TITLE: Seven Days in November (1/8) AUTHOR: Brandon D. Ray DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Anywhere and everywhere, so long as my name stays on it and no money changes hands. SPOILER WARNING: Hrmm. Thinking about it...Minor ones for Anasazi/The Blessing Way/Paperclip...can’t think of anything else off-hand...apologies in advance if I've forgotten something. RATING: PG or PG-13, depending on your opinion of the "f" word. No hanky panky to upset Mrs. Grundy, but a fair number of PDA's. Some violence, but on the other hand any project more involved than a schoolyard swing involves some potential loss of human life. ( Paraphrased from RAH, "The Star Beast") CONTENT WARNING: ScullyAngst, both Bill, jr., and Dana. Also, not-too-graphic presentation of a patient in a psychiatric hospital who has been mistreated. CLASSIFICATION: C,A; also M/S friendship; Crossover is with "Seven Days in May" by Fletcher Knebel and Charles W. Bailey II. This story stands on its own, however; you don't have to have read the book to "get it". The book was also made into a damned fine film, written by Rod Serling, starring Kirk Douglas, Burt Lancaster and Fredric March; there was a remake on HBO in the early 90s called "The Enemy Within", which wasn’t nearly as good, but which was watchable. Oh, and if you DO happen to be as much in love with this source material as I am, be ye warned that I have taken some liberties with Knebel and Bailey's plot and characters. DEDICATION: To Nonie, for tireless beta reading. To Tracy, who patiently answered a number of silly questions concerning the MATS system, and who in so doing unwittingly inspired a radical change (and improvement) in the underlying plot. And, of course, to Eleanor, my one in five billion. SUMMARY: The second in an apparently continuing series as I attempt to salvage Bill Scully, jr's poor, pathetic soul. (The first was "Insurmountable Opportunities", but you don't have to have read that piece to enjoy this one. Of course, you OUGHT to read IO, as it is exceptionally cool. It will show up on gossamer eventually, or you can drop me a line and I'll email it to you.) In THIS story, Bill makes another visit to Washington, and gets caught up in another X-File -- but this time the investigation may have profound consequences for the future of the United States. DISCLAIMER: Nope, I don't own these characters or situations. If I were THAT smart, I'd be rich. And, um, I guess I have to disclaim ownership to the lyrics to "Heartbreak Hotel", as well as those to "This One's For You". God forbid someone would think *I* would write such, um, stuff. I feel so unclean... ;) I also need to acknowledge "A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes", written by Mack David, Jerry Livingston and Al Hoffman. That's one I DO wish I'd written, but I didn't, and that goes a long way towards explaining why I'm stuck in this lousy job trying to raise a family while making too little money. Finally, the poem Bill Scully quotes from in the coffee shop is "Lucasta", by Richard Lovelace, and I don't have to disclaim anything in this case since Lovelace has been dead for more than three centuries, but I wanted to mention it anyway, just to prove that I'm eddicated. ;) Well, that's enough crap; let's get on with the good stuff... SATURDAY Bill Scully was tired, and his joints hurt. <> he thought. <> But somehow spending six or eight hours jammed into a C-141 with a couple hundred Marines who clearly didn't appreciate his presence, wearing those little yellow foam-rubber plugs to protect his ears from the roar of the jet engines, just wasn't as much FUN as it had been when he was 25. And the constant shaking, jarring and jouncing as the huge military cargo plane plowed its way through the late afternoon sky hadn't helped matters any. For the hundredth time since receiving his orders on Friday afternoon, Bill wondered why the Navy had refused to pop for a regular airline ticket. <> he reflected, also for the hundredth time. <> Now he was limping through Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport, his duffel slung over his shoulder. As he moved along the concourse, he felt his muscles start to unkink, and his stride gradually became more natural. <> he thought. He'd tried calling several times last night, and twice again that morning, but to no avail. He passed a rank of pay phones, and briefly considered trying again now, but decided against it. She'd just feel obligated to drive out and pick him up, he reasoned. Better just to jump on the Metro or grab a taxi. Twenty minutes later, Bill found himself standing outside his sister's apartment, knocking for the third time. <> he thought. It hadn't occurred to him that she still wouldn't be home. She did do a lot of traveling for her job -- maybe she was off somewhere on an assignment. Bill fished in his pocket and brought out his keyring. The key to Dana's apartment, which Fox Mulder had given to him two months before, on Bill's last visit to Washington, glinted at him suggestively. <> he told himself, and he inserted the key in the lock and let himself in. The first thing he noticed as he stepped across the threshold was the sound of the shower running; seconds later his nose informed him of wonderful smells drifting in from the kitchen, and his stomach reminded him of exactly how long it had been since breakfast. So she was here after all. Bill was relieved; he'd felt vaguely guilty about letting himself in. It somehow reminded him of the time he had found and read Dana's diary, back when she was 13 or 14. He'd made the mistake of trying to blackmail her with it, and she'd gone straight to their father.... <> he reassured himself, unconsciously rubbing his buttocks at the memory of his father's ire, and wandering through the apartment more or less at random. <> Then he saw the dining table. Rapidly, his eyes flicked over the arrangements: Linen table cloth, Waterford crystal, the antique china that used to sit in his mother's display case when he was a boy, gleaming silverware that looked like it might actually BE silver, two unlit candles.... <> he thought, feeling his face start to redden. <> The only things that didn't really fit into the equation were the two bottles of root beer peeking out of the ice bucket. <> At that moment, the sound of the shower stopped. <> Bill thought, and moved hurriedly back to the door. Scooping up his duffel, he was reaching for the doorknob when he heard a key in the lock. Instinctively, he took a step back as the door swung open. It was Fox Mulder. Mulder looked as startled as Bill felt. The two men stood stock still, staring at each other, for several seconds. Then Mulder grinned his patented irritating grin and stuck out his hand. "Hi, Bill!" he said cheerfully. "Fancy meeting you here. Long time no sea, as Lewis said to Clarke." Numbly, Bill shook the FBI man's hand, and watched as Mulder shut the door and moved past him into the apartment. Mulder was dressed to the nines, Bill couldn't help noticing: Dark suit, snow white dress shirt, and his shoes looked as if they had been spit-shined. Bill hadn't seen their like since his Academy days. The only thing spoiling the effect was the necktie, which made Bill wish for a volume control. "I must say I didn't expect you to be here, Bill," Mulder continued, walking into the kitchen. Bill heard the refrigerator door open and close, and then Mulder reappeared, a bottle of Rolling Rock in his hand. "Dana didn't mention that you were coming into town again," he continued as he twisted off the bottle cap and sank down on the sofa. "Uh, she didn't know I was coming," Bill replied. "*I* didn't know I was coming until yesterday afternoon." His eyes shifted to the table setting, and Mulder followed his gaze. "Well, that would explain it," Mulder said lazily, and he looked back at Bill, pinning him with his gaze like a butterfly on a display card. Some seconds went by as Bill tried to think of something to say. Several alternatives flashed through his mind, but none of them seemed to be quite...appropriate. "Mulder?" Dana's voice drifted into the room from down the hallway. "Mulder, I heard you come in." Her voice was coming closer. "I wonder if you could do me a favor. I forgot to get urk." She stopped in mid-sentence as she stepped into the living room and saw her brother standing there. She was dressed in a white terrycloth bathrobe which didn't cover her nearly well enough for Bill's taste, under the circumstances, and she had a towel wrapped around her still-wet hair. She now stood stock still, her eyes shifting back and forth between her partner and her brother. "Hi, Scully!" Mulder was the first to recover. "You should have told me you were planning a menage a trois. I'd have brought extra condoms." Bill stared at Mulder in disbelief. He hadn't actually said that, had he? But from the look of disgust on Dana's face -- which Bill found infinitely reassuring -- it was clear that she had heard it, too. "Not funny, Mulder," she said. "Not even a little bit." She glared at the man on the couch. "I'm sorry, Scully," Mulder said, putting on a face that made him look alarmingly like a whipped puppy. "Forgive me?" Rather amazingly, the ploy worked. Dana's face softened, and she said, "It's okay." She walked over to the sofa and ruffled Mulder's hair. Then she seemed to remember that her brother was there and turned back to face Bill. With an artificial air of nonchalance, she said, "So. Bill. What brings you to...here?" As if he lived in the neighborhood and had just happened to drop by of a Saturday evening. "Work," he said, desperately trying to find his way out of the situation. "I, uh, I have meetings at the Pentagon starting Monday, and for some reason they saw fit to send me out on a MATS with a bunch of jarheads." The words seemed to tumble together in his mouth. "I was hoping..." His eyes flicked to that dinner table again, and once more he felt his face growing red. "Look," he said. "It's pretty obvious I've intruded. I'll just get out of here, and find a room at HoJo's or something. I'll call you in the morning." And he turned to leave. "Wait, Bill." Dana caught up with him in the hallway. "Don't go; of course you can stay here. Mulder and I were just going to have dinner and watch a movie; no big deal. Come on inside." <> Bill thought. <> But he let himself be led back inside. Mulder was still sprawled on the sofa; he now had his shoes off and his feet up on the coffee table, and he was watching the scene between brother and sister with great amusement evident on his face. "Sure, Bill," he agreed, affecting a down-home hick accent. "Come on in and set a spell." Dana looked from one man to the other, and Bill thought he detected a faint look of panic in her eyes. <> he thought. <> He cleared his throat. "Look, Dana...I really don't think I should be here. I --" "Nonsense," she said, stepping forward and prying his duffel out of his hands. As she did so, he noticed with embarrassment that he had been holding it in front of his body, as if to ward off a blow. "You are always more than welcome here; you know that." She turned away firmly and carried his duffel down the hallway towards the guest bedroom. Bill followed after her. "Look," he said quietly once they were alone in the guest room. "You don't have to do this. I really can find someplace else to stay, and I really don't want to interfere with..." He waved his hands helplessly. "Things." She stood and looked at him for a moment, her face an expressionless mask, and he knew he was in trouble. Then she turned away and placed his duffel in the corner next to the bureau and started turning down the bedclothes. "You are welcome to stay here," she said. You are welcome to go to a motel. Whichever choice you make, it will make absolutely no difference in what goes on in this apartment this evening." She turned to face him, the mask still in place. "If you do decide to stay, you are also welcome to join us for dinner." Bill gulped, and closed his eyes, then forced them open again. She'd gotten a lot better at this than she had been at 14. "I ate on the plane," he lied. "And...and I am very tired," he added truthfully. "It was a long, bumpy ride. If it's all the same to you, I think I'll just go to bed." "That would be fine," she said calmly, and went to the door. As she pulled it open, Mulder's voice drifted down the hallway. "Hey, Scully. What movie do you want to watch tonight? I was thinking maybe DEEP THROAT, but I know you're partial to Johnny Wad." Bill saw her shoulders tense slightly. "I'll kill him," she muttered, and walked on out the door, and into her own room. Bill shut the door to his room and sagged against it wearily. <> he thought. <> Sighing, he stood up, and crossed over to the bed. He really was exhausted. He kicked off his shoes and quickly stripped down to his shorts, then stretched out on the mattress and pulled the covers up. Despite the emotional turmoil he was in, and despite the gnawing hunger in his belly, it was only a matter of a few minutes before he was sound asleep. # # # -- SUNDAY Bill Scully awoke in the pre-dawn darkness, feeling remarkably rested and refreshed. Turning over in bed, he felt a familiar, friendly urge rising in his loins; sleepily, he reached across the bed, trying to find his wife. She wasn't there. Groggily, he sat up and looked around. Right. He wasn't in San Diego; he was in Washington. At Dana's. He picked up the alarm clock and squinted at its glowing face: Five minutes after seven. <> he thought. <> He swung his feet around and stood up, then groped along the wall until he found the light switch. Blinking owlishly at the sudden illumination, he looked around and spotted his duffel in the corner where Dana had left it. Dana. <> he thought, climbing into a pair of sweat pants and pulling a t-shirt on over his head. Well, plenty of time to make it up to her; he'd be here all week, after all. Stepping out into the hallway, he saw that his sister's door was still closed. <> he thought, then winced at the image that thought brought to mind. <> he chastised himself. <> He had a sudden vivid recollection of a young man abruptly leaving the Scully home, his shoulders hunched and his hands clutched protectively about his private anatomy, while 16 year old Dana stood by and announced sorrowfully that Reggie had "taken ill" and had to go home. The memory made Bill feel better, and he padded down the hall towards the living room, thinking that he'd make breakfast as a sort of peace offering. As he emerged from the hallway, he realized that the TV was still playing, the volume turned low. Frowning, he stepped around the sofa, intending to turn it off -- and almost tripped over his sister's feet. Bill raised his eyebrows and backed up carefully. Dana was curled up on the floor, sound asleep. Fox Mulder was there, too, also asleep, sprawled in a spread-eagle half on and half off the sofa. They were both still wearing their dress clothes from the night before, which was at least some consolation, but Dana's head was lying on Mulder's -- well, "lap" was the polite term, Bill supposed. The whole tableau looked extremely...intimate. His first impulse was to drag Mulder off the sofa and throw him out into the hallway, but he suppressed it. <> he reminded himself. <> He turned and went back down the hall to take a shower, deliberately leaving the bathroom door open so the sound would carry. Twenty five minutes later, he emerged, to the smell of cooking bacon. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn't had anything to eat, aside from a few Fig Newtons on the plane, for nearly 24 hours. He ducked into the guest room, pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and then followed the smells down the hall. Dana was in the kitchen, working with a frying pan; Mulder was nowhere to be seen. "Good morning, sleepyhead," Dana said, smiling. The tight-lipped anger of the night before seemed to be gone. Good. "Good morning," he replied. "Mmm. Smells good. Been up long?" "A while," she replied. "Where's Mulder?" Bill wanted to bite his tongue out of his head, but the words were already out there, hanging almost visibly in the air between them. <> he thought in disgust. Dana glanced at him, her face expressionless, and Bill steeled himself for the explosion. But all she said was, "He had to leave." "Oh." Bill cast about, trying to find something to say to that, but came up empty. "Bacon's ready," Dana said. The meal passed in silence. Dana sat watching him from across the table, sipping at a cup of coffee and nibbling on a piece of toast, while Bill had a somewhat more lavish breakfast. Finally, he pushed back his chair, leaned back and stretched. "Good grub, Dana," he said, invoking the ritual their parents had used at the end of every meal. She didn't laugh at his witticism. Instead: "Thanks," she said. Then the bombshell: "Do you think I'm ready to be a wife yet?" Bill froze in mid-stretch, and stared at his sister. "W-what --" "It was a simple question," she said calmly. "Do you think I'm ready to be a wife?" Bill continued to stare at her. She sat on the other side of the table, hands folded in her lap, a serene expression on her face. "Why...why do you ask?" he managed to stutter out. "To see what you will say," she replied. "I value your opinion." She wasn't giving anything away. Carefully, he searched her face, looking for some clue, but there was nothing there. He couldn't tell if she was putting him on, or was utterly serious. "You're joking," he said tentatively. Silently, her face still expressionless, she started gathering up the dirty dishes. "Wrong answer, huh," he said. Dana didn't respond, but carried the dirty dishes into the kitchen. Bill had just decided to go after her when she came back out and sat down across the table from him again. He sat in silence, knowing that she would talk to him again when she was ready. "We need to have this out, Bill," she said at last. "There are some things you have to understand." She seemed to think about that for a moment, then amended her second statement. "There are some things that I NEED for you to understand." Bill nodded, but didn't say anything. "First and foremost," she went on, "who I spend my time with, and what I do with them, is not your concern." He started to agree with the flat statement, but she cut him off. "More specifically, whether or not I am sleeping with Fox Mulder is none of your god damned business." And she sat back in her chair and watched him. "I can accept that," he said at last, grudgingly. "And...I'm sorry. I was...out of line last night." But she apparently wasn't going to let him off that easily. "Last night," she said in measured tones, "you were a horse's ass. Even Mulder spotted it, and he's not the most sensitive person in the world. You humiliated me, and I do not appreciate it." "Mulder was --" he started to object, but she cut him off again. "I have spoken to Mulder, and again, what we said on the matter, and what we may or may not have done last night, is none of your business. Right now, at this moment, this is about you and me." Bill sat in silence for a moment; then he nodded reluctantly. "I can accept that, too," he said quietly. "Good." She looked him square in the eye, and he braced himself for another barrage. "Now the second thing you have to know," she said, "is that I love you very much." And again, she sat back and watched him, waiting for a response. "I...I love you, too, Dana," he replied at last. She slowly exhaled, and Bill realized that he had been holding his breath, as well. "That's the first sensible thing you've said since you got here," she said. There was only one answer he could give to that, much as it galled him to admit it. "I believe you may be right," he said. Dana actually smiled. "Trust me on this one," she said, standing up again. She glanced at her watch. "Now that that's settled, let me get at the dishes. If you're willing to dry while I wash, I think we can get them done and still make 10:30 Mass. Then, if you're up for it, Mother has invited us to lunch." Bill smiled in return, and stood up, and for a moment brother and sister faced each other again over the breakfast table. "Church, Dana?" he asked. "That's right," she said. "I've been...thinking things over, the last year or so. I've found church to be very helpful." And she turned and led him into the kitchen, to face the dirty dishes. # # # The drive out to their mother's house was quiet, brother and sister each lost in their own thoughts. At first Bill found it restful, but shortly he started to feel uncomfortable. Church had been pleasant, but had failed to provide the distraction he had been hoping for, and which past experience had led him to expect. He had found it difficult to focus on the sermon, and twice he had fumbled on responses which he had had committed to memory since he was a boy. Now he sat in the passenger seat of Dana's car, and despite his implicit promise to her, he found himself brooding about her relationship with her partner. His gaze fell on his sister. <> The question came unbidden to his mind. Her face seemed so calm and serene, and under her breath she was humming a little tune which was maddeningly familiar, but which he couldn't quite place. He shook his head. <> he wondered. Not that he begrudged her that happiness, but she'd been through so much in the past few years -- and those were only the things he knew about. He had a strong suspicion that there had been other trials in her life, things of which Bill had no knowledge. But there she sat, humming to herself, a faint smile on her lips as her imagination took her...somewhere. <> he wondered suddenly. <> He hadn't considered that possibility before, and now he turned it over in his mind uneasily. If Dana was happy with her life, who was he to second guess her? <> he thought, unconsciously echoing in his mind her words over breakfast, <> At length, they arrived at their mother's home, and both Bill and Dana turned outward again. Lunch was served, and for an hour the three of them sat together over fried chicken, mashed potatoes and hot homemade bread. There was one interruption which marred the occasion, however: Part way through the main course, Dana's cell phone beeped. With a sigh of annoyance, and a briefly murmured "excuse me", Dana took the instrument from her jacket pocket, turned half away and punched a button on the phone. Bill tried not to listen, but found that he couldn't help himself. "Scully." A brief pause. "Oh, hi. Look, this is not a good time -- What?" She listened for a moment. "Yes, those results should be back by now, but can't it wait until morning?" Another pause. "No. No, I am not going to -- Mulder, I am having lunch with Bill and my mother; we're about to have dessert." Her face reddened, and she glanced at Bill in apparent embarrassment. "No, I will not tell him that." Yet another pause, longer than the others. Finally, she said, "Are you attempting to bribe a federal official?...Well, then you're going to have to offer me something better than that." A smile crept across her face as she listened to the response. "Chocolate." Pause. "Two boxes, Mulder...No, TWO boxes. And GOOD chocolate, not Hershey bars, like the last time....Okay, I'll call you right back." And she hit the disconnect button on her phone. Looking at Mrs. Scully, and then at Bill, Dana said, "I'm sorry; this will just take a moment." And she punched one of the speed dials on her cell phone. After a moment, she frowned. "That's funny," she muttered. She hit disconnect, then tried the speed dial again. She shook her head. "Weird." Then she tried a different speed dial. "Mulder, it's me," she said. "Look, first of all, you still owe me those chocolate bars, because I did try." She listened for a moment. "No, I wasn't able to get through....Yes, I do believe the tests must be complete, but when I dialed the number all I got was a 'not in service' recording....Yes, I know that it's unusual --" She rolled her eyes in exasperation, and shook her head. "No, Mulder....No, I am NOT going to drive down to Quantico just to satisfy your curiosity....No, not even for FOUR boxes....No, I said 'no' and I meant 'no'." Her lips quirked into an almost-smile. "No, there is NOT 'yes-yes' in my eyes....Mulder, I have to go. I'll see you in the morning." And without waiting for a reply she hit the disconnect button. "Sorry about that," she said, and after a moment of embarrassed silence -- at least, Bill was embarrassed -- they returned to their meal, and to their conversation. Bill was pleased at the opportunity to spend time with his mother, whom he hadn't seen since her visit to San Diego the previous Christmas. They traded stories, brought each other up to date, and Bill passed around pictures of the new grandchild, and everything felt warm, comforting and familiar. After the meal, Dana announced that she was tired, having had a short night, and went off to her old room to lie down for awhile, leaving Bill and his mother alone. "She's looking a lot better," Bill remarked as he helped his mother gather up the dirty dishes and carry them into the kitchen. Setting the pile of plates down, he turned and leaned up against the counter while she set about filling the sink with hot water. "She seems to be making a strong recovery." Mrs. Scully nodded. "The Scully women have always been fighters, Bill. Remember your Grandma Scully? She was a tough one." "She certainly was." Automatically, he stepped forward and took a dishtowel off its hook, and prepared to start drying. "I've been...having some problems," he said, changing the subject. "And I was wondering if I could try to talk them out with you." She glanced at him and smiled as she handed him the first of their luncheon plates for drying. "Of course, Bill. What's a mother for?" "Well, this one's kind of difficult," he said. Not sure how to begin, he concentrated on drying the plate she had handed him, and then put it away in the cabinet and turned to take the next one from her, thinking about it. She seemed content to let him take his time. Finally, he said, "Actually, it's about Dana." Mrs. Scully nodded. "I thought it might be." Bill raised his eyebrows, and gave a little chuckle. "Telepathy, Mother?" She smiled back at him. "Of course. It's something they issue to new mothers before they let us go home from the hospital. Didn't Tara get hers?" "If she did, she didn't tell ME about it," he joked, and then turned serious again. "Mother, I don't know if it's quite right -- or fair -- to say that the problem is about Dana. It's actually more about my relationship with Dana." She nodded again. "I know. I could tell from the way you two were looking at each other over lunch." "I just don't get it!" he burst out. "I mean, I love her very much -- I always have, and I always will. But the last few years she's seemed to pull away from me. She's gotten strange, distant. I don't understand what's going on; I don't know what's happening in her life. And that scares me." Bill was shocked at his own admission, but his mother seemed to take it in stride. "I've often thought that it must be very hard to be a man, and have a younger sister," she mused. "There are so many duties piled upon men, and they often seem to conflict with one another. Among the more important duties is to look out for your younger siblings, especially the girls. Your father and I tended to stress that one to you and Charlie, and we thought that we were doing the right thing at the time. But times have changed; women are more independent now. Times have changed." There was a note of sadness in her voice. "Yes, I know about that," Bill replied. "But that's only part of it. Dana really has gotten strange, Mother. Maybe you don't notice it as much, because you're around her more often. But from a distance, and only seeing her a couple times a year, it really sticks out." "Oh, I've noticed," Mrs. Scully said. "Believe me, I've noticed. But you have to understand, Bill, that Dana has been through an awfully lot. More than the cancer scare, and more than losing Dad and Missy -- and certainly those things were hard on the entire family -- Dana has been through some very difficult life experiences." "It's because of her job!" Bill declared in an accusatory tone. "It's because of her job, and that guy she works with." He couldn't bring himself to utter Mulder's name. "Fox Mulder is a decent, honorable man," his mother responded quietly. "He really cares very deeply about your sister, Bill, I truly believe that. I also believe that he would do almost anything to protect her. You haven't been around them very much when they're together, but I have, and I've watched them. There is a bond between them that is practically unbreakable. I know married couples who are less devoted to each other -- and less intimate." She looked at her son obliquely. "But I suspect that this is another thing that is bothering you." Bill shifted his weight uncomfortably. "You really know how to cut to the heart of the matter," he murmured. She laughed. "I wouldn't be much of a mother if I couldn't," she remarked. "Mother, are they sleeping together?" He felt an agony in his chest, and had a sudden intuition of what a heart attack must feel like. This was the question he had been leading up to, he suddenly realized. This is what he needed to know. He knew it was a terrible invasion of his sister's privacy, and that he was possibly asking his mother to betray a very basic confidence. But he had to know. He had to. She paused for a long minute, thinking it over while she washed out a glass and handed it to him. Finally, she said, "I don't know, Bill. I have wondered about that -- I wouldn't be human if I hadn't, even though we both know that it is a private matter." She looked at him directly, and the love in her eyes took the sting out of her next sentence: "May I ask what you would do with the information if you found out that they WERE sleeping together?" "I don't know," he muttered miserably. "I don't know. I just know that I need...something. Some reassurance, some confidence that Dana is okay. That she is going to be okay." "I think you can depend on that, Bill," Mrs. Scully said softly. "Your sister will always be okay." And later that night, as Bill was falling asleep in Dana's guest bedroom, he suddenly remembered where he'd heard the tune she'd been humming in the car. He hadn't heard it since he was a little boy, but it had been so beautiful, and the words had seemed so true, that it had burned itself into his brain. He hadn't thought about that song in more than thirty years, but he could still remember those words: "A dream is a wish your heart makes, when it's fast asleep..." # # # -- MONDAY Bill Scully had never been to Dana's office before, and so of course he got lost. The J. Edgar Hoover Building seemed like a rabbit warren, with phones ringing, people bustling back and forth and a confusing welter of signs directing him to various departments and divisions. Unfortunately, none of the signs said, "This way to the ghoulies and ghosties and things that go bump in the night." Finally, in desperation, he flagged somebody down. Feeling uncomfortable and out of place in his Class A uniform, he asked, "Excuse me. Could you please direct me to the office of Special Agent Dana Scully?" The man stopped and looked him up and down. His lips quirked. "Dana Scully? Mrs. Spooky?" With amusement in his eyes, he turned and pointed back along the hall, the way Bill had come. "Down the end of the hall, turn left, and take the first elevator you come to down to the basement. Then just follow the mysterious lights," he finished, wiggling his fingers in the air. "You can't miss it." And he turned and walked away, chortling at his own witticism. Bill wanted to smash his face in but he suppressed the urge. Moments later, he stepped off the elevator into a basement hallway, and started walking down it. The third door on the left was standing open, and he heard Dana's voice coming from inside. "So what did Frohike want?" she was saying as Bill stepped across the threshold. She was seated at a desk with her back to the door. Several neat stacks of paper sat on the desk, as well as a computer console, a multi-line telephone, and an open box of Lady Godiva chocolates. As he watched, Dana took a piece of candy from the box and popped it into her mouth. "What does Frohike ever want?" Mulder replied. He was seated at another desk, this one facing towards the entry way. His eyes flickered as he saw Bill in the doorway, and he added, "Your body, of course." Dana sighed theatrically. "When will he understand that I only have eyes for you, Mulder?" she said, and popped another chocolate into her mouth. "Well, you have to admit it can be a bit of a burden, Scully," Mulder said. "You really wear me out sometimes. I wouldn't mind having a night off every now and then." Dana snorted, and Mulder shifted his gaze back to Bill again. "Hi, Bill!" he added cheerily, and gave a little wave. Dana spun around in her swivel chair, and her eyes widened as she saw her brother standing there. "Bill," she said faintly. "I wasn't expecting..." Her voice trailed off and she turned back to Mulder. In an accusatory tone, she said, "How long has he been standing there?" Mulder's eyes were dancing. "Long enough," he admitted. She shook her head. "Well just for that, you aren't going to get any of my candy." And she put the lid back on her box of chocolate and slid the box into a desk drawer. "And don't think for a minute that I don't know exactly how many are left." "Aw, Scully..." Throughout this exchange, Bill had been standing stock still in the doorway, his mind working furiously. <> he wondered. He was almost certain from their tones that it was all a gag -- but this was a sensitive subject, and he had a strong intuition that if his sister perceived him to be invading her privacy again, she was going to rip his ears off and feed them to him. Now she was rising to her feet and turning to face him. <> he thought. <> "Bill," she said, spots of color visible on her cheecks. "I'm sorry." She gestured towards Mulder with her head. "My partner can be a real jerk at times. Sometimes I wonder why I put up with him." "That's okay," Bill said, putting on what he hoped was a self-deprecatory grin. "I've known that he was a jerk for a long time. After all, we were initiated at the same meeting." Dana snorted again, and Bill decided to quit while he was ahead. "Speaking of meetings," he said, "my afternoon session has been canceled. Don't know why -- they certainly flew enough brass in to attend it. But apparently there's been some sort of snafu down at Quantico, and now the whole Navy Department is in an uproar, and I'm at loose ends. So," he finished, "I thought I'd stop by and see if you were free for lunch." "Quantico?" Dana said, and glanced at Mulder. "Well that explains it then," she told her partner. Turning back to her brother, she said, "We've been trying to call Quantico all morning. Yesterday we just got a recorded message claiming that the number wasn't in service; today we've been getting a military operator who can't seem to put us through to any Bureau personnel." She shrugged. "But if there's been a problem at the base, it may have affected the phone system." Dana stood up and turned back to Mulder. "Anyway, I'm sure it will be fixed soon. Would you mind terribly if I went to lunch with Bill? Since he happens to be free?" "Well..." Mulder gave his annoying, lazy grin. "I'LL be okay, but Frohike is going to be devastated. He just called to invite us to lunch, himself. Philly cheese steaks with all the trimmings." Mulder made a lipsmacking sound. "Mmm-mm. He also said he has some new data he wants to show us from the DoD message traffic analysis he's been working on." "Well, I guess he'll have to struggle along without me," Dana said, picking up her purse and moving over to the coat tree. Bill raised his eyebrows. "The FBI monitors the DoD's comnet?" he asked curiously. Dana hesitated, glanced quickly at Mulder, then back at Bill, and replied, "Sort of. It's still in the experimental stages. It's a...counterespionage initiative, and we're really not supposed to be talking about it." She glared at Mulder, who just smiled and shrugged. Slipping on her coat, Dana walked over to her brother. "Shall we go?" They had a long, leisurely lunch. All of the tensions of the last two days seemed to drain away as brother and sister chatted companionably over soup and sandwiches. The only thing bothering Bill was Mulder's remark about the DoD traffic analysis. Something about it didn't sound quite kosher to him; on the other hand, he knew that the FBI did have some counterintelligence responsibilities, and if it really WAS some sort of classified project of that nature, he shouldn't be sticking his nose into it at all. Finally, he decided he would have to ask. He took a sip of water, cleared his throat, and said, "Dana? What was Mulder talking about, back in your office? About the traffic analysis? And who is Frohike?" Dana looked at him for a moment while she chewed a bite of her sandwich, and seemed to be considering what to say. Finally, she swallowed, and said, "Well, that's a complicated question. I can see why you would be concerned, but it really isn't something I'm free to talk about. Mulder shouldn't have mentioned it in your presence, either." Bill studied her face for a moment. He had had enough involvement with classified matters, himself, that he knew there was validity in what she was saying. There had been times when he was privy to secrets which he had not been free to share with anyone, not even his wife. He didn't think Dana's work normally involved national security issues, but he didn't know for a fact that it didn't -- which left him with the choice of either trusting his sister or not. He nodded slowly. "Okay," he said at last. "I guess that's fair enough. You do understand my concern, though?" She nodded, and seemed to be relieved. "Absolutely. If I were in your shoes, I'm sure I'd feel the same way." She glanced at her watch. "Heavens, look at the time; I've got to be getting back, or Mulder will think I was hit by a truck." They walked back to FBI Headquarters in silence. It was mid-November, and the first snow of the year had started to fall. When they reached the building, Dana turned to face him. "Want to walk me inside?" Bill shook his head. "No; I think I'd just as soon take a walk on the Mall. It's been too long." Dana nodded, and seemed to hesitate for a moment. Then she said, "Bill?" "Yes?" "Thank you for not pressing me on that other matter. I promise you, everything really is...all right. I just can't talk about it." He nodded. "I understand." "You're a good brother," she said, and she raised up on her tiptoes to give him a quick peck on his cheek, and was gone. # # # Bill Scully awoke to the sound of a ringing telephone. Blearily, he sat up and looked around. Dana's sofa. He had fallen asleep on Dana's sofa. Outside, night had fallen, and on the television a football game was in progress. <> he remembered. He'd come back to the apartment to find that she hadn't come home yet. He'd puttered around for awhile, then finally fixed himself something to eat and stretched out on the sofa to watch Monday Night Football. The phone rang again. Bill shook his head to clear it, then leaned over and grabbed the receiver. "Hello? This is Dana Scully's residence." "Bill, this is Dana," his sister's voice said without preamble, and immediately he snapped to full wakefulness. Her voice sounded tense, on edge. "I need your help with something, and I need it now." "Well...of, of course," he stuttered. "What is it?" "I can't explain it on the phone," she replied. "Look, someone will be by to pick you up in -- how long?" The last two words were apparently directed to someone else. "In twenty minutes," she said. "Look for a blue Chevy. In twenty minutes," she repeated. "Twenty minutes," Bill said, confused. "Dana, what's this all about? What's going on?" She paused. Then: "Bill, I CAN'T go into it on the phone. It wouldn't be...prudent. I'll see you soon." And she hung up. <> he wondered, scratching his head. <> He glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes. He'd better get moving. A short while later, having changed his clothes and bundled up against the cold, he stepped out on the sidewalk in front of her apartment building. The blue Chevy she had mentioned was already waiting, its engine idling. Bill started to climb in the passenger side, but the driver jerked his thumb over his shoulder. Bill caught a quick glimpse of glasses glinting in the street light, but otherwise the driver's face was lost in shadows. "Captain Scully," the man said, "I'm going to have to ask that you get in back and lie down on the seat." His tone was apologetic. "It's for your own protection." <> Bill thought, and followed the man's instructions. As he lay down and curled his legs up, he felt the car start to move. "If this were anybody but Dana, I'd think it was a practical joke," Bill said, hoping to draw the driver into conversation. "Believe me, Captain, this is no joke. I wish it were," the man replied grimly. "We might not any of us be alive by morning." "That's pretty melodramatic," Bill commented. "That's the kind of world we live in, Captain Scully. By the way, my name's Frohike. I'm a friend of Dana's." "Yes, she's mentioned you," Bill replied. "She has?" The man's voice held a note of smug pleasure. <> Bill thought. <> Aloud, he said, "Just in passing. Look, can't you tell me what this is all about? I'm not used to all the cloak and dagger stuff." There was a pause, then the man at the wheel said, "I think it would be better to let Dana explain it to you. We'll be there in a few more minutes." The rest of the trip passed in silence. Finally, the car pulled to a halt and the engine stopped. Bill heard the driver's door open and shut, and then his own door opened. "You can get out, now, Captain Scully," Frohike said. Bill climbed out of the car and looked around. They were in a rundown part of town, a commercial district of warehouses and decrepit office buildings. Silently, Frohike led the way into one of the latter. They climbed a flight of stairs, and Frohike paused in front of an unmarked door. He gave three sharp knocks, paused, and then gave two more. "Frohike," he said. "I've got Captain Scully." Fox Mulder opened the door, his Sig Sauer in his hand, pointing at the floor. Mulder glanced at Frohike, then at Bill; then he stepped into the hallway and looked both ways before finally holstering his weapon and leading them inside. "Pretty tight security," Bill commented. "We couldn't be sure you would be alone," Mulder said flatly as he shut the door. Bill took a moment to look around. The room was actually fairly large, but it was crammed full of computer terminals, sound and video equipment and other electronic devices which Bill couldn't even begin to classify. At the far end of the room, Dana and two other men were bent over a computer monitor. At the sound of the door closing, Dana looked up, and then turned and walked over to Bill. Taking both of his hands, she went up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. "Bill," she said. "Thank you for coming. I'm sorry about the way we did it, but it was...necessary." Her voice was strained and her manner distracted. Searching her face, Bill realized that she was afraid. But of what? "That's okay," he said, and glanced around the room again. "This doesn't look much like my conception of the FBI Crime Lab." Dana smiled briefly, but then worry descended on her face again. "It's not," she said. She gestured at a chair. "Please, Bill, sit down." She waited until he had complied, then took another chair and pulled it over next to his and sat down. Mulder walked up behind her and rested his hands lightly on her shoulders, as if he were somehow giving her energy by his touch. She glanced up him, and briefly squeezed his right hand with hers, then looked back at Bill. "Where to begin," she said, half to herself. "I suppose I should start with introductions." She gestured at the three strange men -- and as Bill took his first really good look at them, he realized that "strange" was a very apt word. But Dana was still talking. "You've already met Frohike," she said. "He was your driver." Bill nodded, and his eyes provided a thumbnail sketch: Short, stocky, nebbishy-looking guy, wearing glasses and a receding hairline. "Hi," Frohike said, almost shyly. He extended his hand. "Glad to know Dana's brother." Bill shook his hand, and Dana proceeded to introduce the other two: Langly, wearing jeans and a pornographic t-shirt, with stringy blond hair hanging down past his shoulders, and Byers, a short, fussy-looking man with reddish-brown hair, sporting a Van Dyke and wearing a three piece suit. Introductions completed, Dana leaned back in her chair and looked at Bill for a moment. Then she craned her neck to look up at Mulder again, still standing behind her and gently massaging her shoulders. "Where do I begin?" she asked him. Mulder smiled. "Now you know how I feel sometimes, Special Agent Scully," he said. Then he quoted, "'Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end. Then stop.'" Dana actually laughed. "So are you the Red Queen tonight, Mulder? I would never have guessed." She lowered her eyes to look at Bill again, and her smile vanished. She looked at him intently for a moment, then sighed. "I guess before we go any farther," she said, "we should make sure you understand what you're getting yourself into, if you agree to help us." "Of course I'm going --" She held up her hand. "Please, Bill; hear me out before you make any promises." His sister looked at him levelly, unshed tears in her eyes. "Oh, God, Bill...if there were anybody else to ask -- anyone we could trust." She shook her head, and Mulder gave her shoulders an extra squeeze. Again she touched his hand with hers, and seemed to draw comfort from it, and in that moment Bill did not resent the man nearly so much. Dana continued, "What you must understand is that if you agree to join us, you will be walking into a...supremely dangerous situation. You will be putting not just your own life at risk, but those of Tara and the baby as well." Bill felt his throat constrict. "Dana," he said hoarsely. "WHAT'S GOING ON?" "We'll get to the details in a bit," she said. "I want to make sure you understand, first, because five years ago *I* walked into this situation unknowingly." She looked up at Mulder again, and he looked down at her, and there was an almost visible link between them as they locked eyes. "And although I would not change a single moment, even if I could, nevertheless it is not fair to do the same thing to you." Mulder nodded at her solemnly, and she dropped her gaze to Bill again. "How can I understand the risk if you won't tell me any of the details?" Bill asked. Dana nodded. "That's a fair question. The answer is, you really cannot -- you're being asked to buy a pig in a poke, and no one here will think less of you if you decide to walk away." She swallowed. "We almost didn't call you, Bill. We've put you in tremendous danger simply by bringing you to this room." And she reached up and squeezed Mulder's hand again. Bill shook his head, tried to push it away. "No," he said. "This is nuts. It's a movie script. Things like this don't happen in real life." He raised his arms in frustration. "What am I saying? I don't even know what you're talking about!" "Bill," she said, looking him in the eyes with love and sadness. "I have never been more serious in my life. I know how this must sound; I know it's melodramatic. But this is my work; this is what I do, and you have got to trust me when I tell you that we are all in terrible, terrible danger. And it is terribly unfair to ask this of you, but we are doing it anyway, and you must decide, and you must decide now." Bill felt a chill run down his spine. She was serious. She really was serious. She was staring at him, unblinking, and now the tears were running down her cheeks, and there was only one answer he could give: "Of course, Dana," he said. "Of course I'll help." Dana closed her eyes, and nodded. She looked up at Mulder, still standing over her, and he nodded slightly, as well. She looked back at Bill, and went on, "Okay. Well at least that much is settled," she said, and gave a shaky little laugh. "I have one more question which I...must ask you. You will probably find it offensive. It will probably make you angry. But I must ask it, and you must answer it, or this can go no further." Bill nodded slowly, and braced himself. His sister looked him in the eye, and said, "Captain William Scully, are you loyal to the United States?" There was dead silence in the room. Even Mulder's hands had stopped moving on her shoulders. Despite Dana's warning, Bill felt a surge of anger, but he forced it back down. Dana wouldn't be yanking his chain -- not about something like this. If she was asking this question, it was because she wanted an answer, and that meant it deserved his full and sober consideration. "I like to think that I am," he said at last. "I've taken an oath to that effect." Dana looked into his face intently. "And what, in your view, is the foundation of that oath?" she asked softly. That was an easy one. "To defend the Constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic." Dana looked relieved, and leaned back in her chair. She tipped her head back to look at Mulder, and smiled. He smiled back. "Told you," he said. "Now you owe ME some chocolate." "I take it I pass," Bill said diffidently, and Dana laughed and leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Yes," she said, her voice muffled against his shirt collar. "You pass." And the tension seemed to go out of the room with an almost audible "whoosh". Dana leaned back in her chair with a smile, and patted Mulder's hand once more. "Now we can begin the briefing. Frohike? Why don't you start with the traffic analysis?" The little man stepped forward and placed a black looseleaf binder on Bill's lap. Bill opened it, and saw that it was filled with computer printouts. Frohike said, "For the last year or so, I've been trying to track the flow of communications within the DoD. Not to monitor the content -- that would be impossible. There is too much data. But by tracking who is talking to who, what routing they use, and the frequency and length of the messages sent, we can begin to get some idea of how things work inside an organization. Given enough data, it is even possible to create a model which will actually give us some notion of the subject's future intended actions. Clear so far?" Bill nodded. "I've had some information theory, and I did a tour with the Sixth Fleet's threat team. I don't claim to be an expert, though." "That's good," said Frohike. "So we can assume you understand the basic theory. Now, what I've specifically been trying to do is get a handle on how the Pentagon manages its black ops teams." "Black ops?" Bill asked. "You mean like Special Forces and Navy SEALS?" Frohike waved a hand in derision. "Hell no," he said. "Those guys are Boy Scouts. I'm talking about the REAL bad guys: No-name units. Hunter-killer squads. B&E, extortion, assassination. The whole nine yards." Bill was shocked. He looked at Dana. "He can't be serious," he protested. "Assassination squads? In THIS country?" He was offended at the very thought of it. Dana leaned forward with a look of infinite sadness and gently laid her hand on his knee. "Bill, it's true," she said softly. "I've seen these groups operate. I've watched them kill, and on more than one occasion Mulder and I have barely escaped with our own lives." Again, there were unshed tears in her eyes. "Bill, I know it's hard to accept. I know it's not what we were brought up to believe, or to believe in. But it is true. Our government has done, and continues to do, all the things Frohike said, and more. Bill --" And here a special agony entered her voice, and Bill was afraid for a moment that she was going to break down entirely. "Oh, Bill. These men murdered Melissa!" # # # -- MONDAY (cont.) Bill closed his eyes and sat absolutely still. He could feel the waves of conflicting emotions surging through him: Anger, fear, doubt, guilt. He knew that he stood on the brink of a precipice; it would take only the slightest nudge to push him over the edge. And he couldn't allow that to happen; too many people depended on him. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes. Dana was still staring at him, her blue eyes boring into his and her cheeks once again streaked with tears. Fox Mulder had come around from behind her chair, and now knelt beside her, his arms encircling her upper body as if to somehow shield her from the emotional storm her own words had unleashed. And everyone in the room was looking intently at Bill Scully. Waiting. He took another deep breath, and nodded. "Okay," he said. "Okay. Let's...set that to one side for the moment." He knew that they would have to come back to this later, but now was not the time. He looked at Frohike; unconsciously, he slipped into his ship's commander persona. "Show me what you've got," he said. After the briefest of hesitations, Frohike nodded, and continued: "As you can see from the materials in the briefing book," he said, "even disregarding the *content* of the message traffic, there was still a tremendous amount of data. I had to try a number of different algorithms before I finally found one that seemed to work." The blond man in the pornographic t-shirt cleared his throat noisily, and Frohike added, rather reluctantly, "Also, Langly made some minor contributions." The blond man snorted. Frohike stepped over to one of the computers. "Then, two months ago, we made our real breakthrough." He tapped a few keys, and a map of North America appeared on the screen. A few more keystrokes, and two red dots appeared, one on the east coast, close to Washington, and the other in the general vicinity of El Paso. "These two sites," Frohike declared, "are the central nodes for the official state terror apparatus of the United States government. This one," and a pudgy finger jabbed at the one on the east coast, "is located at Quantico. The other one," and the finger moved to the other dot, "is a previously undisclosed installation known as 'Site Y'." "'Site Y'?" Bill repeated. "I'm not familiar with that one." "Neither is anyone else," Frohike replied. "Site Y has been a closely-held secret, and does not appear on any of the rosters of official U.S. government military installations -- it's not even on any of the classified lists." Bill shook his head. He was beyond wondering how the little man could possibly be privy to such information. "Go on," he said. Frohike tapped his keyboard, and a collection of red and blue lines appeared on the map, radiating out from the two points Frohike had already identified. "These lines," he said, "represent the message traffic to and from Site Y and the terror node at Quantico. Blue lines are outgoing messages, red lines are incoming. The thickness of the lines represents the volume of the message traffic, measured in gigabytes per day. "As you can see," he went on, "while both Site Y and Quantico have regular, substantial contact with more than a dozen other installations scattered around the United States and Canada, by far the heaviest traffic is between the two nodes, themselves." And Bill saw that this was true. Frohike continued, "But most interesting of all is what happens when we chart message traffic versus time." He punched his keyboard, and the colored lines disappeared. "This dynamic display begins on December 1st of last year," he stated. "It processes at a rate of about one week per second." He tapped another key, and the display came to life. Red and blue lines sprang into existence, flickered, thickened. A few disappeared, only to be replaced by other, thicker lines. After a few seconds, Frohike said, "We're coming up on the end of January: Watch!" The screen exploded with color, and Bill sucked in his breath; it was that dramatic. The colored lines coruscated across the continent, rippling and proliferating, finding new terminuses. Finally, the display stopped moving. "And here we are," Frohike concluded. "Yesterday afternoon, 1700 hours EST." Bill stared at the screen for a pair of minutes, then he looked back at Dana. "Okay," he said. "It's all very interesting, but I still don't see where we're going." "That's only the first half of the briefing," she replied. "Byers?" The fussy little man in the three piece suit stepped forward and took Frohike's place at the keyboard. He rapidly typed in a series of commands, and the colored lines vanished from the screen, to be replaced by symbols which Bill recognized as standard military unit designations. "Frohike brought me his preliminary findings about six weeks ago," Byers said. "Obviously, it was in a more primitive form than the demonstration you just saw, but Langly and I were able to tweak it a bit in order to develop the analysis to the point where useful conclusions could be drawn." Frohike rolled his eyes at this allocation of credit, but he remained silent. "Meanwhile," Byers went on, "I got interested in personnel movements and logistics." He continued to tap the keyboard while he talked. "Obviously, the data were harder to collect, but we were able to intercept personnel manifests and the like, and so we had something to work with." He pointed at the screen. The map was a confused welter of various colored lines crisscrossing the continent. Byers worked the keyboard, and said, "This display represents movements of uniformed personnel in groups of fifty or more, for the past six months. As you can see, they're literally all over the map." His fingers flew across the keyboard. "Now let's strip away everything except the movements which pass through Site Y or Quantico," he continued, and the familiar double wagon wheel pattern of Frohike's display reappeared on the screen. "Then we add in known exercises and alerts, with live fire exercises marked in purple and the rest in yellow...and there you are." Bill studied the screen, and as the patterns started to fall into place he felt a chill race down his spine. "My god," he whispered. He glanced at Dana, then back to the screen. "What did you say the timeframe is for this display?" "Six months," Byers said flatly. "May to November. This year. You're a professional military man, Captain Scully; that's one reason we brought you in on this. I've already drawn my own conclusions; now you tell me what YOU see." Bill almost couldn't bring himself to say it, but the facts glowing on the computer screen were damning. In a last, desperate attempt at denial, he said, "I assume the data you've presented are accurate." Dana's voice echoed through the room. "They're accurate. Bet on it." A sense of unreality swept over Bill, and he heard the words issuing from his lips almost as if someone else were speaking them. "This..." His voice faltered, and he had to start over. "This is an extended rehearsal of an operational plan for the military occupation of the United States." He licked his lips. "Holy Mary, Mother of Jesus, make it not be so." But it was so, and in his heart Bill Scully already knew it. Byers said, "Unfortunately, Captain Scully, that isn't all; the nightmare gets worse." He switched off the computer and stood to face Bill directly. "We don't have graphics to show you for this part -- Frohike and I were up all last night getting this much of it ready to show Mulder. But nineteen days ago we began to pick up an increased tempo in both electronic communications and troop movements. You yourself have already seen direct evidence of this." "I have?" Byers nodded. "Last night we spotted your name on a MATS manifest for a C-141 which arrived at Washington National this past Saturday afternoon." Bill nodded in agreement, and Byers went on, "On that plane with you were 197 officers and upper-echelon noncoms bound for duty at Quantico with the 8th Marine Division." Bill was puzzled. "There is no 8th Marine Division," he objected. Byers didn't say anything, and Bill's stomach started to hurt. "You mean --" Byers nodded, and said, "In addition to the message traffic and the personnel movements, ten days ago the Army's Logistics Corps started activating its Reserve units and deploying them throughout the country. The official reason being given for this is a supposed need to test the military's ability to interface with FEMA in case of widespread natural disaster or some other national emergency." Byers paused, and smiled without humor. "And now we find that for the past 36 hours it has been impossible to call Quantico. Even Agent Scully -- Dana -- has been unable to get through to the FBI facility there. Langly?" The blond man took over. "We had Dana try placing her call from here, using some of our special equipment," he said, his eyes glittering. "Ostensibly, calls to Quantico are being answered by military operators attached to a Marine Corps unit stationed at the base. But I put a traceroute on the FTS 2000 lines, and guess what I found?" Bill shook his head. Langly said, "The calls are being rerouted to a set of numbers in Pentagon City -- an exchange which just happens to be reserved exclusively for the Pentagon's high-security vox lines. I didn't dare check the line for monitoring devices, but you can pretty well assume that they're there. The only good news is that apparently my own kung fu at this end was good enough to fox 'em, or we'd all be dead by now. Literally." Byers concluded, "I think we have to assume, based on the evidence in hand, that they are preparing to execute this plan as we speak. D-Day may be only a week or two away; it may even be only a matter of days." A heavy silence hung over the room in the wake of Byers' statement. Finally, Bill slowly exhaled, and said, "Well." He looked around the room at Dana and the others. "What do we do now?" "That's the question of the day, isn't it?" Byers said. He stood up and stretched. "I for one am in favor of getting some rest before trying to work out a plan of action. I don't know about the rest of you, but my thought processes are rarely improved by sleep deprivation." Bill looked at his watch, and was startled to find that it was almost two a.m. The evening had become so intense that he'd completely lost his time sense. "I agree," Dana said. "We're all tired, and tired people make poor decisions." She stood up from her chair, and Mulder rose from his kneeling position next to her. Langly said to Dana, "I don't think it would be very smart for you or Mulder -- or Captain Scully -- to go back home tonight. We don't KNOW that your phone was tapped, but we didn't have an opportunity to check it, either." Bill looked at his sister in surprise, and she nodded wearily. "We -- Mulder and me -- we've been working in opposition to some very powerful people, Bill," she said. "Both Mulder and I have in the past found monitoring devices in our apartments, on our phone lines -- even in our office at work." "Jesus," was all Bill could think of to say. "What do you recommend, Langly," Mulder inquired. "The YMCA?" "I think I'd feel uncomfortable there," Dana said. The lanky blond shrugged. "Why not stay here? It's not the Hilton, but we've got plenty of blankets and pillows -- 18 hour days are pretty common around here, especially when Doohickey here gets a wild hair up his ass about something or other." "I do not get hair up my ass," Frohike stated with wounded dignity. "I will admit to being a tenacious investigator, however." Mulder nodded. "I think that sounds best," he said. "That way we have mutual protection, too. We can even take turns staying up, so someone will always be on guard." Byers shook his head. "We're all beat, Mulder -- and besides, what would be the point? You know as well as I do that if they come for us they'll come with overwhelming force." "Guys, can we just get on with it?" Dana asked, leaning against a wall, a look of utter exhaustion on her face. "I'm about to fall asleep standing up." The next few minutes were occupied with distributing bedclothes and moving furniture out of the way. Finally, Bill was able to stretch out and relax. He hadn't realized how tired he was until Byers alluded to the time. He let his eyes flick around the room, looking at each of his companions. By unspoken agreement, they'd left the overhead light on, as if by so doing they could somehow keep the demons at bay. Byers, he saw, was already asleep, snoring softly and wrapped up in his bedroll as if it were a cocoon. Langly and Frohike were conducting a whispered argument over who was going to sleep next to the radiator. Mulder was laying on his back, hands clasped behind his head, staring at the ceiling. And Dana.... His eyes blurred as he looked at his sister. Despite her evident exhaustion, emotional as well as physical, she was still sitting up, her back against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest, her forehead resting on her knees; she looked utterly miserable. He couldn't bear to see her like that. His own heart ached for Tara; he would give anything right now just to have her with him, and hold her close. His sister was also clearly suffering, but she was denying herself the obvious solution, apparently out of deference to his own feelings -- or perhaps just to avoid another scene when everyone was already so dreadfully tired. <> he thought. Sighing, he rolled onto his hands and knees, and crawled over to where Dana was sitting. She didn't seem to hear him approach, and as he got closer he saw that her shoulders were shaking. Ever so gently, he reached out and stroked her arm. Her head jerked up with a start, and he saw her tear-stained features shift from despair to joy to wary watchfulness all in an instant. "Bill," she whispered, too low for anyone else to hear. "Dana," he replied, equally quietly. He looked at her face, looked into her eyes, and saw a complex mixture of fear and sorrow and exhaustion. <> he thought. <> Bill was suddenly aware of Mulder's eyes on his back, watching every move he made. "Dana," Bill repeated, and swallowed. This was turning out to be harder than he had expected -- but it was the right thing to do, and Bill was determined to do his duty, no matter how difficult or embarrassing. "Dana, I think...I think you should do...whatever you need to do...to be comfortable." She searched his face for a long moment, and although she still looked exhausted and afraid, now he saw a light behind her eyes as well. At last she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Bill," she whispered. And she took her blanket and pillow and crept over to where her partner lay, and Mulder opened his arms and tenderly gathered her into a protective embrace, stroking her hair and whispering something to her that evoked the first genuine smile that Bill had seen on her face in hours. And when Bill Scully finally dropped off to sleep, he dreamed of Tara. # # # -- TUESDAY Bill awoke to the sound of gunshots. For a groggy half-second, he wondered what the hell was going on; then the instincts ingrained by half a lifetime of military service kicked in, and he jerked to wakefulness. As he rolled over onto his belly, he heard another fusillade coming from the doorway behind him. scrambling around to look in that direction, he was briefly aware of Frohike, Byers and Langly, churning about frantically on the far side of the room. Then his eyes focused on the source of the gunfire. Dana was lying stretched out on her stomach next to the doorway, her Sig Sauer extended in both hands and firing methodically at something in the hallway. As he watched, horrified, he heard the staccato ripping sound of a machine pistol returning fire and chewing up the doorjamb and floor right next to his sister's head. Dana flinched, then fired again, and this time she was rewarded by a scream of agony coming from the hallway. Pausing to eject a spent clip and ram home a new one, she yelled over her shoulder, "Mulder! We have to get out of here! There are too many of them!" Bill was suddenly aware of his sister's partner charging across the room towards her. Again there was the sound of an automatic weapon, and Dana returned fire as Mulder was forced to dive for cover. "Dammit, Mulder!" she cried again, desperation edging into her voice. "Get the fuck out of here!" And she fired again down the hallway. Something had to be done, and quickly, but Dana and Mulder had the only firearms. Casting his gaze about the room, Bill's eyes fell upon a nearby chair. He rolled desperately to his left, bringing himself to within arm's reach. He grabbed onto one leg, and twisting around and using all of his strength he came to a half-sitting position and heaved the chair through the nearest window. The glass was still falling as Bill scrambled to his feet. "Come on! This way!" he shouted, making a dash for the window. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mulder slither across the floor to Dana, and start firing in the same direction she was. He felt a pang of guilt that he was running away, but all he had was his bare hands, and that was no match for a machine pistol. Disregarding the shards of glass still sticking up here and there, he grasped the bottom frame of the window with both hands and vaulted through it. For just a moment he hung from the side of the building, then let himself drop the eight or ten feet to the small parking lot below. He hit the ground and rolled, clearing the way for whoever might come next. There was a half-inch cover of new snow, and a frigid wind was blowing, but he hardly noticed the cold. He looked back up at the window just in time to see Frohike come tumbling out. The little man hit the ground with a dull thud, and lay there, momentarily paralyzed by the fall. Bill scrambled to his feet and dragged Frohike away from the landing zone, just as Byers came hurtling out, followed quickly by Langly. Bill helped Frohike climb back to his feet while the other two were brushing themselves off and catching their breath. More gunfire sounded from inside the building, and Bill heard someone scream, a bloodcurdling sound. He turned to the other three men, and shouted, "You guys better make a run for it; I'm going back in!" "Wait!" yelled Byers. "No! There's no time, and somebody has to preserve what we know. Now get going before it's too late for all of us! I've got to try to help Dana and Mulder!" The other man hesitated, and Bill screamed, "Dammit, Byers, she's my sister! It's my privilege! But if somebody doesn't get away, it will all be for nothing!" Byers bit his lip, then nodded reluctantly. "Okay," he agreed, and the others nodded, too. "If -- when you get clear, we'll try to be at Lafayette Park in two hours!" "Got it!" The other three scattered, and Bill turned to head back inside...just as his sister and Fox Mulder came tearing around the far corner of the building. Dana was slightly in front, and as he watched, Mulder turned and fired back along the way they'd come. Dana made a beeline for one of the cars in the parking lot, holding her gun in one hand and groping in a pocket for her keys with the other. Bill ran to meet her, and got there just as she pulled the driver's side door open. Bill reached around and unlocked the back passenger door as she dropped into the driver's seat, yanking his hand clear just as she slammed her door shut. Bill dived into the back seat as she cranked the ignition, gunning the car for all it was worth. He managed to sit up in time to see Mulder, who had fallen behind Dana as a result of covering the rear, slip in the snow and fall, just as a man dressed all in black, including a black ski mask, came running around the corner of the building. The man saw Mulder fall, and skidded to a halt. He raised his machine pistol and took aim, and through the closed car windows Bill could faintly hear Mulder yelling, "Scully! Get out of here! It's too late!" "Like hell it is!" she snarled, and threw the car into gear and jammed the gas pedal to the floor. The tires spun for an instant on the new fallen snow, then they found their purchase, and the car lurched forward, rapidly picking up speed. The man in black never had a chance. The front of the car struck him squarely, sending him flying through the air and crashing into the side of the building. Dana was already slamming on the brakes and Bill was reaching across to throw open the right hand back passenger door. Dana screamed, "Mulder! Now now now now now!" and Mulder was up and running again and diving into the back seat next to Bill. Dana floored the accelerator again, and the car fishtailed wildly as she took the turn onto the street. Mulder almost fell out, but Bill grabbed hold of the other man's belt and hung on until Mulder could pull his feet inside and slam the door. Looking back through the rear window, Bill saw three more men running after them, and realized what they were doing just as two of them opened fire. He ducked down on top of Mulder as the rear window exploded inward in a cataract of shattered safety glass, and Bill breathed a brief prayer to whichever saint was responsible for protecting gas tanks and automobile tires as Dana powered the car through a sharp left at the first intersection. They bounced off a parked car, and for a moment Bill thought Dana had lost control, but she managed to steer into the incipient spin and then the car was rolling forward again. At the next intersection they turned right, then left, and finally Mulder, who by now was crouched on the back seat, gun in hand and peering through the empty rear window, announced, "I think we lost them." Dana let up on the accelerator, and the car's speed dropped back below the legal limit. Turning around and settling down in his seat, Mulder said, "Well that was fun. Definitely an 'E' ticket." Looking anxiously in the rearview mirror, Dana said, "Mulder, are you okay? You're not hurt, are you?" "I'm fine, Scully," her partner replied. "Although I think I just used up two of my nine lives. Bill's bleeding, though." "Just some cuts," Bill said. "Nothing serious; I took some glass on the way through that window. Let's not do this again anytime soon, okay?" By now they were cruising through a fairly respectable-looking working class neighborhood. Dana said, "We've got to get rid of this car; they'll have people out looking for it, and they may even put out warrants on the police wire. We wouldn't last ten minutes once they got us in the local jail." Putting actions to words, she pulled over to the curb and switched off the engine. She opened her door and got out, and Bill and Mulder followed suit. Dana went immediately to Mulder, pressed her forehead against his chest, wrapped her arms around his waist and closed her eyes. "Thank God," she said. "I thought I'd lost you." "I was getting a little worried there for a minute, too," her partner replied, giving her a gentle hug. "But you saved me, Scully. You always do." The embrace had gone on just long enough for Bill to start to feel uncomfortable when they broke out of their clinch. Dana turned to Bill and said, "Let me see your hands." He held them out and she looked them over carefully, then sighed with relief. "You're going to be okay. We need to find some bandages and some disinfectant, but you should be fine." She turned back to Mulder. "So now what do we do?" "I was just thinking about that," her partner replied. "Do you know if the Gunmen got clear?" Dana shook her head, and looked at her brother. "Bill? Do you know?" Bill was confused. "Gunmen?" "Frohike, Langly and Byers," she explained. Bill wanted to ask why they were called that, but decided that this wasn't the time for it. "I think they got away," he said. "They took off running in three directions, and I didn't see anyone going after them. Byers said they'd meet us at Lafayette Park in two hours." He glanced at his watch. "An hour and three quarters, now." "That's our target, then," Mulder declared. "First, though, we need to find some winter clothes. Not only is it fucking cold out, but we're going to stick out like sore thumbs wandering around outside in shirt sleeves in this weather." "Three sore thumbs, Mulder?" Dana asked, smiling faintly. "Better than three blind mice," he countered, laughing. "Or three dead mice." She smiled and punched his upper arm, a glancing blow. "The first thing we need is some money," she said. "We don't dare use our credit cards, even if you guys have yours. Everything but my car keys is still in my purse, and somehow I don't feel like going back after it right now." Bill nodded. "I've got about twenty dollars," he said. Mulder pulled out his wallet and riffled through the currency section. Bill raised his eyebrows when he saw the denominations. "Two hundred and twenty seven dollars," Mulder announced. That ought to keep us going for awhile, as long as we don't insist on filet mignon." "I don't know, Mulder," Dana said, deadpan. "You promised me a good time." Bill noticed an elderly black man standing on the stoop of the brownstone across the street, looking at them curiously. He gestured with his head. "I think we better get moving," he said. They turned and started to walk along the sidewalk, heading in the general direction of the Mall. Dana and Mulder walked side by side, their arms brushing against each other every few steps; Bill walked a couple of steps behind so that their party would not to take up the entire sidewalk. "Mulder," Dana said, shivering slightly. "Where are we going to find clothes? It really is damned cold, and I don't think this is the sort of neighborhood to have a Lord and Taylors." "We'll find something, Scully," he replied. He put his arm around her shoulder. "I'll keep you warm until then." # # # Lafayette Park was cold and windy, but that hadn't kept the protesters away, Bill noted with disgust. Not as many as would be expected in better weather, but there were still half a dozen of them, marching in a circle and carrying signs with slogans like "RESIGN!" and "THE OVAL OFFICE IS NOT THE ORAL OFFICE!" "I don't think those guys like the president very much." Bill jumped at the unexpected sound of Mulder's voice. He turned to face Mulder, who was standing next to Dana in the windbreak created by the statue of the French general for whom the park was named. "I'm not nuts about the guy, either," Bill admitted. "But he IS my commander in chief. And this --" he waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the demonstrators. "This is embarrassing." "Y'know," Mulder said, "just speculating, but it occurs to me that this could be why the whole mess started." None of them could bring themselves to use the word "coup". "What do you mean?" Bill asked. "Well, look at it," his sister's partner replied. "The president's caught up in a sex scandal. The VICE president looks like he might be in trouble over the China campaign money scandal. Maybe somebody just decided that this would be a good time to do some housecleaning and install new management." He shrugged. "Just speculation, like I said. But it does answer the one question that's been bothering me: Why now? This could have happened anytime in the past fifty years; why did they wait until now?" "Where the hell are the Gunmen?" Dana asked irritably. It had been a long walk to Lafayette Park, and she had seemed to tolerate the cold less well than the two men. Even the secondhand coats they had picked up at a Salvation Army store along the way hadn't seemed to make her warmer. "Take it easy, Scully," Mulder said softly. "They'll be here when they can." He tried to put an arm around her shoulders, but she shrugged it off and took a few steps away from him. "I'm fine, Mulder; just leave me alone, okay?" she snapped. "I'm cold and I'm tired and I'm hungry and I'm worried about our friends and I'm not in the mood. Just...leave me alone." She was also, Bill observed, scared to death -- as were they all. A look of pain and frustration came and went on Fox Mulder's face, so quickly that Bill wasn't sure they had really been there at all. "Sorry, Scully," the FBI man said. "I'm worried about them, too." Bill watched, an unwilling voyeur, as a complex series of emotions flitted across his sister's face: Fear, anger, fury, despair, exhaustion...love? Then her shoulders sagged, and she turned and walked back to her partner. "I'm NOT fine, Mulder" she said, laying her head on his chest and accepting his embrace. "I'm just so damned scared and I don't know what we're gonna do. Everything's going to hell, and I am fucking TIRED of having to be strong all the time." She sniffled loudly and buried her face in his chest. The two of them stood there silent and motionless for a moment. Mulder stroked her hair softly, then looked up and caught Bill's eye. "Hey, Scully," Mulder said, a slight smile on his lips. "There's a guy over there who looks like he's afraid the world is about to end; he also looks like he's probably freezing his ass off. Shall we invite him into the hot tub?" Dana looked up and studied her partner's face for a moment, then turned partway and extended an arm towards her brother. Hesitantly, Bill moved forward, and gingerly slipped his arms around his sister's waist. She closed her eyes and leaned up against him, and for the moment, at least, seemed to be utterly content. Bill looked up at Mulder, and he could see the wheels spinning behind the FBI agent's eyes. "Don't say it, Mulder," Bill growled. "Not a word. This is strictly for Dana." Mulder's eyes danced, and his lips quirked, but he nodded and didn't say anything, and the three of them stood there for a few moments in an awkward embrace. "You know, this is scarcely decent for third parties." Bill hastily released Dana and turned to see Langly smirking at him from a few feet away. Behind him, Byers was making a great show of studying the detail work on the statue of Lafayette, while Frohike was looking at the ground and frowning. "Langly! Byers!" Dana let go of Mulder and sped to the other three men, giving each of them a hug in turn. "Frohike," she added, planting a gentle kiss on the nebbishy little man's cheek. He blushed brick red, but he also gave her a shit-eating grin. "Hi, boys," Mulder said with a casual wave. "Frohike, I'd kiss you, too, but I haven't shaved this morning and I wouldn't want to give you whisker burns." "It's good to see you, too, Mulder," Byers replied. "I didn't think you were going to make it." "It was tight for a little while," the FBI man admitted, "but we pulled it off, and here we are." He paused, then added, "Now what?" "We've got some ideas," Langly said. "Why don't we go find a cup of coffee and see what we can hash out." Ten minutes later they were sliding into a booth at a small coffee shop on a side street a few blocks from the Mall, Dana and Mulder on one side and Bill and Langly on the other. Frohike and Byers grabbed chairs from a nearby table and pulled them up to the end of the booth. They waited in silence while the waitress brought coffee, muffins and bagels; then the discussion began. "To begin with," said Langly, "the good news is that Frohike managed to save the zip disk we had those demonstrations backed up on. The bad news, of course, is that we've lost all of our equipment, so we won't be collecting anymore data." He pushed his glasses back up on his nose. "Our proposal is to log on to the Internet and do a data dump, and try to get the word out that way. It's the only thing we can think of that seems to have any chance at all of succeeding." Mulder frowned. "It's not really much to hang our hats on, is it?" he asked. "I mean, sure, we can dump the stuff into alt.conspiracy.wingnut, but who's going to listen? It will get lost among all the drivel. I really don't see what that gains us." Langly shrugged. "What alternatives do we have? You want to mount a frontal assault on Quantico? May I remind you that we almost got our nuts munched this morning? And that was against six bad guys -- there are at least six THOUSAND out at Quantico, and that's only counting the ones who have been brought in for the 'special operation'." Bill spoke up. "It's possible that there's another alternative. I have a friend, we went to the Academy together. Now he's a colonel in the Marine Corps, attached to the personal staff of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs." He looked at Dana, and couldn't resist a little dig. "You remember Jiggs Casey, don't you, Dana? You had a crush on him your senior year in high school." Fox Mulder looked interested, but Dana gave Bill a freezing look, and there was a glint of warning in her eye. "I did NOT have a crush on Cadet Casey," she declared. "I merely found him to be an interesting conversationalist." Bill reflected that Dana's definition of "conversation" must be somewhat broader than his own, but from the look that she was still giving him, perhaps this wasn't the best possible time to be going into it. "Anyway," he said to the others, "Jiggs is a real stand-up guy. He's on the inside; he can help us." "'He's on the inside,'" Byers repeated slowly. "That can be a two-edged sword, of course." Bill shook his head. "Jiggs Casey is not like that," he said flatly. "I've known the man for twenty years, and it is just not in his nature to be involved in treason." Mulder was shaking his head. "I don't know," he said. "I don't like it. It seems like a big risk to be taking. We'd be putting it all on the line to this one officer, and if your judgment turns out to be wrong..." He let the statement trail off. Bill said, "I understand that. But it's a risk we have to take, and I am confident -- I am POSITIVE -- that Jiggs will be on our side, once we've explained the situation." Mulder thought about it for a minute, then looked at his partner. "What do you think, Dana? You've met this guy." "Mulder, that was twenty years ago." She shook her head. "I really don't know what to say. We're in a very precarious situation, and we have to move carefully. On the other hand, we don't have much time, and we're going to have to trust someone, at some point. -- or we might just as well all go home and wait for the tanks to come rolling down Pennsylvania Avenue." She shivered slightly. They all sat silently for a moment, as Dana's last comment forced them all to look directly at their fears. Finally, Mulder stirred. "Okay," he said. "We'll give it a try. Bill, go ahead and see what you can set up with this Colonel Casey. Be cautious, but as Dana said, we don't have much time and we have even fewer options, so do the best you can." His eyes flicked across Langly, Byers and Frohike. "You guys go ahead and follow up on Langly's idea. It can't hurt, and it might help, just getting the information out in front of SOMEBODY. Bear in mind that if Bill's idea works out we will at some point want to show it to Colonel Casey, so for god's sake don't let anything happen to that disk. In the meantime, Scully and I will be making some phone calls; there are still a few people who might be able to help us." He looked at Dana, and she nodded. He glanced at his watch. "Let's try to meet back in the park in eight hours. That's six p.m. Any questions?" He paused, and no one answered. "Okay, then. Let's get moving." Mulder left some money on the table and they filed out of the coffee shop, Bill bringing up the rear. As he approached the door, he noticed a small rack of postcards standing by the cash register. On impulse, Bill stopped to look at them. Most of the cards were standard pictures of monuments and public buildings, and his eyes quickly passed over them. Then his gaze fell on a card featuring cherry blossoms in bloom. Tara had always loved cherry blossoms, and he really ought to -- <> he wondered. <> His vision blurred as he thought about it. They had had it all planned out: His Navy career, with ambitions for flag rank; their plans for children; his eventual retirement and second career; grandchildren. And through it all, always, Tara by his side. Now it was all ashes; it was never going to happen. For he knew in his heart that whether they succeeded or failed, it was most unlikely that he -- or any of their little band -- would survive the attempt. How could he fit that onto a postcard? He didn't dare call her on the phone; it might help their pursuers. Worse, it would draw attention to Tara and the baby, and expose THEM to greater risk, and he was flatly unwilling even to consider that. He didn't even know if he would have time to write a proper letter before the end came. The few words he could fit on this card might have to last Tara for a lifetime. He glanced over at Dana and her partner, waiting for him by the door, their heads bent together in intimate consultation. As he watched, Dana brushed a lock of Mulder's hair out of his eyes, and Mulder smiled at her. He was suddenly angry. <> he thought. <> He wanted to scream at them, to push them apart. No one should be like, like THAT.... Immediately he felt ashamed. He still did not completely understand Dana's relationship with Fox Mulder, but it was clear that Mulder was helping her find peace, just as Tara did for Bill. If she and Mulder were fortunate enough to get to spend their last days together, that was at least some consolation in the face of the onrushing darkness. <> Bill reflected wistfully. He sighed, and looked down at the postcard again. While he'd been thinking, he'd automatically written Tara's name on it; now he added the address that he was already starting to think of as hers rather than theirs. <> he thought sadly. <> It seemed hopelessly inadequate. Then it came to him. He nodded his head; it was right. It would explain everything. Tara would be sad -- she would be heartbroken. But at least she would understand, and she would forgive him for stealing all those years they had expected to have together. Hastily, suddenly afraid that even this might be taken from him, he scribbled on the card for a few seconds, and it was done. He gazed for a moment at his work, and a single tear fell from his cheek and landed on the postcard, slightly smearing the ink. Bill smiled a melancholy smile; Tara would have that much of him, at least. <> he wondered. But it wasn't necessary; Tara would know his handwriting, and the dozen or so words he had written would tell her everything he could say, everything she would ever need. She was a strong woman, and he knew that she would be able to carry on. He bought a stamp from the cashier, and paid for the card. He hesitated, and felt the fear wash over him. What if they were waiting outside? What if he never even had the chance to mail the postcard, his final epistle to his best beloved? He couldn't stand even thinking about that. He caught the eye of the young woman behind the counter once again, and asked, "Would you mind mailing this for me when you get a chance? I'm in a bit of a hurry." And she agreed. His mind finally at peace, Captain William Scully strode purposefully to the door, and with his sister and her partner he went on out to fight the future. And in his mind the words he had written to his wife echoed and re-echoed, and calmed his soul: *I could not love thee, dear, so much, lov'd I not honour more.* # # # -- WEDNESDAY Bill Scully wearily climbed the hill leading to the carillon at Arlington National Cemetery. He had suggested this as their evening rendezvous, but he was tired, and he was cold, and he wished he had thought of someplace both flatter and warmer. Dana was waiting for him when he reached the top of the hill, sitting on a park bench and hugging herself against the cold. The carillon sat before her, a gift to the United States from the people of Denmark in the aftermath of World War II. For the thousandth time in his life, Bill read the inscription carved into the marble, and he felt a shiver run down his spine that was not entirely due to the cold and the wind: "While these bells ring, rest safely. Freedom lives." With a groan of exhaustion, Bill eased himself down on the bench next to Dana. He, his sister and her partner had spent the previous night huddled around a heating grate in order to preserve their limited funds, then spent most of today tramping around downtown Washington looking for some clue as to the whereabouts of Frohike, Langly and Byers, who had failed to return to Lafayette Park the evening before. Idly, Bill wondered if any of the three were still alive, but he was almost too tired to care. Dana said, "You know, I haven't been up here in years. I'd forgotten how beautiful it is. I've been here for, oh, half an hour or so, just sitting and listening to the bells." Her voice was dreamy and her eyes were closed. "You must be pretty cold if you've been here that long," Bill ventured. She shrugged. "It doesn't matter. We won't be here much longer." Suddenly, her eyes popped open, and she looked up at her brother. "I'm sorry, Bill. I didn't mean to say that." "Why not?" he asked quietly. "It's what we've all been thinking." A vision of Tara's face flashed through his mind, but he quickly suppressed it. Making a conscious effort to distract himself, he studied his sister's face for a moment. She really had a remarkable face; Bill had always thought so. It had such character, and was so proudly and completely...Dana. He thought that if he were a woman he would wish for a face like hers, and to hell with other female features. She turned her head and caught him staring at her, and she arched an eyebrow at him in question. "What are you looking at?" "Oh, nothing," he said. "I was just thinking...There's a lot you haven't told me, isn't there? I mean, about your life and...everything." She sat quietly for a moment, considering it, and suddenly Bill wondered if she thought he was snooping again. He was about to apologize and withdraw the question, when she said, "Yes. Yes there is. I wish I'd been more open with you, as well as the rest of the family. But that's always been hard for me. And now, well, there's so little time." Bill nodded. "I know. I know those things. But it isn't all your fault, Dana, not by a longshot. We weren't -- *I* wasn't very receptive to some of the things you did try to tell me. I could have listened better." "Yes, you could have," Dana agreed, but there was no accusation in her voice. She looked at him for a minute, her head cocked sideways; then she put her arm around his neck and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "But you're listening now." Her lips quirked. "As Mulder would say, you're learning to respect the journey." "He's very important to you, isn't he?" Bill said hesitantly. She nodded solemnly. "I knew that; I just wanted to say it. And I wanted to say that, that I've come to know him better recently, and that I was wrong. He's a good man. Not that my opinion matters." Dana smiled, and suddenly she had tears in her eyes. In a small voice, she said, "Your opinion has always mattered to me, Bill. Thank you for understanding." And she hugged him tightly for a minute. A few minutes later Fox Mulder arrived, but instead of coming over to Bill and Dana, he leaned up against the monument, hands in his pockets, obviously lost in thought. After a moment or two, he started pacing in slow circles around the carillon. On his second pass, Dana wordlessly got up from the bench and fell into step next to him. "Hi, Bill." Bill turned around to see Jiggs Casey standing a few feet away. Bill stood up and shook hands with his friend, and they both sat down on the bench. The two sat silently together for a few minutes, watching Mulder and Dana walk around and around the carillon. As they passed by for the third time, Jiggs said, "Bill, are you sure about all this stuff? Are you really sure? You don't think you could have been...misled?" Bill sighed. They had been over this ground twice the night before, at their first meeting, and although he could understand why Jiggs would be skeptical, it was still vexing. "You didn't see those computer demos. If you had --" "If I had, maybe things would be different," Jiggs cut in. "But I didn't." He stopped talking as the two FBI agents emerged from behind the carillon, and waited until they had passed by again. "I didn't see it," he repeated. "You didn't see it, so you don't believe it?" Bill shook his head quickly. "I apologize; that was uncalled for. If our positions were reversed, I probably wouldn't believe you, either." The Marine shook his head. "I'm not saying I don't believe you, Bill. But think about this for a minute. All you really saw was a display on a computer screen, and we both know how easy it would be to fake something like that." He moved a little closer and lowered his voice as Dana and Mulder made another of their slow circuits. "I did a little checking this morning, based on what you told me last night. There is no record in JCS files of a Site Y, nor is there any record of unusual troop movements involving Quantico. The bottom line is, I think you've been taken for a ride." Bill shook his head violently. "Dana wouldn't do that!" "Maybe she's been fooled, too." Another pause. Then: "Look, I did some checking on her friend Mulder, too. This guy's a complete nutcase; nobody takes him seriously. The FBI barely tolerates him -- they call him 'Spooky Mulder', and he -- and Dana -- get sent off on all the wild goose chases and snipe hunts. And as for those other three names you gave me -- those guys are even worse." "But Dana --" "Dana's got a good, solid head on her shoulders, and normally I would take her word as gospel. But she's also obviously head-over-heels in love with this guy, and that means her judgment in the matter is suspect." "It's not like that." Jiggs sighed in exasperation. "Man, are you blind? Look at them!" Mulder and Dana had stopped their pacing, and now were standing together in the carillon's windbreak, talking quietly and seriously. As Bill and Jiggs watched, Dana put out her hand and gently stroked Mulder's cheek. Jiggs went on, "Bill, I'm not accusing you of lying or anything -- Christ knows I would never do that. I'm not even really saying that I don't believe you. But even you must realize that you have presented only circumstantial evidence. And the fact that I have been unable to confirm the key points just makes it harder." "What about Dana's car?" Bill said. Jiggs shrugged. "It was found just where you said it would be, rear window shot out and everything. I checked with the FBI, told them I was a friend of the family -- which is even true, now that I think about it. It seems that they are very worried about the whereabouts of Special Agent Scully, and they're treating it as a kidnapping. As for Mulder, he's sufficiently erratic that apparently no one has realized he's missing yet -- at least, not officially." Jiggs went on, "There have also been no reports in the papers of a shootout at that office building you mentioned. I even drove over to the place myself at lunchtime, but there's nothing there. No indication of a fight, and the room you mentioned doesn't look like anyone has been in it for six months. The only thing I found that was at all out of the ordinary was this." He fished in his pocket, and brought out a single cartridge casing for a nine millimeter handgun. "But it could have been there in the grass for months, if not years." Bill said, "So what you're saying is that you won't help me." "I'm saying that I CAN'T help you, unless you can dig up some solid evidence. What do you expect me to do? Drop into General Scott's office tomorrow morning and say, 'Excuse me, sir, but are you aware of any plans for a coup d'etat this week?'" He shook his head. "You bring me evidence, Bill, and I'll act on it; you know that. But without evidence, my hands are tied." He stood to go. "I'm sorry." "I understand." Jiggs started to walk away, and suddenly Bill thought of something else. "Jiggs!" The Marine stopped and turned around, a questioning look on his face. Bill rose to his feet and walked over to face his friend. "Promise me one thing," he said. "If anything happens to me...look after Tara. Make sure she's okay." Jiggs looked at him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "You can depend on that, Bill. No matter what." And he turned and walked away. "He didn't believe us." Bill turned at the sound of Fox Mulder's voice, to see Dana and her partner standing a few feet away. "It's not that he didn't believe us," Bill said, returning to the park bench to sit down again. "It's that he CAN'T believe us. It's all too circumstantial, and there is no corroborating evidence." He briefly reviewed for the two FBI agents the substance of his conversation with Jiggs, leaving out a few of the personal details. Mulder nodded. "So we're on our own. Well, we're no worse off for having tried." He started pacing again, but instead of making circuits of the carillon he walked back and forth in front of the bench. Dana stood quietly watching him. "We've got to approach this from a different angle," Mulder said, continuing to pace. "We've got to figure out where that zip disk is, and the most likely way to find it is to find the Gunmen." Dana had finally explained to Bill, earlier in the day, the meaning of this term. "But how? We can't just knock on every door in Washington. Yet there's something there; I can feel it. I just can't quite SEE it." He shook his head angrily. "This is making me nuts --" Abruptly, he stopped pacing, and stood with his back to Bill and Dana. Dana said, "Mulder? Is everything okay?" "Yeah," he said slowly. "Yeah, I think maybe it is." He turned around to face her. "Scully, work this out with me. Byers, Langly and Frohike have been taken, check?" "Well, yes, but Mulder, if the Consortium got them, you know as well as I do --" "Yeah, yeah," Mulder said, cutting her off with a wave of his hand. "If Cancerman and his pals got them, they're dead, and the disk has probably been destroyed, and there's nothing we can do about it. But let's think about that a minute, shall we? Let's work this problem as if it had a solution. Suppose this whole operation has nothing to do with the Consortium at all? Suppose it's just a bunch of generals who have a hankering to have their mail delivered to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue? THEY might be more reluctant to kill if they don't have to." "But Mulder, the hit squad --" "Sure, the hit squad. But that was a surgical operation; a classic piece of wetwork. They knew where we were, and they knew that at least some of us were armed, and so they took no chances. But they can't have a Krycek on every street corner; more than likely the Gunmen just ran afoul of an APB or something, and were initially hauled in to the local jail, and only later were turned over to the bad guys." Dana shook her head. "I still don't see what this is gaining us." "So the next question," Mulder went on, ignoring her objection, "is where they would have taken those three AFTER the cops or whoever turned them over." He paused and thought for a minute. Then, very softly: "And I think I know the answer to that." "Mulder," Dana said, "you're not making any sense." "Yes, I am," he said. "Yes, I am! Come on, Scully, work with me on this. Suppose YOU were running the coup. D-Day is coming up, maybe only a few more days, and you've got some people you want to make disappear, but you don’t want to kill them. What would you do with them?" "Quantico?" Mulder shook his head. "Not likely. There's too much going on there, preparing for the big push. You might not have anyone available to watch them there. THINK Scully. Remember your counterespionage training from the Academy. What did the Soviets used to do with people who were inconvenient but not worth the trouble of shooting?" Suddenly her eyes widened. "St. Elizabeth's!" she whispered. "Bingo!" Bill broke in. "St. Elizabeth's? I don't get it." Mulder opened his mouth, but Dana cut him off. "St. Elizabeth's is a mental hospital, Bill." "I know THAT. But what's the connection with Langly and Byers and Frohike?" "Under the Soviet regime," his sister explained, "psych hospitals were used as places to warehouse people who had become inconvenient, but who they didn't want to kill for some reason. It had a lot of virtues, from their point of view: They could pretend that the individual was 'ill' rather than politically dangerous; they could even let his family and friends visit him, and since these 'patients' were usually kept drugged to the gills, it wasn't hard to believe that they really were sick. And, of course, anyone with any savvy knew what was REALLY going on, and so the deterrent effect was there, too, all the more effective because it was almost subliminal." She took a deep breath, and turned back to her partner. "But Mulder, do you really think the Gunmen are at St. Elizabeth's? Granted that it's an attractive notion, but --" Mulder shook his head. "I don't know for sure," he admitted. "But I do know that they'd pretty damned well better be, because it is just about our last hope." He started to tick points off on his fingers. "If the Consortium got them, they're dead. Even if it isn't the Consortium, if the plotters are more ruthless than I've surmised, or less squeamish, then they're dead. If they were taken to Quantico there is no fucking way we will ever get them out; the place is just too well guarded, and right now the base is probably under a maximum security alert because of the pending operation. They won't be left in a local lockup because of the risk that the legal system might intervene and kick them loose. The only place they could conceivably be that we have any chance of getting at them is St. Elizabeth's." Dana nodded slowly. "I think you're right, Mulder. It all makes sense. It would be nice, though, if we could figure out some way to verify that they're really there, BEFORE we go in with guns blazing." "Yes, it would," Mulder agreed, "and I'm beginning to get a glimmer on how that might work, too. But right now it's just a glimmer, and I'm also hungry. My proposal is that we go find a cheap hotel room somewhere so we can get in out of this damned weather and maybe get some decent food and rest. Then we can spend tomorrow planning and lining up whatever gear and information we're going to need, including trying to find a way to verify that they're there in the first place. Then if all goes well, we can raid St. Elizabeth's tomorrow night. Come on; let's go." And Mulder led the other two away from the monument and down the hill, just as the carillon started to ring the top of the hour. *While these bells ring...* # # # -- THURSDAY Stealing the ambulance turned out to be easier than Bill had expected. They waited for sundown, then took the Metro to Georgetown University Medical Center and loitered in the parking lot until an emergency vehicle arrived. Then, while the paramedics were inside unloading their charge and giving report to the ER staff, they climbed into the ambulance, Mulder hotwired the ignition, and off they went. "The FBI Academy syllabus must be a fascinating read," Bill had commented. "Your tax dollars at work," Mulder had replied with a smirk. Now the three of them sat in the cab of the ambulance, parked on a side street three blocks from St. Elizabeth's. A return trip to the Salvation Army store had scored black slacks and white button-down shirts for Mulder and Bill, which they hoped would pass for uniforms for the few necessary minutes. They had decided that Dana's existing disheveled clothing would allow her to get by as a distraught relative. <> Bill thought, <> He hadn't asked Mulder where he got the weapon; he knew that it was almost impossible to legally acquire a handgun in the District. The FBI man had disappeared for twenty minutes while Bill and Dana had been picking up carryout Chinese, and returned with a .32 automatic and half a box of ammunition. "Best I could do on short notice," he'd said quietly as he passed the weapon over to Bill. "Don't say I never gave you anything." "Everybody ready?" Mulder asked, bringing Bill back to the present. "Here we go!" And he threw the ambulance into gear and pulled away from the curb. It took less than two minutes to drive the remaining distance, and then Bill and Mulder were wheeling a gurney towards the main entrance of the hospital, Dana trailing along behind and wringing a handkerchief in her hands. They entered the building, and Mulder led the way past an elevator bank, past an emergency stairway, and up to the main reception desk, where a bored-looking clerk was reading a paperback with a picture of an exploding spaceship on the front. At the sound of their approach, he looked up. "May I help you?" Dana elbowed her way to the front. "Yes. My name is Dana Byers, and I'm here to pick up my husband, John." The clerk looked puzzled. "Byers?" His eyes flicked over Mulder, Bill and the ambulance gurney before returning to Dana. "I wasn't told to expect a transfer tonight." "I don't care what you were told," Dana said sharply. "My husband is here, and I've come to take him to Georgetown Medical Center. Byers is his name; John Fitzgerald Byers." She turned to Mulder and Bill. "Explain it to him," she said. Mulder shrugged. "It ain't up to us, lady," he said in a bored tone of voice. The clerk looked at Dana for a moment, then shrugged. "Just a minute; let me check." His fingers flew over the computer keyboard. Then he was shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Byers, but there's nothing here about a transfer tonight...and Dr. Van Ackerman has gone home for the night." He looked back up at Dana apologetically. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait until morning." Dana's lips tightened. "I am NOT going to wait until morning!" she said, raising her voice. "I am not leaving John in this, this awful place one minute longer than necessary! I don't know who this Dr. Van Ackerman is, but I do know the law, and you cannot keep my husband here against his wishes!" The man looked annoyed, and shrugged. "I wouldn't know about that, ma'am," he said. "I'm just doing my job. If you have a problem with it, you can take it up with the Patient Rep. At eight a.m." "This is outrageous!" Dana shouted, and she banged her left fist down on the clerk's desk. Time seemed to stop, and Bill drew in a sudden breath. The clerk was staring at her hand, and Bill could almost hear the wheels spinning in the man's head. <> he thought. <> The clerk looked back up at Dana, and now his features were cool and unreadable. "Ma'am, could I please see some I.D.?" Nobody said anything, and after a moment, the clerk started to reach for the telephone. Mulder's Sig Sauer seemed to appear from nowhere, pointed directly at the man's head. "Will this do?" he asked. The clerk's jaw dropped, and Mulder went on, "Keep your hands where I can see them at all times. Now stand up and face the wall. DO IT!!" he yelled, and the other man jerked into action, obeying Mulder's orders precisely. "Okay, that's better," the FBI man said. "Now, hands behind your head." Mulder stepped forward, produced a pair of handcuffs and expertly snapped them into place. "Now lie down on the floor, and don't say a word; don't even think. Scully?" he added over his shoulder. "Having any luck?" While Mulder had been cuffing the receptionist, Dana had moved behind the desk and sat down at the computer terminal. Bill watched in vicarious frustration as she stumbled her way through the unfamiliar menu tree, all of her attention focused on the screen. "Scully!" Mulder repeated sharply. "Dammit, Mulder, I'm trying," she said tensely. "Just give me a minute." "We don't have a lot of minutes, Scully," he replied. The clerk started whimpering; Mulder turned back to him. "Shut up, you!" he snarled. Then to his partner again: "How about it, Scully?" "I think..." she said, the tip of her tongue sticking out slightly between her teeth. "Got it!" Her eyes rapidly scanned the words scrolling up on the screen. "Mulder, they're still here!" There was a note of triumph in her voice. "Ward 9 East. Rooms...uh 23, 27 and 17C." She jumped up from the desk. "Come on!" "Just a second." Mulder dragged the clerk to an upright sitting position. He looked the man in the eye, and hesitated just an instant. Then he said, "I know you're scared, and I'm sorry." Then he smashed the barrel of his gun into the man's temple, and the clerk toppled over into unconsciousness. Bill helped him drag the man's limp body over to the desk, and they stuffed him into the leg space. "Come on!" Dana called again. She was already standing in front of the bank of elevators, leaning on the "up" button. A moment later the three of them spilled off the elevator into the ninth floor atrium. There was a single door in the center of the far wall, with a small button next to it and a sign reading, "Please buzz for admittance." The door was locked, of course. Mulder swore, and drew his gun again. The booming roar of the weapon echoed and reechoed in the enclosed space, and splinters of wood and plastic flew in all directions. Mulder fired again, and this time the lock flew apart. Mulder pulled the door open, and they stepped through. They found themselves in a long, narrow hallway leading off in both directions. A woman in a nurse's uniform was standing halfway down on the right, mouth hanging open in surprise, her eyes big and round. "Freeze! Lie down on the floor! NOW!" The nurse's face went white, and without a word she followed Mulder's instructions. Running towards her, Mulder called over his shoulder, "You two go find the Gunmen; I'll see if there's anyone else wandering around!" Dana turned and hurried down the hallway in the other direction; Bill trailed along in her wake, trying to look in every direction at once. They went past a deserted nurse's station, and suddenly Dana skidded to a halt in front of one of the doors that lined the hallway. "Here it is!" she said, and pushed open the door. The room was small and cramped, with a single bed and a small, rickety bureau situated along one wall. There were no windows, and no serious attempt had been made to decorate the room. Someone was lying on the bed, wrapped tightly in a thin, gray blanket. Dana hurried to the bed, and Bill followed her. "It's Frohike!" she said. "Help me!" And together they managed to turn the man over so he lay on his back. He stirred slightly, opened his eyes and looked up at them blearily. "Frohike!" Dana said. "It's me, Scully. Dana Scully. Are you okay?" Bill watched as the little man struggled to focus. "Dana..." he said, his speech soft and slurred. "Dana..." His eyes closed again. "Dammit!" she said. "He's been drugged. Frohike! Wake up! You have got to wake up!" Frohike's eyes fluttered open again and he stared up at her. "Listen to my voice, Frohike," she said. "Listen to me talking to you. Listen to Dana, and try to stay awake. Can you sit up?" A goofy smile slid across his face, and he nodded. "Bill!" Dana said over her shoulder. "This is going to take a few minutes; go see if you can find the other two!" "Gotcha." Bill stepped back into the hallway, and continued down it in the direction they had been going. In seconds, he found room 23, and burst through the doorway. Langly was lying on the bed, hands locked behind his head, staring at the ceiling. When he saw Bill standing in the doorway, his eyebrows shot up. "Captain Scully?" Bill said, "We're busting you guys out of here. Can you walk?" "If I can't walk, I'll crawl," said the blond man as he swung his feet out of bed and ran for the door. "Come on," said Bill, leading him into the hallway. "We've got to find Byers." "What about Frohike?" "Dana's with him; looks like he's been drugged." "He always was a troublemaker," Langly answered. Then they were in Byers' room and dragging him hurriedly out of bed. Fortunately, he was only sleeping, rather than having been sedated, and it took him only seconds to come to full wakefulness and grasp the situation. As they exited into the hallway, Bill asked, "Do either of you know what happened to the zip disk?" Langly shook his head, and Byers replied, "Frohike had it. At least, he had it when we were in the coffee shop. But he did NOT have it by the time they picked us up. I don't know where he put it; we weren't together the whole time." They arrived at Frohike's door just as Frohike and Dana came stumbling out of the room. Frohike still looked as if he weren't entirely aware of what was going on; one of his arms was draped around Dana's shoulders, and she was obviously holding him up by sheer grit and determination. Bill moved forward to try to help, but as soon as he touched Frohike the little man began to struggle. "No!" Frohike protested. "No! 'M goin' with Dana! Dana!" "It's okay, Frohike," Dana said, her voice calm and reassuring. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. But Bill needs to help us. You remember Bill. He's my brother -- Captain Scully. You need to let him help us." Grudgingly, the little man allowed Bill to take some of his weight. As the group moved back up the hallway towards the elevator, Dana asked about the zip disk, and Bill explained that Frohike had apparently hidden it somewhere. They passed back through the damaged door into the elevator atrium, and Langly moved ahead and punched the elevator button. "Where's Mulder?" Dana demanded, looking around. The FBI man was clearly not in the little room. Still struggling to help support Frohike, she staggered back to the door. "Mulder!" she yelled. "Mulder! We've got them! Where are you?" "Mulder?" Frohike was frowning. "Is Mulder here? I thought you came to see me..." His voice trailed off sadly. "Mulder!" Dana shouted again, and this time her voice cracked slightly. "God damn it, Mulder, we've got to go! Now!" Frohike looked owlishly up at Bill. "She loves him more than she loves me," he confided. "He's a Redwood among saplings." And he started singing, loudly and off-key. "Now since my baby left me, I've found a new place to dwell --" "Jesus!" Bill said. "Frohike! You've got to be quiet! They'll hear you!" "Mulder!" Dana turned back to the group. "Langly, take this arm; I've got to go find Mulder." She transferred her burden and ran back through the door and disappeared down the hallway. "Down at the end of Lonely Street at Heartbreak Hotel," Frohike sang on. "I'm so lonely, I'm so lonely --" "Frohike!" Bill snapped, using his best commanding officer voice. "Be quiet!" He looked desperately at Byers, but the other man only shrugged, and Langly said, "You may as well save your breath, Captain. Once he gets onto Elvis, there's no stopping him." "-- I'm so lonely that I could die." Frohike took a breath, and then launched into the second verse: "And tho' it's always crowded, you can still find some room --" He broke off suddenly, and looked around. "Where's Dana?" he demanded. "Where'd she go?" The elevator arrived, and Byers stepped into the doorway to hold it. "Dana will be right back, Frohike," Langly said soothingly. "She just went to look for Mulder." "Mulder," the little man said glumly, and he started singing again. "So if your baby leaves and you have a tale to tell, just take a walk down Lonely Street to Heartbreak Hotel, where you'll be lonely --" He stopped and frowned. "No, thas not right. Third verse. What's the third verse?" Dammit, where were Dana and Mulder? This was taking too long; Bill could feel it. He looked over Frohike's head at Langly, and made a command decision. "Let's get him out of here," Bill said. They'll probably catch up with us by the time we get outside." They started to wrestle Frohike into the elevator, and he began to struggle again. "Where're we goin'?" he demanded. "Where's Dana? I wanna see Dana!" "Dana's downstairs," Bill said desperately. "We have to go to her." "Oh." The little man quieted down, and let them lead him onto the elevator. "Now since my baby left me, I've found a new place to dwell: Down at the end of Lonely Street at Heartbreak Hotel --" Bill groaned. "Christ, isn't there some way to shut him up?" "Just be glad he isn't on one of his Barry Manilow jags," Langly said as the elevator doors slid shut. The car started moving, and Frohike broke off singing to say, "I heard that, Langly." He turned his head and looked at his friend. "You jus' don' know good music when you hear it." He cleared his throat, and started on another song: "This one'll never sell, they'll never unnerstan'. I don't even sing it well --" "You can say that again," Langly muttered. "-- I try but I just can't." Frohike looked soulfully up into Bill's eyes. "But I sing it every night and I fight to keep it in. Cause this one's for you. . . this one's for you." The elevator stopped at the first floor and the doors slid open. Bill and Langly hustled Frohike off of the elevator with Byers striding briskly alongside. Frohike continued bellowing out his song, while allowing himself to be led to the front door. They were almost there -- just a few more feet -- when Bill heard a shout from behind. "Hey! Who are you? Where are you going?" "Shit!" Bill let go of Frohike and whirled around to see a security guard walking briskly towards them. Out of the corner of his eye he was aware of Langly staggering as he suddenly had to take Frohike's entire weight, and Byers moving forward to help. Bill moved towards the guard, and tried to hang a conciliatory and embarrassed look on his face. "I'm sorry," he said. "We didn't mean to disturb anyone. I'm afraid my friend -- well, he's had a little too much to drink, and we're trying to get him home." <> Bill thought, wincing internally. But the guard slowed his pace, and seemed to be considering it. Abruptly a thumping noise could be heard coming from behind the reception desk, and Bill had a sudden visceral realization of how the captain of the Titanic must have felt. A few seconds later, the clerk Mulder had slugged, his wrists still handcuffed behind him, squirmed painfully out from under the desk. He looked up, saw the guard, saw Bill and the other three men, and started yelling. "Stop them, Brad! They're kidnappers!" The guard's eyes widened, and he reached for his sidearm, but Bill was quicker, and in an instant he had the .32 Mulder had obtained for him pointed right at the man's heart. "Don't move!" Bill ordered. The guard froze, and he and Bill stood transfixed and staring at each other for a timeless moment. Then the guard opened his hands and pointedly moved them away from his sides. Remembering what Mulder had done, Bill said, "Now lie down on the floor, and put your hands behind your back, and no one will get hurt." At that instant, Mulder and Dana burst from the emergency stairway. They took in the scene at a glance, and almost as if by telepathy, Dana changed course and ran up behind the guard, pulling handcuffs from somewhere in the process, while her partner swept on by Bill to help Langly and Byers. Dana snapped the cuffs on the guard and forced him to lie down. The clerk was still yelling, but she gave him one ferocious look and he shut up abruptly. Finally, they made it to the parking lot. Mulder had the back door of the ambulance open in an instant, and he heaved Frohike up and into the vehicle by main force, turning away as the little man fell to the floor of the compartment. Langly and Bill followed, while Mulder and Byers raced around to the cab. Finally, Dana clambered into the back and pulled the door shut behind her. "Everybody in?" Mulder demanded, and without waiting for an answer he turned the ignition and put the ambulance in gear. He had had the foresight to park facing outward, and so he was able simply to floor the accelerator and head for the exit. By the time they reached the street, they must have been doing forty or better, and the rear end slewed wildly for a moment. The passengers in the back were thrown first one way, then the other, and Langly lost his balance and fell heavily across Frohike, evoking an indignant sqawk from the latter. Then the tires took hold again, and they careened down the street, leaving the hospital behind them. Bill leaned back against the wall of the compartment and closed his eyes. They'd made it. They'd actually pulled it off. <> He opened his eyes and leaned forward. Dana had slipped down on the floor and was now cuddling Frohike's head in her lap. The rocking of the ambulance as it sped down the darkened streets of downtown Washington seemed to have lulled him back to sleep. "Frohike," Dana said softly, stroking his brow. "Frohike -- Melvin. It's Dana. You have to wake up now, Melvin." His eyes fluttered open. "Frohike," he muttered, looking up at her with a frown. "Frohike. Not Melvin. Even made my...parents call me Frohike." He giggled. "I learned that one from Mulder." "All right, Frohike," she replied. "Now Frohike, you have to concentrate on something. You have to think; you have to remember. Can you do that for me, Frohike?" Frohike's brow furrowed, and he frowned again. "I'll try." "Frohike, we need to know what you did with the zip disk. Do you remember the zip disk?" "Zip disk..." Slowly his eyelids fell shut. Dana shook his shoulder gently, and spoke his name again, and his eyes popped back open. "Dana!" he said, sounding puzzled. "When did you get here?" "I've been here all along," she said soothingly. "I'm here with you now. I know it's confusing for you, but you've just been drugged, and you're going to be okay." His eyes narrowed. "Rat bastards!" he said. "They drugged me...Not enough to kill Mulder an' fire Dana...beautiful Dana....hot Dana...." His voice was almost a croon, and his eyes seemed to drift almost at random. "It's okay, Frohike," Dana said. "That was a long time ago, and Mulder didn't die after all." He focused on her face again. "He was a giant, you know. He was a Redwood among saplings." "Yes, he is," she agreed, smiling down at the little man. Then her face got serious again. "Frohike, tell me where the zip disk is." "Zip disk," he muttered. "Zip disk zip disk zip disk." He looked up at her and smiled; then he started to giggle. "I hid it," he said. "An' they couldn't find it." He continued giggling. "I know you hid it, Frohike," she said. "But we need to find it now." He frowned suddenly. "Is okay that I hid it?" he asked anxiously. "I don' wanna make Dana mad." "Dana's not mad, Frohike," she replied. "Dana's very pleased; she's proud of you. You did the right thing." "The right thing," he said, smiling again. "The right thing. Dana said I did the right thing...." His eyelids started to droop shut again. Dana shook him awake, and said quickly but firmly, "Frohike! Quick! Where did you put the zip disk?" "Zip disk?" "The zip disk, Frohike -- where did you hide it?" She shook his shoulder again, and a note of urgency entered her voice. "Frohike, we don't have much time! They're coming, and we have to get away! Where's the zip disk?" "Zip disk." His brow furrowed in concentration again, and then a light came on behind his eyes, and he started giggling again. "I gave it...I gave it...." "Who, Frohike? Who did you give it to?" "I gave it to the Gen'ral!" Dana frowned. "The General?" she asked. "What general? What general did you give it to, Frohike?" "The Gen'ral," he repeated. "The Gen'ral. That's who I gave it to." He nodded in satisfaction. "Is safe there. No one can find it." "But we HAVE to find it, Frohike," Dana said. "We have to find it now, because they're coming and we have to get away. Frohike -- where did you hide the zip disk?" "I gave it to the Gen'ral!" he repeated. "Laughing." And he started to giggle again. "Laughing?" She frowned...and suddenly a light came on in Bill's head. "General Lafayette!" he exclaimed. Dana looked up at her brother, and her eyes widened. Then she looked down at Frohike again. "Is that right, Frohike? Did you hide the zip disk in Lafayette Park?" He looked up at her, puzzled. "Gen'ral Laughingyet.. Gave it to General Laughingyet. He'll keep it safe...." His eyes started to drift closed, but then they snapped open again, and he looked up at Dana, a worried look on his face. "Dana!" he said. "Dana...did I do okay? Did we get away?" Smiling, she replied, "You were wonderful, Frohike. You've saved everything." "Did we get away?" the little man repeated. "Yes. Yes, we got away. You go to sleep now." And she planted a soft kiss on his forehead, and within seconds he was snoring. At that moment the ambulance slowed to a halt. Bill looked up as the communications window with the cab slid open, and Mulder's face appeared in the gap. "We're well away from St. Elizabeth's," he informed them, "and I think we need to ditch the ambulance. It's got to be on the hot sheets by now." He started to turn away, but Dana's voice stopped him. "Wait, Mulder!" she said. "Frohike says he's hidden the zip disk in Lafayette Park. We need to get there and find it before some tourist stumbles over it." Mulder hesitated, then nodded. "To Lafayette Park, as fast as lightning!" he said, and threw the ambulance back into gear and accelerated away from the curb. # # # -- THURSDAY (cont.) Bill sat quietly in the study of Jiggs Casey's home, sipping coffee and trying to get his head around the fact that he was actually warm and comfortable. Jiggs sat at his desk, while Langly leaned over the Marine's shoulder tapping commands on the computer keyboard in front of them. Byers was in another chair, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, while Fox Mulder sat on the floor, back against the wall. Dana was tucking Frohike into bed in the Caseys' guest bedroom. "This isn't going to be as spectacular as it might be," Langly was saying to Jiggs. "You just can't get the kind of resolution and processing speed on a Windows machine that you can on an iMac. The Windows OS is so fucking buggy it ought to be condemned. But I think you'll get the gist of it." He tapped a few more keys, then stood back as the show began to unfold. The retrieval of the zip disk had gone like clockwork. They'd driven to Lafayette Park, and Dana had remained in the ambulance with Frohike while the rest of them searched. It had taken less than five minutes, and then Fox Mulder had appropriated another vehicle, and they'd all piled in and headed for Jiggs Casey's house. The door to the study opened, bringing Bill back to the present. Dana slipped into the room and wordlessly sat down on the floor between Mulder's knees, leaning back against his chest with a contented sigh and closing her eyes. "Sweet Jesus." Bill looked back to his friend, and saw the familiar demo flashing across the screen. "Blue is for outgoing messages, and red is for incoming," Langly intoned, and Bill felt a tremor run through his body as he remembered the last time he had heard those words. He knew what Jiggs must be going through right now -- knew it from personal experience -- and part of him wanted to reach out to his friend. But this was a journey each of them had to take alone, and so he forestalled himself. At last the demo ended. Jiggs leaned back in his chair, staring at the screen with eyes that were no longer skeptical and wary, but shocked and haunted. At last he stirred, and he turned to look at Bill, and Bill saw on his face and in his eyes the same expression which he knew that he himself had been wearing since Monday evening. "I'm sorry, Bill," Jiggs said quietly. "I should have known not to doubt you." He paused, then nodded to himself, and reached for the telephone. # # # Forty minutes later, Jiggs and Bill were walking briskly down 15th Street in downtown Washington. Jiggs' phone call had been brief and cryptic, and after he hung up he'd informed Bill that the two of them were expected "downtown". The others had had large question marks in their eyes, but Jiggs' tone and the expression on his face had invited no inquiries. Now they were approaching the Treasury Department building, which stood across the street from the White House. Jiggs had offered no explanation on the drive downtown, and Bill had known better than to press him. Bill carried the zip disk in his coat pocket, having been rapidly briefed by Langly on how to run the demos. The night was clear and cold, and overhead the stars twinkled brilliantly. It was well past midnight, and he and Jiggs were the only ones on the street. Bill felt a chill race down his spine which was due to more than just the cold. <> he realized suddenly. <> Jiggs led the way to a side entrance of the Treasury building; much to Bill's surprise, the door was unlocked, and the two men walked inside and took a flight of stairs down to the basement. Jiggs led the way along a corridor, stopping at last in front of an unmarked, heavy metal door. The Marine produced a key -- it looked new and shiny, as if it had recently been cut -- and unlocked the door, and they both stepped through the doorway. The door opened into another hallway, but this one was plain and unfinished looking, with bare concrete floors and walls. Naked light bulbs dangled from the ceiling every twenty or thirty feet, producing a garish illumination. Jiggs led the way down the corridor. There were no doors, no bulletin boards, no decorations of any kind. Just plain, concrete walls, with the overhead light bulbs casting strange shadows as the two men strode briskly along. At last they came to another door, identical to the first, but instead of using his key on this one, Jiggs Casey pressed a small, unmarked button on the wall next to the door. After a moment's pause, the door was opened from the other side by a Marine Corps sergeant, and Jiggs and Bill stepped on through into the room beyond. Bill looked around and gaped. The room was laid out like a military headquarters. Telephones, computers and other electronic gear seemed to be everywhere, and a map of the world hung on the far wall. Half a dozen men and women in uniform moved around the room performing arcane ministrations to the equipment, and Bill felt his hair suddenly stand on end as he realized what room this was. "That's right, Bill," Jiggs said softly. "This is the Situation Room in the basement of the White House." "Colonel Casey; thank you for coming so promptly." They turned to see a man dressed in a business suit walking towards them. He was tall, with dark hair, and had hawk-like features. He reached out and shook hands with Jiggs, then turned to Bill. "And you must be Captain Scully. My name is Bruce Lindsey, Special Assistant to the President." Bill shook his hand numbly. "Now if you gentleman will please follow me..." Lindsey led them across the Situation Room and through a doorway on the far side. They passed rapidly down yet another hallway, and finally came to a dead end with a single door in it. Two men in dark suits stood guard over the doorway, and Bill felt another jolt as he realized who must be behind that door. Lindsey spoke to the guards. "This is Colonel Casey and Captain Scully. They're expected." Jiggs and Bill were quickly but expertly patted down by one of the Secret Service men, then the other one twisted the knob and the door swung open, and Bill found himself face to face with the president of the United States. "Jiggs," the president said, then glanced at Bill. "And you must be the Captain Scully I've heard so much about." "Yes sir," Bill said, a strangled feeling in his throat. "Sir, I must apologize for my appearance. I --" The president waved it away. "Don't worry about it, Captain; I understand you've been rather busy the last few days." The man's lips quirked, and Bill realized suddenly that he was standing in front of a human being and not some political avatar. It was a bit of a shock to him, and reminded him of the first time he had been confronted with the fact that even admirals sometimes had to use the head. But the president was still speaking. "Captain, I understand you have something for us." "Y-yes sir," Bill stuttered, and his hand flew to his pocket. For a second he was unable to find the disk, and he almost panicked, but then his fingers closed on it, and he drew it out of his pocket and handed it across the desk. The president looked at the disk, fascinated, and turned it over in his hands. Then he looked up at Jiggs. "Colonel Casey? Have you reviewed the materials on this disk?" "Yes sir." "And you concur with Captain Scully's analysis?" "Yes, Mr. President." The president sighed, and muttered, "Absolutely fucking incredible." His use of earthy language startled Bill, but somehow it seemed right, under the circumstances. The president handed the disk over to Lindsey. "Bruce, we'll want to have the staff review this, and I mean now." "Yes, Mr. President." And Lindsey took the disk and left the room, leaving Jiggs and Bill alone with the president. The president turned his gaze back on the two officers, and gestured at a pair of straight chairs positioned in front of his desk. "Gentlemen, why don't you go ahead and have a seat; this may take a little while." He looked directly at Bill. "In the meantime, Captain Scully, I want to hear your story -- all of it." The two officers complied, and after another prompt from the president, Bill began to speak. At first, he felt awkward, uncomfortable, as he had in Sunday school all those many years ago when he was called upon to recite. But as he got into the tale, he found himself relaxing, becoming more confident, and the story started to flow as he first sketched the outlines, and then began to fill in the details. He told the president everything: The mysterious summons from Dana on Monday evening; the chill he felt as he realized what the data on the computer disk added up to; the hair-raising escape from death Tuesday morning; the grueling search on Wednesday for the missing Gunmen; his own despair when he realized that Jiggs didn't believe him; the harrowing jailbreak at St. Elizabeth's; and finally the triumph of finding the zip disk, hidden in some bushes in Lafayette Park. Finally Bill fell silent. He felt exhausted, drained, as if he had just re-lived those events all over again. The president rocked back in his chair, and studied Bill's face thoughtfully. At last he said, "Well, Captain Scully, it sounds as if you've had quite a week." Normally, Bill would never have dreamed of saying anything other than in answer to a direct question from his commander in chief, but something in the president's voice and manner seemed to invite comment. "Mr. President, I think that's a bit of an understatement." The president barked quick laughter. He seemed to be about to reply when the door swung open and Bruce Lindsey came back into the room. His face was grim. "Well?" the president asked. "It checks out, Mr. President," Lindsey replied. "Down to the last detail." The president let out his breath in a slow sigh, and Bill realized that he had been holding his own breath, as well. Without thinking about it, he rose to his feet, and Jiggs followed suit. The president seemed to be meditating, and his gaze was quite evidently focused on something that no one else in the room could see. At last he looked up at the two officers. "Colonel Casey; Captain Scully." He took a deep breath and shook his head. "I want to thank you for bringing this to me. I know the risk you both took in doing so." He turned to Lindsey. "Bruce, I want these two officers formally debriefed before they leave." "Yes, Mr. President." "In addition," the president went on, still speaking to Lindsey, "I want their records cleared -- and the two FBI agents and the rest of the bunch, as well. Whatever they had to do to unearth this information just didn't happen. Got me?" "Yes, Mr. President." The president's eyes moved back to Bill and Jiggs, and he said, "I hope I can depend on you men to be discreet. It would be extremely harmful to the country if any of these events were ever to be made public." He hesitated, then added, "In fact, let's just make that an order. After the two of you have been debriefed tonight, neither of you is ever to utter a word to anyone about the events of the past few days. There is no 'Site Y'; there were no unexplained troop movements; there was no conspiracy against the government. Is that clear?" He waited until the two officers had acknowledged the order from their commander in chief, then he seemed to relax a little. "Very well, then." He stood and extended his hand. "I can't say this has been a pleasure, gentlemen, because it quite frankly has not been. But I am glad you came." He shook hands with both men, and Lindsey ushered them out of the office. And as they walked back up the hallway to the Situation Room to be debriefed, Bill Scully suddenly realized that he was going to be a grandfather. He was going home to Tara. # # # FRIDAY: Epilogue Dana Scully heard the TV playing in her apartment before she had even put the key in the lock, and she knew that Mulder was waiting for her. A soft smile crept briefly across her face, the smile that she never allowed her partner to see, and then she opened the door and stepped inside. God, it was good to be home! She had never expected to see this place again, and it gave her a warm, happy feeling to walk through the apartment and see all of her things waiting for her, just where she had left them five days before. Mulder was lying sprawled out on her sofa, watching the O'Reilly Factor. She moved over to sit next to him, unceremoniously dumping his feet on the floor to make room. Earlier in the day, the president had held an unscheduled press conference to announce the retirements of all five members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and now the talking heads were chattering on and on about What It All Meant. <> Dana thought. Aloud, she said, "Haven't you had enough politics for one week, Mulder?" He shrugged, and didn't answer. "Mulder, I thought we were going to watch DINOSAURUS! tonight. You said it was going to be on USA Network again." Still he didn't answer, and she slapped his knee. "Mulder! Are you listening?" "I hear you, Scully," he said with a lugubrious sigh. He picked up the remote control and changed channels. "But we HAVE seen this movie before, you know. Thirteen times, I believe." Dana settled back in contentment as a brontosaurus appeared on the screen, and she watched as it trampled through the tropical jungle. She feigned obliviousness as Mulder pulled his feet up off the floor and put them on her lap. After a few moments, though, she decided to take notice of the feet, and started gently massaging them. "Mulder," she said, "why do you suppose we like this movie so much?" He looked surprised. "Why?" he repeated. "Because it's about us, Scully. This movie is about us. I thought you knew that." "It is?" She raised her eyebrows and looked away from the screen, just long enough to see that he wasn't joking. "How is it about us, Mulder?" He gestured at the screen. "You and I are just like the dinosaurs. We're creatures out of time." "Oh." She thought about that for a moment as a caveman went running frantically through the jungle, carrying a woman over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. "I hadn't thought of it that way. I guess I see your point." Another long pause. "Which one of us is the brontosaurus?" "Which one of us would you like to be the brontosaurus?" he replied, humor hanging delicately about the edges of his words. "I'd like to be the brontosaurus," she said seriously. "I've always liked the brontosaurus; she seems so peaceful. I'm always a little sad when the tyrannosaurus kills her." "So you envision me as the King of the Lizards?" Mulder asked. She frowned. "No, that doesn't seem right, either. Maybe we can both be brontosauruses." "You'd make a great brontosaurus, Scully." He paused for a moment, then asked, "Did you get any root beer on your way back from taking Bill to the airport?" She shook her head, still watching the screen intently. "No; the store was all out. It must be getting popular." "How about Rolling Rock? Do you have any Rolling Rock?" "All gone." He leered at her. "Iced tea?" Laughing, she said, "No, Mulder. No iced tea. Maybe someday, but not tonight." "That's okay," he replied, nodding wisely. "Iced tea is hard to drink. You either get too much sugar or too little; it's almost impossible to get it just right." "I guess that's true," she said. And after that the two friends were quiet, and they sat together on the sofa watching television, far into the night. Fini --