chuckled as Al rolled his eyes and Tim took off his jacket, and clipped

his tool belt on. He then addressed the audience. “Today, we’re going to build some

shelves step by step, and bring it back to basics with some standard power tool

knowledge. But more importantly, we’ve got two very special guests. The FBI

apparently has a program that allows their agents to learn more about tools, for field

knowledge and…you know, secret agent stuff like that. So here today, directly from

Washington, D.C, are FBI Special Agents Mulder and Scully.”

The audience erupted in applause as Mulder and Scully walked on the set, Scully

smiling nervously and Mulder sporting an indifferent expression. They shook Tim’s

hand, and then Al’s hand, just as was discussed. Then Tim asked, “So…Agent Scully,

I understand you’ve had some experience with tools.”

“Yes, I’ve got general homeowner’s knowledge…you know, fixing creaky doors or

broken floorboards or basic plumbing skills.”

“The basic plumbing always comes in handy when we eat Taco Bell on the road,”

Mulder deadpanned, and the audience burst out laughing, including Tim. Scully

smiled at him.

“You two are on the road often?” Tim asked.

“Our division’s based in Washington but we do travel,” Mulder said. “Now you know

where your tax dollars are going.”

Tim smiled, and asked, “So Agent Mulder, do you have any experience with tools?”

“I can fix radios. Usually.”

“Basic electronics. Great. Okay, so today we’ve got pieces of wood, pre-cut for our

convenience, and we’ll be putting them together into shelves. Now it’ll take both of

you working together to do this, but I’m sure you’re used to that after…how many

years as partners?”

“Going on fifteen,” Scully said with a smile.

“Wow, you would really get to know a person after that long,” Al said with an

admiring gaze.

“Yeah, I think that’s how long I’ve been married,” Tim said, pretending to

concentrate. “But my wife and I discover new surprises every day.” He paused for

effect, and then said, “Especially, as you mentioned Agent Mulder, after Mexican

food.”

The audience laughed again, and Mulder offered a smile while Scully chuckled. Lisa

rolled out the wood when Tim walked backward, parallel with the work bench.

“Thank you, Lisa,” Tim said with a smile. “Alright, now the first thing we have to do

with this wood is sand it. Granted, a lot of wood you can buy pre-sanded. But let’s

say you cut your own surface. And the factory edge is still smooth, but the edge you

cut…not so much. You’re going to need a sander. But first—safety.”

Tim walked over to the work bench and pulled out two pairs of safety goggles and

work gloves. He handed both to Mulder and Scully, and they put them on.

“Whenever you’re dealing with power tools, whenever you’re picking up something

with potential splinters or a jagged edge, you need protection. Al, wanna lend me a

hand? Agent Mulder, Agent Scully, if you can lift the other large piece onto the saw

horse over there…”

Mulder and Scully lifted the large piece and brought it over to the saw horse, as Tim

and Al did the same.

“Okay, so the next thing we’ll do is go over basic sanding techniques. We’ll have

Agent Mulder work the small sander.” Al brought the small sander over as Tim kept

talking. “It’s small but powerful. 1.6 amp motor, 14,000 opm, and it fits in the palm

of your hand. Binford edition, this is the Finishing Sander.” He handed it to Mulder.

“Don’t turn it on yet, Agent Mulder. Agent Scully will be using the slightly larger

sander. 2.4 amp motor, 13,000 opm, and it requires two hands. Both will get the

job done. They’ll just both have a different feel. Now Agents, next to the saw

horses you’ll find a plug in the ground. Go ahead and plug in your sanders, and I’ll

demonstrate the general technique before you get going.”

After putting earplugs in and watching Tim miraculously successfully work his power

sander, Mulder and Scully began sanding the pieces. They only sanded one surface,

before pre-sanded surfaces were brought out after a commercial break. Then they

were ready to drill, and finally to fasten the shelves together.

“When choosing a drill,” Tim said, “You have to remember that more power isn’t

necessarily what you always need.”

Everyone, even Scully, gasped.

Al took a step forward. “Are you feeling alright, Tim?”

Tim smiled. “Yes, I’m perfectly fine. We’re working with relatively thin pieces of

wood here today, and there’s a great risk of splitting the wood.”

“Something you seem prone to do, Tim,” Al joked.

“Thank you, Al,” Tim said sarcastically. “What you want around the house and what

you want on the job site can be two different things. When on the job site, getting

the job done quickly and efficiently is key. Of course, you want to aim for that at

home, too, but you’re more likely to have a charger nearby at home than you are at

a site. So a long battery life is essential. It’s also a pain to be stuck up on your roof

at home and have your drill run out on you.”

“Which has been known to happen,” Scully said with a smile.

“Exactly. So choose a drill with a strong battery life. And when you’re talking prices,

you want to choose a drill with a voltage rating and torque rating that doesn’t send

your credit rating plummeting into negatives.”

Mulder smirked. “Hey, it’s government money.”

“In that case, bring out the big guns first,” Tim said happily, and Lisa brought out a

very large drill—almost so large that she couldn’t carry it. Mulder and Scully glanced

at each other, both wondering what the hell it was.

“7.5 Amp motor,” Tim said with a grin, “Up to 1200 rpm, 120 Volts, ladies and

gentlemen, meet the Binford Heavy Duty Hole Hawg!” He propped it up on his

shoulder, and continued, “This baby’ll drill a hole from your house foundation to

China.” He grunted for effect, and everyone in the audience followed along. Then

he put the drill down on the workbench, and addressed the audience. “But the Hole

Hawg is used for big projects—not building shelves. This wood, ladies and

gentlemen, is one inch and three-eighths thick—”

“No, Tim, it’s one and a half.”

“I’m pretty sure I measured it, Al,” Tim said, looking quite annoyed, “And it was one

inch and three eighths—”

Al whipped out a tape measure and measured the nearest piece of wood. “One and a

half,” he said simply, and then waited smugly for Tim’s response.

Tim pursed his lips, and then addressed the audience. “See, this is why you should

always work in pairs. Your partner is likely to catch something you didn’t. And then

he’s out sick for a week and you collect all the pay,” Tim said jokingly.

The audience chuckled at the attempt at humor, and Scully smirked at Mulder, more

because of Mulder’s tendency to ‘catch’ things than anything else.

“Alright, the point is that the wood is pretty thin, and there’s a good chance it’ll split.

Especially if you drill right along the ring. So you choose your drill accordingly.

Agent Mulder, you’ll be working with an 18V Binford, and Agent Scully, you’ll be

working with the 14V.” Lisa brought both cordless drills to them, and Tim continued.

“You shouldn’t need anything bigger than 18V for your projects around the house,

but sometimes you need to call in for the big guns, and get a special bit or a special

drill. If you’re drilling into concrete, brick, or mortar, you need a hammer drill. But

this is wood, and too much torque and too much power can split it, rendering it

useless.”

He walked over to Mulder and Scully, and said, “Now you always mark your wood for

where you want to drill, using a level, a ruler, and a pencil. These are pre-marked

for time’s sake, and so the agents can go ahead and start drilling, nice and slow.”

Mulder and Scully handled the drills easily, and one could see that although Mulder

didn’t have a lot of practice, he caught on quickly.

“So once you’ve gone through the wood, you stop, and put the drill in reverse, and

then pull it out.” The agents did as Tim told them, and they had two neat holes

formed in their respective pieces of wood. “Now let’s get the opinions of the agents,

shall we? Agent Scully, how did the drill feel?”

“It went in easily—the wood wasn’t very dense. The vibration control was amazing.

I was really impressed. This drill’s better than the one I have at home.”

“And what do you have at home?”

“A Binford 2530, from 2003.”

“Ah, see, the vibration control on the drills has improved drastically since 2003. Plus

you’ve got a lower voltage on this drill than the one you have at home, so it’s gonna

feel a little smoother without so much torque. What about you, Agent Mulder?”

“This thing’s powerful,” Mulder said. “It went straight through the wood, even on the

low torque setting.”

“Well, that’s an 18V for you. It really depends on your style, and what project you’re

tackling, as to what drill you need to buy. A 14V won’t carry as much torque, in

general, as an 18V, and they tend to be smaller, too. So for smaller hands, a 14V is

ideal. Binford also has a line of tools scaled down for smaller hands, which makes

sense, given the amount of kids and women who use our tools for their every-day

jobs.”

“Tim, what’s gotten into you? I’ve never heard you mention the smaller-scale tools

on the show,” Al said.

“Al, I’m shocked,” Tim said, feigning insult, “I’ve always respected the smaller users

of our tools. Doesn’t mean I’ve given up any respect for the…Heavy Duty Hole

Hawg!” He said as he picked up the giant drill left on the workbench, activated the

forward switch, and squeezed the trigger. The enormous bit twisted with torque

unimaginable and even displayed some kickback at first.

Al rolled his eyes, and said, “I believe it’s time for a commercial break.”

“Absolutely, Al. And when we come back, we’ll put these shelves together.”

A few moments later, they had everything in place to construct the shelves.

Together, Mulder and Scully were able to fasten the bolts and create an eight-foot-

tall bookcase. It was sturdy and impressive.

“The last thing we need to do,” Tim said, “Is test its sturdiness. So in light of our

visitors, we’ve brought out some volunteers from the set crew to shoot airsoft pellets

at the bookshelf and see if it topples over. We’ve got a firing squad of five crew

members. Come on out, boys and girls.”

The crew, dressed in black and wearing ear and eye protection merely for effect,

were sporting spring loaded airsoft guns with bright orange tips. Mulder and Scully

couldn’t help but smirk.

“Tim…I don’t think this is such a good idea—Airsoft pellets have been known to

bounce off of objects—” Al started.

“If you want to go grab your mother to block the shots—” Tim started, but earned a

laugh from the audience before he could complete his sentence. Al stood off to the

side indignantly, and Tim put on safety goggles and ear protection just for fun.

“Ready…aim…fire!” Tim yelled, and the crew fired. Little orange pellets bounced off

the shelves, and some rested inside. “Fire!” Tim yelled again. Ten more times, until

their magazines were emptied, and then Tim lifted his ear protection. “Alright, folks,

I think the FBI agents did a wonderful job. Next time, we’ll be working with Agents

Mulder and Scully again, as well as the boys from K&B construction on our three-

year anniversary episode. Thanks, have a great night.”

“Cut!” Was yelled, and the audience got up to leave. Mulder and Scully approached

Tim grinning.

“The firing squad idea was hilarious,” Scully said.

“Did you guys learn anything?” Tim asked.

“We learned a lot,” Mulder said, surprisingly enough.

“And we can’t wait for our afternoon lesson,” Scully added.

“Well, let’s clean up the set first, and then you two can head back here later this

afternoon. I’ll show you the basics of the table saw and some basic building

techniques, and some cleaning and maintenance of your tools. Then we’ll look at a

car engine—something I’m sure will come in handy on the field. And to top it off

we’ll go over basic home maintenance, something I’m sure you two will be able to

use if not on the job or in the office, when you’re at home.”

“Absolutely,” Mulder agreed.

“Okay, we’ll see you later, then,” Tim told them.

Mulder and Scully left the studio, and headed to get some late lunch. They found a

Burger King and sat down, discussing what they had seen.

“I really don’t think he’s that much of a klutz,” Scully said. “He was careful on the

show—he loves his power, but he’s not an endangerment to his surroundings.”

“Wish I could say the same for you, with that drill in your hand,” Mulder joked.

Scully rolled her eyes. “Come on, Mulder. We need to focus on the case, too.”

“I think I agree with you, Scully. After seeing him on the set, I’m pretty sure that

some of his accidents can be attributed to carelessness, but not all, and certainly not

the big ones. He might shock himself because he forgets to unplug the wall socket

but he wouldn’t do something to endanger the people around him, or seriously injure

himself. He’s confident, macho, knowledgeable, and caring. He cares about the

people around him more than himself, even if he puts on a front of limited emotional

capacity.”

“Is this your official profile?”

“Something like that. It’s still a little odd to be profiling Tim the Tool Man Taylor.”

“Well, if nothing else, we’ll find out tomorrow if the curse can be broken.”

“Or if the suspect can be apprehended.”

“So you think it’s a suspect now?”

“I don’t know what to think. He really knows what he’s doing. He’s not the type to

blow up the studio. But he is the type that everyone would blame for that kind of

thing. So I can see how this might turn out, if we aren’t careful.”

Scully nodded. “I agree. So…did you learn anything?”

“I learned a lot, actually. I wasn’t bluffing.” He took a bite of his hamburger, and

gave himself a moment before saying, “I never really got the chance to have a father

like Tim…you know, to show me how to use tools and learn the skills you’ve learned

from your father.”

Scully just gave him a sympathetic, understanding look.

“But now that I’m learning, I don’t really mind it anymore. I think I could really

learn to like this stuff.”

“Good,” Scully said with a grin. “Our dryer’s waiting.”

“What have I gotten myself into?” Mulder asked with a shake of his head.

Scully laughed, and they continued with their lunch.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

TOOL TIME STUDIO

DETROIT, MI

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 18th, 2007

1000

Their lesson the previous afternoon had been enlightening and fun. Tim electrocuted

himself once, but not severely, and was the butt of lame jokes from Al for the rest of

their lesson. Mulder learned something about how to fix a car engine, and they

skipped the hot wiring lesson since the FBI had already educated both agents on the

topic.

They also learned how to operate a table saw, basic safety rules for using one, and

techniques for preventing kickback. They learned how to change the blade on a

miter saw, and how to tell which miter saw was right for the job.

Finally, Mulder and Scully took some time walking around the studio during a break

to examine any sources of danger. They found none, other than the rather old

electrical system that probably needed replaced soon.

They had spent the night before the anniversary show going through personnel files

on the crew, and running background checks to see if anyone had been present for

the three previous cancelled shows. One person’s name popped up: Marcus

Gregory, a sixty-year-old lighting coordinator who had worked on the studio for the

past thirty-five years. But he had no prior police record and no reason to arrest him

under suspicion of conspiracy. So they just decided to keep their eyes open.

The next morning Mulder and Scully walked out from behind the set when they were

introduced for the second time in two days, and waved at the audience as they

applauded.

They had just met the rather…colorful…construction workers from the K&B

Construction company backstage, and Mulder couldn’t wait to actually work with

them on set.

“Okay, so today we’re going to go over basic tool maintenance with the agents. It’s

very important to keep your tools clean, and operating at their maximum capacity.”

“And how would you know, Tim?” Al asked.

“Because I maintain my tools, Al,” Tim said with mock annoyance.

“I think it’s also noteworthy to mention that it’s important, when working in pairs, to

split the maintenance between you,” Al told the audience.

“We share plenty of work around here,” Tim told him with a clap on his shoulder.

Al paused for a moment. “I don’t think so, Tim.”

The audience laughed, and Tim said, “Well, you can share the work all the way to the

unemployment line if you’d like.”

Al was quiet, even though Tim had a grin on his face. “Anyway, back to tool

maintenance. We’ll talk about drills first—these are the easiest to abuse. Almost

everyone’s got one, and not many people care for it properly.”

Lisa brought out a 14V drill for Scully, and an 18V drill for Mulder. In fact, they were

the same drills as they had used yesterday.

“So picture you’re done with a job, and your wife’s calling you,” Tim changed his

voice to a high-pitched, stereotypical ‘male-imitating-annoying-female’ voice as he

said, “’Get back in the kitchen and help me with the carrots. For God’s sake, what

are you doing out there in the garage?’ So being the good husband that you are,

you just leave your drill on the workbench and walk into the kitchen. Right?

Wrong!” Tim leaned into the camera as he exclaimed the last part of his monologue.

“First, you’ve got to take care of that drill,” Tim told the audience. “So Agent Mulder,

Agent Scully, why don’t you take those batteries out of the drill and place them in

the chargers, right on the workbench.” After the agents had done so, Tim continued,

“Now take the bit out of the drill and put it back in the right slot the containers.” The

agents followed this instruction as well. Then Tim said, “Alright, now under the

workbench are two cases. One for the 14V, one for the 18V. Just pull those out,

and open them up on the work bench. Great. Inside there should be a rag. Go

ahead and wipe your drill handles down. You don’t want excess grease on your

forward/reverse button, and you absolutely don’t want excess grease on your torque

gauges. Great. Now place the drill in the case, put the rag on top, and close the

case. Fasten it tight.

“Excellent,” Tim said. “See, basic tool maintenance not only gives your tools a longer

life span, but it also gives you an excuse to stay away from your wi—those carrots in

the kitchen.”

The audience chuckled, and Tim continued, “All right. Now basic tool maintenance is

pretty easy. You keep the case that comes with the tool, and remember to clean

and oil your moving parts regularly. This becomes essential as you get older.”

This earned another laugh from the audience, and Mulder and Scully.

“The worst thing you can do to a tool is to drop it, dump it into a pile, disregard it

like it’s a toy you’re done playing with. Because as I tell my boys, tools are not toys,

and they need to be cared for properly. When we come back, we’ll learn some basic

techniques on how to use household and mechanics’ tools, and then we’ll bring out

the boys from K&B construction and work on a car engine.”

The show cut to commercial break, and Tim exhaled. “Is it me, or is it getting hot in

here?”

Mulder and Scully were in T-shirts, but Al had already rolled up the sleeves to his

flannel shirt and was still sweating. That wasn’t right for the time of year. “Maybe

the heat’s broken,” Mulder said. “If you want, we could go take a look while you

prepare for the next shoot.”

“You’ve only got a few minutes. But I can see I’ve inspired you,” Tim said with a

smile. “Go ahead.”

The agents left the set, and walked to where they had seen the heating and air units.

“Think this is part of the ‘curse’?” Mulder asked Scully.

“Possibly,” Scully said. “But let’s not jump to conclusions before we’ve seen the—

whoa.” They stopped in front of the electric grid, near the heating system. Scully

shook her head. “This doesn’t look good to me.”

“I don’t know a whole lot about it, and it doesn’t look good to me, either,” Mulder

said. “I’m pretty sure juice shouldn’t be leaking out of there…”

“When do you think this was last repaired?” Scully asked.

“The birth of Christ,” Mulder joked. He surveyed the system, and frowned. “Scully, it

looks like it’s been tampered with.”

“How are you getting that?” Scully asked curiously.

“Because these wires…it doesn’t make any sense to have it routed through here.

Look. It makes a full loop and bypasses all these wires…this isn’t right.”

“What do you think it has to do with the heating system? I thought this just

controlled the lights.”

“It probably controls the heating too. We just don’t know it. Come on, we need to

tell Tim.”

Scully agreed, and followed Mulder back to the set. Tim was almost done setting up

and they were about to roll. Mulder approached the Tool Man first, and Al walked

over too, seeing their expressions. “There’s something wrong with the wiring system

over by the heater,” Mulder said. “It doesn’t look right, and it’s leaking fluid.”

“Leaking fluid?” Al asked, stunned. “Where?”

“Around the corner, the main electrical grid,” Scully said.

“We’ll get someone on that,” Tim said. “We’re about to roll here. Marcus!” He

called, and an older man walked up, dressed in all black. Mulder and Scully

exchanged a worried glance. “Marcus, there’s something wrong with the lighting

grid, near the heating system. It might be wired wrong, which would explain why

it’s so damn hot in here. Take care of it. We’re about to shoot.”

“Got it, Tim,” Marcus said in a gruff voice, and ventured back behind the set.

“Problem solved,” Tim said satisfactorily, and Al nodded, and walked away.

Mulder and Scully just weren’t so sure, and were in silent agreement to keep on high

alert.

The new segment started, and Tim showed the agents the basic way of holding and

using each standard tool in their homeowner’s kit. Then they began exploring

mechanics’ tools, as a precursor to the car engine. Finally, Lisa brought out the car

engine and Tim called out the K&B Construction crew.

Pete was a tall, heavy-set man with an interesting beard and very long hair tied tight

into a ponytail. Dwayne was a short man with a hardhat on. He looked intense, and

completely serious. Rock, on the other hand, was of average build, and looked

downright bouncy.

“Tim, it’s great to be here again,” Rock said eagerly, shaking Tim’s hand a bit too

long.

“Great to have you guys back,” Tim said politely, and smiled. “I know you met

backstage, but we should have formal introductions here. FBI Agents Mulder and

Scully, this is Pete, Rock, and Dwayne from K&B Construction company. They’re

recurring guests here on the show. They’ve showed us a lot of useful

tips…everything from cooking on the job site to how to get the WD-40 out of your

hair at night.”

“That’s right, Timmy, and we’ve got plenty of tips for the FBI agents here. But first

we’re gonna work on that car engine?” Rock asked.

“Of course.”

“Wait—Tim, if I could, I’d like to say something,” Pete interjected.

“Pete, this is neither the time nor the place,” Dwayne said forcefully, but Tim cut in.

“It’s alright, go ahead,” he said. “We’re running on a schedule here, so keep it

short.”

“Of course.” Pete said, and bowed his head briefly before looking into Mulder and

Scully’s eyes. “I want to thank you two for serving our country. From the bottom of

my heart,” he said sincerely, while Dwayne rolled his eyes, “You two deserve a

standing ovation.”

And much to Mulder and Scully’s surprise, Pete had apparently elicited enough

respect from the audience in the past to warrant just that—a full standing ovation,

where even Dwayne clapped.

When that was finally done, much to Mulder’s relief, Tim was standing by the engine,

looking it over. “Alright, before we get started, let’s go over the basics on how an

engine works. There are six valves to the engine here—”

Tim was cut off by a screeching noise, just as the lights went out. Mulder and Scully

had their guns drawn despite the interference from their tool belts, and neither even

noticed that the camera was still rolling. Another screeching noise initiated, and

then the horrible sound of twisting metal entered their ears.

Mulder looked up, and saw the beam with the lights fixed on it, about to give. He

had no idea how, but every light had blown and glass had showered the set.

“Evacuate the set!” Scully read Mulder’s mind. “Everyone out! Now!”

Her commanding voice forced the K&B Construction crew off the set immediately,

and Al and Lisa were next. Tim was trying to get the engine out of the way of the

beam—he saw it too, and apparently the engine was expensive. But there wasn’t

time for that, and as Scully evacuated the audience, they heard one last sickening

screech of metal giving way.

The beam fell, and Mulder dove into Tim, both of them rolling past the workbench

and colliding with the back wall of the set. The beam crashed through the set floor,

and stopped at the concrete.

The camera, miraculously, was still rolling not far away. But the crew had

abandoned it.

Through the dust, Mulder coughed and stood up slowly. He offered Tim his hand,

and they both stood, slightly dazed. Scully ran over as soon as the last audience

member was out of the building, and surveyed the two men. “Are you two—”

“We’re fine, Scully. Take Tim and get him checked out by a paramedic. I’m gonna

go find Gregory.”

“No way. Tim, you alright?”

Tim nodded, and looked at where the beam had crashed—right where he had been

standing only seconds before. “Did Marcus not get out?”

Mulder and Scully glanced at each other, and Mulder coughed from the smoke.

“We’re going to look into that. Do you think you can find your way out to the

paramedics?”

“I don’t need a paramedic. If some of the crew didn’t get out, I need to help look for

them with you.”

“It might be too dangerous,” Scully told him.

“Why? The set isn’t stable—that doesn’t mean the rest of the studio isn’t.”

“Speaking of the set not being stable, I think we should get off of it,” Mulder said,

and they carefully made their way off the set, and into the audience area. There

they continued the conversation, but only briefly. “We think Marcus may have had

something to do with this, Tim,” Mulder said simply. “And we need to find him. But

you can’t be here.”

“Mulder, where’s your gun?” Scully asked.

Mulder looked into the pile of rubble where floorboards of the set had come up and

crowded the crash site. He shook his head, and reached down to grab the weapon

out of his ankle holster.

“Are you two serious? Marcus might have caused this?” Tim asked.

Scully only nodded forlornly, and said, “And we might not have much time.”

Tim took a deep breath, and coughed slightly. “Okay,” he said. “Let me know when

you find him.”

“That won’t be necessary,” a voice said from behind the set. They all turned, to see

the sixty-year-old lighting coordinator with a wire in his hand, standing near the

heating tank. “Don’t move,” he told the agents. “Or I attach this wire to the

detonator wire and create a complete circuit.”

“Marcus?” Tim asked in disbelief.

“Oh, shut up,” the man snapped. “You’re even dumber than you look. All you TV

show hosts are—I haven’t found a good one yet.”

“So you keep killing them,” Mulder said smoothly, and took a step forward. He

moved calmly, non-threateningly. “You keep causing these accidents and no one

ever finds the source. What was it this time? Controlled explosion?”

“More like loosened bolts and a simple charge. All it took was some re-wiring.

Something the ‘Tool Man’ wouldn’t be able to do if his life depended on it.”

“But you could,” Mulder told him. “You’re much smarter, more capable.”

The sixty-year-old’s eyes darted between his three enemies, paranoid and angry.

Mulder was inching closer, but it was so hard to watch all of them at once…especially

when Mulder’s partner was edging off to the side, out of his peripheral vision. Tim

still stood there, dumbfounded.

“But no one would pay attention,” Mulder continued. “You were just the lighting

coordinator. And you should have been giving the hosts lessons.”

The man realized what was going on, apparently. “Don’t come any closer! I’ve got

this wire so close to the detonator that—”

He didn’t get the opportunity to finish his sentence. Mulder caught Scully’s eye and

they had a standard plan in motion within seconds. Scully came at him from behind,

grabbed his hand with the wire and twisted it behind his back while simultaneously

getting him in a headlock. A simple disarming maneuver. She had him cuffed and

on his knees in seconds. Tim still stood, pale and apparently in shock, watching the

scene unfold before his eyes.

Mulder flipped his cell phone out and called for a Bomb Squad using his badge

number, just in case there were more charges around the set. He took over

watching Marcus as Scully approached Tim.

“Are you okay?” She asked him softly.

Tim nodded. “Yeah…yeah, I guess.” He pursed his lips together. Forever the ‘tough

guy’.

Scully gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder and said, “Come on, let’s get out of

here.”

None of them even bothered to look at the rolling camera as they heard the sirens

approaching, and decided to join the others outside.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

TAYLOR HOUSE

DETROIT, MI

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 19th, 2007

1100

Mulder and Scully sat on the Taylor’s couch with Tim and Jill. The kids were out of

school now and upstairs playing…or fighting…as instructed.

Jill and Tim, needless to say, had taken the day off.

“Agent Mulder, I can’t thank you enough,” Jill started, but Mulder held up his hand.

“We’re trained to do this sort of thing. It’s everyday life for us.”

“Well, we can still be grateful,” Jill told him. “If you ever need a place to stay while

you’re in Detroit…just ask.”

“And you’re always welcome back on the show,” Tim told them.

“We’d love to come back on the show sometime,” Scully said. “Provided our work

schedules allow for it. Hopefully now your studio won’t have any more problems.”

“Remind me again how the heating was affected by the bombs on the lighting

beam?” Mulder asked, still confused.

“The heating tank was next to the electrical circuit,” Tim explained. His voice didn’t

sound at all like the confident, all-knowing tone they had heard before when he

explained something mechanical. But that, of course, was understandable. “The

charges on the beam were run right by the heating tank, and part of the wire to the

charge shorted out when it made contact with the heating system. But the other

part was still enough to knock the loosened bolts out and let the beam fall.”

Jill rubbed Tim’s back affectionately, and he looked down briefly before raising his

head again. “The best part is we got it all on tape. Not only can you have a copy for

whatever report you need to fill out, but we can air it on the show to pay a tribute to

what you did in there.”

Scully blushed slightly. “That’s really not necessary, Tim.”

“No, it’s not necessary, but I want to do it. The audience will want you back after

seeing that. And I think Pete might have wet his pants…may not be coming back

anytime soon.” He smiled at the last, to let them know he was kidding.

“We really did enjoy being on your show,” Mulder said. “And we learned a lot.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Tim said, brightening slightly. “That’s what the show’s all

about. Oh, Agent Scully…Al got you a present.” He got up suddenly, and jogged

into the kitchen. He removed something small from the bottom cupboard near Jill’s

plates, and brought it over. It was wrapped in a plastic bag.

“Wow, great wrapping job, Tim.”

“It was Al’s wrapping job,” Tim said with fake annoyance, and handed the small

package to Scully. “There’s something in there for Mulder, apparently, too. He

picked it up last night.”

Scully opened the package, and pulled out the little boxes inside. Seasons 1 and 2

of Tool Time, on DVD. She beamed. “Thank you! Tell Al I said thank you!”

Tim smiled. “I think he figured on the road, you might not get the chance to watch

the show. So you can re-watch some episodes.”

Mulder pulled out the softer item in the bag, and held it up for everyone to see. A

flannel shirt, size large in men’s, with a Tool Time logo on the breast pocket. He had

to laugh.

“Figures,” Tim said with a smirk. “Well, I’m sure you’ll get some use out of it.”

Mulder and Scully exchanged a glance, which Tim and Jill couldn’t really read, and

then Mulder turned back to the Tool Man. “I definitely will,” he promised sincerely.

“Well, thank you so much for having us over. We should be going,” Scully said.

“We’ve got to get to the airport. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Dana. Mulder,” Jill said with a warm smile. “And Dana…next time

you’re in town…I think we should go out to lunch. I get the feeling sharing stories

about Mulder and Tim would keep us busy for hours.”

Scully laughed. “You read my mind,” she said.

Tim and Mulder rolled their eyes. “Tigers game?” Tim asked. “I owe ya one.”

“I’m there,” Mulder told him. He shook the man’s hand in a firm grasp, and then Tim

clapped the agent on the shoulder.

“Remember, you’re always welcome back,” Tim told them as they walked to the

door.

“We’ll definitely give you a call next time we’re in town,” Scully promised. “Thanks

again.”

“Have a safe trip!” Jill called as they left the house.

Tim and Jill held hands on their way back to the couch, and Tim popped the copy of

the video from yesterday’s event back in the player.

“Tim…no, don’t watch it again. You don’t need to.”

Tim stared at her.

“It’s alright. Marcus is in jail. Or he will be. The set can be rebuilt—no one was

hurt. Stop obsessing. Go to the garage and build something. Watch sports.

Anything. Just stop watching the damn tape.”

Tim continued to stare, before pressing ‘eject’, and setting the tape aside. He

smiled, and took Jill into his arms. They shared a long, passionate kiss.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

FLIGHT 269

SOMEWHERE OVER THE US

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 19th, 2007

1400

“So Mulder, what are you going to put in your field report?”

“Exactly what happened, Scully,” Mulder said.

“Including what you learned from the show?”

“Especially what I learned from the show. Hopefully we can get out of more

seminars this way.”

Scully grinned at him.

“What about you? You’re going to write everything you learned?”

“Absolutely. I don’t like those stupid ‘pyramid of agents’ exercises any more than

you.”

Mulder laughed. “It’s the icebreaker exercises that always get me. Two truths and a

lie. How does ‘I’ve been attacked by a mothman,’ ‘I’ve seen aliens,’ and ‘I’ve gone

skydiving in Fiji’ sound?”

Scully shared his chuckle at that one. “Now we’ve got to put skydiving in Fiji on our

list of things to do. But first…” she leaned in, and spoke into his ear, “I want you in

that flannel shirt. And only that flannel shirt.”

Mulder flushed, and turned to look at her. He was about to say something, when he

thought of the perfect, and really only appropriate, response. He wrapped one arm

around her, and grunted just like Tim the Tool Man Taylor. Somehow, his grunt

sounded like a very gravelly, “Ooooh, yeah!”

Scully was happy for the rest of the flight.

5

Tool Time! By Starfleetofficer1

Double Jeopardy

TITLE: Double Jeopardy

AUTHOR: XSketch (XSketch@hotmail.com)

WEBSITE: http://thesketchfiles.bravehost.com

CATEGORY: X, S, MSR, MT

RATING: PG-15 (for strong language)

SUMMARY: 42 years after the first incident a UFO crashes in Pennsylvania, except

this time somebody believes they can hand the craft over to Mulder and Scully.

Could it finally be the proof they’ve been after for 15 years?

SPOILERS: The whole VS universe thus far.

DISCLAIMER: Whilst this story is inspired by an actually documented UFO

encounter and the news of NASA’s recent order to investigate the reports, all

characters and plots are this story are completely fictitious and nothing more

than imaginings of my muse – any similarity to people living or dead or any

events is nothing more than coincidental. The X-Files, Mulder, Scully, CSM and

Deep Throat remain property of Chris Carter and are used here without

permission – I make no money from writing this and no infringement is intended.

ARCHIVE: Two weeks exclusive to Virtual Season 15, and then it’s yours as long

as you let me know where and keep my name/all disclaimers attached.

AUTHOR’S NOTES: Mucho gracias to my lovely beta Lisa 🙂 Happy holidays

everyone!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

KECKSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA

DECEMBER 9th, 1965

6:14 PM

As the wintry Thursday evening drew in and a blanket of clouds tinted with a

myriad of colors unravelled, nine-year-old Josh Kerstein sang along with The

Byrds’ ‘Turn Turn Turn’, which played on the battered wireless that sat beside him

on the large tree bough and watched as his father locked up their barn for the

night. A large smile widened on his face. Despite the freezing temperature

biting at his body, thanks to his mother’s ignored orders to wrap up well, this was

the best time of his life: listening to music and watching his father work.

Randall Kerstein turned, blew into his cupped hands and then rubbed them

together as he looked up toward the heavens, thanking God for another day of

good farming regardless of the weather.

“Pa, we going in now?” the boy called from his perch, switching off the radio.

The wind picked up as Randy glanced at his son, scratched at the stubble on his

left cheek and smiled. “Yep, I do believe it’s that time. Smells like your

mom’s cooking up some of tha–”

Suddenly the ground shook with an inconceivable force, Josh slipped from the

high branch – only just barely managing to grab hold with his right hand before

he fell to the ground like his now-smashed radio.

“Joshua!”

The air around them was sucked into a vacuum, the icy temperature boiled to a

simmer, and as the elder Kerstein struggled to catch his breath and run to his

son’s aid at the same time, a raging fireball larger than the family’s farm shed

hurtled past them at break-neck speed toward the line of trees on the horizon,

where it crashed with a sonic boom.

…Which was enough to send Josh falling from the tree completely.

As his world faded to black, he could just barely make out the voices of his

screaming mother and father rushing towards him, and at least half of the

townsfolk hurrying for the woods.

XxXxXxXxX

NASA HEADQUARTERS

WASHINGTON D.C

DECEMBER 21st, 2007

“What do they know, anyway? Forty years on and they expect us to do what,

exactly?”

The loud, booming voice echoed down the long hallway as the two men – one

suited and one uniformed – hastily made their way along the black-carpeted

floor..

“Stupid, fucking government trying to get on the good side of crappy, Podunk

townies in time for the next election.”

Administrator Warren Anderson waved the piece of paper that was tightly gripped

in his right hand in the air, wishing he could just burn it and forget that it had

ever existed.

At the end of October, an order had been passed across Anderson’s desk to open

an investigation into sightings of an unidentified flying object by residents of

Kecksburg, Pennsylvania back in 1965. He’d pushed it aside, hoping that it would

be forgotten, but a faceless somebody higher up apparently had other ideas.

He’d received yet another order, clearly stating that if he did not follow it

immediately, it wouldn’t be long before he’d be struggling to find another job and

the thirteenth NASA administrator was being sworn in.

With the Christmas rush just around the corner, and the January shuttle launch in

jeopardy due to numerous technical ‘concerns’, fulfilling somebody’s Twilight

Zone fantasy was far from the top of his ‘To Do’ list. If it was worth threatening

his job over, Anderson had no choice but to obey – no matter how reluctantly.

He stopped, turned to face his second-in-command and thrust the confidential

piece of paper into the shorter man’s hands.

“Deal with it,” Anderson gritted out, shaking his head to accentuate his

dissatisfaction. “As quickly and quietly as possible.”

The neatly uniformed officer glanced at the order in confusion, but then clicked

his heels together, saluted and barked out “Yes, sir,” without question. He was

about to walk away when suddenly a woman in a lab coat quickly approached

from behind them, calling out Anderson’s name.

“Sir, we have a problem,” the scientist panted, taking a deep, cleansing breath

before finishing, “The Kecksburg anomaly…”

“Oh for–… You really do hate me, don’t You?” Warren groaned, exasperated –

turning his gaze to the ceiling for a moment with both hands outstretched in

defeat. “Yes, what about it?” He sighed, looking back at the woman.

She faltered, dissuaded by his apparent temper, and then replied, hesitantly,

“There’s been another one.”

Anderson struggled to categorize his new mood – was there even a category

beyond ‘pissed off to the max’? “When?” he almost whined.

“That…That would be the problem, sir.”

“You mean *that* wasn’t the problem!?”

“The new anomaly crashed in the same woods in Kecksburg two weeks

ago…and…” Dr Catherine Schubert stuttered to a pause, shooting a cursory

glance at the deputy administrator and finishing, “and has now disappeared

from the crash site.”

It was doubtful that anyone within a five mile radius of where they stood didn’t

hear Anderson’s loudly exclaimed “For fuck’s sake!”

XxXxXxXxX

Mulder and Scully’s SUV completed a second circuit of the store’s full car lot as

they struggled to find a free space. Having gone from one exhaustive,

tumultuous case to another within a matter of days in the last month, they hadn’t

had time to even think about Christmas, let alone shop for the occasion. So now,

on the last, Saturday three days before the big day, they’d hoped to make a last-

minute attempt at buying in all of their gifts, decorations and food.

If they could just fight their way through the hordes of weekend shoppers,

carollers, and eager street merchants.

To make things worse, at some point during the busy blur of case files and

hospital visits they’d agreed to have the Scully Clan over for the festivities. Which

the partners would have forgotten about, had it not been for Maggie’s phone call

late last night – as they’d finally, literally, dragged themselves into bed – to check

if she needed to bring anything with her, The agents could live without the lights

and formalities of the season in their own company, but they needed to make this

a special time for Margaret in the wake of yet another death in the family – no

matter how long-overdue they believed that particular comeuppance might have

been .

“Just one more try,” Mulder grumbled, refusing to let the lazy last-minuters that

actually could have been out getting their supplies whilst they’d been putting

their lives on the line, beat him as his sweaty palms clenched a little tighter

around the steering wheel. Dana’s calm streak was far from faultless when it

came to making preparations for family get-togethers, but today she was

relatively relaxed compared to her partner’s frantic disposition.

“Mulder, you said that twenty minutes ago,” she sighed, resting what she hoped

would be a soothing hand on his arm. “Come on, let’s go for coffee, take a

break, and then maybe try another mall.”

He shot a glance in her direction, noted the concern etched in her features, but

then shook his head and returned his attention to the tarmac and gravel. “We

can’t let your mom and Tara down–”

“Mom will just be happy that we’re there, alive and well,” Scully quickly

countered. “One more lap and I think I’m gonna be ill from motion sickness!”

Once again the male agent diverted his gaze to momentarily study his partner.

Scully gave a wry smile and felt a wave of relief as she saw the stubborn

determination that had been creasing his features slowly dissipate.

Suddenly there was the sound of screeching tires, and Dana’s head whipped

round in time to see a red 1997 Ford F-150 braking to a halt half-way out of a

parking spot not far ahead of them.

“Mulder, look out!”

Thanks to lightning-speed reflexes honed over the years at work, Mulder’s foot

slammed on the brake pedal before the whole of her exclamation registered in his

brain, or he’d had chance to turn his own head.

A little surprised by the near-collision, both agents sat still and watched as the

sole occupant of the other vehicle got out the drivers’ side and moved around the

rear bumper to approach them. The man was tall, walked with a limp, and bore a

prominent scar down the right side of his clean-shaven face; there was no sign of

malice in his stance or expression, yet Scully still scrambled for the holstered gun

in the glove compartment nevertheless.

“Hey, sorry about that,” Mulder courteously smiled, winding down his window as

the stranger stopped beside him and bent down to peek into their vehicle.

The other man looked from one agent to the other, shot a shifty glance over his

shoulder to check nobody was watching, and then turned back to lean further in

through their open car window. “You’re M-Mulder and Sc-Scu…Scully, right?” he

stammered.

Memories of an evening almost eleven years ago and a woman claiming to be

Max Fenig’s sister interrupting her birthday celebrations echoed in Scully’s mind

and she sharply sat up straight in her seat, tightening her hold on both Mulder’s

arm and the gun now concealed under her jacket.

“Yes,” Mulder replied skeptically, sensing her unease and feeling his own paranoia

brimming to the surface.

“Who’s asking?”

Yet again the man checked behind him for any onlookers before responding, “M-

my name’s Josh Ke-Kerstein…I h-have a UFO f-f-for you…”

A car horn suddenly blared from behind them and Kerstein quickly raised a hand

to shield his face from view of the other drivers.

“M-meet me in the Starb-b-bucks across t-the street in five minutes i-if you’re

interested…Please, I- d-don’t know h-how much longer I c-c-can hide it from

them,” he implored, with a solemn shake of his head before rushing back to his

own car and vacating the lot.

Finally, a free space!

Mulder bit down on his lip, watching the departing pickup truck as he weighed up

their options. He just wanted to pull into the open lot and do the planned

shopping spree as soon as possible so that they could have a nice, relaxing

evening, but his gut…dammit…His gut instinct was telling him, for some reason,

to find out what the stranger had that was so important.

“Mulder?”

Of course, she knew exactly what he was thinking, and any other time she

probably would have let him, but three days before Christmas Dana hoped that

even Fox Mulder couldn’t be lured by the hint of a case right now.

Without a word, he pulled their Saturn hybrid into the deserted space and slipped

out of the driver’s seat – activating the automatic locking system once his partner

had left the vehicle also, and then pocketing the keys as he walked around the

bonnet to stand beside her.

The driver who’d been impatiently honking his horn behind them, sped off,

shouting expletives at them through the open passenger-side window as he went.

“You go ahead and I’ll catch you up in a couple minutes,” he smiled reassuringly,

leaning in to place a kiss on her cheek.

Scully’s hand quickly raised to intercept him, though.

“Please don’t say you going to give that guy two seconds of your time,” she

exclaimed, pinning him with a scolding stare. When he didn’t try to even lie his

way out, she knew the answer and her frown deepened.

“Mulder, we have to put up with enough crackpots during the year as it is, don’t

you think there might actually be a few extra rolling around at Christmas?”

“You mean besides the one that’s standing in front of you now?” he tried to joke

with a goofy grin.

She let out a despondent sigh, shaking her head. “Well, I guess I can’t argue

with that…”

“C’mon, I’ll just be five minutes. I swear.” He started to bounce excitedly on the

balls of his feet, which usually meant he was about to take flight, no matter how

against the idea she may be. “I don’t know why, but something’s telling me to

find out what this guy’s hiding.”

“The same feeling that got us trapped one Christmas Eve in a house that

*wasn’t* haunted?”

“Sculleeeee…”

“Oh, for God’s sake…” Anybody would have thought he was a small child

begging to see Santa Claus. “Okay. Sure, fine, whatever,” she finally relented.

“But *no* cases until after Mom, Tara and the kids have visited. I can handle an

abbreviated Christmas, but I won’t ruin

it for them.”

With the widest grin imaginable, Mulder swooped in to attempt to kiss her again

and this time she let him, returning the gesture. He turned and started to quickly

wind his way through the parked vehicles, but slowed down when he suddenly

felt her arm slip through and hook onto his own.

“Miss me already?” came his surprised, puzzled retort.

Dana shook her head and smiled enigmatically, “If you think I’m letting you loose

on your own to get up to mischief, you can think again. I know you – I’ll look

away and you’ll wind up in hospital within three seconds with some idiotic injury.”

“And…you think I’m how old?”

“It’s happened. Need I remind you of last year’s drama when you were entrusted

to put up the decorations by yourself? Let’s just find out what this particular

nutjob wants, and if you’re good maybe we’ll go see Santa after we’re done

shopping.”

“Well, alrighty then!”

XxXxXxXxX

They found Kerstein sitting in the farthest corner of the cafe, nervously eyeing

everyone that entered and exited the building as if they were out to get him.

Scully inwardly chuckled at the thought – no wonder Mulder felt so drawn to what

the stranger was supposedly offering: they were probably kindred spirits

separated at birth.

The middle-aged man stood to greet them – shaking each of their hands in turn –

but just as quickly sat down again, as if he’d exposed his location by popping into

view above eye-level. “T-thank you f-f-for coming,” he started with a nod of his

head. “You’ll have to f-forgive my s-speech… I w-w-was in an accident when I

w-was a k-kid. B-b-banged my brain a b-bit.”

Both agents nodded in acceptance of the apology as they seated themselves also.

“How do you know who we are, Mr Kerstein?” Mulder queried, leaning forward

slightly onto his elbows to help allay the older man’s paranoia.

“I read an a-article about y-you both in the P-P-Pennsylania T-Tribune a few y-

years back when you investigated s-some alien abduction c-c-claims…I w-was

gonna contact y-you then to s-share m-m-my story, but I kinda c-chickened o-

out,” Josh explained, looking closely from one agent to the other and back again.

“When the second one c-came, though, I-I knew I h-h-had t-to get to y-you,

before they g-got to me.”

Mulder shifted uncomfortably on his stool. No invisible deity would be able to

protect him from the wrath of Scully if this had been a wasted detour from their

schedule, and despite his refusal to regret the decision he’d made to listen to

Kerstein, he hoped the guy started speaking in plain English soon and spat out

what he wanted them to know. “It’s been a rough few weeks, sir,” he breathed,

wiping a hand across his suddenly-dry mouth, “so please forgive my stupidity

when I ask ‘what are you talking about?'” He felt the sharp pain of Dana’s foot

kicking his right shin, but the relieved glance she shot his way let him know that

she’d almost been bursting to ask the exact same thing.

Kerstein watched the silent exchange between the two agents, but didn’t

comment as he elaborated, “I was b-b-born and br-brought up in K-Kecksburg,

Pennsylvania…L-lived there a-a-all my l-life. B-back in sixty-five a fireball the s-

s-size o-of…” Both of his arms outstretched as wide as they could go in a

grandiose demonstration of the size scale he was struggling to explain with

words. “I-it was almost a-as big as the f-field at Yankee Stadium… A-anyway, it

flew s-straight past our f-farm and c-c-crashed in the woods w-with such a force

t-that it made me fall out of the tree I-I’d b-b-been watching m-my dad from…”

He gulped and his eyes quickly looked down and away as he almost whispered,

“That w-w-was the last time I saw–…. Dad calling m-my name as I-I hit t-t-the

ground was t-the l-last time I heard his v-voice…”

XxXxXxXxX

KECKSBURG, PA

DECEMBER 9th, 1965

6:31 PM

The acrid stench of smoke mixed with something less distinguishable filled the air

as plumes of black reached up for the heavens from the horizon. The fifteen

residents of the town rushing towards the line of trees didn’t seem to care about

that, though – one man even waving his wife off when she ran after him with

a gas mask raised in the air.

Randy Kerstein glanced up at the mob, feeling the tug of curiosity, but then

turned his attention back to the prone body of Josh at his wife’s scream.

“My baby!” Jessica wept, falling to her knees and cradling the boy’s head in her

lap. Her fingers immediately started to comb through his hair, but one hand

sharply pulled away only milliseconds later when her skin came in contact with a

warm, steady flow of blood. “Oh, my God! Randall! He’s bleeding!”

Without hesitation, despite how numb and leaden he suddenly felt, her husband

quickly hauled himself to his feet. “Take care of him. I’m gonna go get Doc

Thruxton,” he instructed, turning to make his way north.

“Randall, wait! Just call the operator for an ambulance!”

He feared for their only child’s life as much as his wife, but she was falling apart,

and he knew that one thing they definitely couldn’t do if they wanted to help

Josh was lose their heads. “Jess…” Turning back, he crouched down beside her

and stared into her watery eyes. There were no words to say that could reassure

either of them, but he soothingly sighed, “That’ll take too long. Look, I’ll go get

Doc from up the street. I’ll be back before you realise I’ve gone, okay?” At

her slightly whimpered nod, he weakly smiled, placed a gentle kiss on her

forehead and then headed back towards the dirt track road.

Where he literally ran into Doctor Herb Thruxton, who was also heading for the

woods.

“Doc! I need–”

Thruxton greeted the other man with a slightly impatient smile, but then grabbed

Kerstein’s arm and pulled him along with him as he refused to divert from his

destination.

The doctor was an oddity in the small God-fearing town, and only had interaction

with the other residents through his work as a result. He was what they hatefully

called a hippie, with long hair and non-conformist clothing, and several of the

more strict busy-bodies of the community had even gone to the AMA with their

wild theories in the hope that they could get his medical license revoked for

possession of marijuana, which had repeatedly been proven as false.

He should have suspected that Kerstein’s greeting was for more than sociable

reasons, then, but he was so intrigued by what might have just crashed to earth,

that his mind was too pre-occupied to process anything else, let alone any logic.

“Yo, Randy! You headed for the crash site as well? Excellent – I’ll walk with you!

So, what do you think it is? A plane or an asteroid?”

“Whuh?” Kerstein, caught off-guard and still trying to regain his bearings, tried

unsuccessfully to pull out of the other man’s grasp as he sputtered out his

nonsensical reply.

“You never know, it might be a sign from God!”

“No, you don’t understand–”

“Looks like the whole town’s going to find out.”

“But, Josh–” Suddenly Randall’s voice died in his throat as he found himself

looking down into the large crater that the fireball had made amongst the trees.

“Holy mother of God…”

An eerie silence filled the air as the seventeen souls stood in awe and fear,

staring uncertainly at the large, dark, acorn-shaped object, which must have

measured at least three meters in diameter at its widest point. Several of the

residents crossed themselves, certain that it was a sign of coming apocalypse,

whilst Mrs. Pitney, the local butcher’s wife, passed out altogether.

“Wow,” Thruxton exhaled, letting go of Kerstein’s arm and slowly, carefully

climbing his way down the crater’s rim with both arms outstretched in front of

him = intoxicated, instead of repelled, by the blue/black putrid clouds of smoke.

At the back of Randall Kerstein’s brain, he knew he should be running back to his

farm and calling the operator, as his wife had initially begged him to do, but

he couldn’t stop staring at the unknown craft and the strange writing engraved

around the base; hypnotized by the ancient pictures as if able to interpret but not

fully process what they were telling him.

The doctor approached ever closer, fingertips literally tingling as his splayed

hands inched nearer to the craft’s metallic surface. The smoke was causing his

eyes to water furiously and his chest to almost seize up from the thick gasses

percolating and suffocating his air passages, yet it was as if there was something

else – a power – taking over his (and everybody else’s, in fact) senses, and he

couldn’t have turned away even if he’d wanted to.

Closer, until he was barely a hair’s breadth away.

Both eyes rolled back into his head and trembling fingers reached to close the

final millimeters.

And a gunshot rang out in the air.

The spell broken, Herb Thruxton fell to the ground like a dead weight, clawing at

his throat and chest in a desperate bid to reclaim cleansing oxygen that his lungs

were long beyond the point of being able to find or use to any effect.

Randy shook his head, unable to dispel the image of the strange lines and

markings that had seemingly burnt themselves onto the back of his eyeballs, and

struggled to remain standing as a wave of dizziness wracked his body. Rubbing

his temples between forefinger and thumb, Randy staggered towards the exit of

the woods, only to find his path blocked by an armed soldier dressed in full

combat gear.

“Stop right there!” the other man ordered, immediately raising his weapon.

At least twenty military personnel swarmed into the clearing, surrounding the

cowering gathering of civilians.

Kerstein would not be deterred, though – he had to get back to his family,

dammit! He’d left them for too long already as it was. “I have to get back,” he

rasped out, still barely able to focus properly.

“Sorry, sir, but you have to stay here. We need to question you about what you

witnessed here today.”

Two men in white, protective body outfits carrying a boxed-in stretcher, bumped

past the farmer and briskly headed to where Thruxton’s body now lay completely

lifeless.

“No!” Randall stumbled, but regained his footing and tried to dodge around the

soldier, only to be pushed back and blocked yet again. “I have to get to my son!”

Despite the headache disorientating him and the armed man forcing him to stand

still, Kerstein had had enough and was ready to do whatever it took to get away

from these woods and back to his injured son’s side. He sucked in a breath,

straightened his back, and stared at the other man for a contemplative moment

before charging ahead as quickly as his still-unsteady legs would allow on the

cold, loose soil.

A struggle ensued as the soldier fought to force Kerstein to the ground, either by

hand or weapon, and the farmer used all the strength he could muster to wrestle

and twist his way out of the other man’s grasp in his bid to make a run for it.

Yet another gunshot rang out.

Except this time it hadn’t been a warning shot into thin air.

Kerstein staggered backwards, wide eyes blinking furiously as he tried to work

out what had happened and then looked down at his blood-drenched hands and

clothes. A guttural groan escaped past his quivering lips as pain worse than

anything he’d ever experienced ripped through his abdomen and he fell to his

knees.

The soldier looked on stoically.

*Pa, we going in now?*

“J–…–osh…”

Several of the townsfolk cried out in horror, but they were quickly hustled away

into an awaiting unmarked truck by half a dozen of the uniformed men whilst the

rest continued to secure the area. Not diverting their attention away from their

own work, the two unknown men in hazmat outfits rushed back past carrying

their own dead body.

As darkness drew in, Kerstein scrabbled at the ground, for the soldiers legs –

anything that could offer help. His weak hands gained no purchase, though, and

he was left to writhe in agony alone. Josh’s last words to him played over and

over in his ears, the strange symbols from the craft flashed behind his eyelids,

but as the pain faded and everything faded to black forever, the last thing

echoing in his mind was the dulcet tone of the song that had been playing on his

son’s wireless before the fireball appeared.

A time to be born, a time to die

A time to plant, a time to reap

A time to kill, a time to heal

A time to laugh, a time to weep

XxXxXxXxX

STARBUCKS CAFE, WASHINGTON, D.C

PRESENT DAY

10:13 AM

“Nobody t-talks of the i-i-incident in town m-much anymore – n-nobody d-dares

to – so I don’t know a-all the details of w-what h-happened,” the grown-up Josh

Kerstein relented, sipping at his newly-received cappuccino and staring

thoughtfully at the mug for a moment. “I o-only know what t-tales they u-u-used

to tell and t-tiny snippets I’ve managed to find on t-the internet, and that

somebody d-d-demanded that a-an investigation be o-opened into it…”

Mulder nodded and glanced at Scully with a raised brow, silently asking ‘Would

you think me crazy if I said I believe this guy?’. When she flashed him a

reassuring smile, he let out a sigh of relief and returned his attention to the older

man. They’d both read in the newspaper about the orders NASA had received,

but hadn’t had the time or energy to give it much thought due to their workload.

“All I d-d-do know for c-certain i-is that two w-weeks ago, very early in t-t-the

morning, something a-almost identical to w-what the reports s-say crashed in a-

almost the e-exact same spot,” Josh finished, looking up and staring at them both

seriously. “I d-don’t t-think anybody knows what h-happened as they were p-

pretty much all in bed…B-but I was up and s-saw it…So I d-dug my pa’s old gas

m-mask out, took the t-truck up t-t-to the woods…and collected it…Hid it in the

family b-barn.” He paused, surveyed their surroundings once again and then

reached inside his coat pocket to pull out a Polaroid, which he handed to the male

agent.

Wondrous silence fell as the two FBI agents stared disbelievingly at the photo of a

large acorn-shaped metallic structure.

“Why…Why would you risk your security – your life – by taking and hiding this?”

Mulder finally asked, needing to cough to clear his suddenly raw throat. He

himself had taken many chances and risks over the years in his search for the

truth which had cost both he and Scully highly, but even he knew that there

would be far too much at stake if he ever did what Kerstein had done by

concealing this supposed UFO from the government. “Surely you realise that

sooner or later they’ll figure out that something did land and then they’ll come

looking.”

Sensing the concern in his voice and instinctively understanding where his

thoughts had wandered to, Dana rested a hand on Mulder’s knee under the table.

“Agent M-Mulder, I have no f-f-family. From that day u-until the day she d-died,

m-m-my mother made it a d-daily c-chore to d-drum it into me that Pa put his

curiosity before the life of his only son – she n-n-never forgave him. I d-don’t

know how he e-ended u-u-up in those woods, and I know I never will, but I

n-never believed her – I guess even something like t-that can’t stop a kid looking

up to his father.”

Once again Scully gave Mulder’s knee a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

“My d-dad died, and if it’s b-b-because of w-whatever they’re t-trying to cover-

up, I need to e-expose it. You were the o-only people I c-c-could come to.”

A solemn, thoughtful pause, and then Mulder rose to his feet. “Would you excuse

us, please, Mr Kerstein, whilst my partner and I speak in private?” he asked,

outstretching an arm to rest a guiding hand on Scully’s back when she stood also.

“O-of course…”

“I know what you’re thinking, Mulder,” Scully started when they were finally out

of earshot, “and despite my logical reservations, any other time I wouldn’t argue

with you, but in three days time we’ve got three expectant bodies going to be

turning up on our front doorstep, and I, for one, am not goin to be the one to

leave them out in the cold. Are you?” That was an unfair low blow, and she

quickly retracted it by adding, “Do you realise how much trouble he can get into?

How much trouble *we* could get into if we’re caught helping him? And what are

we even supposed to do about it?”

Mulder stared at her for a long moment, surprised by her words and question.

“What has it ever been about, Scully?” he queried earnestly, never breaking eye-

contact. “Finding and exposing the truth. If there’s proof–”

“And what if there isn’t? Look” – she reached for his hand and held on to it tightly

– “you know I’ll follow you no matter what – that whatever the risk, every battle

we fight will be together. But I don’t want to put either of us in the firing line for

the sake of one craft that the conspirators will easily deny the existence of and

sweep under the carpet within a matter of hours.” She saw the mixture of

acceptance and denial warring for dominance in his eyes, and realized she was

losing. “I saw that photo too, Mulder, and as a scientist I want the answers as

well, but be honest with me: does that really sound worth it to you? That man

has nothing to lose and retribution to gain, but we–”

“–have to do our jobs.” He’d already made up his mind.

No amount of arguing would change it now. “I get what you’re saying, Scully – I

do,” the tall agent finally sighed, shaking his head slightly. He knew he was

being stubborn, but he felt like he’d passed the point of backing down and his

mind was too set on the idea of finally having something to show for their work in

the paranormal field. “I’m just as tired and cold and ready for some rest as you

are, but this could be the credibility we’re looking for. Surely you, as a

scientist, want some answers to rationalise what that thing might be? All we

have to do is go, take some pictures and surface scrapings and other evidence for

analysis, and then we can be back home by tomorrow afternoon – plenty of time

to do our shopping and relax before the festivities kick in.”

There were those pleading puppy-dog eyes again, and Dana cursed herself for

still not being able to resist their pull after all these years.

“Okay,” she finally relented, closing her eyes in disbelief that she’d let the words

pas her lips. “But if we’re not back in D.C tomorrow, you can explain it all to

Mom.”

“It won’t come to that, I swear.”

They were on the road, headed for Pennsylvania within the hour, following

Kerstein’s pickup in their SUV.

XxXxXxXxX

NASA HEADQUARTERS

12:56 PM

As snow lightly smattered against the window of his office, head administrator of

the organization Warren Anderson disconnected yet another conference call and

shifted in his chair to scratch at the annoying itch just above the center of his left

butt cheek.

Typical that someone would pick that exact moment to knock at his office door

and then enter without verbal admittance.

“What the hell?” Anderson growled, quickly withdrawing his hand out from the

seat of his pants. “D’ you wanna, maybe, try that again and actually wait for me

to say ‘come in’ this time?”

The intruding scientist adjusted her glasses and whispered an apology, but didn’t

seem to be in any rush to do as he’d ordered. Instead, she handed him a file

folder. “My apologies, sir, but this is urgent. We have managed to locate the

second Kecksburg fallen angel, and a team have been sent to investigate.”

Anderson shot out of his leather chair – bloodshot eyes almost popping as they

snapped wide open. “You mean it really does exist?” he almost choked out. Up

until now he’d considered the whole investigation order a waste of the

administration’s time and resources – believing the claims of a crashed UFO just

another in a million made-up sensationalist tales about aliens that appeared in

the tabloids each week. When Dr Schubert gave a subtle nod of her head,

Anderson exhaled a deep breath and looked through the folder she’d given him.

“Do we have any idea what it actually is yet?”

“No, sir. As I said, a team are en route to the site.”

“Good. Good…” He paused, wiped a hand across his mouth. “Let me know

when there’s any more news.”

“Yes, sir.”

With that, Schubert left the office, quietly shutting the door after her.

Warren watched her departure and then picked up his phone, pressing the first

speed dial button on the keypad. He only needed to wait one ring before the

other end of the line picked up. “It’s me,” he simply announced into the receiver.

“We have it.”

“You better, because they’re on their way,” a deep, foreign voice boomed back,

causing the hairs on the back of Anderson’s neck to stand erect, “and we can’t

have them going anywhere near it.”

XxXxXxXxX

“Gonna give me any clues what you got me for Christmas, then, G-man?” Scully

chuckled, shifting into a more comfortable position in her car seat so that she

could stare at her partner.

It had been a relatively quiet, pleasant drive, and 0071w there were only a

handful of miles to go. At one point the car heater had packed in and they’d had

to freeze for at least an hour before it decided to kick in again, but that had

pretty much been the only eventful point in the journey – both too busy

wondering if they would truly be able to expose the truth of a real UFO crashing

to earth, and how much (if at all) it would affect their jobs if they did.

“Something black and sexy,” Mulder smiled enigmatically, keep his eyes on the

road.

“One of your porn videos?” she snorted with a mixture of mock shock and hurt.

“Really, Mulder, you shouldn’t have!”

“Well, you’ve ruined it for yourself – there’s no point you having it now you know

what it is.”

They both laughed companionably as Dana swatted his arm. They were

exhausted and car trips always seemed to have that ability of sapping every last

ounce of energy from their very bones, but this was nice…relaxing.

Kerstein’s truck, a little further on ahead, took the turn off the interstate, and

Mulder did likewise.

“Besides, it’d be no fun if I gave you clues,” he continued, briefly diverting his

eyes away from the road to shoot a wry smile in her direction. “I mean, would

you give me clues about what you’ve bought for me?”

“Who says I’ve gotten you anything?”

The remark definitely made him turn his attention away from the road, and he

glanced at her to see the playful glint in her eye. “You’re an evil woman, Dana

Scully. Does that make me a masochist for loving you?”

“It’s a start,” she replied dryly, shifting even more in her seat. “The only clue I’ll

give is that it’s not black.”

“But ‘sexy’ is still involved?” Damn, why did she have to be this playful when he

was driving and had to keep his attention on something other than her?

She rolled her eyes and both lips thinned into a straight line as she held back a

smile. He was starting to get a little antsy, and if the growing bulge in his pants

was anything to go by, he was one more innuendo away from stopping the car

and having his way with her on the side of the road, so she sobered and nestled

against him – sleepy despite the afternoon hour.

*Now there’s a Christmas package I’ll never tire of unwrapping,* she inwardly

sighed, indulging herself with another glance at his crotch. Whoever said love

couldn’t last forever had definitely never known Mulder.

Their SUV passed the Kecksburg town line half an hour later and pulled in at

Kerstein’s farm five minutes after that, only to be confronted by two men in black

suits and half a dozen military personnel, who were forcing Josh out of his Ford

pickup. Mulder holstered his gun and flicked a quick, wary glance at his partner

before switching off the ignition.

“Get out of the vehicle now!” one of the soldiers ordered, running towards their

car with his weapon aimed and ready should they make a wrong move.

“Nice manners they have around here,” the male agent deadpanned with a raised

brow as he exited the hybrid.

“I’d stop worrying about their manners and start worrying about how to not let

this get out of control,” Dana warned in reply.

They both moved around to stand in front of the vehicle with their hands slightly

raised – the soldier intently tracking their every step as one of his colleagues

came up behind him.

“Wait! Stop!”

Scully diverted her gaze at the sound of Kerstein’s panicked voice to see him

being man-handled into the back of a green jeep. “Where are you taking him?”

“No questions, unless you wanna go along with him,” the first soldier snarled.

Mulder shrugged, “Depends…Do we get free room service?”

Agitated, the soldier sharply raised his weapon and pointed it at the taller man.

“Why I oughta–”

“Well, well, well. I guess I shouldn’t, but I’m actually quite surprised to see you

here. Really, Agent Scully, you need to tighten Fox’s leash a little more.”

The agents felt a chill run down their spines and they straightened up as they

heard the familiar voice and saw a thin trail of smoke escape through the barn’s

entrance. When CGB Spender emerged shortly after, Mulder took an angry step

forward but was instantly pushed back by the uniformed man.

“You son of a bitch,” Mulder heard Scully curse under her breath beside him

before she called out, “Maybe if you didn’t keep giving us the run-around he

wouldn’t need a leash at all.”

Spender beamed and took another drag on his cigarette as he approached. It

had been a while since he’d seen them due to numerous circumstances and the

number of branches that had unexpectedly started to sprout within the

conspirators’ circle, thanks to Strughold’s meddling that he was looking forward

to having a little fun here. “Of course. Besides, I suppose it’s difficult to keep an

eye on him when you’re busy killing your brother. Congratulations on that, by

the way – it was about time Charlie faced a little retribution…”

Mulder had heard enough and lunged at the smoking man. The soldier struck the

agent with his fist, hard, but the FBI agent refused to be deterred and made

another move for the smoker, so this time the commando used the butt of his

rifle, to more effective results.

“Mulder!” Scully dropped to her knees beside her fallen partner and examined his

bleeding lip and nose. He tried to wave her off, but too much movement and

change in expression caused pain to tear across his face so he let her go about

her examination, wondering if there ever would be a Christmas when he wouldn’t

be high on Demerol for a majority of the festive season.

The wind picked up, blasting them all with its icy chill as the smoking man looked

up to the sky. “It’s a shame that you made such a long journey for no reason,”

he idly remarked. “But then, I never would have pegged either of you to aid and

abet a conspirator against the US government to conceal something of national

security.”

“There’s a nice example of hypocritical irony,” Mulder ground out, cupping a hand

over his nose as he shakily raised to his feet with the support of his partner. “We

want to expose it for what it is. You’re the ones that want to hide the truth.”

“And what do you think it is, exactly?” Spender turned his focus on the petite

red-head. “Agent Scully?”

She faltered, and Mulder understood why. Despite all she’d experienced over the

years and what she had seen in Kerstein’s photo, there was no way she would

ever openly call it a UFO until she had collected and examined every piece of

scientific evidence to prove it. And he expected that from her – he wished she

would bend to his way of thinking sometimes, but Scully wouldn’t be Scully unless

she looked for the logical explanation to all his wild theories, and she certainly

wouldn’t be able to keep him as honest and anchored as she always had if she did

things differently.

“Do you think it’s a flying saucer from outer space?”

“I think it’s something important enough for you to hide from us,” she finally

piped up, never letting go of her partner’s arm as she sent a scowling glare in

Spender’s direction. “Something you think is important enough to kill for.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if you were the one behind the cover-up of the original

crash,” Mulder added in agreement.

Spender shook his head and took a slow drag on his Morley before dropping it to

the ground and stubbing it out. “Actually, no I wasn’t. The man you respected

and trusted as your informant many years ago was, though.”

“You’re a liar!” the injured agent exclaimed, making yet another unsuccessful

lunge at the smoking man. Maybe there had been more to Deep Throat than he’d

known, but he wasn’t ready to play Spender’s mind games.

“Perhaps. But is my claim any more believable than some farmer’s ranting about

a downed spacecraft? You believed him enough to make the four-and-a-half hour

drive on the weekend before Christmas, so why won’t you believe me?”

“Because you’re full of shit,” Dana spat out.

The second soldier raised his gun and Mulder moved to protect her, but CSM

waved the military man down with a satisfied smile, pleased that he’d managed

to pull the reaction out of them that he’d been waiting for.

“We all have to abide by a chain of command, Agent Scully. *All* of us. And on

that particular day, the man you called ‘Deep Throat’ drew the short straw.”

Dana’s frown deepened. “So, you admit something did crash here in ’65?”

“I admit nothing,” Spender replied smugly, reaching for yet another cigarette.

“My plausible deniability card hasn’t run out yet.”

“What’s going to happen to Kerstein?” Mulder queried. The pain radiating from

the center of his face was starting to make his eyes water, and he didn’t know

how much longer he could stay conscious if he didn’t get any medical help and

some good meds soon.

“We’re just going to talk to him…smooth out a few facts about what he may or

may not have seen.”

“Deceive, inveigle and obfuscate all over again, you mean.”

“You believe you know all the answers, Fox, but think: what would happen if the

truth about something like this really was exposed? Two reports in exactly the

same place forty-two years apart? There would be mass panic, countries would

go to war for possession of the craft, and worlds would collide. You think people

knowing your truth would make everything flowers and rainbows and peaceful.”

Spender paused and glanced up at the cloudy sky briefly as the sound of spinning

rotor blades neared. “It goes much deeper than that, and if you had to make the

choices I have for this world we would have already been re-colonized by Them

long ago.”

A large, black helicopter cut through the low cloud cover and landed not far from

the barn, which the two men in black were locking up.

“It was here, wasn’t it?” Scully blinked against the updraft of leaves, dirt and hay

as she and her partner watched Spender back away.

The smoking man shrugged dismissively and then, without another word, got into

the chopper, followed by the mysterious suited men.

The first soldier glared at the two agents and took another swing at Mulder that

only hit air before making his way to the parked jeep with his colleague in tow.

Awkward silence fell as the ‘copter and jeep made their speedy retreats…

…And remained for several minutes after.

Scully was the first to move into action, reaching to examine Mulder’s injuries

more closely, but once again he impatiently waved her off and stomped over to

the closed barn doors – un-holstering his gun as he did so.

She watched him, worried about his intentions, and then chased after him when

she saw him raise the weapon and aim it at the padlock between the two large

doors.

“Mulder, no,” she begged, running up behind him and resting a soothing hand

between his shoulder blades.

“Let’s just leave it and go home. There’s nothing more we can do – you heard

him.”

He shook his head and kept the gun steady. “I have to know,” he mumbled,

choking back the blood clogging his airway. “*We* have to know.” He hesitated

and glanced over his shoulder at her longingly. “…Don’t we?” As always he was

putting everything in her hands and waiting for her answer before he took the

final step.

She stared at his face – the closed right eye that was beginning to swell and

bruise, the blood flowing from his purpling nose and lower lip – and gave a slow

but firm nod. “We do,” she almost whispered, letting the palm of her hand warm

his back even through his thick winter jacket.

Two sure shots decimated the padlock, and one kick sent the entrance flying

open…

To reveal nothing more than a few bales of hay.

Exhausted, cold, defeated and in excruciating pain, Mulder lowered the gun to his

side, let it slip from his fingers, and then dropped to his knees. Scully followed

him down and cradled him in her lap as she dialled 911,

“It’s gonna be okay,” she sighed, combing her fingers through his hair as she also

felt the crushing blow of defeat begin to sink in.

They’d come so close to finally holding some credibility for the work they did in

their hands, regardless of her reservations concerning the trip, she had put as

much hope in his belief as she’d once put in the possibility of a scientific

breakthrough with Anson Stokes: The Invisible Man. Maybe the only truth they

would ever be allowed to know was that no matter how much of it there actually

was, they would never be able to hold any proof whatsoever.

“It’s okay…”

XxXxXxXxX

Anderson picked up the phone on the second ring, wiping a sweaty hand down his

pale face. He’d just received word of the missing status of the crashed craft, and

knew his superiors would not be reacting well.

“They got to it first,” the voice at the other end of the call stated without any hint

of a question. “We’ll have to officially call off the investigation into the original

incident.”

“B-but what do we tell them? The public will want answers… Hell, I’d like to

know what the fuck is going on.”

“Tell the truth as far as we know it: nothing was found. Make the shuttle launch

your priority. No one can overpower these men, so we shall have to deal as

usual.”

The administrator hesitated. He’d been handed an order to investigate the 1965

reports, but suddenly it felt as if the recent event was the real one he should’ve

been focusing on and sooner. “You knew about this when you sent me the file,”

he slowly remarked, a little accusatorily. “Why didn’t you tell me about the

second crash earlier?”

“NASA could not know – the courts were after information about the past event,

so that was all you needed to know about. Anything else you had to learn

yourself. We had hoped the farmer would be able to protect it for longer, but

obviously that was not the case. Happy holidays, Anderson.”

The line sharply disconnected and a confused Warren remained standing with the

receiver in his hand for at least three minutes before resting it back in its

cradle. With a deep sigh of frustration he picked up the file from his desk, gave it

one final look over and then dropped it into the waste paper basket beside his

desk.

XxXxXxXxX

DECEMBER 10th, 1965

12:12 AM

“You’re still here, then?”

At the sound of his approaching friend’s voice, the man who would many years

later come to be known as Deep Throat turned and greeted Spender with a nod of

his head. “I hear the negotiations were settled quickly?” he asked, pulling a

lighter from his coat pocket and offering it.

“The most awkward and unpleasant negotiations can sometimes be settled within

minutes, Ronald,” CSM replied prophetically, accepting the item and using it

to light a Morley.

“But they were?”

“Eventually… That’s why I’m here.” Spender paused, exhaled a puff of smoke

and then gestured toward the lights that had suddenly appeared amongst the line

of trees.

Without a word they both made their way to the clearing in the woods where the

downed spacecraft had come to life.

“So, they get the body and the craft, and we get…?”

Deep Throat asked, tightening the tie on his trench coat and watching as the top

half of the acorn-shaped object begun to rotate.

“Peace of mind and the ability to keep the line of communication open with

them.”

It didn’t seem like a fair trade that the Syndicate would normally give in to, but

Deep Throat guessed there must be some kind of reasoning this time and didn’t

push the subject any further.

The whirring noise emanating from the craft gained in volume and the lights

brightened in intensity until the whole thing finally dislodged itself from the frozen

earth. Both men covered their ears and watched as the UFO shot up into space

at break-neck speed, leaving a glowing vaporous trail in its wake across the sky –

never to be seen again.

Or so they hoped.

THE END

1

Oh Holy Night

clip_image001

OH HOLY NIGHT

By: Traveler

Rating: PG13 for language

Summary: Mulder gets some unexpected help in a harrowing situation on this most

special of nights.

Disclaimer: 2 weeks exclusive to VS…

Author’s Notes: I don’t know where I get these story ideas…other than watching too

many movies about the subject from ISLAND IN THE SKY to AIRPLANE, I know very

little about flying a plane. So with the help of a neat worst case scenario archive I

found on the web and some special help from Phoebe this story became possible.

Don’t try this at home.

BUFFALO FIELD OFFICE

CHRISTMAS EVE

“Hey, Scully, it’s me,” Mulder tried to put forward his best “happy voice” but the

news he had to tell his partner wasn’t good.

He’d been in town for the past two days as a favor to his superior, he certainly owed

Skinner enough of them. Frank Bartinelli, the field office’s ASAC, was an old Marine

buddy of the Skinman and desperately needing help on a missing person’s case

involving one of his own agents. The department felt the case could be tied to

several others up and down the east coast also involving law enforcement personnel.

As it turned out, the missing agent, one Terrance Emerick, had gone missing of his

own hand. Using the information gained on the other cases he’d staged his own

disappearance in an attempt to get out of a gambling debt. Case closed.

“Mulder, please tell me you’re getting ready to board a plane,” came his partner’s

reply through his cell.

Mulder looked across the desk at the snow that blew furiously outside the ASAC’s

office window. “I’m ready, my luggage is ready, Frank is ready to take me to the

airport — there’s just one problem.”

“And that would be?” she questioned.

Mulder sighed, “They shut down the airport about half an hour ago, nothing’s going

out of here tonight.”

From the other side of the connection Scully could hear the disappointment in his

voice. They’d both been looking forward to a little holiday downtime. Now it

appeared he was stuck in Buffalo, just a little over 45 minutes away by air. “Oh,

Mulder, what’s going on up there? When I talked to you earlier, you said everything

had been wrapped up.”

“With a big red bow and a Ho, Ho, Ho,” he joked at her unconscious slip. “No,

seriously, Santa’s gonna need Rudolph if he’s gonna deliver any toys up here

tonight. Buffalo is in the throws of what Frank here says is classic lake effect snow

courtesy of Lake Erie. They’re talking 18 to 20 inches by morning. The visibility is

close to zero.” When he got no response from the other end of the line he

continued, “I’m sorry Scully, I know your mom wanted everyone to be together this

year.”

Scully knew what lake effect snow was. The waters of the Great Lakes were one of

the few places on the planet that it occurred. North winds coming across Lake Erie

would pick up moisture and depending on their direction dump it in the form of snow

anywhere from Cleveland to upstate New York. Evidently this time Buffalo was

ground zero. “I could say I should blame Skinner for this one,” came her eventual

reply. “But that wouldn’t be fair would it?”

“No, but don’t think I’ll let him get away without a serious guilt trip.” He looked

around the now empty office wondering where Frank had disappeared to. “Look,

maybe it will let up or if worse comes to worse, I’ll rent a car. It’s only about an 8

hour drive; I could still be there by morning…”

“Mulder, I want you here but I don’t want you driving in a blizzard. We’ll all be here

when you get here. Just be safe, please.”

For a moment he didn’t want to hang up, thinking that they could spend Christmas

Eve together over the phone. “Give my apologies to everyone and I’ll call you if

there’s any change,” he paused before disconnecting, wanting to reassure himself

that he wasn’t in the dog house.

“It’s not your fault, Mulder. Stay warm.”

He stared at the phone for a long moment before pocketing it and then moving to

stand near the window. What he saw outside at the moment put to rest any

assumption that there was any truth to global warming, or at least that’s how it

appeared. What had only started a couple hours ago had turned the world outside

into a white wilderness. Traffic crawled along in the street below him as the wind

swirled the heavy flakes. He reached out and put both palms on the cold glass in

front of him sending a chill all the way to his toes. Shit.

“Get your stuff!” Mulder startled at the sound of Frank’s voice behind him.

“What?” he asked almost in astonishment as he turned around. Frank was standing

in the doorway already in the process of wrapping himself in his overcoat. “Come

on, I got you a flight.”

Mulder hesitated as he glanced outside again, “In this?” he asked, pointing to the

nasty weather just beyond the window’s glass barrier.

“You want to be home for Christmas don’t you?” Frank asked as he tossed the other

agent his coat and finished the thought before Mulder could even acknowledge him.

“Your sleigh’s waiting,” he told him as he turned and headed down the hall.

It took several seconds before the agent moved, grabbing his brief case and the

handle of his rolling garment bag, while in the process of trying to wrangle into his

own coat. Frank was waiting by the elevator and grabbed the bag from him. “Put

that on,” he motioned to the coat that at the moment only covered the agent’s left

shoulder. “I can’t send you back to Scully with pneumonia.”

“Just how are you sending me back to Scully?” Mulder asked as he stepped into the

elevator behind the other agent and pulled on his coat.

“Friend of mine has a small plane. I just promised him some of my Bills seats for

next year to fly you home.”

“In this?” Mulder watched Frank break into a grin.

“Relax,” Frank patted Mulder’s shoulder. “He flies out of a little airport in Collins,

about an hour south of here. He said it’s as clear as a bell down there. You see,

that’s the funny thing about lake effect snow. It can be snowing like hell one minute

and then ten minutes down the road there isn’t a flake in the sky.”

Mulder wasn’t sure he believed the story but if that was the case then rather then tie

up someone else’s holiday he’d just get a car and drive back to D.C. “Frank, it’s

Christmas Eve for God’s sake. I don’t want to ruin someone else’s holiday, just get

me a rental and I’ll drive.”

The elevator doors opened into the parking garage and Frank motioned to the black

Lexus in the first spot as the car answered the remote with a beep. Five minutes

later he was edging the car out onto the crowded street. “Jack’s another Nam buddy

of mine, Mulder. He doesn’t have any family. Fact is I worry about him and you’ll be

keeping him company on an otherwise lonely night.”

It took almost an hour for Frank to fight his way through the weather-snarled Buffalo

traffic, but by the time they were leaving the city limits the snow had already

tapered to light flakes. “See, what’d I tell ya. All depends on which way the wind

blows who gets the snow.”

“I still say I could have rented a car,” Mulder nodded in acknowledgement of the now

clearing skies.

“Yeah, but I feel bad about dragging you out here for what turned out to be nothing

and this way you’ll be walking in the door in a couple hours instead of being behind

the wheel for eight,” Frank told him, fumbling through his coat pockets and pulling

out his cell phone. The other party answered almost immediately. “Hey man,”

Frank replied. “We’re about 30 minutes out, warm that bird up!”

Mulder sat back and watched the dark landscape pass by. Occasionally they would

pass a home brightly lit with Christmas lights. “Have you in the air in 15 minutes,”

the other agent told him as they passed a sign stating they were now in Collins, New

York.

As they passed through the center of town, the Christmas displays reminded Mulder

that he needed to make a call himself. Scully answered on the second ring, she

sounded a little out of breath. “Mulder, why did we buy so much stuff?”

“You okay?” he asked with concern.

“Oh, yes, I’m fine. I’m trying to pack up the car — by myself, thank you”

“Well then pack me some clothes, I’ll meet you at your mom’s,” he answered,

realizing she was just ragging on him. “Rudolph’s warming up his engines and I

should be in around 11.”

“Mulder? I thought Buffalo was shut down, where are you?”

Mulder looked out the window as Frank turned the car onto a side road and past a

sign proclaiming that they had arrived at Gowanda Airport. “Long story, and we’re

both short on time. Frank found me a twin engine sleigh and a little old driver. I’ll

be home for Christmas.”

“Just please tell me you’re not doing something stupid,” she asked knowing her

partner’s propensity of putting himself last.

“No, actually Frank’s preventing me from doing that, fortunately,” he replied as the

senior agent pulled the car up next to a white metal building and killed the engine.

“Well, thank him for me. And Mulder…”

“Yeah.”

“Please, be careful.”

“You know, I’m really trying to be.”

Frank was already pulling his bags from the trunk of the car and handing them off to

another man that Mulder assumed was his pilot friend. He clicked off the phone and

exited the car.

The plane was actually larger then Mulder had pictured. A twin engine Beechcraft

that was a little long on age but looked to be in good condition. The engines

hummed as Frank’s friend loaded his luggage into the cargo section, secured the

door and turned around.

“Mulder, this is Jack Pierce. Jack, this is Fox Mulder, a colleague of Walt Skinner’s,”

the Buffalo SAC made the introductions while Jack lit up a cigarette and then reached

out to shake Mulder’s hand.

“Don’t mind if I catch a quick fix do you?” the pilot asked motioning to the smoke

that luckily curled away from them in the breeze.

The agent motioned his approval and then made a quick assessment of man. Jack

looked worn. He was about Mulder’s height with stringy gray hair that tufted out

from under his Pittsburgh Steelers’ cap. He wore a leather bomber jacket dotted

with patches that had obviously seen better days. His hand when Mulder shook it

was roughly calloused indicating that Jack probably didn’t spend his days behind a

desk like his two war buddies.

Jack took one last drag on the cigarette and then flicked it away. “Well come on,” he

said, patting Mulder’s shoulder. “Let’s get the pretty Fed home to the missus.”

The agent gave the SAC a wary look as Frank and Jack broke into laughter and then

Frank gave his friend a rough hug. “Merry Christmas, man. Safe flight.”

“I’m holdin’ you to those football tickets, you know,” the pilot told his friend stepping

away and then turning to Mulder as he opened the cabin door. “Sit up front,” he

motioned. “Your legs are as long as mine.”

The agent tossed his overcoat onto one of the rear seats and climbed into the co-

pilot’s seat. Within a few minutes they were airborne, banking to the north and then

circling the field and heading southeast.

Mulder watched the earth pass by below them. Flying at a lower altitude the festive

colors of the holiday countryside were wonderfully visible. In a childish way he could

almost imagine it was the view Santa himself would see as he made his mythical

journey across the continent.

Finally the drone of the engines became too monotonous and he turned to study Jack

from the corner of his eye. “You know Skinner from Vietnam too?” he asked

breaking the silence.

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes momentarily and then turned to

Mulder. “Not exactly,” he told the agent, wincing slightly as if he were in pain. “I

was a medivac pilot. He ever tell you the story ’bout leavin’ the country in a body

bag?”

Mulder remember the conversation in his office many years ago when Skinner had

talked him out of leaving the F.B.I., and nodded.

“Damn’dest thing. I’m loading up corpses from this whole platoon and all of a

sudden one of them groans. Nearly shit my pants right then,” he told the agent a

wry grin spreading across his face. “Called over a corpsman and sure enough, the

guy’s not dead. Anyway, my cargo went from being a load of stiffs that night to an

emergency flight to Saigon, with the only two guys we found alive, him and Frank.

They — ah looked me up after the war and we — ah kinda keep in touch.”

“That’s nice, to know that you’re still looking out for each other,” Mulder commented.

“Yeah, but I ain’t got much in common with these guys,” Jack admitted before he

wrapped his left arm around his abdomen. “Jesus,” he winced.

“You alright?” Mulder asked, suddenly concerned by the man’s distress.

“Damned pain in my gut again,” Jack told him fumbling under the seat and producing

a large bottle of Tums.

Mulder watched Jack dump four tablets into his palm and then toss them into his

mouth, chewing them rapidly. He recapped the bottle and dropped it on the floor,

before grabbing a paper cup from the plane’s console and washing the pills down

with its contents. “Lord, wonder how old that stuff was!” He grimaced and then

laughed. Mulder wasn’t so sure it was funny.

They sat in silence again until Mulder heard the radio crackle to life with a course

change that Jack acknowledged. “Sorry, they gotta get those big birds in there first.

Where did you say you were headed, Baltimore?”

“Yeah, hopefully.”

“You wouldn’t think it would be this busy so late on Christmas Eve, would you? Ah,

damn,” he winced again in anguish. “Got so the Tums don’t do me much good

either. We should still get in before midnight,” Jack informed him and then leaned

forward to examine the heavens from the cockpit windshield. “Clear as a bell down

here.”

Mulder followed his gaze to the moonlit sky ahead of them. It really was a pretty

night. It would be a lot prettier once he had his feet back on the ground and in Mrs.

Scully’s living room.

“You’re a vet, you’ve got the medical benefits, ever think about having that pain of

yours checked out?” Mulder didn’t want to sound like he was prying into Jack’s

business but he was looking pretty white to him at the moment.

“Yeah, I’ve thought about it. Afraid they’ll tell me I got cancer, you know what I

mean?” Jack asked, turning to look at Mulder. “And I really don’t want to go through

that hell.”

“Yes, I do know what you mean,” Mulder answered, meeting Jack’s eyes. “It could

also be something else. You look like you’re in a lot of discomfort, that’s got to be

hell too.”

Jack acknowledged Mulder’s comment and then turned back to study his

instruments. The plane buffeted a little as they passed over the eastern Appalachians

and out over the foothills of southeast Pennsylvania. Studying the darkened

countryside below Mulder realized that there was still plenty of open land even on

the crowded east coast.

“Ah, God!” Jack’s shriek of pain startled the agent. Suddenly the plane dipped

sharply to the left. Feeling like he was falling, Mulder’s first instinct was to grab onto

something, like the yoke in front of him. A quick glance to his left revealed that Jack

had let go of the pilot’s yoke and was practically doubled over with pain, causing the

plane to descend. The older man gasped for air. Mulder feared the man was

having a heart attack.

“Jack!” he exclaimed reaching out for the man.

“No!” the pilot gasped, “get us — us level!” he gasped again. “God, can’t breathe —

grab the yoke…” he told Mulder, reaching out a shaky hand to point at the yoke in

front of the agent.

Mulder put both hands on the yoke and looked desperately toward Jack, “What do I

do?”

Jack took a few more rapid breaths and then seemed to relax a little. “Turn easy to

your right and then pull back — slowly.”

Mulder did as Jack asked. He wasn’t sure who was shaking more at the moment,

Jack or himself. The plane rolled slowly back to level. “Pull back a little more,” the

pilot instructed as he watched the altimeter climb back to about thirty eight hundred

feet. “Press that little button on the right there, that’s your autopilot…”

With the plane flying on it’s own for the moment Mulder turned to look at Jack. The

man was as white as a sheet. A thin veil of perspiration covered his face, once again

contorting in pain. “What can I do?” he stammered.

“I — pain in — in my chest…” Jack managed to gasp out.

His actions seeming to confirm what Mulder had already suspected. “You’re not going

to be able to land this thing are you?” he asked absurdly. Jesus, what was he

thinking? The man could die up here.

Jack stared at the agent with glassy eyes, “I ain’t gonna be able — ah…”he gasped

out as pain erupted from his abdomen again up into his chest, taking his breath

away. He reached toward the agent next to him. The last thing he remembered was

grabbing Mulder’s hand and squeezing it hard.

As Jack’s hand when limp in his own, Mulder froze, “No! Come on Jack!” He tried

desperately to rouse the older man. Finding a thready pulse, he was at the moment

relieved that the man hadn’t died but he still could not waken him. “Jack,” he

grabbed the man’s chin, turning his face towards his own. “Jack, come on, man,” he

pleaded.

The pilot’s eyes flickered briefly and then his face scrunched in pain, “Radio…” he

whispered.

“What?” Mulder asked momentarily confused.

“Take — the radio, mayday…” Jack doubled over in pain again, wrapping his arms

around his abdomen and then his body went limp.

“Shit,” Mulder told himself as the realization hit him and he fumbled the headset

from Jack. “This is not happening!”

As Mulder dropped back into his seat he slipped the headset over his head and

adjusted the mike. He pressed the button on the yoke in front of him and began his

distress call, “Mayday! Mayday! This Agent Fox Mulder with the F.B.I.. My badge

number is JTT047101111 Requesting assistance!”

Silence. He pressed the button again, “Mayday! Mayday! Can anybody hear me out

there?”

“Washington Center, can you identify yourself?” came the reply.

“This is Agent Mulder with the F.B.I. I have an emergency situation.”

“Are you the pilot Mr. Mulder?”

“No, no, the pilot’s taken ill,” he told the voice glancing to the side to see that Jack

was still unconscious. “I need some help up here!” Mulder looked out into the dark

night sky beyond the plane’s windshield, at the moment it seemed like he was on the

edge of an abyss.

“Okay, okay. My name is Mark, I’m going to help you,” the flight controller’s steady

voice came back. “I want you to relax and listen to me carefully. Is the plane flying

level?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s on auto pilot,” Mulder answered trying desperately to keep calm

himself.

“Alright, that’s good. Do you have any experience flying a plane Mr. Mulder? I need

you to help me identify your position.”

“Not exactly,” the agent snorted out. “I knew a guy in college, used to take me up

in an old B-25.”

“Lucky you,” Mark replied. “Got a bunch of guys here who would envy you.” The

controller tried to calm the shaken agent. “Now I want you to look for a number on

the control panel, should start with ‘N’…”

“Yeah, call number, hang on.” Mulder started to look around the plane’s instrument

panel when it hit him, the number on the plane’s fuselage, N22364, Scully’s

birthday, he’d noticed it when he and Frank had pulled up at the airport. “N22364,”

he answered.

Mark Newman, one of the many air traffic controllers in busy Washington Center had

been one of the unlucky guys to draw duty Christmas Eve. He studied his screen

until he found the small plane near the PA, Maryland border just outside P-40’s

restricted airspace. Wonderful. P-40 was the no-fly zone around the presidential

retreat, Camp David. Luckily the President wasn’t in residence at the present time.

He needed to keep this guy’s attention on flying the plane, the last thing he needed

on his tail was an F-18.

“Hey, Mark, you still with me?” Mulder’s voice came back in his ear.

“Yes, I’m still with you Mr. Mulder. I have your position. You still okay up there?” he

asked the agent. The small plane was cruising at round 38 hundred feet. There

wasn’t a whole lot of traffic at that low altitude right now. The guy practically had

the sky to himself.

“Oh yeah, feel like Santa Claus dancing across the night sky. You’re gonna get me

down from here aren’t you?” Mulder tried his best to make light of the situation but

in fact he was pretty damn nervous.

“Yes, Santa, I just want you to remain calm and do just what I tell you and we’ll get

you home for Christmas,” the controller told him. “Did you say your first name was

Fox? Can I call you that?”

Mulder wanted to correct him, like he did everyone else but at the moment the idea

seemed moot. “That’s fine,” he acknowledged.

“Can you tell me the condition of the pilot, Fox?” Mark asked him through the

headset.

Mulder looked over at the older man, reaching over to gently touch his neck. Jack

stirred and moaned a little but did not waken. “I don’t know if he had a heart attack

or he’s just got a bad case of indigestion. Pulse is a little thready, he’s fading in and

out,” Mulder confirmed.

“Alright, Fox, your flight plan indicated you were headed into BWI. You and I are

going to make a little course correction in a few minutes that will take you into

Martin State. You’re only about 70 minutes out. You with me?” A quick assessment

of the plane’s location had told him that getting the plane into Hagerstown would

require some tricky maneuvers, best to try for the closest straight in approach.

“I guess so,” Mulder stated after taking a big breath. Making a course correction

meant taking the plane off auto pilot. Evidently Mark wanted him to fly this thing.

Something he was going to have to do sooner or later anyway if he had any chance

of getting down in one piece.

“Good. I want you to look at the instrument panel in front of you. Do you know

what an altimeter is? It should be in the center of the control panel,” Mark told him

with a steady voice.

“Tells me my altitude,” Mulder replied as his eyes came to rest on the panel in front

of him. “Says three, seven, eight, five,” he finally told Mark.

“That’s right, you want to try and maintain that when we do this turn. Do you

understand?” Mark asked him. “I want you to find the airspeed indicator. It should

be on your left. The auto pilot should have your airspeed at about 120 knots. You

want to try and maintain that in the turn also. If you start to slow down use your

throttle, between the seats. Pushing it forward will increase your airspeed and make

the plane ascend. Pulling back will decrease it but it will also cause the plane to

descend. Listen to your engines. You might need to compensate with the yoke. It

works the same way. It’s very sensitive, Fox. Just an easy touch is all you need.

Are you following me?” Mark tried to explain the plane’s controls as best he could

without sounding too condescending.

Mulder glanced around the cockpit trying to familiarize himself with his surroundings.

A small gold plaque on the center of the instrument panel caught his eye. In the dim

light of the cockpit, it was hard to read but by tilting his head a little so the words

caught the light, the sentiment became clear, ‘God is my co-pilot’ was written across

it’s surface in figurative script. The agent studied it for a moment, somewhat

surprised given his first impression of the man beside him. He let out a shaky sigh.

It had been a long time since he’d put any faith in God. Maybe now was a good time

to reconsider. This was going to be the longest hour of his life. “Well, I hope you’re

with me tonight,” he finally said to himself.

A quick look at Jack told him the man was at least still breathing. “Okay, I’m with

you,” he told Mark.

“Your fuel gauges should be on the lower portion of the instrument panel. Just like

your car, you want to be sure you have enough gas to get you where you’re going,”

he told the agent, with a slightly lighter tone.

“Looks like I have a little over half a tank in both,” Mulder replied.

“Alright, here we go, this plane’s going to be a lot easier to fly than that B-25,” the

controller told him.

“I sure hope so,” Mulder acknowledged, remembering the bumpy rides over the

English countryside.

Mark’s supervisor had come to stand behind him in the control center. “First thing I

want you to do is locate the heading. It will be a dial with a little image of a plane in

the center. The nose of that little plane points in the direction your heading. Right

now your heading is about 170 degrees,” he heard Mark tell the agent.

“Okay,” was all Mulder could say.

“Now you need to turn off the auto pilot and then gently turn the yoke to the left so

the plane turns to the left. You want to come to a heading of 120 degrees. Once

you’re at that heading, I want you to descend to thirty five hundred feet. Do you

understand?” Flight conditions in the area of the small plane were almost ideal. As

long as Fox followed his directions this harrowing evening should turn out alright.

This guy had to have someone watching out for him.

Mulder reached out and turned off the autopilot. He flinched when the plane dipped

a little and he gave the yoke a hair touch to keep it at thirty seven hundred feet. “I

guess I’m flyin’ this thing now,” he told Mark. “I think I’m going to be a little busy

for a few minutes, get back to you.”

The agent studied the instrument panel once more, his eyes coming to rest on the

little plaque once again. “You with me?” he asked it and then turned his gaze to the

heading dial and gently turned the yoke to his left. The plane started to bank

immediately, climbing slightly. Mulder watched the compass numbers drop slowly

compensating a little by pulling back on the yoke until his airspeed started to drop.

Nervous sweat started to bead his forehead. His hands were clammy on the yoke.

He pushed forward a touch on the throttle hearing the engine come to life, until

finally the small plane leveled out at the 120 degree heading Mark had told him he

needed to achieve. He could feel himself trembling. He pushed the mic button,

“Okay Mark, I’m at 120 degrees and I haven’t wet my pants. What else did you need

me to do?”

Mark had watched the plane’s tiny image on his radar screen, “Well that’s good Fox,”

Mark joked. “Unfortunately those old Beech’s didn’t come with lavatories.” His

supervisor tapped him on the shoulder. “Get him down,” he told the controller.

“You did that just fine Fox. Now I want you to descend to thirty five hundred feet

and keep that same heading. It will take you right into Martin State,” he told the

agent. He would have a tail wind all the way. “You’re only about 50 minutes out

now. How’s your pilot?”

“He’s still breathing, which I guess is a good sign,” Mulder replied. “You better have

some emergency equipment there to meet us.”

“I already have them on alert; they’ve cleared any other traffic. You have the sky to

yourself, Fox,” Mark told him reassuringly.

The controller watched the image on his screen again as the altitude reading dropped

just below thirty five hundred feet. “You can turn on the autopilot again for a while,

Fox. Catch your breath.” Mark could hear the nervous tone in the agent’s voice

when he spoke. He had to keep him focused.

Mulder reached out and flicked on the autopilot once more, letting the plane fly itself

for a while. He breathed a sigh of relief. He was on his way home but they were still

three thousand feet in the air. That was a long way to fall.

His gaze then drifted out the right window to the starlit night sky. It was a beautiful

night but he suddenly felt very alone. As his eyes came back to rest on the

instrument panel the little gold plaque glimmered in the low light as if trying to tell

him that that wasn’t the case.

He admired Scully’s faith despite the things she had been through in their

partnership. There were times when he had questioned and even condemned her for

it, but in truth he realized it was what had gotten her through some of the most

trying times of her life. She too, over the years had beaten him up over his belief in

the unprovable but he also knew she believed in him. He bit his lower lip. Perhaps

the time had come for him to put a little faith in her beliefs.

“Fox?” Mark’s voice came back into his ear.

“Let me guess, there’s something else you want me to do?” he replied.

“Yes, we’re going to start your descent now so I want you to turn off the autopilot

again and descend to three thousand feet, then turn it back on. You copy?” Mark

asked.

“I copy,” Mulder replied. Hell, he thought to himself, might as well get this over

with. Jack was in no condition to be of any help, the only way they were going to

get down was if he did it himself. Even though his present circumstances were not

his fault, he’d never hear the end of this from his partner. He hoped she had no idea

what was happening. But then on the other hand, he could use a few extra prayers

right now. Once again he reached over and turned off the auto pilot. The small

plane buffeted a little as they hit some air, but he was able to compensate for it and

eased the plane to an altitude of just under three thousand feet before turning the

autopilot back on.

“You’re doing just fine, Fox,” Mark told him. “We’re going to do that one more time

and then I’m going to turn you over to Martin tower. I have a gentleman there

who’s been listening in on our frequency. He’s going to talk you in the rest of the

way. You okay with that?”

Did he have a choice? Mulder just wished he could stop shaking. “I’m okay,” he told

the controller.

“Fox, this is Rich Franklin at Martin tower,” the other man’s voice came through his

headset. “I understand you need a crash course in landing a plane?” Joking with

Mulder, Rich was trying to keep the urgency of the situation at a minimum. The

airport was located in a mostly industrial area just north of Baltimore on Chesapeake

Bay, away from tall buildings and residential neighborhoods. As long as the agent

kept his cool there was a good chance this whole event would end in a good way.

“I hope not,” came Mulder’s reply.

“Rich will get you down in one piece, Fox. Don’t worry,” Mark came back on the

frequency. “I want you to descend to twenty five hundred feet, just like before and

then Rich will take over from there, copy?”

Mulder put the plane through another descent and then leveled it off. His airspeed

had dropped a little to around 110 knots. “My airspeed dropped do I need to

increase it?” he asked. He was actually starting to get the feel of the controls and it

made him relax a little.

“No, you’re going to need to slow down for landing,” Mark replied. “Rich will talk you

through that. You’re going to be fine, Fox. You’ve done a great job so far. You

have a wonderful holiday.”

“I hope so, you have a Merry Christmas too,” Mulder acknowledge back. “And

Mark…”

“Yes, Fox?”

“Thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome, Fox,” Mark replied back. He left his radio on the same

frequency until he heard that Rich was in contact with the F.B.I. agent and then

slipped it off and started to get up.

“He make it?” Steve Tucker, the controller at the next station asked.

“Let you know in about fifteen minutes,” Mark replied as he stepped away.

“Fox, this is Rich,” the Martin State controller came through Mulder’s headset. “I

want to go over some instruction with you before we start your final descent. The

last thing you want to be doing when you’re attempting your landing is trying to talk

to me, you copy?”

“What do you mean ‘attempting’?” Mulder asked. That nervous feeling had returned

as he noticed the landscape below him had changed from rural to a more densely

populated area. If this plane went down with him and Jack in it that was one thing.

The last thing he wanted to do was end up in somebody’s living room.

“Sorry, Fox, poor choice of words,” Rich told him lightly. “You’re on a straight in

approach, just follow my instructions and you’ll do fine.”

“I’m going to remember you said that, Rich,” Mulder replied.

“Okay, now listen carefully,” Rich began. “To begin your descent I want you to pull

back on the throttle. We’re not going to worry about the flaps. We’re just going to

use the throttle to control your airspeed. As the plane slows the nose will drop but

you don’t want it to be more than four inches below the horizon. Now you can’t see

the horizon in the dark so you’re going to have to rely on the instruments. You don’t

want your airspeed to go below 70 knots or you’re going to lose your lift and stall.”

“And drop like a rock…” Mulder finished.

An experienced pilot could probably pull out of a stall, Rich thought to himself. Fox

wouldn’t have much of a chance. “Just watch your airspeed and that won’t happen,”

he told the agent. “And you want to stay on a heading of 120 degrees. Is that

clear?”

“Oh, yeah,” the agent acknowledged. “Throttle back, drop the nose and don’t stall

the plane.”

“It will all make sense when you start to execute,” the controlled told him. “What’s

your airspeed now?”

Mulder looked for the airspeed dial on the instrument panel, “The autopilot is still on,

I’m at about 110 knots.”

“I want you to keep your eyes focused forward. As you get closer to the field you’re

going to see our runway lights, just follow them in. You want to keep the nose

centered on those,” Rich instructed. “You want to be at about 100 feet when you’re

just above the runway. Your airspeed should be just about 70 knots. Are you still

following me?”

“How about I just put this thing down in the bay and then you come fish us out?”

Mulder asked, once again using humor to hide his fear. His heart rate was increasing

by the minute. He took a deep breath.

“Well, if you overshoot the runway, that’s where you’ll end up,” Rich told him. “At

100 feet I want you to pull back all the way on the throttle but don’t let the nose dip

too sharply. You want the rear wheels to touch the ground first. After the nose

wheel touches the ground, use the brakes, those are the upper pedals to slow your

groundspeed until you come to a stop. Don’t worry about where you stop, we’ll

come get you.” Rich checked his radar again. The plane was about fifteen minutes

out, time to get this show on the road. “Okay, Fox. You ready?” he asked the agent.

Mulder hesitated to reply for a moment. Closing his eyes and taking several deep

breaths. When he opened them again he once again sought out the little gold plaque

on the instrument panel. “God, I know we don’t talk, but I’ve got someone very

close who puts a lot of faith in you,” he whispered. “So, if you can hear me now, I

could really use your help here.”

The agent pressed the mic button, “What do I do first?”

“Good,” Rich replied. “First you need to switch off that autopilot. You’re going to fly

the plane from here on. Then I want you to look for a lever near the throttle, looks

like a little wheel. That’s you landing gear. I want you to lower the landing gear.

Now you’re going to feel some drag on the plane that might require you to increase

your airspeed a little. Do you follow me?”

As Mulder switched off the autopilot the little plane rocked slightly, he had to steady

it by turning the yoke slightly. The air was becoming a little more turbulent as he

neared the bay. He found the control for the landing gear and lowered it, feeling the

drag immediately and compensating for it. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as bad as

he thought. He glanced momentarily at Jack and wondered if he could do this with

his eyes closed. At the moment both their lives were in his hands.

“You’re doing fine, Fox. I need you to descend to 2 thousand feet,” Rich’s voice told

him. “Can you see the runway lights yet?”

Mulder peered into the darkness ahead of him. He had already been able to make

out streets and building below him. He was hoping he would see a big sign that said

“LAND HERE” but he hadn’t found it yet. Then on the horizon in front of him in a

dark open area the parallel lights of the landing strip began to become clear. “Yeah,

I got it,” he told Rich.

“You’re almost here then. You don’t need to talk to me from now on. I just want

you to concentrate on what we talked about before. Watch your airspeed and your

altimeter, trust the instruments. We have some light cross winds at the field so it

might be a little bumpy as you come in. Don’t let that frighten you. Orville and

Wilber knew what they were doing,” Rich concluded. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Mulder acknowledged, his voice betraying him by trembling a little.

As the runway lights grew closer, Mulder throttled back again and the plane began

its descent. Watching his airspeed as Rich had instructed he felt the plane rock

slightly again from the crosswinds. He used the yoke to straighten himself out.

He crossed the outer marker for the runway and started to bite his tongue. His

airspeed had now dropped to 90 knots. The plane rocked back and forth, he was

having a hard time getting the feel of the yoke to keep it steady with one hand.

Crossing the end of the runway he throttled back one more time, reducing his

airspeed to 80 knots and dropping the nose. He grabbed the yoke with both hands

and pulled back, the ground was right below him now, passing by at what seemed

like an alarming speed. He was coming in at a slight angle, one wing slightly higher

than the other and tried to steer it back level. Suddenly the right wheel hit the

ground and then he bounced up again. Turning the yoke to the left, trying to

compensate and level himself out both wheels hit the ground hard and then the nose

wheel dropped onto the pavement.

Jostled by the impact, he heard Jack moan beside him. He was on the ground but

moving too fast. Mulder pulled the throttle all the way back but the plane still rolled

along much too fast for his liking. “Brakes! Brakes!” Jack’s yelled from the seat

beside him, reaching out an arm to try and steady himself against the instrument

panel. Mulder looked down trying to find the pedals in the dark cockpit and then

working them as if he were sliding on ice the plane finally came to a stop. He

reached over to kill the engines and then dropped his head. It was over.

Sirens and flashing lights approached from his left. He looked over at Jack who was

resting wearily against the opposite door but appeared to be alright for the moment.

Mulder opened the cockpit door and dropped out onto the tarmac as the first

emergency vehicles pulled up. He doubled over resting his hands on his knees,

trying to catch his breath and steady himself.

“Sir? Sir, are you okay,” the EMT’s voice broke through the momentary haze in his

head and he stood up. Someone wrapped a heavy blanket around his shoulders.

“Yeah, I’m fine. The pilot, he needs your attention,” he told the young man stepping

around the plane to watch as the EMT’s pulled Jack from the plane and began

working on him.

“Agent Mulder?” The familiar voice came from behind him and he turned around.

“Rich Franklin,” the younger man said extending his hand to Mulder. He accepted

the man’s hand and shook it hard. It was a pleasure to see the face the belonged to

that patient voice.

“Hey, thanks, Rich,” Mulder told him pulling him into a gentle manly hug. “Thanks

for getting me back to planet earth.”

“He going to be okay?” Rich asked motioning towards the commotion over Jack.

“I — I don’t know,” Mulder replied as he stepped away from Rich and headed

towards the ambulance. “How is he?” he asked as he approached the vehicle.

One of the EMT’s, a young woman with “Erica” on the front of her jacket stepped

towards him. “We don’t think he’s had a heart attack. We suspect a gall bladder

attack or even a perforated ulcer. We’re getting ready to transport him now,” she

confirmed. “How about you? We can take you along with us.”

“No, I’m okay, just a little shook up,” the agent replied pulling his sleeve back to

check his watch. It was almost ten thirty. “There’s somewhere else I need to be right

now, like home,” he told her glancing around the field as if hoping his car would

mysteriously materialize. He stepped back over to Rich who had been waiting for

word on the pilot. “You don’t know where I can get a car do you?”

“Hey, man,” Rich said, patting Mulder on the arm. “You might have landed that

plane shaking like you are but there’s no way I’m letting you get behind the wheel of

a car. Let me see what I can do.” The controller turned away and headed for the

bank of emergency vehicles that were parked nearby. Mulder pulled the blanket

around himself. He was shaking but he’d thought it was from the cold.

A few moments later Rich returned with a sheriff’s officer. “This is Deputy Wagner,

he’ll take you home Agent Mulder.”

Great, Mulder thought to himself. That’s all he needed was to pull into Mrs. Scully’s

driveway with the emergency lights flashing. He looked at Officer Wagner. “I’d really

appreciate that,” he replied. “I just need a ride to my moth… He almost said

mother-in-law’s before he caught himself. “Actually you can drop me off right here

in Baltimore — but no emergency lights, okay?”

“No problem, Agent Mulder,” the young office acknowledged. “You have anything in

the plane you need to take with you?” he asked as they all turned to watch the

ambulance pull away.

“Get your things,” Rich told him. “We’ll take care of the plane.”

Mulder pulled his bag and coat from the plane. Exchanging his wool coat for the

blanket he slipped it on and slid his hands into his pockets to warm them while the

office put his bag in the trunk of the cruiser. As Wagner slammed the trunk Mulder

turned to Rich. “I don’t know what else to say besides thanks again,” he told the

man reaching out once again to shake his hand. “Do you know how I can get in

touch with Mark,” he asked, remembering the controller at Washington Center who

had answered his Mayday call.

“Talked to him before I came out. Let him know you were on the ground — in one

piece,” he said with a smile. His name’s Mark Newman,” he told Mulder handing him

a slip of paper with a phone number scrawled across it. “Have a Merry Christmas,”

he told the agent.”

“Merry Christmas to you too,” Mulder replied accepting Rich’s handshake once again.

“And leave the flying to the licensed pilots from now on, okay?” Rich joked.

Mulder waved and stepped away, smiling before he climbed into the cruiser’s front

seat. The officer started the car and Mulder took one last look at the Beech before

they pulled away. “Rough night?” the officer asked.

Mulder thought for a moment, maybe landing that plane was the easy part,

explaining it all to Scully was going to be the rough part. “Could be,” he replied.

They drove the thirty minute drive in relative silence. As they pulled into Mrs.

Scully’s drive the radio squawked and Wagner picked it up. Mulder watched him

listen to the voice on the other end. “That’s good to know,” he finally said. “He’s

still with me, I’ll let him know.”

“The pilot’s going to be alright, perforated ulcer, could have bled to death. He was

lucky he had someone with him tonight,” he told Mulder.

Mulder thought about the little gold plaque on the instrument panel for a moment.

“I think maybe we were both lucky we had someone with us tonight,” he replied

turning to the officer. “Thanks for the ride.” Wagner nodded in reply.

Tara was just finishing getting the kids ready for mass when headlights flicked across

the front room window indicating that a car had pulled in the driveway, “Dana, I

think Fox is here,” she called out. Scully had been in the kitchen helping her mom

with preparations for the next day’s Christmas dinner. She smiled at her mother,

“Maybe this is our Christmas miracle,” she joked, wiping her hands and then heading

into the living room. She opened the door before Mulder was even on the first step

of Maggie’s porch. “Mulder?” she asked as she came out to greet him. “We were

just about to leave for Mass, what’s going on?” she asked eyeing the cruiser in the

driveway.

Mulder pulled her into a tight hug. She could actually feel him trembling in her

arms. “I’m just glad to have my two feet on the ground,” he replied and then pulled

back. “You haven’t gone to Mass yet?” he asked.

Scully looked at her partner puzzled, “No, why?” Scully didn’t quite understand her

partner’s behavior but she could tell that something tonight had shaken him badly.

“I figured you’d have some time to relax while we were gone. I need some help with

‘assembly’ after the kids go to bed.”

“I think I’d like to go with you, if you don’t mind,” he searched his partner’s face for

her approval. “There’s someone else I need to thank.”

Realizing that she’d get the whole story when he was ready to tell it, Scully smiled at

him, “I think we’d all like that very much.”

1

Turkey Trot

Title: Turkey Trot

Author: Vickie Moseley

Summary: Can an old dog learn new tricks?

Category: Holiday fic, X

Rating: for everyone

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended and that goes for yahoo news (see

notes at end)

Written for Virtual Season 15, two weeks exclusive.

Archive: yes

Thank you, Lisa for beta and Donna for patience. May your turkeys never dry out.

3605 N Street NW

Washington, DC

November 18, 2007

4:30 pm

“Yeah, well it can’t be helped.”

Scully tucked a strand of hair behind her left ear as she held the phone at her right

ear with her shoulder.

“No, I understand completely, Mom. Chicken pox is chicken pox, there is no easy

way to get around it.”

Mulder had been ignoring the call, listening to the football game but at the words

‘chicken pox’, he sat forward and openly eavesdropped.

“No, you tell Tara not to worry, we’ll be fine. Sure. No, I don’t think we’ll let the

Gunmen know that we’re by ourselves for Thanksgiving this year.”

He stood up, slicing his index finger across his throat in a vicious manner, indicating

that he was not going to subject himself to Frohike’s culinary experimentation again.

“Well, that case of food poisoning last time was pretty hard on Mulder. Besides,

maybe I’ll make him take me to some bed and breakfast in the mountains. Yeah,

just the two of us.” She tilted her head and gave him a saucy smile. “That does

sound nice, doesn’t it? Well, kisses to the pox-riddled from Auntie Dana and I’ll call

you later if we do end up going out of town. We love you, too, Mom. Bye.”

Mulder had been hanging on every word and when his partner finally hung up the

phone, he shot her a worried look. “What’s going on?”

“Well, Thanksgiving is a bust this year. Both Matt and Claire have come down with

chicken pox. They’ll be pretty miserable for a week at least.”

“Chicken pox,” Mulder mused aloud. “How did they both come down with it — they

don’t even go to the same school?”

“Kid down the street. The whole neighborhood is under quarantine. And Mom is

staying over to help Tara out.”

“So, it’s just you and me for Thanksgiving, huh?” Mulder asked, stepping over to

where Scully sat on the sofa and pulling her up into his arms. “I can think of lots of

things to do with a turkey baster, Scully.”

“I’m sure you could, Mulder, but I think a nice four-poster bed in a quaint little

country inn overlooking some spectacular scenery is more what I had in mind.”

“You leave this one to me. I have the perfect destination. I just have to do a little

research and I’ll make all the arrangements,” he assured her.

She cocked her head and frowned. “Some place nice, Mulder. I want nothing that

has the word ‘save’ in the name.”

He dutifully ran his index finger over his heart. “Cross my heart and hope to die,

stick a needle in my eye,” he quoted. “I won’t even look at places that have less

than 600 thread count sheets.”

She nodded. “OK. I’ll leave it all up to you.”

FBI Headquarters

November 21, 2007

11:45 am

“So that’s your explanation, Agent Mulder? Field mice?”

“Yes sir,” Scully responded before he could open his mouth and get them stuck in

another long explanation of the reasons he took this case. “In the transformer.

What Agent Mulder originally thought might have been telekinetic force was actually

just an electrical arc from the transformer — ”

“–That was caused when some field mice chewed through the insulation,” Mulder

finished.

Skinner nodded his head and closed the file. “Well, good work. And might I

commend you on the lack of medical costs associated with this investigation.”

Scully hid her smile behind her hand but Mulder frowned at the dig. “Well, sir, if

that’s all . . . ”

“Oh, yes, you two have requested the afternoon off. Going out of town for the

holiday?”

“Just a little R&R, sir,” Mulder said as he rose from his chair and followed Scully to

the door.

“Just be careful. I’ll see you on Monday, bright and early.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, sir,” Scully said for both of them.

They rushed over to the townhouse to change their clothes and grab their packed

suitcases. In less than an hour they were locking the door behind them and tossing

the cases in the trunk of the car.

“Mulder, will you tell me where we’re going now that we’re on the road?” Scully

asked pointedly.

He grinned at her. “The Rose. A little B and B in Elk County, Pennsylvania, my love.

And we’re in the Sungold Suite. Each suite is named after a particular rose and the

decor is in that rose’s color. From the brochure, the Sungold Suite is — ”

“Yellow,” she said with a smile and a nod.

“Very good Agent Scully. Remind me to put you in for Agent of the Year,” he teased.

“The brochure is in the glove compartment if you want to look. It also has the

directions, so keep it handy.”

She pulled the slick brochure out of the compartment and opened it on her lap. After

a few moments, she turned to him with a look of pure awe. “Mulder, how in the

world did you find this place? It overlooks the mountains, it’s absolutely gorgeous —

“Internet, my love. And the pictures don’t do it justice, according to the owner when

I made the reservations. He FedEx-ed the brochure down so I could see it. I did

good?”

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You did very good. And you will be

handsomely rewarded,” she told him with a wink.

“Oh yeah,” he sighed happily.

They arrived a little before 4:30. The sun was sinking low and had just dipped

behind the mountaintop, casting the world in shadows. The trees on the hillside and

along the drive, maple, sweet gum and oak, were ablaze with the colors of the

rainbow. Near the three-story clapboard structure was a fall garden of mums,

accented with bales of hay and pumpkins.

“Mulder, you are getting an _extra_ special reward for this,” Scully murmured as she

pressed another kiss to his cheek. He grinned like a Cheshire cat as he pulled their

suitcases from the trunk.

A little bell on the door signaled their arrival. A woman in her early 60s stepped into

the foyer, wiping her hands on a green and white striped dishtowel.

“You must be the Mulders,” she said with a warm smile. “I’m Hannah Morgan. I

believe you spoke to my husband Harold on the phone.”

“Yes, Mrs. Morgan,” Mulder said politely. “I’m Fox Mulder and this is — ”

“Dana,” Scully said, stepping forward to shake the woman’s now dry hand.

“Fox and Dana, how nice that you decided to spend Thanksgiving with us,” Hannah

said with such sincerity that Scully was touched. “Now, let’s get you registered.

Have to keep the bean counters happy,” she said with a wink.

She showed them over to an antique secretary and pulled out an equally ancient

hotel register. Scully’s eyes widened.

“Oh, this is just for show. I have a Mac Book Pro in the office,” Hannah assured her.

“But I think this old book was here when we bought the place and it’s nice to keep all

our guests names in.”

Scully quickly entered their names and their address while Mulder handed Hannah

his Visa card. She ran the card through a reader that was secreted in one of the

secretary’s many drawers and then handed the slip and the card back to him. He

signed the slip and returned the card to his wallet.

“Now, let me see if I can get Harold out of the basement long enough to help you

with your bags.”

“Oh, that’s all right, Mrs. Morgan. I have them,” Mulder assured her.

“Now Fox, please call me Hannah. We’re all family here. And if you’re sure you can

manage, I’ll show you up to your room.”

The two agents trailed after her up the curved staircase to a second floor, then up

again to the third. Hannah led them down the hallway to a door on the east side of

the house. “You’ll get the morning sun, but please feel free to pull the shades if you

want a little extra time in the morning,” she directed.

She opened the door with an old skeleton key on a metal fob, which looked like it

had once been in similar service in a hotel from decades gone by. Mulder ushered

Scully into the room first and she took a few steps then stopped in the middle of the

room.

The walls were the palest yellow, with a border near the ceiling of cream and yellow

roses trimmed in blue. The four-poster bed dominated the room, but didn’t

overcrowd it. The bedspread was satin, in a slightly darker shade of yellow. The

door for the bathroom was open and Scully spied a claw footed tub and pedestal

sink.

In the room, the dressing table was dark oak, as was the armoire that was situated

between the two double-hung windows. Sheer panels were the only window

dressing and the china blue shades were up, allowing a view of a mountaintop and

above it, the nearly full moon. When she looked down out the window she could see

the rose garden that spread out from the back of the house now frosted with

moonlight. There was a path and walkways and thanks to the mild fall, some of the

roses were still in bloom.

“It’s breathtaking,” Scully sighed. Mulder was still standing by the door, admiring his

partner more than he had noticed the room. She smiled at him.

“I did good?” he asked with obvious pride.

“You did good,” she assured him. They both startled when Hannah cleared her

throat behind them.

“Dinner’s on your own tonight, I’m making preparations for tomorrow, but town is

only 15 minutes up the road and there’s a nice little steakhouse just a few blocks in.

Just stay on the state route, you’ll come right to it. It’s called the Angus. Oh, and

they have vegetarian dishes,” she added quickly. “But tomorrow, Harold and I will

have a traditional Thanksgiving dinner for all our guests,” she beamed. “Well, I’ll let

you two get settled in. Please make yourselves at home.” She smiled at them again

and left, closing the door behind her.

“You are amazing,” Scully said, walking over to her partner and encircling his waist,

laying her hand on his chest.

“Nah, you’re just easy to please,” he teased and tipped her head up so he could kiss

her. “Are you really hungry?”

“Not for steak,” she whispered, catching his eye. She stood on tiptoe and kissed him

greedily.

“Who needs food, right?” he asked but it was entirely rhetorical for his partner’s

dainty fingers were already hard at work divesting him of his clothing.

They ended up not going out again that night and were ‘too busy’ in the morning to

bother with breakfast as well, so the next time the vacationing agents surfaced was

at noon for the Thanksgiving feast. Hannah had obviously enlisted the help of a

caterer for some of the dishes, because the breakfront in the dining room and an

additional 8-foot long table set against the windows were both groaning from the

multitude of warming trays and dishes. Harold made his appearance, cutting slices

of the 24 lb turkey and the accompanying whole ham and standing rib roast. Mulder

made the comment to his partner that he wished he had two plates, one for meat

and the other for everything else. She rolled her eyes but managed to fill her own

plate to overflowing.

There were four other couples staying at the house so with the Morgans, there were

an even dozen for dinner. Names were exchanged and Harold led the table in a non-

denominational grace before everyone grew silent except for the tinkling of silver on

china, and the occasional request to pass the bottomless gravy boat that was making

the rounds.

An hour and a half later, Mulder was half passed out in front of the 48-inch flat panel

television in the parlor, sharing a sofa with two other men who were in similar states

of near unconsciousness. Scully kicked his foot and he blearily cracked open one

eye.

“Hey,” she said, nudging him over just enough so that she could perch on the arm of

the sofa. “What quarter is it?”

“Scully, I don’t even know what game we’re watching,” he admitted, pulling her

down into his lap.

“If you’re that sleepy, why don’t we go upstairs and take a nap?” she suggested.

“Are you trying to kill me this weekend,” he nuzzled into her ear. She giggled and

hit him on the chest.

“Mulder, I meant to _sleep_,” she whispered back.

“Not a bad idea, since I didn’t seem to get much sleep last night or this morning,” he

said in a normal tone of voice that earned him another slap to the chest.

“Gentlemen, Happy Thanksgiving,” he said as he peeled himself off the sofa cushion.

There were mumbled groans that seemed to convey returned sentiments.

The nap lasted an hour and a half and there was sleeping involved. But when Mulder

awoke alone he felt the humid air and could smell the undeniable fragrance of

Scully’s favorite bubble bath. He smiled because it had been one he picked for her

and it pleased him to no end that she liked it so much.

He groaned as he tugged the satin sheets and then stumbled out of the bed. He

wandered in to the bath and smiled before letting out a jaw-cracking yawn. “Got

room in there for another?”

“Another what,” she replied with a tilt of her head. She knew exactly how it affected

him when her hair was up in a clip and the loose strands curled from the steam

rising off the bath water.

“Another turkey,” he replied, stripping quickly and waiting for her to scoot forward in

the water so that he could slip behind her. When he was settled, she leaned back

into his arms and sighed.

“I didn’t think you had it in you, Mulder,” she said happily.

“No, Scully, I think that’s the soap,” he quipped, though he had a pretty good idea

that she wasn’t talking about his recent bout of stamina.

“No,” she said seriously and turned to look at him over her shoulder. “This weekend.

We’re in this beautiful inn, we’ve eaten wonderful food, we’ve drank wine, we’ve

made love — ”

“That last part I plan on doing again — in the almost immediate future,” he

interjected.

“And in all of this — the last 24 hours, not one X file!” she finished, settling back into

his arms. “I’m proud of you, Mulder. Maybe you can teach an old dog new tricks.”

“Oh, for that, — you are going to pay, G-woman,” he growled playfully. “Pay and

pay good!”

“Bring. It. On,” she challenged and he happily complied.

Friday dawned crisp but cloudy. After a wonderful breakfast of Belgian waffles with

apple compote, Mulder found Scully in the living room by the fire, curled up with a

book.

“Hey, want to take a walk?” he asked, leaning casually against the fireplace mantel.

Scully looked out the window behind the sofa where she was sitting. She turned

back to him with a frown. “It looks cold. And seems like it might rain.”

“We can be back the minute the first drop hits,” he assured her. “And you brought a

sweater as well as your coat. We’ll bundle up.”

She laid her book beside her and crossed her arms. “Mulder, why are you so intent

on going for a walk?”

“Hey, we ate all that food yesterday. I thought it might feel good to walk some of it

off.”

“Uh huh,” she replied, not believing him for a moment. Just when it looked like she

was going to object, she picked up her book, replaced her bookmark, and then held

out her hand so he could help her up.

“We’re going?” he asked, confused.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” she answered. “Give me a couple of minutes to get

my boots on.”

She didn’t say a word when he ushered her out to the car. She did shoot him a look

as she buckled her seat belt, but he said nothing. After a short drive, he pulled into

a parking lot for a state conservation area.

“Mulder, how did you know this was even here?” she asked.

“Harold told me. He said there were some nice hiking trails through these woods.”

“Woods,” Scully repeated ominously. “We’re going on a walk through the woods.”

“Scully, just because we’re in a wooded area — ”

“Mulder, could we just get on with this. Because I’m pretty sure there is more to this

than a simple walk in the woods.”

Mulder tactfully avoided her eyes and led the way over to the trailhead.

The forest thickened within just a few yards and they found themselves in a stand of

oak and maple. The path was gentle for a while before they came to the first valley,

when the walking got a little more difficult. Still, the rain held off, the hills shielded

them from the wind and the forest was truly beautiful, even as the evidence of fall

colors crunched beneath their feet.

They trudged up a hillside, Scully giving Mulder a hard look when he offered her a

hand over a large fallen tree, when Mulder veered off the marked path and onto

what appeared nothing more than a deer trail. Scully’s suspicions grew with each

step. The forest was thicker here, lots of fallen branches and piles of dead leaves.

With each step she expected to step into a nest of unhappy creatures, perhaps even

snakes. She shivered and glared at Mulder’s back as he forged on blithefully

unaware.

“Mulder, you seem to have a destination,” Scully said, panting lightly as she jumped

over another fallen tree trunk.

“Harold gave me some general directions,” he replied over his shoulder. “There’s a

really pretty overlook not far from here.”

“Overlook,” she muttered as she struggled to keep up with his much longer strides.

It was another quarter of a mile when Mulder held up his hand to slow their

progress.

“This is the overlook?” Scully queried, leaning around her partner to look at the

scenery beyond.

“Sort of,” Mulder said cryptically. He looked around a moment as if trying to

triangulate his position. Suddenly, he bounded over to a tree and crowed. “Scully,

you gotta see this!”

Rolling her eyes, she made her way over to him with a minimum of jumping. “It’s a

tree, Mulder,” she said in disgust. “And there are a few million all around here.”

“Scully, look where I’m pointing,” he commanded. About 5 feet off the ground there

appeared a slash mark on the bark of the tree.

“I’m seeing it, but I don’t know what I’m looking at,” she admitted.

“Evidence, Scully. That’s evidence!” Mulder told her happily.

“Of global warming?” she shot back sarcastically.

“Of Bigfoot!” he corrected her, dancing around the tree, kicking the leaves as if

looking for more indications of recent activity.

“Mulder — you dragged me all that way — ” She stopped suddenly and glared at

him. “You brought me all the way to Pennsylvania to hunt Bigfoot?” she accused.

“Now, Scully, it’s a really nice inn and we had a great day yesterday,” he countered

hastily.

“You did! You came here to hunt Bigfoot!” she shouted, not caring that her words

were echoing off the surrounding hills.

“But Scully, I did bring you to a nice Bed and Breakfast, I did play the dutiful

significant other — ”

That got him a well-timed raised eyebrow and a glare that veritably dripped icicles.

“Not that I didn’t want to be the dutiful significant — ” The rest of his apology was

said to her back as Scully turned on her heel and stomped back down the trail.

“Scully! Scully wait a minute!”

He had to hustle to catch up with her. When he grabbed her arm, she almost broke

his wrist pushing his hand off. He stood there while she glared at him.

“Scully,” he said quietly, meekly, with as much sincerity as he could muster.

As if ordained by on high, the clouds opened up and a cold rain started to fall.

“Bigfoot,” she repeated, crossing her arms. The rain was starting to get heavy and

her hair was sticking to her face, streams of water running off her chin.

“He’s been sighted Scully. Right here, in Elk County, Pennsylvania. It just seemed

too perfect. You wanted a nice quiet hideaway for Thanksgiving and I found this

place — ”

“Mulder, did it ever occur to you to _ask_ me if I wanted to go to Pennsylvania and

hunt for Bigfoot?” she growled.

“And you’re going to stand there and tell me that you’d agree to come out here and

hunt Bigfoot on our Thanksgiving weekend?” he snorted.

“Here we are,” she countered. “Except now it’s raining cats and dogs and I’m royally

pissed at you!”

Thunder and lightning punctuated her statement.

“Scully, I know you’re pissed at me, but I think we need to find some shelter,”

Mulder shouted at the thunder continued to roll around the hilltops.

“Sure, fine, whatever,” she exclaimed, throwing up her arms. “Maybe Mrs. Bigfoot

will invite us in for Thanksgiving leftovers!”

“I think I saw some rocks off this way — maybe there’s a cave near here,” Mulder

said, deftly sidestepping his partner’s snide comment.

A bolt of lightning struck a tree not more than 100 feet away when Mulder finally

found the rocks and as luck would have it, a small cave. Taking her hand, he led

them into the damp interior.

It wasn’t much more than a ledge cave carved out of the solid rock hillside, but it

was relatively dry and out of the elements. Mulder pulled his leather jacket off his

shoulders and draped it over Scully’s back. She glared at him, but accepted the

offered jacket.

“Might as well get comfortable, we’ll probably be here a while,” Mulder said, finding

himself a nice rock to sit against.

“Bigfoot,” he heard her mutter again. “Honestly.” The rest of her mumbling was

drowned out by another clap and roll of thunder.

“Scully, it really was just a whim. It was a nice day — ”

“Mulder, it was overcast and windy,” she countered.

“And I thought it would be a — ”

“Say it and die, Mulder,” she growled. “I swear to God, if the words ‘nice trip to the

forest’ cross your lips — ”

“Scully, what’s this?” he asked, interrupting her in mid-threat.

He was holding something in his hand. In the dim light of the cave, she could only

imagine what his twelve-year-old mental self had discovered. “I don’t know, Mulder,

and I really don’t care.”

“I think . . . are those teeth marks?” he asked, levering up to his feet and coming

over to squat next to her on the other side of the cave.

“Probably. Probably bear,” she said, not looking at the small bone he held in his

hand.

“Scully, admittedly I’m not an expert here, but doesn’t that look kinda human?”

He was practically sticking it under her nose when she finally looked down at the

bone. Taking it from him to examine it more closely, she wrinkled her nose in

distaste.

“Mulder, some hunter probably used this cave before we found it. We are in a state

conservation area,” she pointed out reasonably.

“There’s no sign of a fire,” he told her.

“Guess it’s a hunter who likes steak tartar,” she shrugged and dropped the bone to

the ground.

He moved back to ‘his’ half of the cave, kicking at the soft dirt of the floor. “Scully,

there are other bones over here,” he said slowly.

“I wouldn’t doubt it. It’s a nice cave. I’m sure we aren’t the first, human or animal,

to discover it,” she replied. “I think the storm is finally moving on. We might be

able to make it back to the car,” she suggested. When he didn’t reply, she looked

over at him. “Mulder, did you hear me?”

“There are more of those slash marks we found on the tree over here,” he stated,

pointing to the cave wall.

“Mulder? The car? I’d like to get out of here before the next cloudburst,” she

prodded.

“You go ahead, I want to check this out,” he answered absently.

“Go ahead? We’re at least a mile from the parking lot,” she countered. “What are

you looking at now?”

“More bones, Scully. And this one looks sorta — ” His voice trailed off as he held up

a human skull.

“Oh my God!” Scully gasped as she walked over to examine the newest find.

“Mulder, this is an adult skull. Look, the wisdom teeth have been extracted, but

there was a break in the jaw bone to do it.”

Mulder paled at her casual observation. “I think there’re more remains here.”

“We need to get a forensics team up here immediately. There’s not telling what

we’ve stumbled on. This could even be a decades old murder.”

“You think they’re that old?” he asked, chewing his lip and looking out at the

diminishing rainfall.

“Well, without carbon testing it’s impossible to tell. But I don’t think they’re newer

than ten years.”

Mulder stepped over to the opening and pulled out his cell phone. “No service.

You’re right, Scully. We need to get back to the car.”

“Do you remember the way back?” she asked.

He stepped out of the cave and looked around. “Uh, yeah. Didn’t we . . . ” He

frowned and turned in a half circle. “Boy, it looks different without the lightning.”

Scully rolled her eyes. “OK, let’s just think a minute.” She walked a few feet from

the cave chewing on her bottom lip. “Doesn’t that tree look familiar?”

He glared at her and shook his head.

“Well, let’s do this. Are you wearing a tee shirt under your sweater?”

“Yeah,” he said warily.

“Tear off a piece so we can mark the cave. At least we’ll know which one it is in case

we get turned around.”

“Good thinking. Sure you weren’t an Indian Guide,” he grinned at her. He pulled up

his sweater and ripped a ten-inch scrap of material off his undershirt. “Glad I didn’t

wear my Knicks shirt this morning,” he said, handing her the white strip of cotton

material.

She tied it to one of the branches of the tree nearest the cave opening. “OK, which

way?” she asked, crossing her arms.

He thought about it for a good two minutes. “That way,” he said confidently.

They’d walked for fifteen minutes when Mulder held up his hand. She started to

object when he shushed her. “Look over there,” he whispered, pointing to

something off in the distance to their right.

On another rise, far enough away that it was just a glimpse, there appeared to be a

large animal. It was crouched on the ground, foraging through the leaves. Then

suddenly it stood up on two legs and ran off into the deeper woods.

Mulder grinned at his partner’s astonished stare. “Scully, that was him! That was

Bigfoot!” he whispered excitedly.

“Yeah, and he was headed in the direction of our cave,” Scully pointed out dubiously.

“You think — those bones . . . ”

“I think we better find the parking lot. And fast,” she told him, taking the lead and

picking up the pace.

They slipped and slid down the hills and scrambled up the hills and by the time they

arrived at the parking lot, both agents were covered in mud, wet to the bone and

exhausted. Mulder tried his cell phone again, this time getting service. The local

sheriff’s department requested that they stay in the area and just as he was putting

the phone away, the skies opened up again, drenching them once more.

He looked at his partner over the hood of the car. She was sopping wet, her hair

sticking to her face. But she had the same expression she wore over a decade ago

in a rain-deluged cemetery in Oregon. And he couldn’t remember her ever looking

more beautiful.

“C’mon, Scully. Let’s get in the car till the Sheriff arrives,” he said with a gentle

smile.

“If we get in the car right now, Mulder, it will cost us a fortune to have the car

detailed when we get back home,” she said, crossing her arms defiantly.

“I’ll pay it, gladly, if we can avoid hypothermia and pneumonia.” He opened the door

and waved her inside.

Once in the car, Mulder started the engine and cranked the heater up to high. The

blast of cold air made them both shiver, and Mulder pulled Scully into his arms

rubbing her shoulders until the warmth started to flow.

“Scully, I’m sorry if you think I deceived you,” he said softly in her ear.

“It’s just that sometimes I wonder if you’ll ever grow up, Mulder,” she said quietly.

“I’m not a grown up?” he asked, slightly offended.

“No, Mulder — you are the quintessential Peter Pan. Meteorites in Washington,

Bigfoot in Pennsylvania — you’re still sneaking around playing hooky. The only

problem is you aren’t skipping school — you’re skipping real life.” She turned so that

she was looking right at him. “You’re skipping our life.”

His eyes widened at her accusation. “Scully! That is so untrue,” he objected. “Look

at this weekend. I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t with me. I wanted to find

Bigfoot, I’ll be the first to admit that, but I wanted to find him with you and only

you.”

“Whether I wanted to find him or not, right?” she asked, her expression showing her

own feelings on the matter.

“I guess . . . I just assumed you’d go along with it once we were on the trail,” he

said with sudden realization. “I blew it, didn’t I?”

She took his hand, brought it to her lips and lightly kissed his knuckles. “Mulder, I

knew what I was getting into with you. You’re a work in progress. Doesn’t mean I

can’t point out your flaws from time to time. Also doesn’t mean I would be

anywhere else.”

“So you still love me?” he asked with a boyish twinkle to his eyes.

“Forever and always,” she answered, leaning over to kiss him. When she pulled

back, she wiped a smear of mud off his cheek.

He leaned forward to capture her lips when there was a loud tapping on his window.

Three hours later

Scully pulled into the parking space outside the inn and cut the engine. She turned

to her partner and then turned back to look out the windshield.

“Don’t feel bad, Scully. Anyone could have made that mistake,” Mulder assured her.

“I just would like to know what’s so impossible about the fact that we saw Bigfoot?”

“They were county cops, Scully. Lack of imagination is a job requirement.”

“But I’m a scientist, Mulder. I gave them a totally reasonable statement and they

laughed at me!”

“I know, I know,” he consoled. “Hey, let’s go upstairs and scrape all the mud off

each other and then spend the rest of the evening in that big claw footed tub?”

She looked over at him and smiled. “Just another day in our real life, huh?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way. Would you?” he asked.

She shook her head. “C’mon Mulder. Race you to the tub.”

the end

End Note: Yahoo news had a brief report of a Bigfoot sighting in Elk County

Pennsylvania. It’s so close to DC that I couldn’t resist. Happy Turkey Day everyone!

13

Turkey Trot by Vickie Moseley

Matty’s Big Adventure

Title: Matty’s Big Adventure

Author: Vickie Moseley

Summary: Trick or treating will never be the same for Matthew Scully. Written for Virtual Season 15 Halloween Special.

Category: X, VS15

Rating: general audience

Two weeks exclusive with VS15.

Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended.

Author’s Notes: Big Thanks to Lisa for quick beta!

Matty’s Big Adventure

Maggie Scully’s residence

Baltimore, MD

October 20, 2007

“The water was up to my armpits, it was smelly and icky and slimey. I kept trying to get hold, but I couldn’t. Finally, when I was able to get the lever pulled, the gate came crashing down and sliced the flukeman in half!”

Matt Scully’s eyes were as big as saucers as he sat in rapt attention, listening to his favorite ‘uncle’ regale him with past exploits.

“Did you drown, Uncle Fox?” the ten-year old asked anxiously.

“Well, if I’d drowned, I wouldn’t be here right now, would I, sport,” Mulder replied, ruffling the boy’s reddish brown hair.

“Wow, you’ve seen everything, Uncle Fox,” Matt whispered in awe.

“May I remind Uncle ‘Fox’ that he was not alone in all his endeavors,” Scully intoned from the dining room. “. . . and there is a large bag of trash with his name on it waiting for him in the kitchen,” she added, arms crossed and a bemused expression dancing in her eyes.

“Duty calls, sport,” Mulder sighed and pulled himself off the sofa to go do his ‘manly’ duties. As he passed his partner she lightly jabbed at his arm.

“Uncle Fox now, is it?” she asked quietly, so the young man in the living room couldn’t overhear.

“He told me the kids at school thought it was weird to call your uncle by his last name. I told him it was OK to call me Fox.”

“Everybody on the planet,” she muttered, eyes toward the ceiling. “Except me.”

“Hey, you can call me Fox,” he crooned low in her ear. At her challenging look he smiled and leaned into nuzzle her neck. “In the bedroom, up against the wall in the hallway, when we’re using the dining room table for purposes other than holding plates and silverware …”

“Garbage. Under the sink. Now!” she commanded, pushing him away and holding back her smile. She smacked him on the flank has he sauntered into the kitchen.

“So, I don’t know what to do,” Tara was saying to Maggie as he approached the sink and was pulling out the trash basket secreted beneath it.

“She’s frightened by anyone in a mask?” Maggie asked. “Oh, Fox, could you take the recycle bin out, too?”

“Sure, Mom. It’s in the pantry?”

“Yes, thank you.” She turned back to her daughter-in-law. “Well, if she gets that frightened, you can’t take her out with you on Halloween.”

“I know, but that means no trick or treating for Matty,” Tara replied.

“Oh dear. He’s had his costume picked out since Memorial Day,” Maggie said mournfully. “He’s not going to be happy about this.”

Mulder stopped trying to juggle both the bag of trash and the blue plastic recycle bin. “Why can’t Matty go trick or treating?”

“Claire has developed a deep fear of all things Halloween. We were in the pharmacy the other day and she was running over to the toys section, like she always does. They had a display of this life-sized animatronic zombie — he removes his own head. Well, it makes a growling noise and she looked up, saw the head go up — I’m afraid we sent some of the pharmacy customers into cardiac arrest with her blood-curdling screams. I had to take her out of the store and couldn’t even go back inside to buy the gallon of milk I had gone there to get.”

“Oh boy. That’s rough. Poor little pumpkin,” Mulder sighed. “But hey, why can’t Dana and I take Matty trick or treating?”

“Um, Mulder,” his partner said from the doorway. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” At his very blank expression she tilted her head. “I’m on the opening panel at the forensics seminar in Boston October 30 through November 1 — and you promised to stay out of trouble this year.”

He rolled his eyes upward. “Scully, how much trouble could I get into with a 10 year old boy trick or treating?”

All three women turned and stared at him with equally disbelieving expressions.

“Ah, c’mon now! I’m not that bad!” he exclaimed.

“Fox, what about the Halloween you were bitten by a black widow spider in your own home?” Maggie asked.

“Or the Halloween you guys were headed back home after a case and ran into a kidnapping — that was an overnight stay at the hospital as I remember,” Tara added.

“I was treated and released,” he objected.

“And then there was last year at the old sanitarium in Louisville,” Maggie said, shaking her finger at both her daughter and her partner.

“Hey, that was Dana in the hospital, I was — ”

“Treated and released,” both Maggie and Tara said mockingly in unison.

“Tara, you don’t trust me with your son?” he implored. His hurt expression spoke volumes.

The young woman sighed. “Mulder, I trust you with my son’s very life. It’s you I’m worried about.”

“It’s pretty hard to get into too much trouble in this neighborhood, Tara,” Maggie finally admitted. “If they stay in this subdivision, maybe they can go to the mall afterward. Quite a few of the restaurants have free kids meals for children who come in dressed in costume. It can be a ‘boys night out’.”

“It’s supposed to be cold that night, too,” Mulder added. “You don’t expect Mom to walk all over town in the cold.”

“Dana, what do you think?” Tara asked, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Yeah, ‘Mom’, can I go trick or treating with Matty,” Mulder asked, arms folded, thoroughly disgusted that no one seemed to be treating him as an adult.

Scully huffed a breath. “Oh, all right. I guess I can trust you to go around the neighborhood and gather candy. But Mulder, you will bring your cell phone and if you see anything suspicious — ”

“Call the police!” Maggie, Tara and Scully said in unison.

Mulder hefted the garbage bag and recycle bin again. “I get absolutely no respect in this family,” he grumbled as he made his way out the door.

Halloween Night

5:45 pm

Matty was bouncing on the balls of his feet, watching out the window of his grandmother’s living room. He let out a whoop when he saw the red SUV pull into the driveway. “Uncle Fox is here, Grandma, Uncle Fox is here!”

“I see that, Matthew. Now come here so I can try your cape on you.” The boy ran over to her chair and stood at attention as she fastened a flowing black cape about his shoulders. “There, much better now that I shortened it. It won’t drag on the ground or trip you when you’re walking. Do you have your flashlight?”

“Right here,” announced the short ‘Count Dracula’ as he dug through his black silk treats bag and brought forth a small flashlight. “Mom says it’s just like the ones Auntie Dana and Uncle Fox use,” he said proudly.

“Use or lose?” Mulder quipped as he came in the front door. “Hey, I thought I was picking up Matty Scully here. All I see is a vampire.”

“It’s me, Uncle Fox!” Matty exclaimed excitedly, and somewhat mumbled. “I just have on fake teeth and blood on my chin.”

“The transformation is remarkable,” Mulder noted, smiling with approval.

“Costume adjustments are complete,” Maggie said with a wink. “I think you’re ready to go.”

“So I’m to take him back home to Tara, right? That was the plan last time I talked to her, but it keeps changing.”

“Oh, yes, well, actually, come back here after you finish the neighborhood. We’re to take him ‘out of costume’ and then if you don’t mind, you can drop him off on your way home. I had to keep his cape over here this week because any time little Claire sees it she becomes hysterical,” Maggie told him.

“She’ll get over it. By next year she’ll be out there with Matty and the rest of the kids,” Mulder assured her, but he still wondered. Maybe the events of the balloonfest had affected the little four-year old more than anyone had considered.

Willows of the Lake Subdivision

Halloween night

7:30 pm

“Hey, Mattster, what say we call it a night, huh, sport?” Mulder pleaded as he studied his watch.

“Uncle Fox — there’s a whole ‘nother block left,” Matthew whined back.

“Yeah, but it’s gettin’ pretty cold out here. I can see my breath.” Not to mention, not feel my toes, Mulder thought ruefully. “I promised your Aunt Dana I’d be home when she called at 9.”

“You got your cell phone,” Matty replied, rushing off to another house with the porch light on. Mulder stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets and stamped his feet. His ears were tingling from the cold. Frost bite. That would piss Scully off to no end and likewise, he would never hear the end of it, either. He sighed deeply as Matty returned from yet another candy bonanza.

“Butterfingers — the big ones!” the boy crowed. “Grandma’s neighborhood is the bestest!”

“Yup, I think you’re right there. But Matt, your bag’s startin’ to bulge at the seams.”

“I gotta get enough for me and Claire,” the boy replied reasonably. “Jest ‘coz she’s scared of the masks don’t mean she wants to miss out on the candy. I promised her half of everything I get — except the Snickers, of course. I’m keepin’ those.”

“Oh, of course,” Mulder answered, trying hard to hide his amusement.

“But she gets all the gummy bears. ‘Specially the girly ones.”

“Absolutely,” Mulder agreed. “The girly ones taste funny, anyway.” The sarcastic tone to his voice was completely lost on the ambitious 10-year old.

Finally, they came to the end of the block. Mulder heaved a relieved sigh. “Well, that’s that. Let’s head back to Grandma’s house — ”

“Wait, Uncle Fox! There’s another house,” Matty objected.

All Mulder could make out was the dense growth of trees that marked the end of the subdivision. “Matt, that’s just part of the forest preserve,” Mulder pointed out.

“No, see the driveway?” Matt said, motioning toward a gravel path. “And look — you can see the lights through the trees. It even has a mailbox!” Sure enough, a mailbox stood quiet sentry next to the path.

“Matt, that house has to be a quarter of a mile down that road. I really doubt they’re expecting any trick or treaters,” Mulder reasoned.

“That’s always where you get the most stuff, Uncle Fox,” Matty countered. “See, the people who live in those kinda houses buy all this stuff and then no kids come. So if any kid does show up, they give ’em tons of candy! It’s like those guys in California — the gold diggers!”

“Prospectors,” Mulder corrected, stifling a chuckle.

The path was pockmarked and it made walking treacherous, but Matty insisted on holding the flashlight. A couple of times Mulder worried that a twisted ankle might be added to the impending doom of frost bite, but he managed to stay on his feet.

It was quiet in amongst the trees. The leaves rustled and blew in the wind, creating little dust devils that pranced before them. Halfway to the house, Matt’s bag grew too heavy and Mulder ended up carrying it the rest of the way.

“You stand here, Uncle Fox,” Matty informed the agent and even went so far as to physically position him at the end of a long broken sidewalk.

“You sure you want me so far back?” Mulder asked with concern.

From a pocket of his jeans, Matty withdrew another smaller plastic trick or treat bag. “Yeah, I’m sure,” he said with a smile. “The idea is that I don’t want ’em to see my treat bag is full,” he explained, with infallible 10-year old logic.

“Oh, got it,” Mulder agreed with a bemused grin. “Go on, it’s cold and this is the last house — no negotiation. Right?”

“Oh, OK,” the boy agreed reluctantly.

“Go on,” Mulder encouraged, waving toward the front porch of the old house.

Mulder regarded the house closely. It had been a beauty in its day, but that day was long past. The two-story house had all the intricate gingerbread molding of truly fine craftsmanship, but now the clapboard was worn and detaching in places. The roof of the porch sagged precariously and the Victorian style porch light was missing one of its panes of glass, showing the naked bulb inside. The agent couldn’t help but wonder if maybe it was a ‘real nice fixer upper’ that had come on hard times due to the current housing market and tight credit.

Still, the doorbell worked. Mulder could hear it plainly all the way at the end of the sidewalk. After a few seconds of waiting, the door opened. Mulder could only see shadows, but he could plainly see Matthew holding out his empty treat bag and nodding with anticipation.

Suddenly, the unthinkable happened. Mulder watched in horror as Matty stepped into the house and the door slammed shut behind him.

Bad, this is bad, the agent’s instincts screamed at him as he ran up the sidewalk. The concrete was more precarious than the road leading up to the house and Mulder tripped on a large cement ‘iceberg’, dropping to his knees hard. He groaned and grabbed his ankle, looking back at the house.

“Matty! Matt, come out, sport — we have to get going!” Mulder yelled, hoping his voice didn’t sound as desperate as he was feeling. He didn’t want to scare the boy if there was no danger, but he wanted whoever was in the house to know for certain that an adult was nearby and in control.

“Matt, c’mon!” Mulder shouted again. He scrambled to his feet, ankle protesting all the way and pounded up the steps to the porch. Reaching the door, he latched onto the doorknob and turned it hard. Nothing happened, the door was locked. He hammered on the doorbell and threw his shoulder against the door. Solid oak, nicely aged, resisted his efforts and bruised his upper arm.

He pounded on the door, now frantically. He could hear nothing inside the old house, no footsteps, no talking. “Matty, if you can hear me, yell!” he directed through the slim crack where the door met the molding. “Matty, it’s OK, sport. I’ll get you out of there.”

Mulder moved quickly over to the big picture window next to the door. With little thought, he brought his elbow up and jammed it into the pane of glass. The window shattered, sending a cascade of dirty shards down his pants leg. Mulder hit a few more panes until he had enough room to squeeze through. His leg caught on the saber-like shards embedded in the glazing, but he took no notice.

Inside the house was absolutely still. He shined his light around the room to find only dustcovers on the furniture and a thick coating of cobwebs in the archways. Running over to the door, he flashed the light to his feet. There were no footprints by the door except those he made as he turned around.

Matty and whoever had answered the door had vanished.

The lady at the door was pretty — as pretty as his own mom. She smiled at Matthew. “Oh, my, at last. Come in, come in,” she beaconed. “I had put the candy bowl away, I was afraid I wasn’t getting any trick or treaters this year.”

“It’s our last house,” Matty explained with a shrug.

“Well, I hope it’s the best one,” the lady smiled brighter.

While she was away getting the candy, Matty looked around. The house was really nice. It was old filled with lots of neat stuff. Antiques, his grandma would call them. He didn’t see a television or any toys, so he guessed the lady didn’t have kids.

She was gone quite a while and Matty’s curiosity got the better of him. He walked over to a long table and looked at all the stuff there. He realized he was wrong; she did have toys — just not ones that I had ever been allowed to play with. There were old style trucks, one that said ‘milk’ on the side and had doors that opened in the back. He could see little wooden bottles packed in tiny boxes inside the truck. There was a fire truck, but it wasn’t the neon green of the Fairfield Fire Department. This one was red and had horses in front!

“You can pick that up, if you like,” the lady said from behind him. It startled Matty and he twisted around, almost dropping his bag. “It’s OK. I don’t mind if you look at them.”

“This is really cool,” Matty said appraising the collection. “What’s this one?” he asked, picking up a car unlike any he’d ever seen.

“That’s a Studs Bearcat,” the woman said proudly. “That was his favorite,” she added with a big smile.

“You have a kid?” Matty asked.

“Oh, yes. I have a son. But he’s not with me now,” she said wistfully. “I hope he gets to come home soon.”

“Oh, divorced,” Matty reasoned.

The woman laughed. “Oh, no, nothing like that. He just got older and moved away.”

“He’s a grown up!” Matty exclaimed, proud he had figured it out.

“Yes, something like that,” the woman said sadly. She looked toward the staircase that led to the upper floor. “Would you like to see his room? I’ve kept it just as it was when he was your age.”

“Sure,” Matty agreed willingly. All thought of his uncle outside had completely disappeared from his mind.

Mulder opened the door easily from the inside and stepped out onto the porch. It hit him. Time to call for back up. He grabbed his cell and punched 9-1-1.

No service.

He cursed loudly and dropped the useless piece of technology back in his pocket. His mind told him to go back to the subdivision, find a house and call for help. But his heart wouldn’t let him leave. He knew Matt was somewhere in that house.

He stood on the porch for several heartbeats, glaring at the broken sidewalk and the path beyond. Go get help — it’s what Scully would tell him to do.

No, that wasn’t entirely true. There had been plenty of times when they’d been in danger that Scully was the one to forego leaving for trying to save his sorry ass.

His decision made, he turned back around and entered the house. Matthew was there, somewhere. He just had to find him.

The bottom floor held nothing of interest. There was a sofa and a few tables in the parlor, a dining room that held a long table but no chairs and a kitchen that seriously needed updating.

He found a small bathroom off the kitchen but the sink was hanging off the wall and the medicine cabinet was missing, leaving an unsightly hole and exposed studs.

Everywhere he went he found no footprints, no sign that anyone had been in the house for years. His worry gnawed at him as he finally climbed the stairs to the second story.

“Wow!” Matty exclaimed as the lady opened the door to the room at the far end of the long upstairs hallway. “Is that a real train set?”

“Um hum,” the woman smiled and nodded. “Lionel’s finest,” she said proudly.

“Does it work?” Matty asked, still in awe.

The train set ran the length of one wall and stood on a platform that was as wide as a twin bed. It contained several sets of tracks and all around the tracks were small villages and pastoral scenes. There was even a river with a bridge.

“Sure it works,” she said calmly. She walked over to the platform and flipped a switch under the table. Two of the trains sprang to life, chugging along the tracks. They were headed in the opposite directions so that they passed one another twice as the looped around the platform universe.

“This is great! Man, I wish I had one like this,” Matty said with glee. “Hey, is that a draw bridge?”

“Why, yes it is,” the woman answered. “Would you like to work it?”

Matty licked his lips. “Yeah, sure,” he said timidly. She took his hand and led him to the far end of the platform where there was a series of toggles.

“You push this up when you want the bridge to go up and then when the train approaches, you push it back down,” she instructed. She gave it a quick test and he nodded that he understood.

“This is way cool. Wait till I tell Uncle Fox about this!” Matty said happily. Suddenly, his young face took on a panic stricken look. “Oh gosh! Uncle Fox! I left him outside!”

“It’s OK, I’m sure he’s still waiting for you, dear,” the woman said soothingly. “It’s cold out there. How about we go down to the kitchen and fix your uncle a nice cup of cocoa?”

“I don’ know,” Matty said fearfully, biting his lip.

“It’s awful cold,” she prodded. “It would warm you both up on your walk back to the main road.”

“But he’s been waiting so long already,” Matty said worriedly.

“Then he’ll definitely need something to warm him up, right?” countered the woman.

Matty couldn’t argue with that logic. “OK, I guess. But we need to hurry,” he admonished.

“I’ll do my best.”

“Cocoa only takes a minute forty in the microwave,” Matty said casually as they walked back down the steps.

“Well, it takes a little longer on the stove, but I’m sure we’ll have it in a jiffy,” she answered kindly.

The stairs creaked noisily, shattering his already jagged nerves. Mulder stopped in mid step and steadied himself with a hand against the railing. When he lifted it, his fingers came away coated with years of neglect. The wall to his right was marred at precise intervals with bright colored squares of the original wall paper, places once covered with framed pictures of loved ones, he had no doubt.

The top step sagged under his foot and he held his breath, hoping it would hold his weight. It did and he was able to ascend to the hallway. There were three doors on one side of the hall, four on the other, but one was narrow and appeared to be nothing more than a closet or a pantry. He tried each door in turn, shining his flashlight into the rooms.

There wasn’t a stick of furniture in the upstairs until he reached the last door in the hall. Opening this door, he found a platform — too long for a bed and too wide to be a suitable dining table. It was crudely made of bare two by fours and he wondered at its purpose. He was about to leave the room and go back down stairs when a hand landed on his shoulder, causing him to drop his flashlight.

“May I ask what you’re doing here?” came a voice from the darkness. The hand remained on his shoulder, but Mulder reached down and it released him so he could pick up his light. When he stood up again, and directed the light toward the other person, he found himself staring at a man at least twice his age.

“Again, may I ask what you’re doing here?” the man inquired.

“I’m looking for my nephew,” Mulder said tersely. “He was trick or treating and someone in this house has hidden him here.”

The man looked Mulder up and down and sighed. “It’s all right. She’ll let him go in a bit.” The old man turned and left the room with Mulder standing dumbstruck behind him.

Mulder quickly gain his senses. “Wait a minute! You know who has Matthew?”

The man kept walking down the hall to the steps. “Ay-yup,” he answered.

“Who? Where is he? It’s a federal offense to kidnap — ”

“Hey, nobody said anything about kidnapping,” the old man intoned with a shake of his head. “She wouldn’t hurt a soul. She’s jest showin’ him around.”

“Showing him — ” Mulder sputtered. “Look, I think you better explain yourself. I’m a Special Agent with the FBI and I demand to know — ”

They had reached the bottom of the stairs and the old man look at Mulder with abject pity. “Won’t do ya no good, being from the FBI. She’ll let him go in a bit. You jest gotta calm down and wait fer her to be done.”

“If she harms a hair on that boy’s head — you are an accomplice and you’ll go down!” Mulder shouted. “I will see you all the way to the prison gates!”

“Calm down, calm down,” the old man chastised him. “She wouldn’t hurt him! I know her.”

“Who is she?” Mulder bit out through tightly gritted teeth.

“She’s my mother,” the old man sighed.

In the kitchen, Matty was staring wide-eyed at the woman by the stove. “Gee, you make cocoa just like my grandma,” he told the woman.

She smiled down at him and reached out to ruffle his hair, then dropped her hand before touching him with a bittersweet expression on her face. “My son loves his cocoa,” she said and turned quickly, hiding her face. She cleared her throat before speaking again. “Would you mind getting the cups? They’re in the cupboard over there, next to the ice box.”

“What’s the ice box?” Matty asked, confused.

“Oh, sorry, it’s there, the big machine over there — ” She was pointing to a very old style refrigerator.

“Wow, does this thing still work?” Matty asked. “Where’s the water and ice part?”

She shook her head with amusement. “The water is here in the sink and the ice is in the top of the ice box,” she explained patiently.

“Huh,” Matty grunted. But after a moment, he found the cupboard and the cups. “Three?” he asked.

“Oh, no, thank you. Just two. One for you and one for your uncle.”

Matty brought the cups over to the counter next to the stove.

“So, is your father in the war?” the woman asked, stirring the pan of warming milk and chocolate powder and sugar.

“No, my dad died,” Matty said quietly.

“Your mom — ” The woman coughed and started again. “Is your mom still living?” she asked, though her voice was strained.

“Oh, yeah, sure. My little sister is scared of Halloween. So my Uncle Fox is taking me around.”

“That’s very nice of your uncle, to take you trick or treating. Would you like marshmallows in your cocoa?” she asked. When Matty wasn’t looking she quickly wiped at the corner of her eye.

“I would. Uncle Fox likes ’em but sometimes Aunt Dana won’t let him have ’em. She makes sure he doesn’t eat too much fat and sugar.”

The woman laughed. “Well that is a woman’s job, to take care of her family.” Carefully, she poured the hot liquid from the pan into the mugs and then reached into a canister at the back of the counter and pulled out four fat, fluffy marshmallows, dropping two in each cup. “There you go,” she said. “Can you carry them without spilling?”

“Sure, I’m good at that,” Matty assured her. “Thanks, uh, — hey, what’s your name anyway?”

“Helen,” she said. “My name is Helen.”

“Oh, mine’s Matt,” he replied with a nod. “Well, I better get going. Uncle Fox is probably wondering where I am.”

“Matt, before you leave, I forgot to give you your treat! Here, let me get it from the pantry.” She stepped over to a small room off the kitchen and returned with a little paper bag just like the ones Matty had for his lunch bag. “I’ll just slip it in your pocket so you don’t have so much to carry.”

“Thanks, Helen,” he smiled up at her.

“Can you find your way out? I have to clean up the pan,” she explained, nodding toward the sink.

“Sure.” Matt cautiously moved to the door of the kitchen, mindful of the precious cocoa in his hands. He stopped at the door. “Hey, um, Helen? Happy Halloween!”

She smiled at him, and this time he saw the tear tracks in her eyes. “Happy Halloween, Matt. And if you see my son, please tell him I love him.”

“Yeah, sure,” Matty said, a little confused. “No problem.” He turned then and walked to the door of the house. He was just trying to figure out how to hold both cups and open the door when the door opened on its own. On the front porch were his uncle and a really old man.

“Hi, Uncle Fox! Look what the nice lady made for us!” Matty exclaimed, nodding down at the cups.

“Matthew!” Mulder gasped, almost causing the boy to spill the cocoa. He took the cups, put them on the ground and then hugged the boy for all he was worth. “Matty, you scared me. Please, don’t ever do that again! I was so afraid — if anything were to ever happen to you — ”

“It’s OK, Uncle Fox. Helen wouldn’t hurt me. She’s nice. You’ll like her. C’mon, you can meet her.” The boy turned back to the doorway to enter the house but stopped, stunned. Where there had once been a warm and welcoming home there was now nothing but darkness and cobwebs. “Hey, wait a minute!” he demanded. “Where did the insides of the house go?”

“I think you have something you wanted to explain,” Mulder sneered at the old man.

9:00 pm

“So Helen was a ghost?” Matty asked as they walked back toward Maggie’s house.

Mulder pulled on his lip. “I guess you could call her that, yes,” he admitted.

“But she wasn’t scary and she let me play with the trains and she made us cocoa with marshmallows,” Matty pointed out, shaking his head.

There was nothing Mulder could say to that. They walked for several moments in silence.

“It this what you and Aunt Dana do all the time, Uncle Fox?” the boy piped up as they approached the block where Maggie’s house stood warm and inviting, the porch light still gleaming in the darkness.

“Pretty much, yeah,” Mulder replied. “Does it scare you?”

Matty thought about that for a minute. “Nope, not really.” Then he looked up at Mulder and smiled. “She was really nice, Uncle Fox. And the house was really cool. I think she was just lonely for her little boy.”

“Well, she died when he was pretty young. Mr. Andrews said she died suddenly when he was ten years old. So I guess maybe you reminded her a little of her own little boy.”

“She wanted me to tell him that she loves him. I forgot to do that,” Matty said and started back toward the woods.

Mulder caught his cape and tugged him back beside him. “I’m pretty sure he knows that, sport.”

Matty nodded. “Like I know my dad still loves me,” he said wisely.

“So, what are we going to tell your mom and grandma?” Mulder asked.

“Just that we found some neat houses and lost track of time,” Matty said with a firm nod. “I don’t think they could handle the real story.”

“Me neither, sport. It’ll be our little secret.”

the end

Haunted

Title: Haunted

Author: Starfleetofficer1

Summary: Mulder is trapped in a ‘haunted house’ on Halloween.
Written for the VS.

Category: X-file, Mulder in peril, Scully in peril

Rating: PG-13

Two weeks exclusive with VS15.

Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended.

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BASEMENT OFFICE

WASHINGTON, DC

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 31st, 2007

1400

“Mulder, why are we here?” Scully asked with a sigh, staring up at the pencils embedded in the ceiling as she leaned back in her chair.

“Because there have been reports of unexplained phenomena in this particular house, in the suburban neighborhood just outside—”

“I’ve listened to that explanation for the past hour and a half,” Scully said, sitting up straight now and looking him in the eye. “And I fail to see how we have any real evidence of an X-file here. What we have is a children’s newspaper article—something you picked up entirely by chance, that is most likely made up to scare their friends at school.”

“The Hillside Elementary School’s newspaper won awards for its credibility,” Mulder said. “They reported on Presidential elections, the stock market, current affairs…not to mention a highly developed video game review section and comic page.”

“They’re eight years old.”

“Some of them are ten,” Mulder said. He put the child’s article down on his desk, and stood up. “Scully, the evidence presented in their article may sound juvenile but it all checks out. It doesn’t matter if their writing style is childish—they’re children! It doesn’t mean they aren’t credible. I’ve checked out every sighting they mentioned in the article, and they were all established with the local police.”

“A local police office in Hillside, Virginia, that has less to do than Andy Griffith.”

“Come on, Scully, it’s worth checking out.”

“It’s Halloween.”

“And you’re already here, so why not go trick-or-treating with me?”

She gave him a ‘look’.

“Like you said, it’s Halloween! Let’s have a little fun with it!”

She stood up, and sighed. “Mulder, I swear, if I didn’t love you I’d have killed you by now.”

“I knew you’d see my side of it,” Mulder said cheerfully, apparently ignoring her implied threat. He stood up and grabbed his coat, and started out the door.

Scully reluctantly followed, and said, “If this turns out like the last haunted house, Mulder, it won’t matter if I love you. I will shoot you.”

Mulder looked behind him, and smirked. “I thought you didn’t want it to turn out like last time.”

She rolled her eyes, and barged in front of him. He grinned, and followed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

HILLSIDE ELEMENTARY SCHOOL

HILLSIDE, VA

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 31st, 2007

1430

Walking through the halls, the agents were bombarded by a stream of giggling eight-year-olds in the third grade section of the school. One little boy tripped and Mulder feared he would be stampeded by his classmates, so he helped the third-grader to his feet. The thanks he got was a screeching cry, “Stranger! Stranger! Help! He’s got me, help!”

Mulder let the little boy go, and a teacher ran out into the hallway. The kids made way for the adult, who looked like she was about to punch Mulder.

The agents quickly drew their badges. “We’re here with the FBI,” Scully said before the woman could ask. “And we’re investigating suspicious activity near 435 Westbury Street.”

“A little girl named Ashley Burns wrote a detailed article on the subject, and we were wondering if we could speak to her about her sources.”

The teacher looked taken aback. “Um…of course. She’s in my class. I hope you understand that the ‘suspicious activity’ is nothing more than teenagers playing pranks around that area.”

“Yes, we’ve considered that option,” Scully said, aiming a pointed glance at Mulder.

Mulder quickly covered his tracks. “But in the event that it wasn’t teenagers, and illegal activity has been occurring in the location, we need to investigate,” he said.

The woman nodded comprehensively and led them into her classroom. A bell rang, and the little children ran toward their classrooms to take their seats. “I’m Pam Wells, by the way,” the teacher said.

“Agent Mulder, and this is Agent Scully,” Mulder said.

”Pleased to meet you,” Pam told them, and approached a little girl sitting at a desk. “Ashley, these people are here from the FBI. They’re interested in your newspaper article.”

The little girl’s eyes grew wide. “Did I break any rules?” she asked.

“No, Ashley, we just had a few questions,” Mulder said kindly. “Want to step out into the hallway?”

Ashley nodded cautiously, and Scully offered her hand to the fearful girl. When Ashley took it, they moved into the hallway and could hear the classroom explode with chatter as soon as they were gone. The door shut behind them, and Ashley looked up inquisitively.

“We understand you checked out the Westbury house, for your newspaper article,” Scully said. “We were just wondering how you made sure all the things you put in the article were true. Could you tell us that?”

“I talked to the police,” Ashley said, “And I brought them a big list of things that people had seen. I wanted to make sure everything I wrote had a police record, ‘cause people report things like that. And they had records of everything. So I put it all in my article.”

“Could you tell us if you’ve ever seen any of the things you’d written about?”

“I saw the lights going on and off, and I knew the house was contempted, so no one lived there.”

“Condemned,” Mulder corrected with a small smile. “Do you live near the haunted house?”

“I live about two blocks away. I ride my bike down there all the time.”

Mulder nodded, his facial expression still passive and non-threatening. “So I’ll bet your friends and you sometimes want to go inside, huh?”

“Sometimes we dare each other, but no one’s actually done it. The sign on the front says you can get in a lot of trouble if you cross the fence. But a lot of teenagers have come really close. Most of them were arrested.”

“They were arrested right away? Before they got into the house?” Scully asked.

Ashley nodded. “The police sit right around the corner, and sometimes right out front. If anyone goes near it, they arrest them. That’s why not many kids make it past the back yard fence. And no one goes in the front. That’s just dumb.”

Scully looked perplexed, but Mulder spoke before she could voice any concerns about the story. “So you’ve probably heard a bunch of stories about that haunted house, huh?”

Ashley nodded.

“Would you share some of them?”

She looked uncomfortable for a moment, before saying, “It’s just supposed to be a Hillside thing. That’s what the grown-ups told us when they told us all the stories. That’s how the story starts. ‘You can’t tell anyone outside Hillside.’”

Mulder and Scully glanced at each other. “We’ve got special permission to hear things like that, Ashley,” Scully said. “FBI agents are like police officers—you can tell them things you wouldn’t tell other people.”

“So I won’t get in trouble?” Ashley asked.

“You won’t get in trouble, I promise,” Mulder said.

“Okay,” Ashley started, hesitating for a moment. “I’ll tell it just like my parents told me. Twenty-five years ago, before I was born, a man in Hillside went crazy. He got a chain saw and started hacking people up with it, just like in the movies only for real. They tried to catch him, but he got away. He ran into the forest.” She shuddered a bit. “And then ten years later, some people say they saw him. They say he met somebody outside the forest who led him straight to the contempted—condemned—house. But when the police went and searched it, they said no one was there. Still, every night, the lights come on for a bit and then go out. The doors open up and close by themselves. One minute you’ll see a window closed, and the next it’s open again. The yard’s unkempt and overgrown and messed up, and the ivy’s about to take over the house, but no one dares go near it. ‘Cause if you do, the crazy man will get his chainsaw and hack you up. It’s not a person in there—it’s his ghost. And that’s why it’s haunted.”

Mulder and Scully were quiet for a moment. “And why aren’t you allowed to tell people that live outside Hillside?” Mulder asked.

“Because, that’s how the story starts,” Ashley explained. “It’s a Hillside secret. Not even the real estate office tells people about it. That’s what my dad says.”

“Ashley, what’s the house like on Halloween night? Is it very busy, with police all around it? Or is it kind of quiet?” Scully asked.

“There are two more cars than usual on Halloween. It’s kinda something all the kids go and stare at, until they’re told to move away. It’s kinda cool, like that. But we don’t want to get hacked up or something. So only stupid teenagers go past the fence in the backyard.”

“Thank you, Ashley, you’ve been very helpful,” Mulder said. “And I’m very glad you wrote that article.”

Ashley shrugged. “It was just a school project.”

“We’ll let you go back to your classroom now. Thanks for helping us out,” Scully said. Ashley smiled and went back into the classroom, leaving Mulder and Scully alone in the hallway.

“Well, I think it’s fairly obvious what’s going on here,” Scully said.

“Yes, I do too,” Mulder said, and started walking.

“I’m afraid to ask, Mulder,” Scully stated.

”Don’t worry, I don’t think this is a ghost, or an X-file,” Mulder stated.

Scully stopped in her tracks. “You don’t?”

“No, of course not. It’s pretty obvious what’s really happening.”

“Well…why don’t you enlighten me?”

“The chainsaw man—whatever his name is, we’ll have to look that up—he’s being harbored in the house by the police. Clearly it’s their own little secret. We’ve just got to get a warrant to go in and drag him out.”

Scully smiled, and looked down as she started walking.

“What?” Mulder asked. “You don’t think he exists, do you, Scully?”

“It’s a child’s tale, Mulder. And that house is condemned—a very attractive thing for children. It makes sense that there would be a police presence, especially on Halloween. Imagine what would happen if one of those kids went in there, and fell through the floor?”

“Explain the lights, then. And the windows.”

“Kids imagine things all the time. They love ghost stories, and you yourself admit that this is not a ghost.”

“Not a ghost. A fugitive,” Mulder said.

“A fugitive we’ve never heard of? A fugitive that is guilty of a violent killing spree with a chainsaw, from twenty-five years ago, that we haven’t heard of?”

“It’s possible. We don’t know every serial killer who’s ever walked the Earth.”

“But this is Virginia,” Scully argued, opening the front door to the school. “It’s too close to home. We would at least remember it from the nightly news. You would definitely remember something like that.”

“I was in England, and you were in college, and please tell me you didn’t watch the nightly news every day at college.”

“No,” she admitted reluctantly, “But I would’ve heard about something like this. It would have been all over American news everywhere.”

“I doubt it. If he only killed two people and it was contained to Virginia, it would have been a brief story on one or two nights of the week, and people may have mentioned it in casual conversation, but it wouldn’t have been big. We’ll find out, though.”

“Where are we going?”

“Back to the office. I want to look a few things up before we head to that house for the night.”

“For the—Mulder, we can’t spend Halloween night in a condemned house!”

“Why not? Sounds perfect to me.”

“We don’t even have a warrant, or backup, or…what are you planning on doing? Waiting for the chainsaw man to come home from the grocery store?”

“I doubt he leaves very often.”

They climbed into their car, and Mulder started the engine. “Mulder, I want you to do me a favor,” Scully said.

“Ooooh, Scully, I thought you’d never ask,” Mulder said with a mischievous grin.

Scully rolled her eyes, and ignored the comment. “I want you to promise me you aren’t going to ditch me and go in there by yourself. If we’re going in, we’re going in together, and we’re doing it with backup and a warrant. If there is a chance that this chainsaw maniac is in there, then the police are obviously trying to protect him and we’ll be working against a madman and the locals.”

“I think we can dish out more reserves than little Hillside can,” Mulder said nonchalantly. “I’m not worried. But okay. I won’t go in alone. And we’ll approach the maniac with extreme caution.” He didn’t voice his happiness that Scully was acknowledging the maniac’s existence with so little argument. He didn’t want to spoil the moment.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

435 WESTBURY ST

HILLSIDE, VA

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 31st, 2007

1800

Trick-or-treating had started in the tiny town. It was less than a mile across, but the kids were in every square meter they could occupy. They ran around happily, ready to start their candy-collection, or T.Ping and egging in some cases.

Mulder and Scully walked down the street, having parked a few blocks away, and surveyed the police presence casually. They noticed three cars, one hidden and two visible. The only way in seemed to be through the back. They had federal agents ready to move in and surround the place the minute they had confirmation of the suspect’s presence. The agents also had orders to detain any police officers who might try to resist the apprehension of the suspect.

What they had found at their office was disturbing. There was indeed a chainsaw maniac twenty-five years ago that no one had caught. No body had ever been found after the final chase that forced the killer’s car into the forest, and caused the vehicle to explode in a ball of fire. But no charred human remains had been sited, even after a careful inspection.

What was even more disturbing was Mulder’s discovery of the nearly successful cover-up that took place directly afterward. The maniac was the police chief’s younger brother. Mulder and Scully didn’t even bother talking to the man. From witness testimony, and what they pieced together, they had enough for a warrant. And surprisingly enough, Mulder had found a contingent of field agents willing to be his backup.

The one snag was that the house was, indeed, condemned and they had no idea about the infrastructure. They weren’t sure if they were walking into a booby trap or rotted floorboards from the moment they entered. So they had no choice but to enter carefully.

The police presence made that very difficult. Since they were operating under the radar, in a completely FBI-sanctioned mission to discover if the local police really were concealing a fugitive from the federal government, they had clearance to detain anyone who resisted. But that, naturally, would undermine the nature of their mission. If the occupant inside was alerted to their presence, there was a chance he could make a run for it.

Mulder spotted a hole in the woods right behind the house. “See that clearing?” he pointed.

“Yeah, I see it. Are we moving in that way?”

“We should try,” Mulder said. They were both wearing concealable GoldFlex vests under their shirts, which allowed them to look like they were wearing normal clothing, thanks to the nanotechnology. They carried their weapons in their holsters, but their jackets covered them up. Whenever someone would look in their direction, Mulder would grab Scully’s hand so they looked like a normal, civilian couple. And considering her reaction to the necessary but comfortable contact, Mulder wished people would look in their direction a little more often.

They were able to sneak through a few backyards to get to the woods behind the Westbury Street house, and saw the policeman guarding the door in the back. “Damn,” Mulder said, and swung back around the trunk of a tree, dropping to his butt as he leaned against it.

Scully sighed. “We’ve gotta create a diversion,” she said.

Mulder nodded, and spoke into his radio. “This is Agent Mulder,” he said on the secured channel. “Requesting diversion for a single officer guarding the back door.”

“Copy,” came the reply, and a moment later, some firecrackers were set off in the backyard of the house next door. The policeman rolled his eyes, and walked away from his post. “Hey!” Mulder and Scully heard him yell. “Hey, you kids, get out of there! Where are you? Where’d you go? Yeah, that’s right, leave before I call your parents!”

They took that as their opportunity to enter in the back door. They did so as quickly and quietly as possible, drawing their weapons and opening the creaky door carefully. They shut it once inside, and began scouting out the house.

It was full of cobwebs. There wasn’t a spot they could walk in without getting one on their face, arms, or hands. The dust was piled so high that Mulder felt like he was walking on sand, and he knew no one had been in this house for at least a decade. He was beginning to feel a little discouraged, when Scully gasped.

Mulder quickly made his way through the rotting wood-paneled house and reached her location. “What’s wrong?” He asked, gun extended in front of him.

“Mulder, look at this,” she said, looking curiously at the kitchen counter.

Mulder lowered his weapon slightly and glanced at the counter. There wasn’t a speck of dust on it. It was rotting, like the rest of the house, but there was no dust.

“Odd,” he said.

“Extremely. I think you may be right—there could be someone living here.”

“Then how did he get to the kitchen? There are no footprints in the dust.”

“I have no idea,” Scully said, shaking her head.

“Maybe he really is a ghost.”

She rolled her eyes. “You take the upstairs. I’ll see if there’s a basement.”

He nodded, and extended his weapon again.

“Be careful on the stairs,” she told him.

He listened, and tried each step before putting his full weight on it. Before he knew it, though, he was on the second floor of the tiny house, and encountered nothing more than more dust, and some vacant rooms. The hinges on the doors had rusted completely, and every door had fallen off. Mulder was surprised that such decay occurred in such a short amount of time—the house had been abandoned and condemned since 1967, but it had lasted 102 years prior to that. Perhaps it had just been in existence for too long.

Mulder heard a noise, and turned his head and his gun instantly. He walked carefully into the room from which it came, holding his weapon and flashlight straight out in front of him in a cross-hand position.

The second he entered the room, though, he felt something heavy come down on top of him and he collapsed, as the world faded.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

435 WESTBURY ST

HILLSIDE, VA

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 31st, 2007

1830

Mulder awoke handcuffed to a very rusty pipe, sitting on the ground. He looked around, and wished he could rub his aching head. He didn’t see anyone, and so he called, “Scully! Scully, I need help!”

“Shut up, or I’m gonna have to do something you’re not gonna like,” a voice said. Then a man emerged from the closet. He wore all black, looked to be in his late fifties, and carried a chainsaw in his hand. He matched the picture of the police chief’s younger brother.

“Mulder?” Scully called, and they heard her mount the creaky steps.

“Sorry ‘bout this,” the man said with a wicked smile, and stomped once on the floorboard he was standing on. Suddenly, everything began shaking, and there was an enormous crash. Mulder heard Scully scream.

“Scully!” He called, panicked, as he struggled against the handcuffs. “Scully! What did you do to her, you bastard?!”

The man rolled his eyes. “Oh, please, stop your whining. She’s not dead. Just buried.”

“You son of a bitch, I’ll—”

“Not from this position, you won’t,” the man said, stepping out of reach of Mulder’s low kick and stomping on the floorboard in one motion. The floor directly beneath Mulder caved at that moment, and the agent dropped downward, only to be stopped by his hands, secured on the rusty pipe. He cried out in agony, and hung there painfully, half supported by the piece of floorboard sticking against his back, and half by his now bloody wrists.

“I’m gonna enjoy this,” the maniac said with a nasty grin, and started up his chainsaw.

XXXX

One story below them, Scully was half-buried by collapsed floorboards. Her upper body was exposed though, and when she came to, she groaned in pain and tried to extricate herself. She found she couldn’t. She tapped her hand against the radio in her ear, and said, “Request backup, request backup, move in immediately! Move in!” Then she placed her hand on her head, and felt the sticky liquid that could only be blood.

She tried again to extricate herself just as she heard the sound of sirens and commotion outside. This time, she was able to wiggle most of her lower body free. It took her a few more moments, but she was fueled by adrenaline and the ever-present, urgent screams from upstairs. She knew Mulder was in trouble. They had found their killer.

She knew the sixth step was barely accessible, but the upper half of the stairs were still intact, and she had to get up there quickly. She found her gun and picked it up with a bloodied hand, holstered it, and climbed on top of the unstable rubble. She leapt for the sixth stair, scraping her hands and nearly falling off in the process. She gripped the rotting floorboards and pulled with all her might, thinking only of Mulder and what could be causing those horrified screams. Images of chainsaws descending on her partner were ever-present in her mind.

She hauled her leg up to the sixth stair and rolled into a position where she could get to her knees, and climb the rest of the way up. She nearly fell off twice when the boards started to give way, but she made it up the short flight and half dove, half stumbled, into the room where the screams were coming.

Drawing her weapon as she entered the room, she quickly assessed the situation. Mulder was hanging by his hands from a rusty pipe—one that would likely break soon. He was unable to pull himself up, quite obviously, as at least one of his arms had to be already dislocated. And from his position, Scully could tell that the floorboards from the collapsed floor were likely sticking into his back, if not penetrating it.

She pointed her weapon at the older man standing over her partner with a running chainsaw. Its blade was far too close to his skin for her comfort. “Turn it off and drop it, now,” Scully yelled.

“Scully—” Mulder cried in pain, looking at her with…concern? How could he be concerned about her when he was the one hanging by his wrists from a rusty pipe?

“I ain’t stoppin’ for no one. This is my first kill in—”

Before he could continue, and just as he lowered the chainsaw so it was level with Mulder’s midsection, Scully put a bullet in his temple. He dropped to the side, the chainsaw falling on top of him and slicing his own midsection open. Scully shot the machine, after quickly scanning for a battery and making sure she wouldn’t blow them to kingdom come by shooting a gas tank. When the chainsaw ceased running, she ran over to Mulder.

“Scully, my God…” Mulder panted.

“I know, Mulder, I’m gonna get you out of here.”

“No—I’m okay—”

“You’re not okay,” Scully said. That much was obvious by his labored speech and profuse sweating. She assessed his position, and after quickly determining that he didn’t have any broken bones, she asked, “Do you think you can bring your legs up if I supported your torso?”

He squinted in pain, and nodded. “Scully, please…let someone else—you’re hurt.”

“I’m fine, Mulder,” Scully said.

Mulder shook his head. “Your ear,” he said, before he couldn’t help but cringe in agony, and yell out at the pain.

Scully reached her hand up to her ear, where she felt a flap of skin clearly open and bleeding profusely. She still didn’t feel it, but she knew she would soon. She could only imagine how it might look. “It’s okay, Mulder,” she said quickly. She hugged his torso tightly, trying to support it and alleviate some stress from his arms. He cried out in pain, and she said, “Pull your legs up. Come on, you have to try, Mulder. I know it hurts, just try, damn it!”

Mulder yelled the entire time he was attempting to get his legs out, and by the time he managed to raise one knee so that it was level with the floor, a fireman walked in with a paramedic not far behind.

“We can take over, Ma’am,” the fireman said. “Alright, Sir, we’re gonna get you out of there. Don’t worry.”

“I’m a medical doctor,” Scully explained. “And I’m his partner. Let me help—I’ve already assessed his condition.”

“You need some help yourself, Ma’am,” the paramedic said.

“I don’t think he has any broken bones,” Scully said quickly, ignoring their protest. She watched as the fireman supported Mulder’s back on a short backboard, and alleviated some of the stress from the jagged floorboards digging into his back. “He can move his legs. You just need to pull him out slightly. One or both shoulders might be dislocated, be careful—” she tried to say, but the two of them were already on their way to extricating Mulder. They had him out fairly quickly, and they cut the handcuffs off of him and loaded him on a portable stretcher.

“We’re gonna have to get him out the window,” the paramedic said. “We can’t navigate that staircase.”

“Absolutely agreed,” the fireman said. “We’ll get the chopper over here,” he stated, and radioed it in. It wasn’t long before the chopper arrived, and they broke the window open.

During the exchange, Scully’s eyes wondered from Mulder’s form to the suspect lying dead on the floor. She couldn’t believe what she saw next.

The man rose, grabbed his chainsaw, and before Scully could even get a shot off, walked through the walls.

Only a few seconds after that, she collapsed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

GEORGETOWN MEDICAL CENTER

GEORGETOWN, VA

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 31st, 2007

2000

Scully entered Mulder’s room with a bandage around her head, over her ear. The ear wound hadn’t caused any nerve damage, and had required nineteen stitches but had otherwise been superficial.

But she had gone into shock and had only woken up after receiving blood and being hooked up to an IV. She now traveled, as was hospital policy, in a wheelchair pushed by a nurse.

Mulder’s left shoulder had been dislocated, but his right was just strained. Both wrists were bandaged and his left arm was in a sling, but he was otherwise no worse for wear. He was expected to be released that night, while they wanted to keep Scully overnight for observation.

“Hey,” Mulder said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and getting up to meet her. “I can take it from here,” he said to the nurse.

“I’m sorry, Sir, but I can’t let you do that,” the nurse stated.

Mulder rolled his eyes. “I should’ve been the one to come see you, Scully,” he said as they walked back to his bed together. He held her hand once he had climbed up onto the bed, and she smiled at him. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, Mulder. They’re just keeping me for observation.”

“I’m sorry to make you come over here. You really shouldn’t be out of bed.”

“Tell me about it,” the nurse said.

“Do you think you can give us a few minutes alone?” Scully asked the nurse.

The woman rolled her eyes. “If you get out of that wheelchair, it better be to get into a bed.”

“Oh, so that’s how this hospital operates,” Mulder said with a grin. “I don’t think we’ll have trouble following those instructions.”

The nurse muttered something about ‘need to retire’ before she left.

Scully chuckled at Mulder, and smiled tiredly at him. “How’s your arm?”

“It’s okay. It’ll be fine. Scully, you’re never going to guess what the police found when they searched the house.”

Scully eyed him suspiciously, and he continued. “Nothing. Not a trace of him anywhere, Scully. You shot him. I saw you shoot him. I saw him fall—but he’s not there. Someone must have stolen the body. They’re gonna want to question you, when you feel up to it. Did you see anything after I was loaded onto the helicopter?”

Scully hesitated, and looked down. “You have to understand, Mulder, I had a concussion, I was in shock…I was probably delirious.”

“What did you see?” he asked excitedly.

She looked up at him, and smiled slightly. He’s gonna have a field day with this. “I saw him get up and walk through the wall. But it was a concussion-induced image, it means nothing—”

“It proves he was really a ghost,” Mulder said.

“No, Mulder, it proves that someone stole the body and I couldn’t process the information.”

Mulder frowned. “Who would want to steal the body, Scully? And how would they get it through the wall?”

“I don’t know, but it’s the only viable explanation. If he really was a ghost, then why would he have fallen when I shot him?”

Still frowning in thought, the agent let go of Scully’s hand. He rotated his right shoulder carefully, and shook his head. “Maybe he didn’t want anyone to know about his existence.”

“And why would that be?”

“He’s a ghost. I don’t know why they do what they do, what motivation they could possibly have. And let’s hope I don’t find out anytime soon.”

Scully smiled. “Yes, let’s hope for that.” She reached out for his hand again, and gave it a squeeze.

“Thanks for what you did in there, Scully.”

“No problem,” Scully said, meeting his eyes and starting to smirk. “But now you owe me one.”

Mulder laughed. “Always, Scully. Always.”

Double-Play

Double Play

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“Batabatabata…SUH-WING, batabatabata!!”

Charles Fishbein closed his eyes for a nanosecond as the crowd took up the sacred incantation, taking in every sensory stimulus the park had to offer.

The smell of popcorn and burgers flavored the late summer breeze (no dogs here — major sacrilege here in the Western Burbs). The disgruntled murmurs and backseat coaching of fathers and grandfathers; the laughter and whispers of mothers and sisters oblivious to the drama being played out on the dirt and grass beyond.

The occasional crack of the bat and attendant crowd reaction that touched Charlie’s spine as he sat silently in a remote corner of the bleachers, scribbling in his broad, wirebound ledger.

He’d done some scouting, and he knew he’d hear that sharp shot of ecstasy more than a few times this afternoon.

Charlie glanced across the rows of fans, toward the far end of the stands. He cursed instantly to himself — the boy had made another friend, and the pair were yukking it up. Had he missed the entire inning?

Angrily, Charlie shoved his hand into his superfluous windbreaker and thumbed the key on the radio walkie-talkie. He suppressed a vindictive smile as the boy jumped — Charlie’d jerry-rigged an ear bud receiver. The boy recovered quickly and pretended to swat a non-existent mosquito (this particular village fumigated the yuppies on a regular basis).

The boy made eye contact guiltily and, Charlie thought, resentfully. He’d talk to him in the car, though God knows, he knew all too well how strong-willed the boy was.

The boy nonetheless directed his attention to the game, grunting replies out of the side of his mouth to his new “buddy.” Thankfully, the local was as attention-deficit as most 10- or 11-year-olds, and he quickly moved on in a dark huff.

“Batabatabata!!” Charlie returned to the game with a sigh of relief. The player, a lanky lad with thick glasses, jumped back as a high, hard one ripped past.

“GOOD EYE, CHRIS!!”

Charlie’s blood froze as the roaring baritone registered, and his capped head swiveled slowly toward Rusterman, one of the lab’s public information guys. Like all the flacks, he didn’t keep the late hours of the postdocs and PhDs. Somehow, Charlie had pictured Rusterman as the eternal bachelor — a cynical, ungainly loner. But the PIO was with a petite but leggy blonde, and Charlie could see Rusterman’s crooked grin on the batter’s face as he accepted the accolade.

The grin vanished as the ball streaked through “Chris'” strike zone, and Charlie couldn’t help but shake his head in disgust as he scrambled from his seat, clicking the mike key twice in a prearranged signal.

As he reached ground level, the bat cracked, and Charlie halted, frozen momentarily in time. Then he shook it off and hightailed it to the SUV, two blocks away.

* * *

“¡Buenos dias!”

Renaldo Ortiz smiled back broadly and waggled a leathery hand as Dr. Klamath passed, thankful the pompous scientist did not stop to pass the day in halting, language tape Spanish. Despite the sleek black Infiniti in the parking lot beyond the Oppenheimer National Energy and Biologics Laboratory’s double-secured doors, Klamath fancied himself a champion of the night crew and a fervent immigration rights advocate (Renaldo had been naturalized 20 years ago, and he hid in doorways whenever the physicist approached).

Klamath was the last to leave, and Renaldo relaxed as he pushed the mop cart toward the third floor breakroom. It was the only room he was assigned on the floor — everything else was top-secret, high-clearance, no janitors allowed, though he always pondered why the third-floor labs were equipped with plate glass windows as well as complicated security hardware. Not that Renaldo had any idea — or, frankly, cared — what the huge machines and consoles inside did.

Instinctively, he glanced through the double-paned glass of 342 — Dr. Fishbein’s lab. Nope, no idea, Renaldo thought happily. Then, a blur of blue and red, back behind a tall, broad metal case, caught his eye. He staggered back as the figure caught his own eye and froze, brown eyes huge and terrified.

“Holy shit,” Renaldo whispered hoarsely as the boy dived out of sight, and he stumbled down the hall toward Security.

* * *

“Ghost?” Mulder perked, turning from the retinal scanner.

“I’m being facetious, of course,” the NEBL’s director snapped. “I’m certain there must be a rational explanation for this.”

“Not if he can help it,” Scully muttered, drawing daggers from her partner. “The obvious answer, Doctor, is that one of your scientists simply brought his son to work. Even physicists dote on their children’s admiration.”

“Impossible,” the stocky federal researcher grunted. “This is a secure lab — Chuck Fishbein’s. Only he and his assistants — Randy Petersen and V.K. Musli — and myself have clearance. That requires a retinal scan. And, no, no one can simply sneak into the lab behind an authorized staff member — the entry system is biometric, locks down if it scans more than one body in the entryway without multiple retinal scans.

Post-9/11 measure — guards against domestic terrorists coercing our scientists to give them access to classified materials or projects.”

“And each retinal scan is recorded and time-stamped?” Mulder ventured.

“No one was recorded as entering or leaving this lab Tuesday except Dr. Fishbein,” the director stated definitively. “Chuck left more than two hours before Mr. Ortiz witnessed the boy. Ortiz has no clearance for any of the labs on this floor, so he had to summon Security to investigate the intruder. Security found no one in Chuck’s lab, and the system showed no one left between’s Ortiz’ call and Security’s arrival.”

“What about Mr. Ortiz?” Scully inquired. “Does he take any medication? Have you had any incidents involving alcohol?”

“Renaldo Ortiz has been with us for years — he’s a solid citizen, a wife and two kids, member of the Batavia Kiwanis. Besides, as an employee, he submits to monthly drug screenings, and he’s consistently checked out clean.”

Mulder frowned. “What’s Fishbein say?”

“He’s as mystified as the rest of us. In fact, Chuck demanded we inspect his equipment to ensure no vandalism had taken place.”

“And what kind of equipment would that be, Doctor?”

“Oh, mostly cryonics technology — state-of-the-art freezing equipment. Chuck’s working to identify thermophilic microorganisms. Bacteria, fungi, and yeasts that can survive extreme temperatures. Chuck’s research is twofold: Thermophilic organisms could be used in fermentation processes for bioenergy or industrial applications. Or they could withstand conditions in outer space. Chuck has suggested that could be useful in experimentation or sustainable food production on deep-space missions.”

“Cool,” Mulder murmured. “Or hot, whichever the case may be.”

“Yes,” the director sighed, either missing Mulder’s humor or crossing the street to avoid it. “Mr. Ortiz is in the staff lounge, as you asked, and Chuck’s consulting on a project downstairs. Who would you like to interview first?”

“I’m sure Ortiz has better things to do with his time off — let’s take him first,” Mulder said.

* * *

“Weird thing is…” Ortiz began. He looked to the poster of Einstein on the lounge wall behind the agents.

“Mr. Ortiz?” Scully prompted. “Anything might be important here. We’re here to pinpoint any breach in security that could constitute a terrorist risk.”

The night custodian smiled microscopically, as if he were considering the terrorist risk posed by a middle school-aged boy. “Well, it’s just you’re gonna think I’m crazy or something. But there was something about that kid. Familiar-like. I didn’t know him, but it was like I did. Crazy, right?”

“Crazy’s my business, Mr. Ortiz,” Mulder deadpanned.

From the look on Ortiz’ face, Scully could see he was convinced.

* * *

Dr. Charles Fishbein looked precisely like a Dr. Charles Fishbein should. Lab rat-white, blue-gray smudges under the eyes under a pair of decade-outdated wire rims, Sears brown tie anchoring a yellow short-sleeved shirt accessorized with a trio of Bic pens. Behind him, a Sikh in an incongruous turban-lab coat combo affixed vials to a centrifuge.

“Children have no place in a scientific facility,” Charles Fishbein stated, sounding precisely like a Charles Fishbein. “The potential for damage — I’m not sure we have a piece of hardware here that retails under $10,000, and the cryonic unit… And, oh my God, imagine the liability — caustic chemicals, transgenic pathogens, high-voltage equipment…”

Mulder nodded empathically, Scully sympathetically. Then Fishbein frowned, laughed, and relaxed, looking suddenly like far less of a Charles Fishbein. “Wow, you work in a place like this long enough, closed up all day with brilliant but socially challenged researchers — present company excepted, Kalil…”

Kalil nodded somberly and launched the high-tech Tilt-a-Whirl. Mulder turned, in need of a Dramamine.

“– you can really start to sound pompous and irascible. What I guess I mean is, kids should be outside on a day like this, playing slow-pitch or skateboarding. My mom was a bacteriologist and Pop was a molecular biologist. Science, academics — they were everything to those two. Not much time for recreational photosynthesis, you know what I mean?”

Mulder smiled meditatively. Scully glanced fleetingly at her partner. Charles Fishbein morphed back into Charles Fishbein.

“Honestly, Agents, I have no idea how anyone could get past the scanner, much less a child. Dr. Musli has only infant children, and Dr. Petersen and his, er, life partner, well, you know…”

“I think I do, Dr. Fishbein,” Mulder said. “Fascinating field you’re in. I’ve done a little reading on thermophilic organisms. You ever read the reports of silicon-based life forms identified in the volcanic substrata of–”

“Pure urban legend,” Fishbein tsked. Mulder knew better — knew all too well — but he caught Scully’s cautionary stare.

“Probably. Hey, you ever work with Lisa Ianelli at M.I.T?”

Fishbein’s eyes grew momentarily wary behind his lenses, then he recovered. “I think I’ve heard the name before, but she’s not really in my discipline. Why do you ask?”

Mulder shrugged. “Ianelli did some work with cryonics, that’s all. Just thought. Hey, Scully, why don’t we just let Dr. Fishbein get back to work. I want to look at that retinal scanner data again.”

“Sure, Mulder,” Scully drawled dubiously. “Dr. Fishbein.”

Charles Fishbein nodded curtly, in a very Charles Fishbein sort of way. “Agents. Good luck.”

“Don’t work too hard, Doctor,” Mulder grinned. “Beautiful day out.”

Fishbein paused. “Oh. Yes,” he stammered.

* * *

“Wait up a second! Hey! Agents!”

Mulder and Scully turned as the large man trotted across the lab’s rose marble lobby floor. His hand was out 10 feet before he panted to a halt.

“Jake Rusterman,” the man breathed, squeezing Mulder’s hand. He nodded to Scully. “You two are looking into Tuesday’s ‘sighting’ in the thermophilic research lab, right? Well, I hesitate to speculate, but given all the crap you see in the news, I feel like I’d be remiss…”

Mulder held up a palm. “If it would help, Dr. Rusterman, I could invoke the Patriot Act and hit you a few whacks with a nightstick.”

Rusterman chuckled. “OK, sorry. And it’s Mr. Rusterman. Jake. I’m in communications for the lab — probably the dumbest guy on staff. But I was a reporter, up in Wauconda, and I’m maybe a little better at putting things together than some of the big brains in residence. Thing is, when I heard Renaldo saw a boy in Chuck Fishbein’s lab, it clicked with something kinda hinky… Oh, gee, if I’m wrong, though…”

“Mr. Rusterman, it is the duty of all free Americans to come to the aid of local, state, federal, and mall law enforcement when the security of our homeland and the sanctity of the republic…”

“Yeah, all right. Sorry. See, Chuck’s single, a loner — nothing unusual among some of these hard science types. But a few weeks ago, I saw him at a Little League game — my sister’s kid was playing. Great fielder, but he could use a little focus at the plate, you know? Anyway. I’m thinking, this isn’t like Chuck. He isn’t really, you know, athletically inclined, and he’s got no family in the area anymore. So I decide to see what’s up, if anything’s hinky. But Chuck spots me and skates, like the Mob’s after him or something. Then I see this boy at the other end of the bleachers watching him leave. Two seconds later, the kid follows Chuck. It seems hinky, and, well, you know journalistic instinct. I follow the kid, and he gets in a car with Chuck and the two of them drive off. I’m thinking it seems kinda hinky.”

“What do you think?” Scully asked, a spark of anxiety in her voice. “Are you suggesting Dr. Fishbein and this boy…?”

“Wait,” Rusterman sighed, with mingled reluctance and reportorial fervor. “I didn’t want to think Chuck might be some kinda pedophile or anything, so, well, I’ve been tailing him after he gets off work here. He’s been leaving right on the dot, which is weird for him because he usually doesn’t clock out ’til eight or nine. Guess where he’s been going?”

“To the old ballgame,” Mulder sang.

“Yeah. But not to the same park. He picks up this kid at his house, takes him to the park, sends him to the opposite end of the stands, and then they leave separately. But get this. They’ve been going to different ballparks each time, all over Chicagoland and the Western Burbs. Not once at the same park, not once where the same teams were playing. Hinky, huh?”

“H to the hizzle,” Mulder agreed. “You think you could ID this boy, if we got a sketch from Mr. Ortiz?”

“Sure, I guess. Wish I’d kept up the tail Tuesday, but my sister had me over to dinner. You think old Chuck brought the kid here? Cause it would be bad enough if Chuck was a chickenhawk, but if this hit the Chicago Trib…”

“We don’t know what to think yet, Mr. Rusterman,” Scully pre-empted. “But thank you for coming forward with this. We’d ask you, though, to keep this to yourself. For the time being.”

“Jeez, that’s my job.” Rusterman saluted and lumbered off.

Outside the lab, Scully looked quizzically at Mulder.

“Hinky,” he responded.

She nodded, pursing her lips. “But I bet you know what to think. Right?”

“I do, my little prescient soulmate. But I have to warn you…”

“I may not believe it. Yeah, yeah, blah, blah. Hit me with it, X-Man.”

“I don’t think we’re dealing with pedophilia, man-boy love, or anything else, Wolverine. Chuck and his young friend have been hitting different parks, different teams, nearly every night, with no interaction. I think they’re scouting.”

“Scouting? What’s that a euphemism for? Do I want to know?”

Mulder laughed condescendingly. “At the risk of a left testicle, Scully, it’s a guy thing.”

* * *

It took a few calls, semi-official threats of federal invasiveness, and a lot of Googling. But two days later, Mulder shared a cup of java and a FAX with Renaldo Ortiz and Jake Rusterman. Rusterman’s chair squeaked back on the lounge tile.

“Yeah, maybe a little older, but that’s the kid. Why’s the name blacked out?”

“Protect the innocent. Jack Webb.” Mulder turned to Ortiz, who looked up curiously from the photocopied school photo from Ohio. “Is it him?”

“Absolutely,” the custodian nodded eagerly. “Like I said, it’s crazy. But he looks so familiar, you know?”

“Can Agent Scully and I have a moment, guys, mano a mano?” Mulder requested. The pair filed out, and he smiled triumphantly. “Remember how hinky Fishbein got when I asked him about Lisa Ianelli?”

“Quit using that word. Yes, I remember.”

“Well, I found out he did some post-doctoral work where Ianelli’s teaching now, out west. Even after her little misadventure in time and cryogenics, she couldn’t totally let go of her work with Yonechi and Nichols. She started communicating with ‘Chuck,’ bouncing her theories off him. I think Fishbein managed to put it all together and finished Lisa’s work. His thermophilic research may only be a cover for developing the cryonic means to withstand time travel Ianelli merely suspected.”

Scully’s jaw worked. “But Mulder, that would be a Nobel-prize-winning breakthrough, not to mention the societal implications. Why would he keep something like this secret?”

Mulder smiled. “I think maybe Fishbein is more thoughtful, more cognizant of risk and consequence than Lisa was. I think he reasoned out the potential harm his discovery could wreak in the infamous wrong hands. And I think he had much smaller fish to fry.”

“Smaller fish? Mulder, where are we going with this?”

“Buy me some peanuts and Crackerjacks…” Mulder crooned.

* * *

It was just before six when Mulder and Scully cruised past Charles Fishbein’s SUV toward the parking lot of the nearby city park. Mulder watched as a man and boy climbed from the vehicle and parted company. Fishbein was in his seat near the home team dugout within minutes; the boy settled in on a line with the mound.

“The Eagle has landed,” Mulder announced, emerging from behind a port-a-john. “We’ll reconnoiter at the seventh inning stretch for corn dogs.”

“Yum,” Scully murmured.

* * *

The boy jumped as Scully squatted next to him on the sun-warmed aluminum bleacher. She flashed her ID low and quickly, and he slumped, eyes filled with fear.

“Am I, is he, are we, am I in trouble?” he croaked. “I just knew we were gonna get in trouble.”

Scully placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You’re not in trouble…Charles?”

* * *

Fishbein nearly choked on his last bite of hotdog and bun as he spotted the petite redhead settling next to the boy. He dropped his Coke and started to rise, but Mulder placed a hand on his shoulder and dropped onto the bleacher.

“Relax, Chuck — it’s just the bottom of the second,” the agent smiled. “Scully will keep, ah, you busy while we talk a little sports.”

“I don’t know what you’re–” Dr. Fishbein sputtered.

“You ever read any Sherlock Holmes when you — he was growing up?” Mulder asked, nodding toward the boy conversing with Scully. “Well, Holmes postulated that if you were forced to eliminate every logical solution to a problem, whatever remained, however improbable, had to be the answer. The problem here was how our mysterious boy managed to bypass a retinal scanner and enter a restricted laboratory, then leave the lab without setting off every alarm in the joint. Well, the answer is, our boy didn’t bypass anything.

“I reexamined the biometric and retinal scanner data the night of the ‘visitation.’ Turns out the scanner ‘read’ your retinal signature twice before disengaging the electronic lock. Why twice? Because the scanner scanned both you and the boy, whose retina was identical to yours. You both scanned through because you were afraid the biometric system would ‘see’ two bodies outside the lab. If there were two bodies and only one retinal scan, the folks at the lab could just figure something was off with the equipment. You needn’t have worried, though: You two only left one signature.”

Fishbein’s forehead wrinkled, and for a second, the scientist was back. “Really?”

“You forgot one of the primary rules of physics, Doctor. Matter cannot be created or destroyed. Somehow, through some hinky little law of nature, the biometric scanner could only read one Charles Fishbein. See, once I discovered you’d been in communication with Lisa Ianelli and had a lab full of cryonic equipment, I reasoned you were having a little fun with the space-time continuum.”

Fishbein’s bravado had been building as Mulder speculated. “I’m interested in how you plan to explain this to the director.”

“I asked myself, if I could go back in time, what would I do? Kill Hitler? Stop Oswald? Buy Microsoft stock? Tell Bill Clinton to hire the intern with the unibrow and the prominent Adam’s apple? No. I’d go back to my tender adolescence and kick my sorry butt into shape. And I think that’s what you decided to do. I talked to your sister, back in Cleveland. She said your folks put a lot of pressure on you, demanded perfect grades, had your degree program pretty well figured out by the time you were eating paste in kindergarten. Not a lot of time for fun. For baseball.”

Fishbein studied his hands, clasped in his lap. “I had to go to friends’ houses just to watch the Indians play — Mom and Pop thought television was an instrument of the ignorant masses. And they thought even less of sports. ‘Narcissism for the imagination-deficient,’ Pop said.”

“My dad was a scientist, too,” Mulder said quietly. “The day they announced baseball tryouts at my junior high school, I asked Dad to buy me a fielder’s mitt. He very calmly asked me why a young man of my ‘aptitudes and intellect’ wanted to play ‘silly games in the dirt.’ He suggested I go out for rugby or lacrosse if I ‘felt the need to flex my physical confidence.’ Instead, I joined the astronomy club and the debate team. Quit the team when they told me to argue against life in outer space.”

“My P.E. teacher said I had promise, wanted me to go out for junior varsity,” Fishbein mumbled. “Dad caught me at tryouts and told the principal to order Mr. Todson to quit ‘harassing’ me. I was a pariah after that.”

“Someday, maybe I’ll show you what I looked like with Spock ears. I’m lucky I ever got laid.” Mulder leaned back, propping his elbows on the riser behind them. “You decided to correct the course of destiny, what, get back the Major League career your parents cheated you out of? Except if you went back to ‘coach’ Little Chucky, they’d only be in the way again. You had a better idea. It’s like in the majors — today’s kids make the Little Leaguers of our day look sick. You brought Chuck the Younger to the future to teach him a few 21st Century moves he — you — could use to get noticed, get on the varsity team, get a scholarship. My guess is, you return him a couple of minutes after you pick him up, so Drs. Fishbein and Fishbein won’t notice he was missing. Right?”

Fishbein’s eyes were locked on the batter, a tubby kid with his uniform shirt half-untucked.

“Was that what he was doing in the lab when Ortiz spotted him? Heading back before his folks found out? How’d you ever hide the technology from your assistants?”

“Got a good stance for a large kid,” Fishbein murmured. “What? Oh. You’d be amazed how simple the technology really is, once you grasp the principles and the cryonics element. The actual technology can be hidden in a–”

“I don’t want to know, Doctor,” Mulder interrupted.

“Of course. I understand. Don’t be concerned — I’ll dismantle the equipment and eliminate all the documentation when I’m done.” The scientist laughed. “If this works, the technology won’t even come into existence.”

Mulder thought about Scully’s university thesis on time and quantum mechanics, her theory that multiple possibilities are conceivable in multiple universes but that only a single outcome is possible in our own, even if we achieved the means to tamper with the dimension of time.

“It won’t work,” Mulder said. “Look, is he happy about this? Does he seem excited?”

“He was at first,” Fishbein said, sneaking a glance as the batter ignored a high foul that whistled past his ear. “Good eye. Uh, sorry. He was excited at first, mainly about the whole time travel thing. Of course, he didn’t know how his whole future would work out, but once I convinced him he could make the majors… But he’s been distracted lately, and, well, I should’ve set things up at home, I guess. After seeing everything at the lab, all that’s coming, everything we’ll achieve.”

“Lemme guess,” Mulder ventured. “He wants to be just like you.”

Fishbein sighed. “Yeah.”

“It’s the ineffable forces of physics at work, Chuck. This is the future, right here. Take him home, leave him alone. Let him be a kid, for better or worse, Chuck. He deserves it. You deserve it.”

Fishbein’s response was pre-empted by a rifle-like shot. The crowd came to its feet as the ball arced toward the outfield gate and the plump boy puffed down the first base line.

“Holy shit,” Fishbein murmured, his dejected expression transformed into something nearly beatific.

“Going, gooooing…” Mulder muttered, eyes widening.

“Crap,” Fishbein sighed as the ball came to Earth mere feet from the chainlink fence. The outfielders converged, and the portly batter bolted.

“He’s taking second!!” Fishbein shouted.

“Yes!” Mulder cheered, his voice merging with the crowd chorus. The boy took second as the right fielder hurled the ball toward second. Then the batter crouched and dove into a flat run for third.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Fishbein urged as the boy and the ball hurtled simultaneously toward the baseman. The boy arrived first, and the third baseman bobbled the ball. Without pausing, the batter regained his stride.

“Oh, yeah, baby!” Mulder yelled.

The pitcher threw his mask as the baseman’s arm arced. The plump runner accelerated, then disappeared in a cloud of brown dirt. The catcher snagged the ball as the batter hugged home plate, and the stands erupted. The dugout cleared as the large boy climbed to his feet and submitted to the exuberant pummeling and headlocks of his teammates. Mulder raised a palm, and Fishbein delivered a hearty slap.

“Wow,” the scientist panted.

“Yeah,” Mulder laughed.

Fishbein dropped back onto the bleacher. “I ask you, does it truly get any better than that?”

Mulder was silent for a moment, regarding the researcher’s melancholic rapture. “Actually, Chuck, it does,” he suggested gently, glancing down the stands at Scully, who was nodding, grinning, as an excited child recapped the last game-clinching play. “You just have to quit living in the past — or trying to change it. Why don’t you find an adult league? Or maybe start a team at work? Though I’ve seen your coworkers — you might need to quit your day job.” He stood. “Enjoy the rest of the game. And, Chuck, drive safely — very safely.”

“Hey, Agent,” Charles Fishbein called. Mulder turned. “William Mulder? That was your dad?”

The agent nodded.

“Wow. That must’ve been hell.”

Mulder smiled. “Purgatory, Chuck. Just purgatory.”

*end

A Day At The Races

A Day at the Races

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A.D. Walter Skinner’s Office

F.B.I. Headquarters, Washington, D.C.

Fox Mulder sat on the opposite side of the desk from his superior. It was an uncomfortable feeling, sitting there in the ‘hot seat’ without adequate backup, i.e., his partner, and today more so than usual.

Today was Scully’s annual oncological checkup. This November it would be ten years since her cancer went into its unexplained, but welcomed remission.

Neither of them had any reason to believe she would receive anything but a clean bill of health, but, even after all this time, the anxiety still played on his mind.

Mulder was determined that this summer they would celebrate, that they wouldn’t spend it chasing unmarked tanker trucks or mounting a rescue.

He was going to take her to one of those places she’d always hinted she wished they could go on a case — like Hawaii.

Skinner opened the file on his desk and studied his rogue agent while Mulder studied his fingernails. The A.D. also knew where Scully was today and, therefore, knew that Mulder’s mind was a million miles away from the task at hand.

The case he had before him was something he would normally have blown off, just from the absurdity of the initial police report.

But knowing Mulder, that absurdity would only pique his interest.

His agent had spent the last several months reestablishing his credentials as a top investigator — this — this, if it were the least bit true, had “X-File” written all over it.

“I was going to hang onto this until tomorrow when Agent Scully will be back, but I thought I’d give you the opportunity to turn it down before she had a chance to look it over,” Skinner began.

A sly grin spread across Mulder’s face as he looked up. He knew what his boss was alluding to.

This had to be a doozy if he was being given the opportunity to opt out before his partner could question his sanity.

“This case came down from the Baltimore PD. They’re a bit stymied by where their investigation has taken them on it.” Skinner told him.

“Go on, Sir…” Mulder urged when the A.D. hesitated.

“Pimlico Racetrack, the horse racing park, just outside of Baltimore, had contacted them regarding a rash of high payouts which had given the officials there cause to believe they might be the victims of a betting scam,” Skinner continued doing his best to maintain an official tone. “Over the past six months, payouts on winners, perfecta and trifecta wagering have already surpassed the 2006 totals.”

“Ouch, I’d say that’s something they didn’t bet on.” Mulder deadpanned.

Skinner’s lip curled slightly in response to Mulder’s pun. “I don’t know how familiar you are with the wagering system at horse tracks, but most people have a hard enough time picking one horse to finish first, second or third — let alone do it on a regular basis…”

“Therefore, the odds of picking a perfecta, the first and second place horse in the same race or a trifecta, the first three finishers in the same race, once again on a regular basis, are — astronomical,” Mulder added.

“Not to mention the dollars involved.” Skinner concluded.

Mulder was intrigued but not quite sure what this had to do with the X-Files. “The locals have any suspects?”

“Baltimore police started an investigation two months ago that has, so far, led to only one arrest. And a not very reliable one at that…”

“Can I see the file?” Mulder asked leaning forward to accept the file that apparently Skinner did not want to give up just yet.

“Two weeks ago, they arrested Ulysses Bailey, a previous employee at the track.” Skinner told him. “Mr. Bailey has been working with horses for the better part of his sixty-two years. He started out as a hot walker and groom and later became an exercise boy. He’s worked at tracks up and down the eastern seaboard. Bailey suffered a bad fall a little over five years ago and is no longer able to ride. So, now he spends his time moving from stable to stable, training grooms for cash.”

“You said he was a ‘previous employee’…”

“He was employed at Pimlico when he took the fall — he’s been back there for the past six months lending his ‘expertise,’ if you will, to the young talent.”

Mulder smiled again. “Why did the Baltimore P.D. arrest him?”

“They received several anonymous calls that he might have another side job — tipping bookies for a cut of the winnings.” Skinner told him bluntly.

“There’s a fair amount of that going on in any sport, Sir.” Mulder replied dryly.

“I’m well aware of that, Agent.” The A.D. responded. “According to the Baltimore detective assigned to the case, tracks up and down the eastern circuit have been experiencing a marked increase in high cash disbursements which seem to coincide with Mr. Bailey’s appearance.”

Mulder was confused. If the Baltimore P.D. already had a suspect in custody, why were they looking to the F.B.I. for assistance? There was obviously a catch here, but he’d also obviously missed it.

“I don’t get it, Sir,” Mulder commented, leaning back into his seat. “Is he still in custody?”

“No, they had no physical evidence to hold him, especially when he confessed to his method of picking winners…”

“Which is?” Mulder asked with a raised eyebrow and a slight shake of his head.

“He says he can read the horse’s mind.” Skinner closed the folder and passed it across the desk to Mulder. He watched his agent’s eyes brighten as he slid the folder from the desk and opened it.

Mulder perused the file for several minutes.

Ulysses Bailey was a whimsical-looking African-American man, originally from the bayou country of southern Louisiana.

Mulder bit his bottom lip. There was a Horse Whisperer joke here somewhere. Finally he closed the folder and stood. “Are you a betting man, Sir?”

Skinner nodded, “Just between you and me, I’ve been known to play the horses now and then. Why?”

“Well then, I wouldn’t bet against him.”

***

X-Files Office

Mulder spent the rest of the afternoon running a background check on the gifted Mr. Bailey.

He’d drifted, most of the last thirty years or so, from tracks in Miami to Saratoga, New York and everywhere in between.

Bailey’s current residence was located in a rundown area of Baltimore. It was not the area where you’d expect someone who made a living playing the ponies to reside.

Whatever he was doing with his winnings, it certainly didn’t include creature comforts.

Mulder had placed a call to the detective listed on the report, but so far, there’d been no reply to his message.

When the phone finally did ring, he found himself hoping it was his partner instead of a cocky detective.

“Mulder.”

“Agent Mulder, this is Detective Johnson, Baltimore P.D. You left me a message regarding this betting scam case I’m working.”

“Yeah,” Mulder answered. “My A.D. brought it to my attention. I wanted to get your personal take on Mr. Bailey’s claim, Detective.”

“You mean if he gets his tips right from the horse’s mouth?”

Mulder smiled, knowing the detective couldn’t see him, but kept his voice neutral. “Or mind.”

“Yeah, so he claims. Mr. Mulder. Look, I don’t know if you remember me,” Johnson paused. “You worked a case in Baltimore back in ninety-four. A case involving a man named Eugene Tooms…”

Mulder’s mind raced back to the overbearing detective who had no interest at the time in any of his theories. Yes, he remembered him. It had almost cost him and Scully their lives.

He was puzzled, but intrigued, as to why this man who had dismissed him so readily at that time would now turn a complete about-face and seek his help.

“Detective Johnson, if I remember correctly, you didn’t have much confidence in mine or my partner’s investigative skills at the time…”

“Well, let’s just say that, after that case, I learned that things aren’t always what they seem. I was hoping this particular case would find its way to you.” Johnson admitted.

There was a time when Mulder would have taken offense at the systematic shuffling of cases like these which sifted their way down through channels to end up in the X-Files basket.

Now, however, he looked at them as a challenge, because, more often than not, since his association with his now partner-in-life, his theories were often proved right.

He and Scully had had run-ins with Tooms twice early on in their partnership.

It was the first time she’d witnessed his knack for pissing off the locals with his leaps of logic.

It was also the first time he’d had a partner who was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Evidently, now so was Johnson.

“You interrogated Bailey, Detective Johnson. What do you think of his claims?” Mulder asked.

“You mean, do I think he can read a horse’s mind?” The detective snorted into the phone. “Lots of handicappers have good horse sense, especially ones that have been doing it for a career. There’s a science to it, if you want to call it that. Some of them just do the math, but no handicapper I’ve ever talked to has ever claimed he’s gotten the information right from the horses themselves.

“So you’re saying that Mr. Bailey is just lucky?” Mulder concluded. “What led you to arrest him?”

“Well, Agent Mulder, I would say he was lucky… *if* he had a reasonable amount of luck. But Bailey, he hits ’em *every* time. Anyone who wins more than six hundred dollars gambling, well, the IRS wants to know.” Detective Johnson took a deep breath. “So, we traced some of the higher payouts. Everyone we contacted told us they had gotten their tip from Mr. Bailey. We can’t find any connections between these individuals and anyone connected with the horses they cash in on, but, there’s *got* to be something more at work here than just luck…”

Mulder played some thoughts around in his mind.

Ulysses Bailey came from a part of the country steeped in mystique and “black magic”. Any number of things could lead to his remarkable luck.

Evidently Johnson suspected where his thoughts were going.

“Now, don’t get your hopes up Agent Mulder,” Johnson warned, “We’re still operating under the suspicion that there’s more than just Bailey involved here. Everyone wants a cut of the action, you know. Could be that the owners and trainers are at the heart of this thing themselves.”

“Thanks, Detective,” Mulder told him. “I’ll look over the case with my partner and we’ll get back to you.”

After a hasty “goodbye,” Johnson disconnected the call.

Mulder studied the file for a few minutes after speaking with Johnson.

He knew what it was like to find your head filled with other human voices — certainly hearing the thoughts of horses couldn’t be as horrifying.

Mulder wanted to meet Mr. Ulysses Bailey.

***

Mulder & Scully’s Townhouse

Georgetown

When Mulder opened the door to their home, his nostrils were immediately filled with the aroma of Scully’s cooking.

It wasn’t often they had a home-cooked meal during the week. Evidently, the results from her doctor visit were a cause for celebration. He dumped the case files on the sofa table as he shed his jacket and went in search of the source.

He found Scully in the kitchen, stirring a pot of pasta. She looked up at him when he entered, a soft smile easing the corners of her lips.

It was all the answer he needed. He crossed the kitchen and wrapped his arms around her. “Everything was clear,” she told him as she pulled his warm arms tighter around herself.

“Ten years, Scully; we’re gonna celebrate, I promise you.”

The conviction in his voice made her swallow hard. She wouldn’t hold him to it but she knew how much the news meant to both of them. “This year’s MUFON convention in Roswell, Mulder?” she teased.

“Nah,” he chuckled. “I was thinking someplace a lot more — tropical, actually.”

She gave the pasta another quick stir and turned in his arms to face him, “You’re serious, aren’t you…?”

“More serious than I’ve been about anything in my life. We’re both tired, Scully. We need a break.”

“Thank you,” was all she could think to say. He leaned down to kiss her. When he moved in closer and started to deepen the kiss, she pulled her lips away, “Mul — der…”

“What?”

“We’ll have burnt pasta,” she attempted to say around his persistent lips.

He pulled back finally and let out a soft sigh. “Okay — but raincheck?”

“Anytime.”

Me mouthed ‘later’ and then asked, “Do I have time to change?” He reached up to loosen his tie and slowly stepped away.

“Ten minutes. There’s some wine in the refrigerator you can open, too.”

When he returned a few minutes later in jeans and a gray t-shirt, he was carrying a couple of Bureau folders.

*Nothing like spoiling the moment,* she thought.

“It’s not what you think,” he quipped when he saw her face fall. “You’re gonna love this one.”

She caught the mischievous look on his face as he handed her a file. While he opened the wine, she leafed through its pages.

It wasn’t long before she looked up, wide-eyed, and asked “You’ve got to be kidding? Skinner gave you this? Mulder, please tell me you don’t believe…”

“Came right from the Baltimore P.D. And no, I don’t — not exactly,” he surprised her as he turned to offer her a glass. “But I’d sure like to know how he does it…”

“So, tomorrow we’re going to the races?”

“Too bad it’s not Derby Day at Churchill Downs…Scully. I bet you’d look ravishing in one of those hats…” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

Scully punched his arm. “Not in a million years.”

“Ow!”

Scully smiled as she turned away.

***

Pimlico Race Course

Baltimore, Maryland

Their Bureau badges had gotten them past track security and into the barn area the next morning.

As they crossed the paddock area, Mulder pulled the photo of Bailey from his jacket pocket and flashed it at a young man hot walking a sleek, black horse that had just come off the track from a morning exercise.

These days it was sort of unusual to find someone actually walking the horses to cool them down.

Most stables now had mechanical walkers similar to those contraptions you saw used for pony rides at county fairs.

Mulder approached the young man. “Excuse me, can you tell me where we might find this man?”

The young boy took a quick look at the photo. “You mean the General?” he glanced back and forth between the two agents.

Mulder turned to his partner and raised an eyebrow, then turned back to the boy. “Is that what they call him around here?”

“Old enough to be,” the young man snorted. “You’ll probably find him in Barn 9, talkin’ to the animals.”

As they wandered up and down the rows of stalls, horses whinnied and poked their heads out to tease each other.

It was a warm, breezy morning and it brought back memories to Scully of riding on family vacations, and of her sister dragging her through the horse barns at county fairs.

That had all been so long ago.

Missy had always been the horse lover of the family, but Scully admired their beauty just as much.

Mulder caught her far away expression. “They do have quite an aroma, don’t they?”

“I kinda like it, actually,” Scully told him as she stopped to stroke the head of a chestnut horse that had poked his head out and nuzzled her as they passed. “Haven’t you ever heard the expression ‘the outside of a horse is good for the inside of a man’?”

“Well, the horse might be, but I’ll guarantee you, the saddle wouldn’t be good for my backside.” The horse tossed his head as Mulder stepped closer and reached up to scratch the horse’s head between his ears.

“Little Green Man,” Scully commented.

“What?” Mulder looked at his partner strangely.

“Look at the halter, Mulder; his name is ‘Little Green Man.'”

A goofy grin spread across Mulder’s face, “You suppose that’s a sign, Scully? Wonder if he’s running today?”

“This horse?” The heavily-accented Hispanic voice came from inside the stall. Neither Mulder nor Scully had any idea there was someone else present.

When they both looked into the stall they noticed a Mexican gentleman briskly brushing the horse’s coat. “The only place this horse will run today is back to the barn.”

Mulder chuckled, “You’re saying I shouldn’t waste two bucks on him then, huh?”

“No, Señor!”

The horse stepped back in the stall and turned his head sharply to nip at the groom who wisely jumped out of the way. “No, sassy!” he yelled, shaking the dandy brush at the horse.

“Eduardo! You speakin’ unkindly about my man again?” The deep baritone voice came from behind the agents.

When they turned to investigate its source, they were face-to-face with an elderly African-American man, Ulysses Bailey, whose demeanor didn’t seem to fit the voice.

Ulysses wasn’t much taller than Scully, and probably didn’t weigh much more, either.

He was dressed in a finely-tailored suit, wingtip shoes and an impeccably creased fedora. He leaned heavily to his left on a finely-carved black cane.

When he snapped his fingers, the chestnut horse came back to the stall door, tossing his head almost as if in greeting.

“Today’s gonna be your day, my man,” he addressed the horse before turning back to the agents. “You must be the folks I hear are a lookin’ for me.”

“Ulysses Bailey?” Mulder asked as he flashed his badge. “This is my partner, Agent Scully.”

“My pleasure,” Ulysses tipped his hat in Scully’s direction.

“Backstretch grapevine?” Mulder asked, certain that’s how Bailey knew they were coming to see him.

“We take care of each other’s backs here. They’re all wonderin’ what the F.B.I. wants with an old man like me.” Bailey explained.

Mulder sized up the man. He looked frail underneath his expensive clothing. “There seems to be some question as to how you’re such a lucky man, Mr. Bailey.”

Ulysses took something from his jacket pocket and offered it on the palm of his hand to the horse.

“Seems to me there’s a lot more important things the government ought to be spendin’ their time with than wonderin’ ’bout somethin’ like that.” Bailey said, fondly scratching under the horse’s chin as the animal chewed his treat.

“Yes, we have to agree with you Mr. Bailey,” Scully countered. “Nevertheless, we’re here to question you.”

“Law already questioned me, Ms. Scully.”

Ulysses stepped back from the stall door and Mulder moved over, placing himself between the man and the horse. “And you told them you get your information right from the horse’s mouth?”

“Well now, I didn’t exactly put it in quite those words. You see, they don’t actually talk to me,” the African-American man chuckled. “You spend your life around somethin’, you get to know it pretty well.”

“The General has good horse sense,” the groom spoke once again from inside the stall. “But I think this one, he just be joking with him.”

Mulder glanced over his shoulder at the groom, “Evidently, he doesn’t share your confidence in Ol’ Red here.” He said as he turned back to address Mr. Bailey.

Suddenly, Mulder was shoved hard from behind, causing him to stumble into his partner, almost knocking her off her feet.

He reached out to steady her and then turned to look at the culprit.

Little Green Man bared his teeth and tossed his head again. Ulysses and the groom both laughed. “He knows you’re talkin’ unkindly about him, Mr. Mulder,” Bailey said.

“You okay?” Mulder asked his partner. When she nodded he turned to Bailey again. “How about if we all take a walk, you can tell us what they actually do say…”

As they walked away, Little Green Man whinnied and Mulder turned around. “Oh, he’s not talkin’ to you, Mr. Mulder, he’s got his eye on your partner,” Bailey chuckled.

“I understand you’ve been working around horses most of your life, Mr. Bailey,” Scully commented, ignoring Mr. Bailey’s quip and, thereby, forestalling any comment Mulder might make as they walked up the row of stalls.

She and Mulder slowed their pace as Bailey limped along beside them. “Ridin’ was a good job for a man my size. ‘Course there wasn’t much opportunity to move up for a black man back when I was ridin’, you understand. So, I did a lot of other jobs as well. Pretty much got to know all there was to know about horses and the racin’ business.”

“What happened to your leg, if you don’t mind my asking?” Scully inquired.

Bailey looked down at his left leg. “Workin’ a horse one morning and she went down on me, busted it up pretty good. But, they were able to put it back together good enough so I could walk on it again. Filly wasn’t as lucky.”

Scully bit her lip in acknowledgement.

“Don’t have the strength in it to ride anymore, but there isn’t anything I wouldn’t give to be able to climb back on a horse and feel that physical power under me. God gave the horse somethin’ special, Ms. Scully. When you’re sittin’ up there, and they’re movin’ underneath you, *so* fast, it’s like bein’ a part of the wind.”

Bailey’s poetic description made both the agents smile.

As they continued on down the long row of stalls, a dark bay horse poked his head out of a nearby stall and whinnied. “Forget it ol’ man, this lady’s taken,” Ulysses joked.

Mulder turned to the horse as he strode past and then glanced in Scully’s direction, breaking into a chuckle at her annoyed look. “Must be your red hair,” he whispered to her. “Catches their eye,” he finished with an over-exaggerated wink.

Scully said nothing, giving her partner “The Look” instead.

Bailey turned back to look at the agents, his face breaking into a warm smile as well. “All males know a pretty lady when they see one.”

“Mr. Bailey,” Mulder made an attempt to change the subject. “As you may well know, it’s been brought to our attention that you’re the subject of an investigation of what the Baltimore P.D. believes is a gambling ring. It’s been suggested that you’re tipping bookies for a share of the winnings. Do you have anything to say about that?”

They reached the fence that separated the backstretch of the track from the barns.

Several horses galloped past, urged on by their exercise riders. “Detective Johnson tell you that?” Ulysses asked as he reached up to steady himself by holding onto the top rail of the fence. “He’s the one been tellin’ everyone that I get my tips by readin’ the horses’ minds,” the elderly man let out a deep laugh and shook his head. “Ain’t nobody can do that, Mr. Mulder.”

Mulder flashed a glance at his partner. “Then how is it you’re so lucky at picking the winners, Mr. Bailey? We have several statements indicating that *you* are responsible for the information winners have used to place their bets.”

“Whoo-eee — if I was *that* lucky, I’d be a rich man, that’s for sure. You see, it’s not *me* that’s the lucky one, Sir. It’s the person who places the bet.”

Scully watched a group of horses being led off the track by their grooms. The brisk morning breeze ruffled their manes and tails and tossed her own hair in front of her face.

She turned slightly away from the wind. “Let me see if I understand this correctly,” she began. “Somehow you know what horse is going to win a race, so you pass this information on to an individual who, in turn, places a bet on that horse and wins big. Some might consider that illegal, Mr. Bailey.”

“It *would* only be illegal, Ms. Scully, if everyone else out there on the track knew which horse was going to win the race and made sure that happened. I’m not exactly sure how I know, Ms. Scully,” Bailey answered keeping his eyes on the horses as they left the track.

Bailey shrugged and continued. “Some of them are just due. You know that sayin’ ’bout havin’ your fifteen minutes of fame? Everybody gets one in their lifetime. I just gets the feelin’ when an animal’s about to have theirs.

“And then some of them — the ones everyone thinks are at the top of their game, just aren’t ready,” he nodded towards a bay horse that was being led alone from the track. “Now take ‘Seek the Truth’ there; she’s the favorite in the stakes race this Saturday, she’ll go off as the favorite but she won’t win, she’s tired.”

“But *she* didn’t tell you that?” Scully asked, somewhat annoyed by the conversation as she watched the horse being led away.

“No, Ma’am. I mean she’s fit and everything, but her heart’s just not in it right now.”

Mulder studied his partner but said nothing.

“So, that’s what you base your tips on? And yet you say you *can’t* read their minds.” Scully gave her partner an irritated look.

“It’s not hard, Miss. I sees it in their eyes. Sometimes you just have to know where to look.”

“Yes, well,” Scully hesitated at the memory the elderly man’s comment brought to mind. “I think it’s more a matter of someone tipping you to the fix for the day, Mr. Bailey.”

“Lot of that goes on at the tracks, Ms. Scully.” Bailey suddenly didn’t seem so pleased with the direction the conversation was going. “Even if I knew what the fix was, I wouldn’t be a part of it. My Mama didn’t raise me that way.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply…” Scully started to say. “Then what exactly *is* your explanation?”

Bailey glanced at Mulder. There was a certain twinkle in the elderly man’s eyes. “I don’t rightly know, Miss. I don’t think it’s up to me. You see, I was raised on the bayou. There’s a magic down there not many can explain. I just sees when a horse is going to have his moment and I sees someone who needs the benefit of that moment and I just tell them. I think the magic takes over from there.”

Mulder had been watching the horses on the track and seemed distracted, and, being so, was now the subject of Scully’s exasperation.

It was almost as if he wasn’t even interested in the conversation, and yet, she knew he often distanced himself from her interrogations to toss his own theories about in his head.

She could only imagine where he would go with this one.

Finally, Mulder turned to Bailey. “Like a horse whisperer, or a dog whisperer, a cat whisperer?”

Bailey laughed. “Ain’t nobody can figure out a cat, Mr. Mulder.”

Scully had had enough. “I’ll see you in the car, Mulder,” she said abruptly and then turned to walk away.

“My partner’s not exactly open to all kinds of possibilities, Mr. Bailey,” Mulder apologized. So, what about ‘Little Green Man’? You said today was his day.”

Bailey smiled widely. “Yes Sir, Mr. Mulder; ninth race. You bet him for your lady.”

Mulder smiled and reached out to shake Bailey’s hand. “It was interesting meeting you Mr. Bailey,” he said and then decided he just had to know something else. “By the way, how did the horse get his name? The owners aren’t U.F.O. buffs or something, are they?”

“What? Oh — THOSE people? No, Sir. Owners are Irish,” Bailey winked.

***

Mulder caught up with Scully at the gate. “Hey, Scully! What’s your hurry?”

“‘Cat whisperer,’ Mulder?”

“Interesting, interesting character, Mr. Bailey, isn’t he?” Mulder asked as they headed across the lot to their car.

“Bailey? I think he sips a little too much out of that flask he carries in his pocket.” Scully told him. “I wonder if he spikes the sugar cubes he passes to the horses while he’s talking to them. He’s not connected to this gambling ring, Mulder; someone’s just fingering him to draw officials away from those who are really involved.”

“I think you’re right,” Mulder replied nonchalantly and Scully turned to him with a surprised look on her face. “I mean about someone else being involved.”

When they reached the car, Mulder hesitated. “Hey Scully, how about a day at the races?”

“Mulder, we’re on the clock.”

“So, now we’re off the clock. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Scully looked at her partner standing on the opposite side of the car. The wind tossed his dark hair and then he broke into one of those goofy grins she couldn’t resist. “You must have something in mind.”

“A hunch.”

***

Mulder treated Scully to lunch in the clubhouse as a payback for dragging her out there.

It was a beautiful May afternoon. The crowds from last week’s Preakness Stakes, the second leg of the historic Triple Crown series, were long gone and it felt good to just relax and enjoy the day.

“What are you going to tell Skinner if he calls?” Scully asked after a sip of wine.

“Nothing, he’ll go right to voice mail.”

“You have your phone *off*? Mulder…”

“You let me deal with Skinner,” he told her around a bite of marinated chicken. “Where’s yours?”

When she pulled it from her pocket he reached across the table and snatched it out of her hand, quickly turning it off and then handing it back to her.

Her eyes went wide. “Mulder, what has gotten into you?”

“Life,” he told her straight-faced. “I think it’s time we started living it. Besides,” he glanced around at the rest of the business crowd who also seemed to be playing hooky for the afternoon. “I think I could get used to this.”

Scully smiled. This was a side of her partner he rarely let other people see: those times when he let his guard down and became the gentle man she knew he was.

Turning to look out at the sun-baked track she had to admit the afternoon was turning out better than she had thought it would this morning. “What are we going to do about Mr. Bailey?” She finally turned back and asked him.

His brow creased as he took a swig of his beer. “Nothing, Scully. I don’t think there’s anything we need to do. If he’s tipping people, it’s not for profit; at least not his own. I think he’s right; something else is at work here.”

“Magic, Mulder?”

He snorted. “Well, that’s not what I was about to say, but I think there’s a little of that, too.”

The call to the post came for the start of the first race. Mulder finished up his beer and waived the waiter over to ask for the check. “Come on, you want to go sit outside?” he asked his partner and she nodded.

While he waited for Scully to use the restroom, Mulder bought a couple of seats in the lower boxes and a program for the afternoon’s races.

When she joined him, he led Scully through the door and out into the early afternoon’s mild air.

The breeze was still stiff out of the south and ruffled their hair. Scully noticed that Mulder didn’t seem to mind that his was almost standing straight up. They took their seats and Mulder handed the program to his partner. “Pick one for the first race.”

“I don’t know anything about picking horses,” she replied as she leafed through the track program.

“Neither do most of these other people,” her partner answered. “Doesn’t seem to be stopping them.”

“Little Green Man is fifty-to-one in the morning line.” Scully read from the program.

“What?” He answered her without taking his eyes off the track. She watched him dig in his breast pocket for his sunglasses and slip them on. He then loosened his shirt collar and tie and shed his jacket, tossing it over the empty seat in front of them.

“You comfortable now?” Scully asked, eyeing him.

Mulder turned to look at her with a smirk on his face. “Yeah, I am.”

“According to the program, Mr. Bailey’s pick was listed at fifty-to-one odds this morning, Mulder. Evidently he knows something the rest of the handicappers don’t.”

“The ‘Man’ isn’t running in this race is he?” Mulder looked at her, somewhat concerned.

“No, ninth race. I was just looking ahead.”

“You going to give me a pick for this race?” He asked snatching the program from her and leafing through it himself.

Scully leaned against his shoulder. “Can’t we just watch?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” He asked her with a smile. “Just pick a number, Scully.”

Scully watched the horses walk by the grandstand one more time. She liked the gray and gave Mulder the horse’s number. He whisked himself off and came back a few minutes later to hand her the ticket. “Here you go. Good luck.” She took the ticket from him and tucked it into her pocket.

Gazing out towards the backstretch where the moveable starting gate was for this race, Scully wished she had brought along her shades as well.

Race fans used to need binoculars to see the other side of the track. These days most tracks were equipped with closed-circuit television.

Now, along with keeping track of the odds on each horse in the race, dollars wagered, and other information, you could watch the entire race perfectly from the giant screen on the infield tote board.

The race began and Mulder laughed silently as he listened to his partner cheer for her horse. The filly had gone off as the favorite; she wasn’t going to win much. At two-to-one odds his partner would only win two dollars for every dollar she had bet.

They both watched the screen until the horses came around the clubhouse turn and started down the stretch, heading for home.

As they came down the stretch and past the grandstand the gray filly slipped in along the rail and caught the field at the finish line to take the race.

“Oh my God, Mulder, she won!” Scully pulled the ticket from her pocket and excitedly waived it in his face.

“See. Must be magic,” he chuckled at her enthusiasm.

The afternoon went quickly; Scully found herself enjoying the excitement of each race. Mulder was just enjoying watching his partner.

However, by the seventh race, Scully’s beginner’s luck had disappeared.

In an attempt to cut her losses, she had gone from choosing her selections from win to buying show tickets in hopes they would at least come in third. She had only picked three out of the first seven races.

When her pick for the seventh race had finished fourth she tore up the ticket and turned to her partner. “I give up. *You* pick this one.”

The sun had come around the grandstand warming their seats. Mulder stood and pulled off his loosened his tie altogether, stuffing it in his jacket pocket and then rolled up his shirt sleeves.

Scully noticed the group of elderly ladies sitting in the box to their right eyeing his fine form. She laughed to herself. Mulder had that effect on women of all ages. “You want something to drink?” he asked her and she nodded.

Mulder was gone so long Scully was afraid she would be watching the eighth race by herself.

When he finally returned, he handed her a tall iced tea and a ticket to win on number 3.

“Where were you?” she asked, watching him gulp down his own tea.

“Went to see a man about a horse. I went to the restroom, Scully” he amended at her bizarre expression.

Scully looked at the ticket she held in her hand and then at the program. ‘It’s Magic,’ Mulder? Our horse’s name is ‘It’s Magic’? This is a ten dollar win ticket!”

“You told me to pick one, so I did. Seemed appropriate, don’t you think?” He chugged the rest of the tea and set the empty cup in the holder on the seat back in front of him, then leaned back in his seat to put his arm around her shoulders.

Three minutes later, Scully was crumpling the losing ticket and tossing it aside. “Well, I’d say it’s NOT magic. I think it’s time we quit while we’re *not* ahead, Mulder. You ready to leave?”

Mulder looked disappointed. “You don’t want to stay and see how Bailey’s horse does?”

“I don’t, but I can see you do,” she replied with a sigh.

Mulder leaned forward and grabbed his jacket off the seat in front of him. “Come on, admit it, Scully: you’re having fun. We’ll go down and watch from the rail.”

Scully arose and Mulder followed her out of the box, tossing his jacket over his shoulder.

As they climbed the few stairs out of the box and turned to head downstairs, she glanced back at the women who had been eyeing her partner earlier.

All four pair of eyes were glued on him. “You’re making quite an impression on the senior set, Mulder.”

“Excuse me?” He asked leaning down to catch what she had just said.

Scully motioned to the box of elderly ladies, “They’ve had their eyes on you all day.”

She watched him stop and turn around to look at the women she was referring to. A sexy smile played across his lips and he then gave them a slow wink.

They both watched the women giggle and turn various shades of red.

“Can’t take you anywhere, can I?” Scully tried not to laugh.

“What, I didn’t do anything…” he told her innocently as they made their way down the stairs.

Mulder slipped his jacket back on as they stepped out into the sunshine, steering Scully towards the finish line where they could get a better view.

The crowd, such as it was, had thinned out and he was able to find her a good spot where she could have an unobstructed view of the track. Her red hair glistened in the sun.

The bugler came out and called the horses to the post. Mulder pulled the program from his jacket pocket and handed it to Scully. “Last race, you pick.”

“You’re not going to bet ‘Little Green Man’?”

“He’s seventy-to-one now, Scully. You don’t seem to have too much confidence in my choices anyway.”

“You’re right,” she told him snatching the program from his hand as the horses paraded past. ‘Little Green Man’ was number eight.

As he pranced by Mulder noted how his chestnut coat glistened much the same color as his partner’s hair.

*It *has* to be a sign,* Mulder thought, and he reached in his pocket to finger the ticket he had placed in there before the previous race.

While Scully studied the program and the horses, he scanned the crowd.

It didn’t take him long to spot Bailey wobbling down from the paddock towards the rail.

Mulder watched the elderly man stop for a moment beside a young couple with a stroller. Bailey pointed to something in the program and they all laughed.

Something made Bailey look up then, and he caught Mulder’s eye and gave him the thumbs up.

“You pick a horse yet?” Mulder asked, turning back to his partner.

“Get me number 4 to show,” she told him and then turned around to watch the horses trot past on their way to the starting gate.

Mulder wandered off to get her ticket, stopping on the way back when he spotted Bailey. “Your magic better be working, Mr. Bailey,” he told him with a chuckle.

“It is, Mr. Mulder, it is. I can guarantee ya.” The elderly man grinned broadly as Mulder walked away to join his partner.

Scully’s horse broke from the gate first.

They watched the backstretch action on the tote board screen again. Bailey’s horse was on the outside in fifth place.

As the horses rounded the clubhouse turn, Mulder listened to the call of the race over the loudspeaker. His heart pounded in his chest.

He hadn’t done anything this spur of the moment in a long, long time.

Scully’s horse had dropped back to sixth but Mulder could see the flashing red mane of ‘Little Green Man’ close to the front of the field of horses as they came down the stretch.

He heard the announcer say that his horse had moved into the lead. “Run, Red, Run!” he yelled, losing his composure completely and banging his fist on the rail.

Scully turned around to look at him in disbelief just as the horses thundered past them across the finish line, ‘Little Green Man’ pulling ahead of the rest of the contenders.

“YES!!!” Mulder roared, then wrapped his arms around his partner and lifted her from her feet.

“Mulder! Put me down!” *God, what has gotten into him today?* she wondered.

Someone squealed with delight from the crowd behind them and Mulder turned, Scully still in his arms, to see the young couple whom he’d seen Bailey talking to before the race, hugging each other excitedly.

When he set her back down on her feet, Scully looked up at him. “I don’t believe it,” she said, tossed her losing ticket on the ground.

Okay, it was kind of exciting to see the long shot horse win the race, but the whole affair left her a little bit suspect.

Mulder had a very suspicious grin on his face. “Can we go now?” she asked.

Mulder searched the crowd for Bailey but he didn’t see the elderly man. “Yeah,” he smiled. “But not before we cash in our winning ticket,” he told her, producing the ticket he had purchased earlier in the day and handing it to her.

“You didn’t…” she said, accepting the winning ticket on number 8 from him. Suddenly her eyes went wide as she scanned the ticket. “Mulder, this is a five hundred dollar *win* ticket!”

“And he went off at eighty-to-one.” Mulder watched her do the math in her head.

He bit his tongue when he saw the realization hit her.

“Mulder … that’s for — oh my God!” He leaned down as her arms flew up to wrap around his neck.

***

At 10:00 A.M. the next morning they were both seated in their customary positions in the Assistant Director’s office.

This time, Mulder felt much more comfortable with his backup once again seated next to him. They both watched as Skinner thumbed through the report Mulder had typed with flying fingers earlier that morning.

“You know, agents, your recommendations for a sting operation to identify the operatives in this gambling ring reads like a movie script. You found no evidence that Mr. Bailey might be involved?” Skinner looked annoyed.

Hey, it had worked for Paul Newman and Robert Redford. “No Sir,” Mulder replied.

“I tried to reach you yesterday,” Skinner commented looking up to meet Mulder’s eyes.

“Sorry, Sir, I must have forgotten to charge the battery on my phone,” Mulder squirmed.

Skinner studied his wayward agent and then looked pointedly at his partner. “Both of you?”

“Ah — no, Sir,” Scully looked uncomfortably at her partner. “I must have forgotten to turn mine on yesterday morning…”

“Might I suggest that you both make sure at least one of you has a working phone before you leave the house in the morning? It might have prevented you from wasting the entire day.” Skinner scolded them.

Mulder glanced at his partner, then back to Skinner. “Excuse me, Sir?”

“Detective Johnson called. Baltimore P.D. got a much more lucrative lead they’re following up on.” Skinner closed the file. “He wanted to extend his apologies and hoped that I hadn’t pulled you off of something that would have been a lot more productive.”

Beside him, Scully was secretly *very* happy that ‘Little Green Man’ had crossed the finish line mere seconds after 5:00 p.m., the Bureau’s regular weekday quitting time.

“Oh, I don’t know, Sir,” Mulder replied, the corner of his lip curling into a wry smile. “Yesterday was a pretty productive day.”

The End

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Semper Fi

Semper Fi

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‘Loyalty means nothing unless it has at its heart the absolute principle of self-sacrifice.’ –Woodrow T. Wilson

========

TEASER

========

“Come on, Joel! This isn’t fun anymore – they could shoot us on sight!”

“Don’t be so silly, MB. There are laws against them doing that.”

“But they *are* the law! It’s a military base–”

“Which is why we’re here!”

“And they could shoot us for trespassing!”

Joel Hollins gave a dismissive shake of his head and continued onward through the moonlit brush – not bothered either way if his girlfriend, Marybeth Wooke, followed or not.

Curiosity was getting the better of him, of course. If it hadn’t been for that he wouldn’t have felt compelled and daring enough to drive the fifty-three miles to the outskirts of Andel, New Hampshire in the middle of the chilly April night to

carefully stalk through the wooded area surrounding the top secret naval base, in search of what he’d been promised by some drunken friends was the ultimate spot for watching UFOs. In his own defense, he had been dubious of what they’d said at the time and brushed it off as nothing more than BS – only intending to drive here and drive home again for face sake. But as he weaved his way through the bushes and low-hanging tree branches, there was just something in the air forcing him ahead.

“Seriously, Joel, I wanna go home!” Wooke whined again, crossing both arms across her chest and nervously turning in a circle to check for anybody that may be watching them.

“So go walk back already,” came the hushed, sharp reply from the darkness. “Why d’ you have to bitch so–”

Hollins’ words were cut short by a sudden sonic boom as a blinding shaft of light struck into ground not four feet ahead of him – illuminating the sky for only a second, but long enough for the startled trespasser to see the severed body of a

uniformed man lying where the unknown white object from the heavens had impacted. He stumbled backwards, falling onto his butt as the naval base to his right came to life; sirens wailing and officers running out of the buildings. Everything became a blur and he was paralyzed for a moment before he finally frantically tried to scramble away – Marybeth’s fleeing scream and the image of the dead body embedded firmly in his brain.

“Halt! Stay where you are!”

There was the sound of a gun being cocked and Joel, terror and adrenaline pumping so fiercely through his veins that his heart was finding it difficult to cope, looked up, blinking several times against the flashlight beam before focusing on the soldier

aiming an assault rifle at him.

Only a matter of seconds later there was a large circle of troops surrounding him and he knew all hope was gone. All he could do now was pray that the blood of the mutilated officer would be the only flow staining the soil tonight.

========

ACT ONE

========

With a deep sigh, Dana Scully folded the dog-eared sheet of paper and cast a dubious glance in her partner’s direction as their rental car crossed the New Hampshire state line. She’d already read the printed e-mail through four times since he’d handed it to her and then hastily ushered her out of their basement office early this morning, but she was still unclear on 1: why Mulder was so eager to investigate this case – eager enough to not even submit a 302 to Skinner before their butts

were on the plane out of Dulles, or 2: …Actually, she didn’t really have a 2 – 1 encompassed pretty much all the questions buzzing around in her head. Over the years, Dana had come to not be too shocked by any trick Mulder chose to pull out of his hat, but this one was a little too vague and unbelievable even for him.

“So, how did we get roped into this again?” she asked, breaking the stretch of companionable silence and crossing both arms across her chest.

A wry smile broke out on Mulder’s face, but he kept his gaze focused on the road ahead of them. This had become a perfunctory dance between them: he whisked them away and she struggled to find the rational reason for their involvement with

the breadcrumb of a case he’d been thrown – that was just the way it always had been and, more than likely, the way it always would be. He was just surprised it had taken her so long to pipe up.

“You’ve read the e-mail, Scully – several times in fact. The abduction of a twenty-four year old male in the woods? Why shouldn’t we be ‘roped’ into this?”

“Outside a ‘top secret’ naval base no one’s ever heard of?”

The fact she’d never even heard of the town Andel was no big surprise as it was just another in a long line of Podunk, no-name places they’d passed through over the years, but her father had literally been a walking, talking encyclopedia on every

naval base in America who’d always been sure to impart some of his knowledge to his four growing children as he’d tucked them into bed each night. Her memory may not be as eidetic as Mulder’s, but Andel Naval Base had definitely not been one Bill

Senior had mentioned.

“And since when do we investigate any old drunken claim of alien abduction? Come on, Mulder, you gotta admit this is a bit hinky sounding, even to you.”

“‘Hinky’?”

“Mulder…”

The cautionary tone cut short his snort of laughter and wiped the smile from his face. “My gut, Scully,” he shrugged, “Just an old-fashioned hunch, and when has that ever let us down?”

Scully’s eyebrow lifted and she fought to keep the mirth from her voice as she curtly replied, “You really want me to start counting them off?”

“Okay, okay. But Laura’s a level-headed person and she believes–”

“‘Laura’?” Her brow lifted even higher.

“Agent Balk, who sent the e-mail.”

“Which leads me to my next question: how do you know this woman? Her message seemed very pally – all these women keep crawling out of the woodwork…Is there something I should know?”

The warning lights in his head begun to flash as the palpable level of pissed-offness in her voice hit home, and his mouth frantically moved in silence for a second as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat and tried to think of a way to back-pedal the conversation a little. This would teach him for not just telling her properly about the case from the start instead of waiting for her to query.

“She…She’s an agent from the Boston field office… She likes to dabble in cold cases and stuff with an unexplainable slant… She’s contacted me a couple of times for an opinion on anything she’s been investigating… You know you’re the only woman–”

His voice trailed off at the sound of movement and a sniffle from beside him. With Panic Face firmly in place, his head swiftly snapped around to glance at her, only to find Scully a mere few inches away from him and a smug grin lifting her cheeks.

The eyebrow was still firmly in its raised position, though.

Dana faltered and lingered for an instant – his warm, deep breaths stroking across her skin – as she took in his worried expression. Pulling his leg every now and then was fun, especially considering how much he liked to rib her, but that look of terror and pain chilled her to the bone.

“I had you,” she whispered gleefully, leaning in to place a chaste kiss against his lips and hoping it would be the instant cure to soothe his over-anxious soul. “Big time.” Nodding her head toward the windshield, gesturing for him to return his attention to the road, she rested back down in her seat.

Then again, even if she hadn’t on her own accord, the force of the rush of relieved breath that shot of his mouth would have undoubtedly blown her back.

“Scul-ly…” he groaned, wiping a hand down his face as the other tightly gripped around the steering wheel. “That’s not funny!”

“Oh, come on, Mulder! You usher me out on some pointless case without filling me in on what’s going on and don’t expect me to have a little payback fun?” Scully playfully pouted and shrugged a shoulder. “What side of the bed did you get out this

morning?”

There was a pause for a moment of contemplative silence, and then – shifting a little yet again in the driver’s seat – wryly smirked, “Your side, rolling off of you after an exhausting-but-wonderful session of great wake-up sex.”

Scully gave an agreeable, affirming nod. At least he remembered the important things in life. “Exactly, so stop acting so guilty. Besides, we’re together pretty much every second of the day: I think I’d know if you were sniffing elsewhere. The only

other place you frequent without me is the Gunmen’s office and… Well, I don’t even think I wanna know if there’s something going on ther–”

“Scully!”

At his hurt exclamation they both burst into laughter, and – though it hadn’t been at all heavy before – the atmosphere in the vehicle suddenly felt at least ten times lighter. They remained silent for the next mile or so, enjoying each others’ company, and then Scully reached down to pick up the printed e-mail that had slipped to the floor, giving it yet another cursory glance before placing it safely on the dashboard.

“Soooo,” she sighed, a thin hand reaching up to brush an errant strand of copper hair away from her eyes, “getting back to the question I know you’re trying to avoid: how did we get roped into this?”

“I spoke to Agent Balk just before you got to the office this morning, and she didn’t have much else to say from what she’s put in her message: she was driving back late from the federal building in Portsmouth when this young woman, screaming at the top of her voice, blindly ran out in front of her car. Laura stopped and gave Miss Wooke a ride, listened to her story and tried to calm the woman down. Wooke insists a bright light struck the ground and then she couldn’t find her boyfriend.”

“And your gut is saying that we should investigate this?”

Mulder considered her question for a second, and then – as a hand dipped into his pocket and then pulled out again to slip a sunflower seed between his lips – he gave a slow nod of his head. “Yeah.”

“Well, alright then.”

Double checking the way ahead was clear, Mulder glanced at his partner, who returned the gaze and gave a reassuring nod of her head and quirk of her lips. Yes, he regularly dragged her along without thinking to fill her in on where or why they were going, and – of course – more often than not they were cases she would

have otherwise dismissed as preposterous and a big waste of time… But his gut instinct really had helped a lot in the past, no matter how much the scientist in her tried to argue to the contrary, and if he believed that there was more to this

than met the eye, she would just have to trust him on that.

“What?” Dana shrugged dismissively, as if that was enough to answer the unspoken question creasing his features.

“Really?”

“Mulder, pay attention to the road.”

Pausing only a millisecond, he turned his head back to the tarmac road and smirked, “Well, alright then.”

~~~~~

OUTSIDE ANDEL NAVAL BASE

ANDEL, NEW HAMPSHIRE

12:42 PM

Three quarters of an hour later their rental pulled up near the crime scene…

Where a news reporter van and two police cars were parked, and a bunch of curious people were gathered, desperately hoping to see what lay well beyond the line of yellow police tape.

Mulder frowned and slowly stepped out of the vehicle, resting an elbow on the door and examining the unexpected scene. His partner did the same, ending with a glance at the naval base to her right, where she could just make out the figures of six seaman firmly pressing their noses against the chain-link fence surrounding the compound, much to the chagrin of the beckoning Chief Petty Officer approaching from behind.

“When you told me a story of alien abduction, Mulder,” she started, only affording her partner a brief glance over the roof of the car before the congregated mob demanded her attention again, “did you, by chance, leave out any key information?”

“I told you everything I was told, and – from what I could figure – everything Agent Balk was told…” came his hesitant, slightly awed reply as he shook his head.

They approached the crowd, and were about to slip under the tape when the sheriff and deputy quickly moved to step in front of them.

“Sorry, Mister, but you and the missus can turn right ’round and go back in the direction you came from – this, here, is a crime scene and no one’s getting past,” the elder of the two remarked smugly, as if he’d recited the line from his favorite movie.

Judging by the hands-on-hips and lifted chin posture, that was exactly what he’d done.

The misconception of their matrimonial and professional status was an old one that hadn’t phased them for a long time and had actually become a kind of badge of honor since their relationship had become a lot more personal, but Scully was

eagerly vying to wipe the know-it-all grin from Wyatt Earp’s pasty face.

“Actually, Sheriff,” she quickly piped up before a sound managed to pass Mulder’s already opening mouth, pulling out her ID wallet, “we’re Agents Scully and Mulder from the FBI, so how about you and Deputy Dawg here let us do our job?”

The sheriff’s smirk disappeared and he took a step back to let them pass, muttering a barely-audible apology. Mulder struggled to keep the smile from his face as he lifted the tape and let his fiery partner go under it first. As they carefully made

their way down the steep, muddy embankment, the deputy’s laughing, squeaky voice sifted its way through the air they left in their wake.

“Must be a slow day for the feds if they’re all down here! Who’s next? CIA?”

The sheriff’s deep chuckle mingled with Dawg’s, and Scully half-turned to go back and ask what he was talking about, perhaps with the help of her brandished gun, but Mulder rested a gentle, calming hand on her arm and slightly shrugged his shoulders.

“You were saying about wrong sides of the bed to get out of?” he joked, lightly nudging her with his elbow. He knew full well how annoying clueless local law officers could be, so he fully sympathized, but at the moment his curiosity to see what lay just beyond the line of trees ahead of them took precedence over

everything else – even putting dumb deputies in their place.

What actually lay beyond the trees was possibly the last thing either of them had thought to consider: a dead, mutilated body was sprawled unceremoniously on the leafy ground, and half-a-dozen people with NCIS emblazoned on their navy blue jackets and caps were milling about the scene, taking photos, gathering evidence and examining the aforementioned body.

“NCIS?” Mulder queried in a hushed tone, staring at the other team like a dog whose territory has been stolen from him by a smaller mutt.

“Naval Criminal Investi–”

“I know what it stands for. What I mean is ‘What are they doing here?'”

It was Dana’s turn to shrug. “Well, obviously,” she started, pointing toward the top half of the uniformed corpse, where three of the investigators were crouched, “things have gone a lot further from just a drunken–”

“Hey!” a sudden voice called out. They both looked up to see one of the team moving toward them. The stranger was tall, topped by a short crop of dark hair that stuck out from beneath his issued hat, mid-to-late thirties, and carried himself with a

self-confidence that far exceeded anything Mulder had ever shown, even in the very early days of their partnership fourteen years ago – a cockiness that settled naturally

on his features, and Scully figured was kind of endearing.

And then he eyed her up, flashed the cheesiest grin, and she knew she hated him completely.

“Hey, you’re gonna have to turn back,” he continued, once again focusing on her. “This is a closed-off scene.”

“Special Agent Mulder, and this is my partner Special Agent Scully – we’re from the FBI,” Mulder snarked, putting emphasis on the word ‘partner’ that reeked of testosterone. He withdrew his badge for good measure, but Scully was busy watching the smile that had suddenly faded from the younger man’s face.

“FBI?” he frowned. “Did Fornell send you or something?”

Both agents glanced at each other briefly.

“Who’s Fornell?” Mulder queried, re-pocketing his wallet. “We were called in to investigate the disappearance of a male in this very area.”

Dana gave an agreeing nod, but then noticed as the gray-haired man who had been crouching beside the lower half of the torso with what appeared to be a polystyrene cup from Starbucks in his left hand, looked up at them and authoritatively strode over.

“DiNozzo! Get those people out of here immediately and tell the sheriff to get it through his thick skull that no one should be getting down here!”

The NCIS agent turned to face his approaching superior and gestured towards Mulder and Scully. “They say they’re from the Bureau, boss.”

“I don’t care! Get rid of them!” With a dismissive wave of the coffee-cup-filled hand, the much older man turned away again.

Always knowing the best time to stick his foot in the biggest pile of crap, Mulder chose that moment to pipe up. “We’re here investigating a crime and have as much right to be here as you!”

The gray-haired man came to an abrupt stop, and his back straightened. The man only identified as DiNozzo for now pulled a shocked face and then hastily took a couple of steps away from them. The remaining four members of the investigative crew looked up with aghast faces. The older man sharply turned on his heel and pinned Mulder with a deadly stare as he took the four steps required to bring them face to face.

Scully could only watch with worry as the turf war began.

“Why don’t you go back to Fornell and tell him he sent the wrong agent to try stand up to me on the wrong day, Agent–?”

“Mulder. And, as we’ve already told your Agent DiNozzo here, we don’t know a ‘Fornell’. There was a report of someone going missing in these woods after a shaft of light hit the ground. An agent from the Boston field office asked us to find out what happened.”

“And why didn’t your fellow agent investigate himself?”

“Herself. Because my partner and I investigate…strange cases, and there was a slant on this that warranted our attention.”

‘Strange’?” the gray-haired man spat out. “A marine is dead! Does any of this look *strange* to you?” The hand tightly gripping on to the cup, as if drawing life from it, shot out to gesture toward the body.

Straightening his back to gain the extra millimeter that matched the other man’s full six foot height, Mulder cleared his throat and just as vehemently retorted, “Seeing as your marine is laying there in two halves, I’d say that’s pretty strange.”

“Actually, my dear fellow, mutilation is far from strange. Sad, yes, but not strange,” another of the men who had been closely examining the remains sighed, standing up and brushing down his dusty trousers. “And there are so many degrees of it, some

fatal, others not so much. This type of severing through the midsection is not so common as it takes a great deal of arduous work sawing through the meat and…and spinal column.” With every description the medical examiner made demonstrative

gestures with his hands. He paused for a second in thought and then, “Actually, now I think about it, I did once have to autopsy a body that–”

“Ducky!” the team leader quickly cut in, not breaking eye contact with Mulder. “You got everything you need there?”

“What? Oh, oh yes.” The man with the British accent glanced down at his assistant for a supportive agreement – which he received in the form of a slightly nervous nod. “We’ll know more when we get him back, as always.”

“Bag him, then. Ziva, McGee, you go with them. Tony, you and our two friends here can come with me on a little trip to get this smoothed out.”

“You can’t stop us from completing our investigation,” Mulder spluttered, refusing to move his feet from where he’d firmly planted them.

“Mulder,” Scully whispered, gently touching the sleeve of his jacket, “let’s just do what he says and get this sorted out with Skinner. At least then we’ll be able to proceed without any problems.”

He looked down at her, lost himself in the pools of her understanding blue eyes, and let out a deep, resigned sigh.

“Okay.”

Sharing one more stare with the older man, both wordlessly yelling at each other ‘we’re not done’, he turned away and guided his partner back toward their parked car.

XxXxXxXxX

NCIS HEADQUARTERS

WASHINGTON NAVAL BASE, WASHINGTON D.C.

Getting things ‘sorted out’ had not worked entirely in anyone’s favor, and much to his chagrin, Skinner had also been roped into the case to ‘keep an eye’ on his agents.

Basically, the final agreement between Director Shepherd of NCIS and Director Gardner of the FBI was that both teams needed to work together – both had jurisdiction, and the melding of the different expertise would help wrap things up a lot quicker.

No one had won the turf war, especially not him, and as Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs sat at his desk mulling that fact over and over, it only made him more determined to get this solved before the Bureau mob returned from the woods in Andel.

Wiping a frustrated hand across the top of his gray, marine crew-cut hair, the team leader glanced at the three of his group who sat at their own desks, either on the phone or tapping away at their computer keyboards. This past year had been tough enough trying to fully regain their trust after he’d retired last Spring, only to return and disturb the new balance that had been found several months later. The last thing he needed right now after a string of cases that had hit each of them on some

personal level was to have to baby-sit some annoying, alien chasing feds – Agent Tobias Fornell was a handful enough, and he was a friend!

“Boss, I managed to track down Commander Kexlar’s work schedule for yesterday,” Agent Tim McGee, the ‘junior’ member of the team (though he’d been a field agent for three years now) started, examining the printed sheet in his hands as he carefully stepped around his desk. “Apparently Commander Kexlar clocked in at

nine-hundred hours and left at eighteen-twenty-two. He was not due in again until tomorrow morning.”

“His wife, who seemed a little hesitant to talk to me, said he arrived home, had some dinner, and then muttered something about having to go out,” Tony DiNozzo added, hanging up the phone but remaining in his seat. “She tried to ask him where he was

going, but he just kissed her and left.”

Gibbs soaked in the information and started trying to recreate Kexlar’s last steps in his head. “Do we know what the commander’s actual station was?” His head turned to look at the Israeli woman to his right, who looked up at his question and quickly covered the mouthpiece of the phone handset.

“The Navy seem to want to stay tight-lipped about that,” Ziva David shrugged. “Apparently they don’t want anybody to know what they’re doing there.” With an irritated shake of her head, she returned to the conversation on the phone.

Slamming his hand on the desk, Gibbs sharply stood and moved round to her. “You tell them I don’t give a damn what petty war games they’re planning behind those walls, I just want to know what Kexlar was in charge of so I can find out if there was a reason for him to be lurking outside the perimeter hours after he’d left for the day!”

David gave a nod, and watched as her superior turned away. His fire for finding the truth had always been this hot, but since his return it had seemed as if he was trying to prove something…To them, to himself or both she couldn’t tell, but she just wished he’d get it through his head that they were working just as hard as him, and that they would still follow him wherever he led.

“You can’t seriously think he was murdered, boss?” McGee slightly chuffed. “The blood at the scene was consistent as if Kexlar’d died from being cut in half…” His voice trailed off as Gibbs fixed him with an icy stare, and the next thing he knew

was the feel of a hand hitting him across the back of the head.

Not from his boss, though.

He turned to see Tony standing right beside him, grinning smugly. “You know better than to dismiss all possibilities before the case is wrapped up, probie!”

Gibbs watched them both and then slapped DiNozzo’s head.

“Ow! What was that for?” came the defensive yelp as the senior agent rubbed the stinging spot on the back of his skull.

“For telling him that before I got back,” Gibbs shrugged, sitting back down in his seat.

Ziva fought to hold back a chuckle.

“Tony, you and McGee go talk to Mrs. Kexlar, find out if there’s any possibility her husband was having an affair, or even if she knows what he was working on at that base.”

“She didn’t exactly seem forthcoming on information over the phone,” Tony remarked, doubtfully, gesturing back toward his desk.

“Well, why don’t you convince her to be more forthcoming – we’re constantly hearing how good you are at winning women over with your charms, so prove it.”

“Yes, boss.”

XxXxXxXxX

1:11 PM

As the afternoon breeze kicked yet another cloud of dirt into his face, Mulder shook his head and continued scraping away at metal object he’d found embedded in the ground right in the middle between where the dead marine’s two halves had been laid. Flat on his belly, pushing the damp soil away from the possible murder weapon, he was in that position when Skinner slowly stepped up alongside him.

“Please say you’re doing something and not just taking a rest.” the assistant director half-joked, removing his spectacles and wiping them clean with the end of his tie.

Mulder looked up and smiled warily then gesturing toward the crevice in the ground. “I think I found treasure,” he quipped.

“Sadly not the type that’ll bring me enough riches to whisk Scully and I away on some exotic vacation, but it may be enough to help us find out what’s happened to our Mr. Hollins.”

“Speaking of Agent Scully, where is she?”

“Oh, she went to help the NCIS M.E. with the autopsy on the seaman.” Mulder paused for a second before adding in a wistful tone as a grin lifted his cheeks, “Something tells me she may take over, though.”

Skinner smiled also and crouched down beside Mulder. He liked being out in the field, especially considering the rarity with which the opportunity arose, but he hated being sent on moderator duty just because his best agent and friend insisted

on working an alien abduction case and getting in the way of those that had full rights to the investigation. He just hoped both team could find a mutual ground to work together on. “So, what you got?”

“I dunno…It looks like a metal plate of some sort. Judging by the trajectory, I’d have to say it came from directly above us.”

The wind picked up again and both men quickly lifted a hand to shield their eyes from the onslaught of dusty debris.

“Do you think this could have killed the commander?” Walter hypothesized, noticing the blood spatter marring the metal that had been revealed.”

Mulder let out a deep sigh and sat up. “Possible, but like I say the way it’s embedded in the ground, it would have had to drop straight down…” He demonstrated using his hand to mimic the metallic disc’s descent. “But to chop Kexlar in half–”

“He would have had to have been lying on the ground already.”

“Probably dead already.”

Both stared at each other for a thoughtful moment, before Mulder reached for his phone to call Scully.

XxXxXxXxX

Dana Scully stood next to the metal gurney where Commander Martin Kexlar’s body had been placed, silently but a little impatiently waiting for the NCIS’s medical examiner to arrive. She’d been sorely tempted to go ahead and start the autopsy herself, or at least give the remains a cursory glance, but with the assistant who’d introduced himself as Jimmy Palmer milling around here and there, she’d had to bite her lip and let the body be. Maybe she shouldn’t have trusted Mulder’s gut after all…

Two minutes later the autopsy bay doors slid open and Doctor Mallard briskly walked in.

“Honestly, Mr. Palmer, someone should really see to those bathrooms – the filth–” He trailed off as he finished tying the back of his scrubs and looked up to see her. “Oh! You’re…You’re the lady from this morning, aren’t you? The, uh, FBI agent?”

She smiled and took a step toward him, outstretching her hand.

“Special Agent Dana Scully.”

“I remember pretty faces, but unfortunately I’m not as good with names anymore. The name fits the face, though. Do you know Dana actually means ‘from Denmark’ in old English, and yet it’s become very popularized in Ireland, I believe. I wonder what our ancestors would make of that.”

clip_image003

Scully wasn’t sure what to make of this man. He seemed exceptionally friendly – which was definitely nice considering the cold welcome they’d received from the team leader – but he also seemed a little eccentric, and she feared an autopsy she

couldn’t wait to be done with would take forever. “I’m a medical pathologist – I’m just here to help, not get in your way…” For some reason she couldn’t think of what else to say, as if the M.E. had made her feel so relaxed and welcome in an environment where she’d always had to keep the utmost professionalism that anything she said did not need explanation.

“Fascinating!” Mallard beamed, genuinely interested. “But you’re a field agent, too?”

How to tell a lifetime’s story in the fewest possible words…

“Well, yes. Um, I was assigned to counter Agent Mulder’s ‘out there’ theories due to my medical background – to expose the science shielded behind the otherwise unexplainable. It hasn’t always delivered the answers, but it’s certainly helped us a lot over the last fourteen years.” She couldn’t conceal the wistful smile as she reflected in stark Technicolor on the myriad of cases and emotions over the years.

“You love what you do and your partner very much…”

Dana snapped back to reality and blinked several times at the words.

“I’m….I’m sorry, my dear,” Ducky quickly apologized, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “I took my Masters in Forensic Psychology at the start of the year – seems you really can teach old dogs new tricks. Anyway, I know it’s not the same thing

and, of course, you’re far from dead, but it’s helped me pick up on certain nuances in people… When you were talking, there were just so many emotions washing over your features and your eyes” – again he used his hands by pointing at his own eyes to express what he was saying more demonstratively – “filled with this far-off glint… I’m sorry, I’m rambling again. Jethro keeps–”

“No, you’re very correct,” she quickly but quietly assured – hoping to keep what she was saying as between them as possible without Palmer overhearing too much. “I–…They mean everything to me.”

Mallard smiled, gave a knowing nod and winked. “Good. Just don’t let the work ruin the better things in life for you both.”

“We won’t, Doctor.”

“Oh, my!” he suddenly jumped, as if he’d just remembered that he’d left the oven on at home. “I completely forgot, I haven’t even introduced myself yet! I’m Doctor Mallard, but you can call me Ducky like everyone else, and I take it my assistant has

already–” He paused and turned to frown at Palmer with both hands resting on his hips. “Please say you had the manners to introduce yourself, Mr. Palmer!”

Jimmy looked up at the doctor from what he was doing with a flustered expression and rushed to splutter out, “Yes, Doctor Mallard – when Agent Scully first arrived.”

Ducky turned to face Scully again, an eyebrow lifting to silently ask if Jimmy was indeed telling the truth. At her nod, he moved to his desk and the box of latex gloves. “Excellent! We can get started then!” He snapped on one of the

prophylactics and then hobbled toward the metal gurney. “And hopefully then you can tell us what you were up to, Mr. Kexlar, wandering around the woods late at night.” The second glove slipped on easily and the bespectacled doctor took the offered scalpel from Palmer as he glanced at the Marine’s slack face before leaning in to examine where he had been severed on the top half of the torso. “Maybe you were star gazing, looking up at the night sky and feeling as free as when you were out at sea. Maybe you heard a noise outside the base and went to investigate, lungs filling with breath in short, shallow bursts as you carefully made your way through the brush.”

Bemused, Scully approached the gurney also, listening to the doctor ramble on as if their patient was still alive. She’d always considered Mulder’s approach to work as kooky, but this guy took the cake!

“Or maybe you were secretly in the arms of another lover when she suddenly turned and sliced you in two.”

Scully’s cellphone chose that second to ring to life.

XxXxXxXxX

“Scully.”

“Hey, Scully, it’s me.”

“Hey there, Me. How’s it going with the boss?”

Mulder smiled at the familiar greeting as he slowly rose to his feet and paced away a little from where Skinner had taken over with the digging. She’d only left his side a couple of hours ago, and yet it felt as if he hadn’t seen her all weekend. “Aw, you know, we’re picking out china patterns and planning to have me moved into his place by next week!”

“I hope he’s ready to fight me for you,” came her mock-stern response over the line.

“Now *that’s* something I’d like to see! …Wonder how much I could sell the tickets to the showdown for…”

“Not enough to buy me back if I lost.”

“Ouch! I felt that one!” He laughed and glanced up at the maze of branches that loomed above him. “Seriously, though, he only got here about five minutes ago, so our love is far from sealed just yet…Maybe if you call me back in an hour–”

“You were the one who called me, Mulder.”

That caught him off guard. He frowned, and then remembered why he had, indeed, called her to start with. “Oh, yeah! First, I gotta know, though: how’s it going with the Navy feds?”

At the other end, Dana shrugged and moved to the far corner of the autopsy bay, casting a brief glance over her shoulder at where Ducky and Palmer were still examining the body. “They’re okay, if not maybe a little eccentric. We’ve just started the autopsy.”

“I found a metal plate of some sort, about forty-inch diameter, buried in the ground right in the middle of where the commander’s body parts were found, and there’s blood on it, but for it to have hit him he would have already had to have been lying on the ground.” Mulder paused and pulled the phone away from his ear a little as he curiously focused his gaze on the broken tree limbs directly above where Skinner was crouched.

Misunderstanding the silence, Scully queried, “You think he was already dead, don’t you?”

“That’s what I need you and your NCIS buddies to find out – you know me, at the moment I’m happy to believe he was abducted along with Joel Hollins and then returned unconscious, only seconds after which the ship that took them was shot down by the military and chopped him in half.”

Dana let out a deep sigh. Only her partner could come up with a theory like that. Then again, in the absence of any other ideas, she knew she had no reason to knock him for it, though. “If that were the case, where’s the elusive Mr. Hollins?”

“That I’m still trying to figure out, as well as where his piece of the puzzle fits in with all of this. Apparently Agent Balk and Hollins’s girlfriend gave statements in at the county sheriff’s office earlier this afternoon. Your beloved friend Sheriff Mayway was supposed to be bringing copies of them to me, but he hasn’t shown up yet – you must have made such an impression on him he’s scared to come by.” His deep chuckle filtered its way down the line and lovingly tickled against the walls of her ear canal. “Look, I’d better let you go. Let us know what you find with the autopsy, okay?”

“When don’t I? You be careful out there – no heroics.”

“No, ma’am! And you be careful of that DiNozzo guy…I saw him checking you out! Slimy bastard…”

“Jealous?”

“No.” By his tone, it was obvious he really was. “Just ready to pummel his face in if he tries to make the wrong move. Love you.”

“And you.”

And with that they both cut off their ends of the call – as always never ending with a goodbye, as if that would bring fatal fortune their way.

“Aliens, Mulder?” Skinner chided, looking up from where he was carefully shifting the soil away from the metallic object.

Mulder shrugged a shoulder and then moved to climb one of the old trees behind the assistant director. “Why…Why not?” he huffed, hoisting himself up and reaching for the branch above his head. “I didn’t insist on following this lead just because

things were slow in the office.”

Higher and higher he climbed, strong hands gripping expertly at the right holds and branches while athletic feet carefully moved this way and that across the bark to best support and lift the rest of his body. When he reached as far as he could go before the limbs became much denser but more fragile, Mulder carefully diverted to stretch out along the limb that had caught his attention whilst he’d been on the phone to Scully.

Directly below him, Skinner looked up and watched the agent apprehensively. Scully was so gonna kick his ass if her partner came back with a scratch on him. “Mulder, what the hell are you doing up there?” When his question was met by silence, he tried again, becoming more worried. “Mulder?”

The agent stopped moving and looked at the twigs that must have been broken by the falling object…Except their undersides were snapped instead of the tops – as if they’d been attacked from below – and he could just barely see some crystals of ice

resting where the ends were hanging on. Balancing precariously with both legs hooked around the bough, Mulder reached out and broke one of the questionable branches off an inch or so away from where they’d been damaged with one hand whilst the other pulled an evidence bag out of his jacket pocket.

Suddenly, though, a wave of dizziness hit him, and a pressure started to grow inside his ears. “Agh!” he groaned, quickly covering both ears with his hands – the newly-bagged twig fluttering to the ground twenty feet below. “What the–”

Something greater than gravity was pressing against his body, and before he had chance to move back Mulder was plummeting to the ground.

XxXxXxXxX

Dazed, scared…

The figure stumbled on a clump of deadwood, but then quickly reasserted his balance as best as possible and forged on ahead.

They were going to get him unless he got away as fast as possible.

Adrenaline pumped through his blood.

Terrified.

‘Nobody’ll believe you, so just remember you saw nothing here.’

Something made a sound in the brush to his left and he quickly veered away – his heart skipping a beat as he struggled to find his breath.

‘You were drunk and seeing things.’

He repeated the phrase over and over in his head like a sacred mantra. He *had* been drunk – his friends had gotten him drunk and then told him some stupid story about aliens and spacecrafts…Just because he’d been out of his head enough to

believe them didn’t mean anyone would listen to what he had really seen there at the base!

‘You saw *nothing*!’

The voice kept shouting in his brain like an abusive, overpowering father, and he nodded, as if that would appease the invisible torturer.

Cold. Tired. Lonely.

As he breathlessly whimpered “I didn’t see anything, honest!”, a cut and bruised Joel Hollins burst through the final barrier of trees and stepped out onto the main road into Andel. He blinked against the blinding, unshielded sunlight and staggered left and right, completely confused as to where he was.

By the time his eyes adjusted to the light and his vision cleared, there was the sound of a loud horn, screeching tires…

And the last thing Hollins knew was the force of a forty-ton Kenworth truck slamming into him.

========

ACT TWO

========

NCIS HEADQUARTERS

WASHINGTON DC

4:32PM

The door slammed open, closed, and there was the barest sound of the assistant’s protest in between as Agent Gibbs stormed into the director’s office.

Shepherd looked up at him, unsurprised by his unannounced arrival. “I was expecting this outburst earlier, Jethro,” she remarked, resting back in her chair. “You must be getting slower in your old age.”

“This isn’t about the FBI,” came his sharp retort as he quickly approached her desk, “I’ve dealt with enough of them this year alone to know how to play fair every now and then.”

She quirked an eyebrow at that.

“What I want is to know what they’re doing at that base, *now*.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Yes it is – you go up to MTAC and tell them to spill the beans!”

“I’ve tried that, but they refuse to open video contact with us.”

“I have one dead marine already with Ducky, Jen, and now the missing guy that caused the FBI’s involvement in the first place is dead as well Kexlar’s wife is too scared to talk, and two statements given to the local LEOs have ‘mysteriously’ gone

missing. What more needs to happen before the call of silence is lifted?”

Jenny Shepherd sympathized with Gibbs’s frustration. She’d just spent an hour and a half at the alert center being diverted from video feed to video feed, hoping that she would eventually be hooked up to Andel’s, to no avail, and then a further hour on the phone trying to contact as many officials as possible for information.

The only thing she’d received were threats.

“They want you off this case,” she finally confessed, watching as he frowned and waiting for the volcano to erupt.

“*What*?”

“They insist they can handle this themselves and want both NCIS and the FBI away from their base.”

Gibbs stared at his ex-partner long and hard, trying to gauge if there was any trace of a lie in what she’d just said. When he found nothing but truth in her eyes, he wiped a sweaty hand across his mouth. None of this made sense… How had the find

of a body that could have easily been caused by an accident turn into such a dark cover-up scenario? Maybe it really was time to start conversing with those agents after all.

He turned, not willing to let her order him off the case yet, and was slowly making his way back toward the exit when she softly called out his name. With a hand resting on the door handle, Gibbs glanced over his shoulder to see her stand up and

slowly approach.

“You know I won’t pull this from you, Jethro,” she assured in a hushed tone, “but you need to work under the radar a little…”

She hesitated and considered for an instant, before finishing,

“Find out what’s going on by…less obvious means.”

After another brief staring match, Gibbs opened the door and left the office.

“Ziva, Tony, you’re with me,” he called, running down the open staircase to meet up with his team. McGee looked up from his computer, waiting for his own orders, and was not disappointed.

“McGee…” Gibbs paused and waited until he was face-to-face with the MIT graduate before continuing in a conspiratorial whisper, “I want you down with Abs finding a way to confirm what Kexlar was paid to do.”

“Probably something to do with this.”

The four NCIS members sharply turned at the unfamiliar voice to see Skinner and Mulder (whose legs had managed to save him from truly falling from the tree, though only just), both holding onto something that was concealed by a large, thick blanket.

“Is that what I think it is?”

Their heads snapped round in the opposite direction as Scully and Ducky entered the bullpen to join the group. Dana gestured toward the covered object and Mulder gave an acknowledging nod of his head.

Gibbs frowned in complete confusion. “Somebody wanna tell me what’s going on here?”

“Our inter-planetary visitors may be covering up for human attacks,” Mulder wryly joked. He carefully placed his end of the heavy disc onto the carpeted floor and took an awkward step back (something his partner picked up on but would wait until later to scold him about) to pull off the blanket. “Either that or they’re training for the next Olympics and this just happened to coincidentally hit a dead body.”

“Wow, there actually is somebody weirder than you, probie!” Tony snorted over McGee’s shoulder.

“The commander was dead before whatever that is hit the ground,” Scully cut in, overhearing the remark but ignoring it.

“He was slowly and methodically smothered,” Mallard elaborated.

“With a large hand covering his mouth and nose, and a steady knee used to pin his chest…It’s an old method known as ‘burking’, but I haven’t seen it used since the early Nineties… Whoever did it didn’t want there to be too many external signs. That” – pointing toward the metal object – “must have hit just seconds after his heart stopped beating, or at least after he lost consciousness, because the sudden loss of blood stopped there being much bruising. Thanks to the lovely, observant Agent Scully here, we found faint marks around the mouth and across the sternum.” The doctor paused and smiled at Dana, letting her reveal their final finding.

Mulder watched the exchange and couldn’t stop that ever-present doubt wriggling its way to the forefront of his brain. Scully’s past was riddled with older men, father figures…Surely she wouldn’t–

He quickly gave himself a mental slap. Fourteen years together and more declarations of love than anyone else would say in a whole lifetime…How long would it take for his tumultuous past to let him be and that doubting self-loathing to disappear forever?

“We managed to lift a thumb print.” Scully’s voice cut through his thoughts and Mulder quickly re-focused his attention on his partner. “He wore a glove on the hand he used to kill Kexlar, but he must have stumbled and had to steady himself when he quickly moved away because we found the print on the body’s wrist.”

“There’s an OJ Simpson joke in there somewhere,” Mulder and DiNozzo cracked at exactly the same time. Surprised by both the identical joke and timing, they glanced at each other – unsure if the mutual ground was a good thing or another reason for them to hate each other.

“Mulder…” Skinner cautioned in his low, deep voice.

Gibbs shot a sharp stare in Tony’s direction and nodded in approval as the senior agent slapped his own head.

“Sorry, boss.”

Skinner watched, curiously fascinated by the team leader’s discipline tactics.

Ziva frowned. “How do you know it was a man?” As a trained Mossad agent she knew how to inflict as much damage as a well-built six-foot-five male soldier, if not more.

“The spread of the fingers used and size of the bruises were undeniably male,” Dana explained.

“There were boot prints by the body, but they matched Kexlar’s,” DiNozzo suddenly started, remembering the photographs he had taken earlier. “If they’re Navy issue, there could be fifty people with exactly the same size and track impressions there.”

“It would help if we knew who his divisional colleagues were,” Ziva shrugged.

It was McGee’s turn to look confused. “But there were no signs of struggle at the scene…”

“Ahh, good question, Timothy,” Ducky interrupted, stepping forward, “except our commander had been given a paralytic drug to render his limbs useless – Mr. Palmer’s taken a sample to Abby to find out exactly what that was.”

“Smart really is sexy…” Tony mused, flashing a seductive grin in Scully’s direction – much to her disgust and Mulder’s annoyance.

Soaking in all the information, Jethro crouched down to closely examine the silver plate. “You dug this out of the ground by the base?” he queried, glancing up at Mulder and then back at the blood spatter on the surface. “You removed evidence from a crime scene?”

Mulder shifted uncomfortably, suddenly afraid of giving the wrong answer. “Umm… Yes, sir.”

Gibbs stood, stared at the FBI agent long and hard for ten seconds, and then a wide smile broke on his face. “Excellent work!” he grinned, patting Mulder’s cheek affectionately.

Before the younger man had chance to reply, though, he started to walk away, calling out over his shoulder, “Everyone down to Abby’s lab. DiNozzo, you can give the assistant director a break and help Agent Mulder bring that thing down.”

“What?!”

XxXxXxXxX

Music filled the forensics lab and enveloped Abby Sciuto as she carefully placed the vial Palmer had delivered into her spectrometer machine. She was zipping back to her computer workstation on her wheelie-chair when the Magnificent Seven walked in, one after the other. She lifted an eyebrow, but Gibbs shook his head and pulled a large Caf-Pow! cup from behind his back to offer her – which she instantly accepted.

“Are we having a party?” Sciuto smirked, taking a sip of the beverage. “If I’d known I would have worn my other collar!”

“Abby, these are Agents Scully, Skinner and Mulder from the FBI,” Gibbs introduced, pointing to each as their name was said.

“FBI? Really? Haven’t we had our quota of them for the year?”

Tony lowered his head to try to muffle the chuckle that escaped past his lips. Mulder shot a sharp glare over his shoulder, but was waved off by DiNozzo before anything could be said.

“Agents, this is Abigail Sciuto, our forensic specialist extraordinaire.”

Abby eyed Gibbs skeptically, wondering what he could be about to ask of her. It was getting late, and Late was when Jethro’s outlandish attempts to get as many answers as possible came out to play. “Wow, who you trying to impress?” she snickered, reclining in her seat and looking from one member of the group to the next – their bodies blocking her view of the thing draped by an old dusty blanket. “Not even my priest calls me Abigail!” She paused and glanced down at the plastic cup in her hand. “You want something badly…” she finally surmised.

“Have you got that tox analysis back yet?” he asked, concealing his own smile with military precision.

“Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs! I’ve only just put the sample in – you have to let my baby do its work and percolate, like a good coffee.” She paused and cocked her head to the side. “That’s what it is! You haven’t had a coffee in the last five minutes, have you?” At his head shake, she outstretched the cup of Caf-Pow!. “Here, you can have mine.”

“I wanna keep my brain alert, not freeze it,” came his slightly impatient response.

Mulder and Scully watched the chatter in awe. These people were like a big family – work colleagues, but much, much more than that as well. They’d been so used to only relying on each other for so long, with only the occasional help of Skinner, the Gunmen and Danny, that the idea of anything greater than just two working well had slipped them by.

“So, what’s this?” the Goth scientist finally asked, standing and weaving past everyone to get to the mystery object. She pulled back the cover, her eyes and mouth going wide and the sight that befell her. “You dug up a flying saucer?” she gasped in wonder, looking up at Mulder quickly before gazing at the metal surface again. “That is *so* cool – so War Of The Worlds-ish!”

“Not quite,” Tony objected. “Technically they weren’t ‘dug up’ – they rose–” The rest of his sentence became nothing more than a string of muffled unintelligible words as Abby stood and covered his mouth with her hand.

“I’m not even going to begin going through the list of why this isn’t a spaceship, Abs,” Gibbs groaned, shuffling his feet a little. “But I do need you to find out what it is, and how it was programmed to slice a marine in half.”

The word ‘programmed’ triggered a memory in Mulder’s brain and his head snapped upright as he started searching through his pockets. Finally his left hand snagged out the bagged tree branch he’d collected in the woods before his near-fall. “I also found this directly above where that was,” he started, stepping forward and holding the bag out for the tall, dark-haired tech geek to take. “All the branches that fell in this thing’s path were the same, except they’re broken on the bottom instead of the top.”

Everyone’s eyes fell on the polythene-wrapped item.

“That makes no sense,” Scully abhorred, resting both hands on her hips. “Are you sure you didn’t get confused when you were hanging upside-down from that tree?” Time to start sliding in those reproaches now.

“I–”

“Get on it, Abs,” Gibbs sighed, turning to leave.

“Yes, sir!” Sciuto replied, military style. “A fingerprint, strange substance, tree twig and UFO all in two hours…Did someone forget to tell me it’s my birthday?”

“Answer the questions they pose and it might just be!”

“Boss, what…what should we do?” McGee stammered, nodding his head toward the other team members.

Gibbs stopped in his tracks. “You’re gonna track down Kexlar’s personnel file like we discussed before,” he asserted. “AD Skinner and I are going to go grab a cup of coffee–”

Skinner perked up at that.

“Agent Scully and I are gonna fly back out to Andel and keep an eye on that base,” Mulder quickly added in.

Dana definitely didn’t perk up at that.

“I have an autopsy on Mr. Hollins to do,” Ducky proclaimed, quickly making himself scarce.

“Ziva is gonna contact the eyewitness to find out what she put in her statement, and Abby has her stuff to do here,” Gibbs finished.

Tony looked between McGee and his boss, waiting for his own orders. When his name wasn’t said he suddenly became worried that there was something he should be remembering to do but couldn’t. It was Friday night and he was supposed to have had plans with Jeanne. He had no doubt those were now out the window, but he hoped somebody would tell him what he was supposed to be doing instead…

“B-but what about Tony?”

‘Ah, bless you, probie!’

“Tony…” Jethro paused, looked at DiNozzo, and smiled enigmatically. “Tony’ll do what he needs to do to help solve this case – he knows what that is.” With that, he left.

XxXxXxXxX

ANDEL, NEW HAMPSHIRE

It was well past ten that night when Mulder and Scully arrived back outside the naval base in the deepest, darkest dwells of the Granite State. Turning the rental’s ignition off, Mulder glanced lovingly at the form of his sleeping partner beside him and then carefully reached to lift the cumbersome night-vision goggles he’d ‘forgotten’ to give back to the Gunmen the last time he’d borrowed them off of the back seat. Over a thousand miles worth of traveling to-and-fro in one day was beginning to take its toll on his body, but he was just clinging to the last of his stamina – hoping he could hold out, at least, until Scully woke up.

He blinked back the sleep beginning to blur his vision, and slipped on the goggles.

“They’re really not much of a fashion statement or turn on, Mulder,” Dana sighed, yawning and stretching her muscles as best as possible in the small confines of the vehicle.

He smiled, turning back to face her but not lifting the equipment from his face. “If I thought that were the case I’d never let them, you and Frohike be alone in the same room for more than a couple minutes.”

Comfortable, friendly silence fell between them as Scully wiped at her eyes and Mulder vigilantly surveyed the tree line bordering the base.

“Just like old times, huh?” he cracked, not diverting his attention. “Could probably do with some iced tea, though.”

“Holed up in a car at god-only-knows what time, chasing aliens and men that wish to keep their secrets secret? When isn’t it like old times?” she grumbled.

Mulder fought the urge to glance at her – he knew what she was working up to.

And she didn’t disappoint.

“And what stupid-ass trick were you trying to pull climbing that tree?”

There it was! At least she’d waited until they were on their own instead of erupting in front of the NCIS crew.

“I saw something that needed investigating, Agent Scully, so that’s what I did,” he rejoined, still not looking at her.

Scully considered her next words carefully, shifting in her seat until her spine was upright against the seat’s back. “Skinner said you blacked out…That for no reason you just lost your balance…” Hard swallow. “Did…Did you have a relapse?”

The extra activity in his brain had been pretty much dormant since last summer… Why, whenever he came over queasy did she think–

That train of thought swiftly came to a halt as he remembered the overpowering pressure that had wracked his body as he’d clung on to the limb directly above the unidentified metallic dish – as if he’d been trapped in some kind of vortex like the one in Oregon at the start of their partnership…The faint but undeniably-present dissonance just milliseconds before he’d started to fall…

“Mulder?”

“No…” he replied, a little distantly before, snapping out of his thoughts.

“I just worry,” the small voice beside him sighed. “It’s like a ticking bomb, and I’m scared if it fires up again we won’t be there to help you.”

Now he did turn to face her and lifted the goggles so that he could see her properly. It still amazed him that such a strong woman like his Scully could be so fragile when she let her guard down, specifically over any threats to his health. He stared at her for a long while, his eyes silently conveying as much comfort as she needed to draw from them, and then he lifted a hand to gently stroke her cheek. No words were spoken, but the gesture and look spoke volumes, and after another minute Dana gave a grateful nod.

“I can’t and won’t deny that I felt something because I did,” he confessed, “but I don’t want us jumping to any conclusions until we know what that thing is for definite, okay?”

She gave a small smile. “You mean you’re actually conceding that it might not be extraterrestrial?”

“I wouldn’t go that far…” His head shook and then turned away as he lowered the goggles yet again.

“But why kill Kexlar?”

“You mean besides the fact he sounds like a Klingon soldier?”

Mulder chuckled almost to himself. “I can just see all his colleagues calling ‘Qapla’!’ as they walked past. …What the–” His voice died in his throat. There was someone running, staggering toward their rental with a hand frantically waving in the air.

“What is it?” Scully queried, unsure what her partner could see.

The running marine tripped and fell to the ground.

And then the chasing figure came into view.

“Time to move,” he quickly exclaimed, jumping out of the car, throwing the expensive night-vision equipment onto the back seat and drawing his gun.

XxXxXxXxX

‘RESTRICTED – YOU DO NOT HAVE THE CORRECT

LEVEL OF AUTHORIZATION TO ACCESS THIS CONTENT.’

McGee slammed his head against the keyboard as the flashing window appeared on the screen for the hundredth time to stop him getting any further in his search for Martin Kexlar’s details. Abby looked up at the sound, but then returned to her studious examination of the spaceship.

“Gibbs is gonna hate me unless I can hack into this information,” he groaned, tapping blindly at the computer keys.

“Aw, he won’t hate you, McGee – who could ever hate you?”

The junior agent felt hopeful at that and lifted his head enough to glance at her.

“No guaranteeing that he won’t kill you, though.”

“Ohhh, Abby! How can he expect me to do this?”

“Because he has faith in you.”

“But I’ve never seen these codes before…”

The lab door unexpectedly slid open and three strange men strolled in.

“That’s because the government doesn’t like coming up with firewalls that any average hacker can knock down,” the tall, long-haired one remarked coolly, marching purposely to the console McGee had been slaving at in vain for the past four hours.

The male agent jumped to his feet. “Who are you?” he demanded, trying to sound as authoritative as possible.

Frohike cast a glance around the whole area before letting his eyes fall on Sciuto. “You must be the chick…Mulder didn’t say you were hot!”

“My name’s John Byers, and these are my two associates Melvin Frohike and Richard Langly,” the tall, well-groomed member of the Lone Gunmen introduced, outstretching a hand. “We’re friends of Agent Mulder; he said you might need our help.”

Abby considered the new people for a second, and then, “Frohike? Byers? Langly? Are you…Are you the Lone Gunmen?” she asked.

“That’s us,” Melvin grinned.

Suddenly the forensic specialist pulled the leather-clad dwarf into a bear hug – almost lifting him off the ground. “You guys *so* rock! I read all your issues!” She promptly let Frohike go and ran over to a filing cabinet in the corner of the room.

“See?” she smiled, pulling a newspaper out of one of the drawers and waving it in the air for them to see.

McGee stared doubtfully at Langly.

“We’re computer geeks – hackers…Send us to any government site and we can get in,” Ringo shrugged. “How do you think we got our security passes for here?”

Ecstatic the gods had been kind enough to deliver him a possible reprieve from the wrath of Gibbs, Tim turned back to the keyboard without asking any further questions and moved aside a little so that there was room for Langly to sit beside him at the workstation. Frohike shuffled up behind them, whilst Byers oversaw Abby’s inspection area.

XxXxXxXxX

Scully followed behind Mulder as fast as she could, both of them keeping low with their weapons tightly clasped at their sides.

In the darkness it was practically impossible to see anything, but the crescent moon provided enough of a glow to highlight the shapes of the towering trees so that they didn’t run into any of them, and the figure that was still charging toward the fallen marine.

They reached the man on the ground first and helped him to his feet.

“We’re FBI, it’s okay,” Scully assured.

The marine shook his head. “I know – *they* know – but that…won’t…s-stop them…” he choked out.

Mulder glanced over his shoulder in time to see the chasing figure suddenly draw a gun. He quickly shifted the weight of the body clinging to him and raised his own weapon. “FBI! Freeze!”

“We’re all dead.”

Dana frowned at the marine’s words and looked over at the chain fence surrounding the base, where she could just barely see the silhouettes of armed men beginning to gather.

“Mul-der…” she started, her heartbeat thumping in her ears but not enough to block out the sound of multiple SMGs being lifted and aimed. “*Run*!”

XxXxXxXxX

“He was drunk, and…and you just sent him out there?”

Tony watched from the dark side of the two-way mirror as Ziva interrogated the woman the New Hampshire police had flown to them at the late hour as some kind of apology gesture for ‘losing’ the witness statements. He’d give anything to be the one in there doing the questioning right now, but at the same time he just couldn’t resist the opportunity to appease the perverse enjoyment he got out of watching Agent David reaming people a new one.

Gibbs was good, but Ziva just had that edge.

On the other side of the glass, she silently paced the room as Shelley Callahan – one of the group that had encouraged Joel Hollins to go to the woods in Andel – struggled to put together a coherent reply.

“We were all drunk,” Callahan croaked, combing a shaky hand through her bleached hair. “It was just a bit of fun…Joel was always so gullible, and such a sucker for UFO stories – we didn’t think the guy’d kill him!”

Ziva instantly stopped pacing, and Tony’s head sharply lifted to attention from the notebook he’d been perusing.

“What ‘guy’?” David sniped, sitting back down at the table in the middle of the room and resting a hand on the folder she’d brought in with her – prepared to use it if the woman didn’t spill.

All Shelley could do was wash her hands over and over and mutter nonsensically to herself, though.

“Your friend is dead,” the female NCIS agent barked, pulling autopsy photos of Joel Hollins out of the manila file and laying them in front of the weeping woman. “He was captured, drugged and then let loose to run in front of a truck. The most you can do is help us find out why and by who.”

Shelley tentatively picked up one of the pictures with her left hand as the other quickly lifted to cover her mouth. “Oh, my God, Joel…” She closed her eyes, but the grill marks of the truck that had ended his life slashed through the darkness and burnt the image of his mangled body onto the backs of her eyelids. The photo fluttered out of her grasp and onto the black tabletop.

DiNozzo waited patiently. This was it – the move that would either draw the answers out or drive them away forever.

“Just one name and Joel will be able to rest in peace.”

“I do–…It…” Callahan shook her head. Last night had been pretty wild – Hollins leaving the bar with his girlfriend was the last lucid memory she had before the drinks had really started to flow. Anything that had happened during the day had

been mixed and diluted by the alcoholic shower. “I think–…No, I c-can’t remember…”

“Remember!”

“I can’t–”

“*Remember*!” Palms slammed down on the table as Ziva sharply stood up and leant over so that her face was close to the other woman’s when she shouted the order.

Shelley’s sniveling stopped and she looked up at the agent, the command jogging her memory enough to bring yesterday afternoon’s events into focus a little. “He was tall…Local accent…D-David Ten–…No…David Townshend… He asked if we knew anyone trustworthy, preferably someone who’d believe the most outrageous of tales. We said we knew someone who worked for the Andel Enquirer and wouldn’t be surprised if he bumped into an alien down the street. The guy said that was more than he could hope for, that he had some classified information that he wanted to leak, and asked us to tell Joel to go the this spot outside some base I can’t remember at ‘twenty-three hundred hours’…I figured he must be someone out of the Corps or something to be using military time, so I didn’t find anything too strange or dangerous in it. Ray – my boyfriend – is the one who told Joel some spiel about a good viewpoint for spaceships last night…”

“David Tonwshend?” Ziva frowned. “Definitely David Townshend?”

Callahan ran the name over her in head several times and then nodded.

“Not Martin Kexlar?”

“No, definitely not that. It was David Townshend.”

Tony quickly pocketed his notepad and left the observation room.

XxXxXxXxX

Mulder implicitly trusted Scully’s radar (which he secretly thought of as ‘Scullydar’) for danger, so when she yelled ‘Run!’ with every ounce of emotion and energy pumping through her body, you can bet he twisted his body, re-holstered his weapon and steadied his hold on the marine he was supporting as fast as humanly possible, following his partner as she ran toward their parked rental.

Before they were even halfway back, though, a dozen semi-automatic submachine guns opened fire in their direction.

One bullet came too close for comfort to Mulder’s head, and as he was still letting out a sigh of relief at that Dana stumbled – both arms instinctively going out to balance herself as she tried to forge on ahead.

“Scully!” There was an almost-unconscious dead weight impeding his ability to move too fast or particularly well, there were bullets whizzing past him, hitting the ground right in front and behind him…And yet the only thing he knew to worry about was if his partner was hurt.

“I-I’m okay,” she panted.

But she was limping, and had he had the energy to force anymore air into his lungs he would have asked her again. All he could do was focus everything he had into making it back to the car – which was also now beginning to take some hits by the gunfire.

Scully finally made it to the car and quickly flung open the driver’s side front and back doors before running around to the other side to get in. Three more steps and Mulder would be there.

Two.

One.

He carefully shoved the marine into the vehicle along the back seat, slammed the door shut and then quickly jumped into the front, not bothering to fumble with the seatbelt as his foot stamped down on the accelerator pedal and he turned the steering wheel as far as it would go right – both partners ducking their heads down out of the way of the ammunition continuing to pepper the rental’s bodywork.

“What the hell are they doing?” Mulder yelled as one of the bullets penetrated the windshield and hit the seat’s headrest just a few inches above where he was hunched.

Dust and stones kicked into the air as the wheels frantically spun, trying to find purchase of the ground. When the car finally lurched onto the road at high-speed,

Suddenly everything went quiet.

Mulder lifted his head first to see the clear road that opened up ahead. Scully followed suit, and was about to open her mouth to say something when there was an almighty crash and the car slammed forward – careening almost out of control as the male FBI agent fought with the steering wheel to keep it on the road. When it righted, both shot a brief glance over their shoulders to see the large Humvee following and preparing to ram them again.

“I think the question should be ‘what are we going to do?'” Dana nervously gasped out, reaching across the console to pull and fasten Mulder’s seatbelt over him before doing her own.

“Ford Sedan versus armor-plated Humvee?” came his panted, tired reply. “I don’t think there’s much we can do except drive.”

And so they did, with the military vehicle making countless attempts to bash and PIT maneuver them off the road, which Mulder managed to successfully steady every time the car fishtailed.

Five miles later, for no apparent reason, the Humvee disappeared without a trace.

“They want me dead…They won’t stop there…” the whispered statement groaned from the back seat.

XxXxXxXxX

“Yes!”

McGee jumped up off seat as the computer easily logged into Andel Naval Base’s database. What had taken him four hours to fail at had taken the new visitors ten minutes to crack. He glanced at Langly in awe.

“You actually did it!”

“See, I said these guys rock,” Abby grinned, carefully removing what appeared to be a mini onboard computer from the flying dish.

Just seconds after the system logged on, the large plasma screen on the wall that had been displaying the constant search for a match to the print that had been lifted from Kexlar’s flashed up a ‘Positive Match’ message.

“We have a problem,” DiNozzo’s voice suddenly filled the lab as he walked in. He faltered at the sight of the three strangers, but then added, “Kexlar wasn’t the one who called Hollins out to the woods.”

“Oh, no…” McGee choked out, stepping away from the keyboard and hesitantly glancing at each of the people in the room. “We…We could h-have an even bigger problem than that…”

All eyes fell on him.

“The print Agent Scully found on the body matches Commander Kexlar’s…And his picture doesn’t match the one of our dead marine.”

========

ACT THREE

========

ANDEL NAVAL BASE

ANDEL, NEW HAMPSHIRE

6:01 AM

Spotless black shoes came to a halt in the underground corridor, waited as their owner used the retinal scanner to gain entrance to the control center, and then continued on their path as the large two-inch thick steel doors slid open.

The room was large, cavernous, like something out of a James Bond movie. One whole wall was devoted to a massive screen displaying a global map with submarine co-ordinates marked on it, in front of which was a wide control station for communication, navigation etcetera. An assortment of communication electricians and specialists, maintenance and electronics technicians, engineers, controlmen milled around, not seeming to notice the new figure’s arrival.

…At least not until a systems tech looked up from his workstation in the center of the area and jogged over to him.

“Commander,” the technician started, saluting, “are we still go for Project Bullet this afternoon?”

Returning the salute, the taller figure pulled the Top Secret-stamped folder from under his arm and handed it to his colleague. “Yes, we are. We’ve had enough delays.”

With that, Commander Martin Kexlar turned and left.

XxXxXxXxX

FORENSICS LAB

NCIS HEADQUARTERS

6:22 AM

Abby started awake from her position on the floor to see McGee curled up fast asleep on the bean bag beside her. She smiled, watched him for a moment longer and then shifted to sit up, but as she did Bert the Hippo – her ever-present beloved toy and handy pillow – trumpeted to life.

“Oh, dude, please say that wasn’t you!”

“Come on, did that actually *sound* like one of mine?”

“Well, it definitely didn’t smell like one of Byers’s!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That must mean it was you, then.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

The three Gunmen stopped squabbling and slowly looked over toward the NCIS agents, to see Abby curiously staring back.

She stood, dusted down her lab coat and then snatched up Bert, who once again let out a rip-roaring fart. Realization dawned on the men’s faces, and they visibly relaxed.

“Even hippos need to let loose sometimes, too,” she remarked matter-of-factly, hugging the stuffed animal to her chest and squeezing him a few more times to accentuate the point.

“Yeah, we hear Frohike every morning, so we know that,” Langly snarked, turning back to the keyboard.

Sciuto smiled at the insult and then approached, circling behind them to get a better view of what they were doing with her computer. “What’s that?” she queried, gesturing toward the screen filled with fluctuating line patterns and text.

“We found a microchip inside the control board you took out of that dish last night,” Byers explained. “and there’s definitely some kind of programming on it…We’re just trying to make sense of it.”

“You didn’t sleep?”

“We…No.”

“How can we, with a pretty lady like you around?” Frohike smiled flirtatiously..

“Man, leave the lady alone” Langly groaned. “The last thing she needs is some dirty pervert stalking her!”

“Oh, go cry to your mommy – you sound like a jealous husband!”

The blonde-haired geek balked and silently lowered his head.

“We’ll sleep later,” Byers shyly assured.

Abby regarded them for a moment longer and then moved to pick up the print-out of Kexlar’s personnel file. “Why the misdirection, though?” she mused. “Why make us believe that that was the commander?”

“Why even let the body be found at all?” Gibbs’s voice suddenly questioned from behind them as he and AD Skinner walked into the lab – both with a cup of coffee in their left hand. “Unless they wanted to cause enough of a diversion to give the very undead Kexlar enough room to do whatever they’re doing at that base.”

“Gibbs!” Abby exclaimed, running up to the superior and throwing her arms around him. “Where have you been?”

“The assistant director and I went for a chat and then we tracked down an old marine buddy who actually worked at Andel a few years back,” Gibbs casually relayed, stepping out of the hug. “Sadly he couldn’t help, but if there’s anything I’ve learned from Walter, here, it’s that the twists are used to cover what’s hiding in plain sight. There’s something we’re missing, but it’s nothing to do with IDs or spaceships or strange trees or whatever else.”

The forensic scientist’s face suddenly lit up and she disappeared into the back half of the lab for a second. “I did an analysis on the branch Agent Mulder brought back,” she started, skipping back with the bagged twig held up. “And he was right – the UFO–”

“Abby…”

“Spoilsport. Okay, the *dish* didn’t cut through these…But they were sucked upwards – like in a vacuum.”

“What?”

“Right, you *do* know what a vacuum cleaner is, don’t you Gibbs? Or do you still use just a broom?” At his silent stoic glare (which, for some reason, gave Frohike the impression the agent was constipated), Abby let out a deep sigh and shake of

her head. “Imagine dangling a vacuum nozzle over a slab of turf that’s at a ninety-degree angle–”

“So, you’re saying we’re looking for a massive vacuum?”

The Lone Gunmen glanced accusatorily at the metallic plate for a second.

“Mulder said something made him feel extremely ill up there,” Skinner suddenly cut in, noting the three hackers’ point of brief focus and eyeing it also.

On cue, Gibbs’s phone beeped to life, which he promptly answered.

“Yeah?…Okay.” He hung up and about-turned to leave. “We’re off to autopsy. That includes you McGee.”

McGee shot upright out of sleep and blinked several times in a daze from his position on the floor, much to Gibbs’s and Abby’s amusement. “Wh-wh-what?”

XxXxXxXxX

Somehow the conversation had digressed to the topic of the quirkiness of parents.

Mulder and Scully sat on the edge of an autopsy table whilst Ensign Paul Grace, the marine they’d narrowly saved from outside the base in Andel, sat on another. To put as much distance between themselves and their pursuers, the agents had kept on driving through the night all the way back to DC, the weeping cuts and swelling bruises riddling their bodies sapping the energy out of them but ignored until it was safe.

“I’m sure your mother would be a fascinating woman to meet,” Mallard smiled, finishing the stitching on Dana’s ankle where a bullet had just nicked the skin. “What about your parents, Agent Mulder?” He stood, grabbing another disinfectant-soaked cotton ball.

The two agents shared an uneasy glance, before Mulder finally relayed, “Both my parents are dead.”

Ducky froze, suddenly feeling out of place and like the biggest fool on the Eastern seaboard. “Ohhh…” he hesitated, moving to clean one of the major glass wounds on Mulder’s arm but not making eye contact. “I’m sorry.”

Palmer, who was tending to the marine, yawned and lowered his own head in embarrassment.

“It’s okay,” the male agent assured, sharply wincing at the stinging sensation caused by Ducky’s cleansing ministration.

“It was a long time ago.”

The pathologist brightened a little and gave a shrug. “My mother’s ninety-eight and still kicking, though her mind went wandering years ago – Dementia, corgis and me are the only things she has left. I think it was Henry Miller who once said….Now, what was it again?…’Madness is tonic – it makes the sane more sane. The only ones who cannot profit by it are the insane’? Something like that. I guess that must make me the sanest person in the world…Or the maddest…I’ve never really considered the full implications of the quote, but my reason for saying it is if we could profit from Mother’s insanity, we’d be millionaires.” He let out a small chuckle and Mulder smiled, despite the pain tearing up his arm. Scully’d been right when she’d used the word ‘eccentric’ earlier, but the fact she got on so well with Mallard gave him hope that she would never tire of his own eccentricities. “I don’t know what I’d do without her, though. I’ve lived with her so long and been subjected to her wandering aimlessly out of the house with no clothes on after getting out of the shower too many times. It’s experiences like that that define us, and I’m pretty happy with who I am, so I should be grateful for those little…quirks.”

“Amen to that,” both agents beamed together.

Jimmy Palmer looked up and dared to join the conversation. “My mother onc–”

The autopsy bay doors slid open to give entrance to Jethro Gibbs, Walter Skinner and Timothy McGee, and any further words died in Palmer’s throat as he hurriedly returned his attention to checking Grace’s vitals.

“What we got, Ducky?” Gibbs asked as he moved up alongside Mallard.

“Three very unusual patients,” the doctor cracked, crossing both arms across his chest.

Skinner frowned in puzzlement. “What do you mean?”

“He means they’re alive.”

“Really, Jethro, must you always spoil my fun?” Ducky pouted, shaking his head in mock despair.

“What have we got?”

The repeated question let Mallard know his friend was far from in the mood for jokes right now, so he quickly swung into doctor mode. “Multiple lacerations from broken glass, some bruises and mild cases of whiplash from the impact of the chasing vehicle, and Agent Scully took a flesh wound just above her left ankle, but doing okay nevertheless. Just as–…What was the word again?”

“‘Spooky’,” Mulder provided.

“Ah, yes! Just as spooky as ever.”

A smile lifted Skinner’s cheeks and he quickly lowered his head to conceal it.

Gibbs nodded and then gestured toward the perplexed marine.

“What about him?” The question was almost a snarl. His voice had been fractionally tinged with concern when he’d asked about the FBI agents’ condition, but now he sounded genuinely pissed.

“Ensign Grace had a much smaller dose of the Pancuronium we identified in our Lieutenant Townshend running through his system,” Ducky explained, turning to look at the marine.

“Townshend?” Mulder questioned, his features creasing in confusion.

“It turns out the man we thought was Commander Kexlar is actually somebody else, and Kexlar was the actual killer,” McGee quickly explained.

“The ensign seems to have slept off the effects of the poison, though,” Palmer told Gibbs.

“Good. That means he can start answering a damn lot of questions!” the head agent barked, turning and storming toward the exit. “McGee, I want him in Interrogation as soon as he’s cleared here, you got me?”

“Yes, boss.”

“Do you think you can do that without falling asleep?”

“Y-y-yes, boss.”

With that the autopsy bay’s doors slipped shut.

“Does he hate you, or something?” Mulder half-joked, flashing a brief glance at his own boss who he’d numerous similar run-ins with over the years.

“There’s no medium with Jethro,” Ducky sighed, ambling toward the hazardous waste bin to dispose of his latex gloves. “The thing to remember is that he either hates you or likes you, and even then he shows it in his own masked kind of way. He’s a very complex man.”

McGee stepped toward the marine and helped him to his feet.

“And when he says ‘as soon as he’s cleared here’, he means ‘Now’, doesn’t he, Ducky?” he asked, hesitantly.

“Oh, most definitely!”

“…Just checking…”

Ducky watched as the younger agent hurriedly escorted Grace out of the room and then moved to lean against the gurney opposite Mulder, Scully and Skinner.

“So, Mr. Skinner,” be smiled, lifting an eyebrow with interest, “what about your mother? Any stories of embarrassing forgetfulness, nakedness or incontinence problems to share?”

XxXxXxXxX

From the darkness of the observation room, DiNozzo and David watched as the marine twitched nervously in his seat, waiting for Gibbs to arrive. When the interrogation room door swung open, Grace almost literally went through the ceiling.

“He’s going to kill him,” Ziva remarked, seeing the fire burning in the boss’s eyes.

Tony grinned. “Like you almost did with that woman last night?”

“I did what I needed to get the information.”

“By the way, it’s ‘the least you can do’, not ‘the most’.” At her defiant stare he quickly speculated, “…Unless you were meant to say that…?”

“My English is not that bad, Tony,” she nodded, “but I needed her like potty in my hands.”

He wasn’t even going to try correct her on that one.

“What’s going on at that base?” Gibbs started on the other side of the mirror.

“You wouldn’t even be able to comprehend the technology if I explained it to you,” Grace sighed, shaking his head.

Jethro felt his temper rising even further, but bit on his lip and attempted the calmer approach as he sat down opposite the sailor. “I know an overzealous lab technician who uses nothing but scientific jargon to explain things, so try me.”

“I don’t mean the terms used – I mean the technology itself,” Grace snorted. “For years the US has tried to find a way of making more powerful, faster military machines, specifically underwater…When we heard the Russians had developed a torpedo that could travel almost three times faster than the normal missile by using supercavitation, you can bet your ass we wanted to use it in our own favor. The base in Andel was built to handle trials and tests to develop a fully-manned submarine using the technology after a remote-controlled prototype commissioned by the Pentagon crashed into and almost sunk the USS San Francisco, south of Guam.”

“The San Francisco ran aground,” Gibbs retorted, shaking his head.

“That’s the official story. Go online and you’ll read a lot more interesting ones. None of them come close to the truth, though.”

“Nothing like a little conspiracy-loving Navy scout,” Tony chuckled, leaning in close to Ziva’s ear. “Believes every shadow’s out to get him, that everyone in the government has a darker agenda…Though that one I can kind of understand and empathize with, especially when the medical bills arrive…

Sounds like that show that used to be on the TV…”Oh, damn, what was it called again? It had aliens and this guy with a sexually explicit name, and it was so cool, but…”

Skinner quietly stepped into the dimly lit room, closing the door after him and bringing Tony’s rambling to an end – much to Ziva’s gratitude

“Where are Agents Mulder and Scully?” she asked, glancing at the balding man.

The assistant director glanced at her and then through the glass panel to watch the interrogation. He got on well with Gibbs and it had turned out they were very alike, both on professional and personal levels – though Walter had to admit he still had no plans on building a boat of his own (…not that he was ruling it out completely, but for the time being the idea was not in consideration). Maybe it was because they were both ex-marines, but it was just nice to be able to have a decent chat with someone other than Mulder and Scully or the directors at the Bureau for a change. “Scully went down to see how the Gunmen and Abby were doing. And Mulder…” His voice trailed off, and he let the scene that was about to unfold in front them say the rest.

“The premise is that the sub uses an air bubble around itself to propel forward easier through the water…Everything went fine on that early test until the San Francisco came too close, half its bow was sucked off in the vacuum of air surrounding the prototype and debris from that caused the vessel to explode.” Grace continued.

Suddenly the interrogation room door opened and Mulder casually strolled in – a little worse for wear and tired, but ready to work nevertheless.

Both Tony and Ziva’s eyes went wide.

“Did he just…Did he just walk in on Gibbs’s interrogation?” DiNozzo choked.

“Why?” Skinner quizzically enquired.

“This is very, very bad,” Agent David spluttered. “Nobody does that and comes out alive – ask McGee, he’ll tell you.”

“Let’s say it’s like taking, depriving or spilling Gibbs’s coffee,” Tony added. “It’s just not done.”

In the other room, the gray-haired agent stared long and hard at the other agent with so much contempt any court would have immediately locked him behind bars. The instinctive urge to instantly escort the other man out of the room pushed him out of his seat and forward a step, but then he saw the cuts on Mulder’s head and arms and softened

“The base was built and we had all the equipment and technology we needed, but then… Then we got this lot of extra stuff – ‘new’ technology, they said, to test and incorporate into the designs we were making,” the Ensign continued, becoming more nervous as the depth of his story deepened. “We weren’t allowed to question what it actually was or where it came from, but some of the crew on the primary test team did start sniffing around for answers, and that’s when the bodies started disappearing.”

“You mean Townshend,” Mulder sighed.

“No, well before then! Since last year.”

Gibbs sat back down. “If that’s the case, why have no bodies turned up until now?” he asked.

Grace hesitated, wiping a sweaty hand down his face. “Because Project Bullet has been completed and it’s ready for test launch. Dave got cold feet and wanted to spill the story, but the Commander found out somehow and disposed of the problem.

They captured the civilian and were going to use him as the test subject in the vessel, but for some reason – I don’t know what, that’s not my area – he wasn’t viable, so they let him go.”

“That still doesn’t explain why Lieutenant Townshend’s body was left for us to find,” Jethro noted, impatiently.

“*You* weren’t supposed to find it,” Grace ground out. “*He* was.” His head nodded in Mulder’s direction. “It was supposed to be a simple little paranormal case scenario to rope him and his partner in…I don’t know who tipped NCIS, but you were never supposed to be in the picture, that’s why nobody’s been in contact with you – why there have been attempts to get you pulled from the case. The commander’s ID wasn’t slipped onto the body until you pulled up in your truck – the thinking being that you would never find out he was anybody but Marty and…I don’t know…” His head lowered and solemnly shook.

Mulder ran what he’d heard of the story over and over in his head and kept coming back to the same question: why was and Scully’s involvement so integral that what was going on at the base?

“Because you’re both perfect candidates for test subjects,” the younger man replied as if it had been the stupidest question imaginable when the agent gave it voice. “Your exposure to the black oil, the chip in her neck… To put two people with alien technology and DNA in their bodies inside a part-alien driven vessel? It’s ideal!”

“They shot at us – they wanted us dead!” Mulder stated dryly.

Gibbs remained silent, the description of the technology used to propel the experimental submarine niggling at him.

“If they’d really wanted you dead, we wouldn’t have gotten away at all – nobody’s *that* good at driving. When NCIS became involved and showed no signs of budging, countermeasures had to be put in place, and that’s when I started to get cold feet too…When I overheard them talking about your car surveilling the base, I saw my chance to get out.”

Confused, perplexed and unsettled silence ensconced the three figures behind the mirror.

“What…What were the countermeasures?” Mulder finally asked after two minutes, swallowing hard to moisten his very dry throat.

Grace glanced up at the agent and then, closing his eyes in defeat, whispered, “To collect any civilian off the street to use for when Project Bullet is launched this afternoon.”

“It’s still going ahead?” Gibbs exclaimed, standing up.

“Why not use one of their own crew? A technician?” Mulder queried.

“You’re kidding, right?” Grace snorted, looking at the FBI agent in disgust. “We’re not the Corps, but ‘Semper fidelis’! They’d never do that to one of their own!”

Mulder returned his own look of disgust as he pulled open the door, growling, “What a shame they didn’t think that when killing off anyone who objected.”

Agent Gibbs left the room also and chased Mulder down the hall, calling out his name. The younger man kept walking until he felt a hand suddenly land on his shoulder and turn him around.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Jethro snapped, frowning.

“To stop that sub launching.”

“It’s a trap.”

“No, it’s no–”

“It’s a *trap*!” Gibbs shook his head and his expression filled with something akin to assurance, understanding, and determination.

Mulder shifted, unwillingly to stand around and debate this when an innocent life was in danger. “H-how can you be sure?”

“My gut,” came the simple, un-hesitant reply. “My gut instinct, which AD Skinner tells me you know a little about. Your gut got you out here, and now my gut is saying there’s no way you’re going alone.”

The two stared at each other – unsure of what the other would do next. Mulder felt his wall of stubbornness beginning to crumble. “What?”

“He said it himself in there – ‘semper fidelis’. Whether he chickens out or not, that sailor is loyal to the men he worked with to the end. They want you in that sub, and they’ll do anything to get you there.” Gibbs paused as he heard the observation room door click open and the shuffle of feet as DiNozzo, David and Skinner also stepped out into the hallway, but he never broke eye-contact. “Well, I say ‘screw him’ and ‘semper fi!’ ten times louder – I’m there to be loyal to those men that really don’t want to be at that base, and the members of my team who are under threat, and right now you’re a member of that team. You got me?”

Scully rounded the corner to see the stand-off in the passageway and looked on in concern.

“You got me, agent?”

Mulder opened his mouth in protest, still stunned by what the NCIS agent had said, but nothing came out.

“Maybe you didn’t hear clearly after all that gunfire last night,” Gibbs shrugged, reaching up and quickly slapping the back of the other man’s head. “That better?”

“Yes, sir,” Mulder coughed out, standing bolt upright.

Even though she wasn’t clear on what had transpired, just the image of somebody so easily knocking Mulder into submission brought out the largest unavoidable smile on her face.

“Now, come on – we’ve got a sub to stop,” the gray-haired ex-marine ordered, brushing past Dana and leading the way back through the bullpen and to the elevator.

“Uh, what about Grace, boss?” Tony called out after him.

“Leave him there to boil and wonder what we’re doing.”

XxXxXxXxX

The mixed team of seven arrived in Andel in two sedans – Mulder, Scully and McGee in the lead vehicle, and Skinner, Gibbs, David and DiNozzo in the one not far behind.

All of them in Navy uniforms.

They didn’t have much of a plan beyond getting inside the base with the fake cards the Gunmen had made for them and finding some way of at least delaying the launch until Jenny was able to find someone high enough in the chain of command to pull the plug completely, but it was all they had after all other methods had failed them.

It wasn’t until they approached the front gate, though, that they realized they weren’t even going to make it inside the perimeter.

“Welcome back, agents,” Commander Kexlar smiled smarmily, one hand casually resting on the chain-link fence whilst the other was strategically placed on top of his holstered pistol. “This must be your…What? Fourth visit in the past thirty-six

hours? Is there something interesting about our surrounding wilderness we should know about?”

“You mean besides the dead bodies?” Mulder asked, Kexlar’s grin widened and he focused his stare of the FBI agent. “Ah, our Ensign Grace has been talking…And yet you’re not here on your own, Agent Mulder…” His eyes regarded the rest of the group. “Chief Harlan said you seemed a little more mellow than he remembered you, Gunny Gibbs, but I doubt even he would be able to conceive the idea of you depending on others.”

Both Skinner and Gibbs froze at the mention of Jakob Harlen’s name; he’d been the friend they’d visited late last night to talk the case over with. Surely…

“Surely you know the phrase ‘Trust no one’ by now, assistant director?” the commander finished, shaking his head in shame.

“It’s okay, though – you won’t need to worry about the deceptive Chief much longer…he booked a one-way seat on the new revolution in Navy vessels. If you look over there” — he pointed to the gap in the tree line directly opposite the base, beyond which was the sea — “you should see it hitting the horizon very shortly.”

“Gibbs, he’s telling the truth,” Abby called into the earpiece her boss was wearing. “The sub launched ninety seconds ago, and it’s heading directly for Rockport.”

Mulder had had enough and stepped toward the taller man.

“You’re under arrest for murder an–”

“I don’t think so,” Kexlar ground out, quickly drawing his weapon and aiming it at Mulder’s head.

Within a heartbeat, Scully, Tony, Ziva and McGee all had their weapons drawn also and aimed back at the commander – each in their ready-to-shoot stances.

“I’d say you’re outnumbered,” Skinner pointed out in the same sarcastic tone Kexlar had been using.

Suddenly, at least fifty men ran out of the nearby barracks and up to the gate, behind the commander, with guns cocked.

“I’d rethink what you’re saying,” was the only retort necessary as fifty machine guns were aimed at the group of federal agents.

~~~~~

NCIS HEADQUARTERS

At the other end of Gibbs’s line of communication, in her lab at the headquarters, Abby listened to the sound of safety catches being lifted and started to pace the room in panic. Langly looked up at her in concern from where he and his two colleagues were fruitlessly trying to hack into the supersonic submarine’s navigational computer, but quickly returned to work when Director Shepherd rushed into the room.

“I heard,” she simply stated, gently touching Abby’s arm in comfort. “Are they en route?”

Sciuto stopped pacing and looked from Jenny to the large plasma screen. “They are, but…but–”

“Don’t worry, Gibbs’ll be fine.” The director paused, wondering briefly if she was trying to reassure the scientist or herself, before quickly slipping back into her authoritative persona and asking, “What about the sub?”

“It’s on it’s way to Rockport, and…Wait…” Abby took a step toward her workstation, gazing at the computer display in disbelief. “Did you get in?” she breathed, only affording the Gunmen a brief glance.

“Nada,” Frohike sighed.

“We can’t get in at all,” Langly affirmed.

Jenny frowned in confusion and stepped up behind the geeks. “What is it?”

“The submarine. It’s changing direction!” Abby exclaimed excitedly.

Except then she saw where its new destination was.

And her face fell.

~~~~~

Scully and the NCIS agents kept their guns drawn and aimed, unwavering.

“Drop it, or I will shoot him,” Kexlar insisted, his finger slowly beginning to add fractional pressure to the trigger as he kept the gun pointing at Mulder’s head.

Gibbs waited, waited for the right instant, and when that came thirty seconds later he drew his gun at light speed and fired, directly hitting the commander’s raised arm and causing him to drop his weapon.

“Agghhh! Sh-shoot them!” the fallen man yelled. “Sh–” His voice trailed off as the air was filled with the sound of quickly approaching sirens and car engines.

Thirty seconds later half a dozen black fleet sedans pulled up in front of the base and FBI agents poured out of each one with their guns drawn.

“I think that settles that,” Gibbs shrugged, sliding his sig sauer back into its holster and turning to approach the short gray-haired agent that was watching him. “You took your time, Tobias,” he joked. “Were you hoping I’d get shot?”

Special Agent Fornell smiled and watched as his men moved to disarm the sailors. “No, I was just trying to time it so that we were here as that bullet hit,” he returned playfully. “You know, it’s not exactly a short stroll for us. That and Director Shepherd had difficulty deciding if she should really authorize the squad arrest or not.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Gibbs, you’ve got to get out of there!” Abby’s voice yelled into Jethro’s ear. “The submarine’s turned and heading directly back towards you!”

The supervisory agent pressed a hand to his ear and turned away from his friend. “What was that, Abs?”

“The supersonic whadyamacallit is heading straight for you!”

Gibbs took several quick steps toward the road, saw the approaching white streamline on the watery horizon and turned back as fast as he could, yelling at the top of his voice, “Everybody get away from the base!”

“What is it, boss?” DiNozzo called out over the din. Fornell looked worried also.

“The sub’s coming back at full speed!”

A large claxon-like alarm started blaring behind the base’s border, and bodies started charging out of the buildings. On their side of the fence, all the FBI’s tactical team members rushed back to their cars, while Tony and Mulder lifted Kexlar’s unrelentlessly kicking form into the back of their car.

Before either Mulder and Scully or the NCIS crew were able to put their cars into reverse and skid away, the submarine impacted the cliff face fifty feet below them. The ground shook, making it difficult to remain standing, and several of the gas cylinders at the base erupted into large balls of fire -causing a violent chain reaction that engulfed all the above-ground buildings.

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EPILOGUE

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NCIS HEADQUARTERS

TWO DAYS LATER

“You mean my spaceship’s nothing more than an airborne version of their submarine prototypes?” Abby Sciuto pouted, sitting back in Gibbs’s chair and glaring at McGee as if he were the biggest liar in the world.

Thanks to wind direction and the location of the gas tanks, enough distance had remained between the erupting inferno and the fleeing agents for long enough to give them chance to escape. Commander Kexlar had been in NCIS’s custody for only

one hour before Lieutenant Commander Coleman from JAG and two military police had arrived to take over.

Mulder and Scully had immediately gone home to sleep for fifteen hours straight.

Today they, and Skinner, were back to hand in copies of their reports to Director Shepherd and say their goodbyes.

“I’m afraid so, Abs,” Tim sighed.

“Oh, well… Nobody else has to know that – it’s still pretty cool,” the Goth shrugged, not completely beaten. “It’ll look great in my bedroom.”

“Are you sure the military well let you keep such a sensitive piece of equipment?” Ziva piped up, frowning dubiously over the top of her computer monitor.

“They didn’t,” Gibbs’s voice boomed from the top of the large open staircase. “They just took it away.”

Abby banged her head against the desk’s edge, but then looked up with a smile on her face again a second later. “At least I have photos.”

Gibbs, Mulder, Scully, Skinner and Shepherd made their way to the bottom of the stairs, and then Dana made her way over to where Ducky stood, whilst Mulder headed for Sciuto.

“The guys apologized for not being back,” he started, “but they did want me to give you this…” He paused, reached into his bag and pulled out an issue of the Lone Gunmen’s newspaper with the headline ‘NCIS SCIENTIST HANDLES FALLEN UFO’ and color picture of her on the front page. “They also made sure to put their e-mail addresses on a card that’s in there somewhere – especially Langly.”

The fake spaceship long-forgotten, Abby jumped out of the chair and pulled the FBI agent into a grateful hug. She saw Gibbs sign a message to her over Mulder’s shoulder, and signed back her response without hesitation.

“What was that about?” Jen asked, leaning in to Jethro a little.

“She knows,” he replied, enigmatically. “That’s all that matters.”

“It’s been such a pleasure working with you, Agent Scully, no matter how short the experience was,” Mallard sighed, holding out a courteous hand.

“The same with you, Ducky,” Dana smiled, accepting the hand and shaking it. “Hopefully our paths will cross again sometime.”

He fumbled and then pulled a small bag from his jacket pocket, in which was a ballpoint pen. “I accidentally stumbled across this in an auction house yesterday…It made me think of you for some reason, I can’t remember why, and I’d like you to have it. It belonged to Dr Stephen Lynn and was used by him to sign John Lennon’s death certificate in 1980…Maybe it was the talk of dead family members the other day, but it just reminded me that even the greatest stars die and need someone to sign their death certificates, but they’ll always live on within us.”

Tears streaming down her face as the memory of something similar her father had once said flashed to the forefront of her mind, Scully accepted the gift and then shook the doctor’s hand again.

“Any news on what remains of the base?” Skinner asked, looking fro Gibbs to Shepherd.

Jenny shook her head. “No, they won’t say.”

“You know they’ll just continue the testing elsewhere.”

“Then we’ll just have to do this all over again there,” Gibbs replied off-handedly.

“If you ever need anything, just give us a call,” the assistant director said, suddenly very serious.

Jethro stared at the taller man for a moment, studied him and the depth of his promise, and then nodded, “And the same from us to you.”

“Semper fi.”

“Semper fi!”

Tony walked over and tapped Mulder on the back as the FBI agent stepped out of Abby’s embrace. “Hey.”

Mulder turned on his heel, surprised by DiNozzo’s closeness.

“Hey.”

“How hot is Tea Leoni in person?”

“Wh-what?”

“Tea Leoni, you’ve met her – how hot is she in real-life?”

Mulder shifted from foot to foot, suddenly feeling very awkward. “How–… Who told you I met Tea Leoni?”

“Oh, come on, man! The Lazurus Bowl! It’s a classic!”

Skinner quickly turned at the sound of the infamous movie name from many moons ago.

“I thought I recognized your names when you introduced yourselves, and it kept bugging me through the whole case until I went on IMDB and typed in your names and that movie popped up!”

“Wait,” McGee started, leaning across his desk. “Are you saying they were in a movie?”

Tony shook his head in exasperation. “Don’t be stupid, probie – does this man actually look like a film star?”

“Well….”

“No. So, shut up. Garry Shandling and Tea Leoni were in a movie *about* Mulder and Scully’s work.”

Skinner slowly made his way toward the agents, with Gibbs in tow, like predators crawling up on their prey.

“Well, I actually wanted to be played by Richard Gere,” Mulder pouted, wanting to get off the subject but knowing the only way to do so was to laugh it off. “But they cast him as Skinner.”

“He doesn’t even look like your boss!”

“Exactly.”

“An–”

Both voices abruptly stopped as AD Skinner and Agent Gibbs slapped their agents across the back of the head and then walked away inwardly smiling.

END

AUTHOR’S NOTES: Hugs and thanks to Lisa and Keith for the wonderful encouragement and for checking this over/betaing when it was finally done, and Vickie for the extra beta. This is my first ever crossover and writing of any other TV characters besides XF, so please be gentle with feedback LOL

Judgment Call

Judgement Call

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The long goodbye. That’s what Raymond Chandler called it. The big “it,” to be precise.

Like everything Ray ever wrote, it has a sweetly melancholic ring of truth. Dad’s jarring voice on the answering machine two weeks after the funeral. The grocery list Aunt Dorothy left on the fridge minutes before taking a header down the basement stairs. The shoebox full of cash and Polaroids found on the top shelf of the senator’s closet a year after he’s lowered into the sod with twenty-one guns blazing.

When we go gently into that good night, more often than not we leave a few breadcrumbs along the way, a few nasty surprises for the rest of us to dirty our shoes on. Wave bye-bye, shed a few tears, and box everything up for the Salvation Army. Chances are, Dad or Aunt Dotty or the Honorable Senator will pop back for a few more posthumous curtain calls sooner or later.

I’d had more than my share of long goodbyes lately, which is ironic considering the ghost of Chandler brought me to L.A. in the first place. Turned out he’d vacated the place, or at least wasn’t offering any new tips for aspiring young writers. I’d had to create my own ghosts.

“Fear and Self-Loathing in Los Angeles,” Charlie mused as I looked out over the moonlit Pacific. Some kids had lit a fire up ahead, using God knows what and, probably, smoking the same.

“Gonna have to quit taking you to counseling with me,” I muttered.

“Nice trick, you can pull it off. But I think Samantha expects you to bring your subconscious.”

“Couldn’t have dementia without it, right?”

“Hoo boy, here we go,” Charlie said, playing an invisible violin. I suppose I could’ve imagined a real one for him, maybe a Stradivarius, but he didn’t seem to take to props.

I jumped as an electronic melody pierced the cool California night. I glanced at Charlie.

“Must be yours’,” my dead partner grinned. “You know it ain’t mine.”

**

“I pray to God the press doesn’t get hold of this crime photo,” The Honorable Judge Rina Getchel breathed, staring disgustedly at the body on the rug. Judge Getchel’s vintage Sarouk rug. Her body, too, actually.

I ignored her, glancing anxiously around the judge’s chambers at the clutch of uniforms, techs, and fellow detectives. Judge Getchel (the one on the floor) had died horribly (if there was any other way), her judicial robe snarled around her thighs, her face contorted in agony. Poison, I ventured.

I looked back at Judge Getchel (the one still standing), who merely shrugged. Like the others, she was a product of my literarily deficient imagination. Except now, I was thinking metaphorically, like some bad independent movie. My Judge Getchel was swathed in blood-red robes, and her face was pinched and lined, unlike the supremely self-confident, unflappable magistrate I’d testified before dozens of times. What was I thinking? Had something been worrying the judge? Had Getchel been into something illegal, gotten a little blood on her robes, on her hands?

“Ha,” Judge Getchel barked. “Little Miss Decorum?”

I frowned up at her. Usually, if my victims deprecated anybody, it was me, not themselves. I looked back at the body, at the scenario.

“Nice legs for a middle-aged broad, huh?” Getchel inquired. “Why don’t you take a picture?”

“Shh,” I admonished, a finger to my lips.

“I didn’t even say anything. Detective Raines?”

I jumped, then swiveled toward the man behind me. Pleasant-looking guy, crooked grin. Staring at where I’d just been staring, at Getchel the Figment.

“Hey,” I smiled, climbing to my feet and taking his outstretched hand. “Sorry. Like a nice, quiet crime scene, you know?”

“Doesn’t everybody?” He flashed an ID. FBI.

“Terrific badge flipping technique, Agent, uh, Mulder. Very Jack Webb. Say, you guys move awful fast.”

Mulder shrugged. “The judge had just been nominated for the federal bench. She was controversial — I understand she got a bag of hate mail every day. Judge Judy’s the Little Mermaid by comparison.”

“Nice,” Judge Getchel snorted.

“Hey, hey, Agent Mulder,” I hastened, trying to drown out my own imagination. “What say we grab a cup of joe and a couple high-fiber muffins down the street?”

Mulder’s eyes narrowed, and he nodded slowly. “Sure.”

**

“You’re not from the L.A. field office,” I ventured, waggling a finger at Mulder’s watch. “The time seemed to be flying by so delightfully, I checked your watch. Either you’re in from the Right Coast or you like to be reeeally early for your appointments.”

“D.C.,” the agent grinned, sipping his macchiato. “My A.D. asked me to check out the judge’s murder. Out here for a conference.”

“Homeland security, forensics?”

“Satanic Ritualism and its Correlation to Rural Serial Fetishism.”

“Yeah, yeah, right. Read about it in the Times. Shatner’s the keynoter, right? Just what do you do for the Bureau, Agent?”

Mulder explained in no small detail.

“Ah, paranormal phenomena. Good stuff – had a cousin go into that.” I wondered if Dr. Kohl would give me a referral discount if I brought a buddy to our next session.

“The man’s certifiable,” Getchel the Red-Robed Adjudicator sighed from across the table. “Ask to see his badge again.”

I shot a dagger or two her direction. When I turned back, Mulder again was staring curiously at where my adjudicating avatar had materialized. “So, honestly, you really think some crazed con or aggravated activist offed our judge?”

“Verry cold,” Getchel murmured.

“Your CSU guy tells me there was no food or beverages in chambers, and her clerk said she’d been working solid since 8 this morning and was planning to grab some dinner on her way home. How’d anybody slip her the deadly dose?”

“Who was she planning to dine with – with whom was she planning to dine? She’d just heard about her nomination, right? Was she going to celebrate with someone special?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Getchel studying my muffin.

“I’m sure you knew she was getting a divorce.”

I nodded. “Bigshot celebrity lawyer. Bitter divorce, real Michael Douglas-Kathleen Turner stuff.”

Mulder frowned. “Jewel of the Nile?”

“War of the Roses. They’d been separated for months – in fact, she got a TRO on him after he drove his Hummer over her front lawn. He couldn’t get less than 100 feet from her.”

“Pigs,” Judge Getchel hissed. I held up a finger, then swatted a similarly imaginary fly. Mulder smiled, an eyebrow raised. My chair squeaked on the tile floor as my cell phone shrilled.

“Raines. You need to haul ass back here.”

“Officer Boyer? You sound out of breath. You really ought to try inhaling through your nose.”

“Yeah, right. I been dumpster diving.”

“You should’ve said something. I could’ve brought you a piece of carrot cake.”

“I think maybe we found the murder weapon. Her flunkie, the clerk, whatever, said she went down the hall just long enough to throw something away just before he left for the day, and I figured – well, Lance and I figured –”

“Shut up, shut up,” I interrupted. “You had me at ‘murder weapon.’ What is it?”

“Jeez, I don’t know. Clerk didn’t see what it was. I just bagged everything up, like a little Christmas gift just for you.”

“Gee, and all I got you was, well, you’ll probably find it in your wheel well in a few weeks.” I flipped the phone shut. “Agent, you ready to roll?”

Mulder stood. “Let me hit the boy’s first.” He headed toward the back of the nearly empty coffeehouse.

“He thinks you’re insane, too,” Judge Getchel suggested.

“Shh.” I leaned back, shutting my eyes. “What did you throw away? And why down the hall? You have to have a wastebasket in your office. Maybe, maybe you didn’t want your clerk to see what it was…”

“Little Miss Decorum,” Judge Getchel sighed.

“Yeah, yeah. It wasn’t just the clerk – you didn’t want the night crew to find it in your trash, in your chamber.”

I opened my eyes. Agent Mulder was smiling down at me, our bill in hand.

“Well, hi,” I smiled back. “You got some little cat feet, don’t you?”

**

It took three bags before I found it nestled amongst the remains of the day. With gloved hand, I lifted it by the neck and deposited it on the lab table before Officers Lance and Boyer and my new friend the crazy fed.

“Wow,” Boyer grunted. “Now tell me who’s gonna win the fifth race at Hollywood Park.”

“Judge Getchel was a stickler for decorum, a regular doyenne of decorum,” I began. “She’d just found out she was up for a federal judgeship, so a bit of the bubbly was in order.” I smacked Boyer’s paw as he reached for the nearly depleted Dom Perignon bottle. “But champagne in chambers, that was out of order.”

“So why’d she have it there in the first place?” Lance asked, pursing her lips. “The judge was going out to celebrate. Why’d she pop the cork at the office? And why alone? Wouldn’t she want to share the moment?”

“Like Raines said,” Boyer snorted. “She didn’t wanna be seen getting a snoot full.”

“1970 Dom Perignon’s an awfully pricey ‘snoot full,’” Mulder pointed out. “But Officer Lance’s point remains. Why drink a celebratory toast alone? And an apparently illicit one at that?”

“I think the question is who tainted the toast,” I suggested. “Boyer, bag the bottle and tell the lab to express it. Lance, check any recent deliveries to the courthouse. Go. Scat.”

“Now what?” Mulder asked.

“Got a disgruntled widower cooling off upstairs,” I offered. “Wanna play good cop, weird cop?”

**

“Guys, I didn’t care enough to kill her,” Jason Getchel sighed, hooking an arm over the back of his chair. “I was getting out, and none too soon. Another week, and I’d’ve been a free agent.”

I nodded as the entertainment lawyer granted me his best “Don’t sweat it” grin. “Ah, but without all that lovely California community property, right? Nothing says lovin’ like a warm pre-nup? Shrewd gal, the judge. You weren’t going to get squat in the divorce. But she apparently didn’t factor in premature death, and the agreement doesn’t preclude your inheriting the house in Bel Aire or the family stock portfolio.

The grin vanished into a flash of snarling crowns. “She was a fucking ice queen, OK? Wouldn’t talk to her own sister, even after she offered her an olive branch? Rina didn’t even bother to go to her funeral last year. Her own sister.”

“Pigs,” Judge Getchel spat from behind her widowed spouse’s shoulder. A tear rolled down her cheek into the folds of the red robe. I frowned. Where was I coming up with this stuff?

“Hello?”

I blinked.

“Detective Raines?” Mulder asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” I mumbled, heading for the interview room door. “Just don’t leave town.”

I didn’t actually think he would. It’d always just sounded kind of cool on TV, and I couldn’t think of a better exit line.

**

Nothing sounded good on TV that night – even the Food Network seemed hackneyed and clichéd – so I poured myself a couple of fingers and sat down at the dining room table for a chat with Her Honor.

Getchel’d changed into her black robe for the cocktail hour, and she was now the same cool, patrician judge I’d quaked quietly before on many an occasion.

“You’d been waiting years for the federal bench,” I frowned. “You should’ve been celebrating your brains out. Instead, you’re drinking alone in chambers.”

The judge grimaced, crossing her leg and smoothing her robe over her knee. “You make it sound so pathetic, like I was a closet lush. I may have been an ‘ice queen’ at home — wouldn’t you be one if you were married to Jason? — but I had many friends on the bench and at City Hall.”

“Sorry. So why drink alone?”

“Who says I was?” Judge Getchel posed with a haughty hitch of her brow.

“Don’t talk in riddles.”

“It’s you talking in riddles, actually. Maybe you shouldn’t have had that third drink.”

“Touché,” I murmured, raising my glass to the dead judge. It stopped in mid-air, and amber liquid sloshed over the lip. That was it. Or a big part of it.

The doorbell rang, and my drink made it over the lip and onto the table. I left the mess and fumbled with the door.

“The sister,” Mulder stated.

“Yeah, I know.” I stepped aside. “It’s who Judge Getchel was sharing her toast with. Her dead sister. It’s why she was drinking alone. Oh, I’m sorry. You want a drink?”

“I’m good,” Mulder said, landing on the couch. “Rina and Geraldine Carroll had a falling out more than 35 years ago — I talked to a cousin in Bakersfield who thought it was over a guy. The upshot is, they haven’t communicated since the ‘70s. Geraldine became an interior decorator, Rina a lawyer. Even when their parents died in the ‘80s, they both stayed away from the funerals to avoid each other.”

I nodded, excited. “The champagne, it must’ve been a peace offering from the sister — the olive branch Jason Getchel was talking about. That’s why Judge Getchel was drinking it in chambers after hearing about her nomination. She was toasting her late sister. But wait — that’s right. Geraldine’s dead.”

“Hit by a drunk driver as she was coming out of church, of all places,” Mulder confirmed.

“So when did she send Judge Getchel the Dom Perignon? Would had to have been a special occasion. Getchel was named to the county bench in 1986.”

Mulder leaned back. “I’m betting it was in 1977, when Rina graduated law school. She was still angry with her sister, so she kept Geraldine’s gift without opening it. Whatever came between them must have been powerful, ‘cause she didn’t open it in ’86, either.”

“What makes you think it was in ’77?”

“Because their parents died in ’84,” Mulder said simply. He looked to me for a response. It took a second or five.

“Of course, of course. The family had money, and there was no love lost between the sisters. Geraldine sent Rina a spiked bottle of champagne under the guise of a peace offering. It was like a time bomb that didn’t go off until yesterday. And all for nothing — the estate was split 20 years ago, and Geraldine was dead.”

“Only thing is…” Mulder started.

“What?”

The agent leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Why don’t we come clean, Detective Raines? How long have you been seeing them?”

“Them?” Good God, how did he know? “What, did you talk to my captain, Boyer? It’s really nothing, Agent Mulder — just an investigative technique. It helps me identify with the victims.”

“So in Judge Getchel’s chambers, at the coffee shop, that was supposedly just you talking to yourself?”

I flopped into a chair with a sheepish grin. “Thought you caught that. Here’s a secret, agent.” I leaned closer to Mulder. “I don’t see dead people. They’re figments of a probably fevered imagination.”

Mulder fell silent. “OK, then. I just have one question, Detective. How come I saw your ‘figment,’ too?”

I stared at him, then laughed. “You had me for a second, you really did.”

“Red robe, thought you were scoping the judge’s legs, ‘Little Miss Decorum’?”

I opened my mouth, shut it again. “God. You saw the judge, too?”

Mulder shook his head. “That wasn’t Judge Getchel you saw. Didn’t you think she was dressed a little funny?”

“Well, I wondered why her robe was red. Figured it was probably some kind of metaphorical symbolism, blood, death…”

“Rina and Geraldine were twins,” Mulder informed me. “Geraldine was killed coming back from her church choral practice, wearing her choir robe. Her red choir robe.”

“But, but I didn’t know anything about that case,” I protested. “I didn’t even know the judge had a sister until her ex told us.”

Mulder shrugged. “Your coworkers tell me you’re an extremely empathetic, compassionate detective. Geraldine probably honed in on that. And I’m…”

“Insane?”

“More receptive to the paranormal,” the agent clarified. “One of the tipoffs to an apparitional encounter is that the spirit rarely interacts verbally with the live subject. Geraldine commented on the crime scene, on Jason Getchel’s behavior, but at no time did she respond directly to a comment or question from you. Wow, you must’ve thought I thought you were nuts when I caught you talking to her. And I assumed you’d had previous experiences with, well, you know…”

“Ghosts,” I whispered. “Great. Now I’m Jennifer Love Hewitt without the bad hairstyle.”

“I wouldn’t be too worried. This was probably a one-time thing. I’ve only talked to four or five myself.”

“Very reassuring. So what, Geraldine was trying to point me to the fact she’d killed her sister so, what, her soul could move on, into the light?”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous. No, I think there’s more to it than that, or she wouldn’t have come on so directly to you. In cases of violent death, apparitions often are seeking vengeance, retribution, or to correct an injustice.”

“But she gave Judge Getchel the champagne — she must’ve. It’s open-and-shut, if I can figure out a way to tell the D.A. without being put on mental disability.”

“Geraldine Carroll was married briefly in the late ‘70s to a Lewis Braeburn. They divorced in 1985, shortly after her father died. Braeburn’s a used car dealer with a few near-scrapes with the law. Petty larceny, attempted credit fraud, that kind of thing. Maybe he had his eye on the family fortune and talked Geraldine into doing something rash.”

“Wow,” I marveled. “Dr. Phil could’ve helped those two with their ‘Guy-Qs.’ They knew how to pick ‘em.” Then it bubbled to the surface of my cerebrum. “Pigs.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Pigs. She said ‘pigs.’ Plural. Holy crap. I think I know what Casper the Friendly Sibling wanted to tell us. C’mon, I want to round up a pair of piggies.”

**

“You ever read The Long Goodbye?” I asked.

“Elliott Gould? Robert Altman?” Jason Getchel ventured.

“The what?” Lewis Braeburn sputtered. The paunchy, combed-over car merchant looked to his attorney, who looked to Getchel’s attorney. Getchel’s lawyer looked to Agent Mulder, who nodded back to me. I could feel Boyer’s brain cells straining beyond the interview room’s one-way mirror.

“The Long Goodbye. Raymond Chandler, Philip Marlowe. Possibly, the greatest work of American fiction ever. It’s a story about friendship and loyalty. Marlowe the detective gets mixed up with Terry Lennox, kind of a lost soul, who has Marlowe drive him to the airport in the middle of the night so he can hop a plane for Mexico. Turns out his wife had her brains beaten in, and the law thinks Lennox did it. Marlowe doesn’t, and winds up going through all kinds of fun and hijinks trying to prove it. Long story short–”

“Thank God,” Braeburn muttered. I waggled a finger.

“Long story short, Lennox tries to offer Marlowe some moola to help him lam, but Marlowe won’t hear of it. So instead, Lennox slips a $5,000 bill into Marlowe’s coffee can. Marlowe doesn’t feel he can spend it, but he holds onto the bill to remember this lost soul who got him in such deep doo-doo. Because they had a connection.

I turned to Braeburn. “Now, your ex-beloved sent her sister, Judge Getchel, a bottle of 1970 Don Perignon. That had to put a crimp in the newlyweds’ budget, huh?”

“Her idea,” Braeburn grunted. “Wanted to bury the hatchet with Rina, some such shit. I told her it was too expensive, especially after the way her sister treated her. I didn’t want anything to do with it.”

“Yes.” I pulled out the plastic bag with the note I’d found in the bottom of Getchel’s locked bottom desk drawer. “‘To let you know I’m proud of you. If you can find it in your heart, raise a glass in celebration and forgiveness. GB.’ Judge Getchel couldn’t bring herself to open it, but like Marlowe’s $5,000 bill, she couldn’t part with it, either. Oh, and look — Judge Getchel saved the envelope that came with the champagne. Bottle was wiped clean — just the judge’s prints. Same with the note. But, oh, oh, look.”

I slipped the yellowed gift envelope from the bag, and lifted the flap. “Look at that. That’s what we call a partial print, actually a pretty good partial. Wow, that adhesive really picked it up good. You know what, Lewis? I bet if we went back into your old arrest file, we’d find a match for this.”

Braeburn’s eyes shifted around the room, but he clamped his jaw shut.

I nodded. “Yeah, we’ll get back to you.” I turned. “Hey, Jason, buddy.”

“What am I doing here?” Getchel demanded. “You got your killers. I didn’t even know Rina ‘way back then. Can I get outta here? I got a lunch client.”

“After Judge Getchel survived your sister-in-law’s congratulations gift, Geraldine figured she’d thrown the champagne in the garbage,” Mulder said. “But about a year or so ago, Geraldine had a spiritual reawakening. Her minister told me she’d regretted the hatred she’d borne for her sister, sins she wouldn’t discuss in detail. Then she began to worry that, maybe, Rina had kept the Dom Perignon, that it was sitting on a shelf like some kind of time bomb. She had to warn her sister, no matter what the personal risk.”

“But Geraldine couldn’t face Rina, could she?” I suggested. “Not after what she’d tried to do to her. She knew Rina would never forgive her. So she called you. Right, Jason? She asked you to retrieve the bottle. Your rocky marital status has been all over the papers — your sister-in-law thought you’d understand what drove her to attempted murder. You assured her you’d defuse the bomb, but then you saw your way out, with a share of the judge’s loot. All you had to do was shut your mouth: Judge Getchel got a bagful of hate mail every day, and sooner or later, either out of judicial stress or success, she’d crack that bottle open.”

“That’s just nuts,” Getchel sneered, shaking off his lawyer’s hand.

“The question is whether you decided to get rid of the only potential monkey wrench in your plan. We’re checking the mechanic who coddles your Lamborghini to see if he did any unusual body work around the time Geraldine met up with her hit-and-run driver.”

“Hey, good luck with that,” Getchel laughed, shoving his chair back. I pulled the second bag from my jacket and dropped it before Getchel’s attorney. The lawyer glanced at the letterhead on the enclosed document and seized Getchel’s sleeve.

“Yeah,” I smiled. “Figured that would get your attention. See that line there, the one I circled? That’s the call from Geraldine Carroll to your home. Twenty-one minutes. Three days before Geraldine caught the Roadkill Express. And that date? Your beloved was at a conference on constitutional law in Chicago. Gee, that’s sad, isn’t it? They had so much to catch up on.”

A red-robed Geraldine Carroll caught my eye as I stood. I glanced at Agent Mulder, who blinked, scanned the room, and look confused. I sighed with relief as my self-manufactured “apparition” smirked down at her brother-in-law.

“Looks like he’s seen a ghost, doesn’t he?” “Geraldine” chuckled.

*end