Title: Three Trenchcoats
Author: Maureen S. O'Brien
E-mail: mobrien@dnaco.net
Rating: PG
Category: V
Spoilers: The End (XF), The Time Is Now (Millennium)
Summary: Three agents at the front door of the J. Edgar Hoover
Building.
Disclaimer: Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen, and Fox own both The
X-Files and Millennium. I'm just playing in the sandbox.
--------------------------------------------------

Two trenchcoats going out the door, another coming in.

"Frank? Frank Black?"

"Mulder," he acknowledges. "I heard about the X-Files. I'm sorry."

Brooding eyes turn even darker. "We heard about Seattle. You
shouldn't be working at a time like this."

"We're moving back to DC. It seemed best, after everything that
happened. Seattle has a lot of bad memories for Jordan now."

Mulder lays his hand on Black's shoulder. "For you, too. Kids are
resilient. Don't spend all your time dealing with Jordan's problems
and none with your own. That's part of what got Patterson."

"I'll be careful," Black says seriously. "By the way, you haven't
introduced me to your friend."

Mulder keeps his hand on Black's shoulder, a nonverbal reminder that
he is not going to drop the topic just because Black changed the
subject. His other hand moves to the small of Scully's back as he
ushers her closer to Black. "As you've probably guessed, Frank, this
is my partner -- ex-partner -- Dr. Dana Scully. Scully, this is Frank
Black. Former FBI agent, former fellow sufferer under Patterson,
currently member of the Millennium Group...."

"Formerly member of the Millennium Group," he interrupts. "I may be
coming back here." He extends his hand. "A pleasure to meet you,
Agent Scully."

"Likewise," she murmurs, putting out her own hand. "I've heard so
much about you."

Their hands meet.

I shouldn't have touched him, Scully thinks for a second before she
is pulled in by the spirits of the newly dead that hang around him.
They call, they wail, they demand attention to their lives ended so
abruptly by this new plague.

I shouldn't have touched her, Black thinks. He sees the ashes of two
lives turned to gray slop on the floor, and he holds onto Mulder
lest he flicker into nothingness, too. He sees a girl dying and a
field of burnt dead and the stub of a cigarette, all mixed together.

And between them stands Mulder, completing the circuit and seeing it
all and passing it on, so that now they are all trapped in each
other's nightmares, the snake eating its own tail; and Jordan is
Emily is Gibson is Lara is Scully is Mulder is Peter is Skinner
is....

Standing next to them, tapping Mulder on the shoulder. "Are you three
all right?"

"Sir." Mulder drops his hands and turns to Skinner as Scully and
Black step back from each other. "We were just talking to Frank
Black."

"It's been a hard year for all of us," he says. "But nolite
illegitimi carborundorum."

Bad Latin, good sentiment, think the other three simultaneously.
There is nobody in the world less psychic or visionary than Walter
Skinner. Thank God.

Black nods gratefully. "Not without a fight, Walt."

"Not without a fight," Mulder agrees.

Scully nods fiercely. "And we have not yet _begun_ to fight."

Two trenchcoats go on out the door, and one comes in.
--------------------------------------------------
mobrien@dnaco.net
http://www.dnaco.net/~mobrien/fanfic/