This chapter is rated PG-13


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Chapter Five
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February 28, 1993
7:53 p.m.

"The likeness is really amazing, isn't it?"

"Of =course= the likeness is amazing, you Jane Seymour wannabe.  
It's =him=."

"We don't know that for sure.  You don't know what they're 
capable of.  He could be a mandroid.  He could be a machine, 
layered over with human skin, like Schwarzenegger in 'Terminator 
2'."

"Are you listening to yourself?"

"Look at the way he's studying those papers -- like he's scanning 
the information and filing it away into a =memory bank=.  
Remember how intense he was when we got here?  Like he had a 
single-minded purpose -- to locate that woman.  Just like the 
Terminator when he was looking for the kid, remember?  Come on, 
remember?  You can't tell me the coincidence isn't creepy."

"Shut.  Up."

"Or, you know, he could just be someone who looks like him, only 
way older."

I'd been quiet through this entire exchange, not bothering to 
point out that Langly's stage whisper to Frohike was actually 
quite audible.  But at that last comment I looked up from the 
dossier on Scully I was perusing.  "Now you're just trying to 
hurt my feelings," I said.  I had to contain a laugh when 
Scarecrow and Toto jumped, realizing my attention was back on 
them and that I'd heard everything.  "It's me, guys," I assured 
them for the umpteenth time.

Langly looked at me with suspicion.  "If you're really you, you 
wouldn't oppose a blood test," he asserted.

"You haven't asked for one.  Look, you can do whatever you want 
to prove my identity to your satisfaction, as long as it doesn't 
get in the way of my finding Scully," I said.  "Or involve 
deviant sexual acts."

I turned back to the dossier.  It wasn't anything I hadn't 
memorized six years ago, but it was a concrete reminder that 
Scully was out there somewhere, and that I had to find her.  The 
right "her."

God, she looked young in that picture.  Not a wrinkle in sight.  
Her hair was so long and she looked so ... girly.  She had 
actually smiled for the camera.  These days, she didn't smile 
unless she really meant it ... and I supposed there was something 
to be said for that.  I wished she had more reason to smile.  
Right now, though, I'd settle for a 'you're really pissing me 
off, Mulder' look if it meant I could just see her again.

I stared at the picture of a younger Scully and willed myself to 
concentrate.  But for once I was at a loss.  I had no idea what 
had brought me here and no idea how to get back.  But that's why 
I'd summoned Larry, Curly, and Moe.

Well, Larry and Curly, anyway.  Byers had stayed in D.C.

It was strange to see the guys looking six years younger -- I 
knew what Langly meant when he called me "old."  From my 
perspective, they looked like they'd only just graduated from 
Geek University.  It was a sobering realization to think how far 
we'd come, how much we'd done, how much we'd all been through.  
Or maybe I was just nostalgic, being so far away from everything 
that was familiar to me.

"So why don't you explain to us what happened.  I didn't get much 
from this long-haired hippie," Frohike said.

I opened my mouth to answer, then realized that I had no idea 
what to say.  How much to tell?  I wanted them to believe me.  At 
the same time, I didn't want to waste a lot of time on details 
when Scully was lost in the desert ... or the sands of time.

I decided to give them the Cliff Notes version.  Mulder meets new 
partner Scully.  Scully sent to debunk Mulder's work.  Scully has 
integrity and saves Mulder's ass instead.  Has way about her that 
makes Mulder ... never mind about that.  Partners for six years. 
Area 51, bright flash of light from possible spaceship.  Mulder 
finds himself six years in the past.

Frohike and Langly stared at me.  Then they laughed.  Frohike 
shook his head.  "Oh, man, you really had me going there for a 
minute.  Going to all this trouble --" He indicated Scully's 
dossier.  "-- researching some Quantico babe, getting us out here 
... you're the master.  Okay, we've learned our lesson.  Next 
time we get evidence on the Loch Ness, we promise not to call you 
unless we've got something really substantial.  Okay?"

"What the f--"  Then I remembered the incident where they'd 
gotten some blurry black and white photos of what they had 
purported was the Loch Ness monster, and had me racing out to 
Michigan ... only to find that some 15-year-old prankster had 
sent pictures of his younger sister's inflatable dinosaur pool 
toy to the 'weird magazine' he'd found.

"This isn't a joke."  I stood up and started pacing.  "What can I 
do, what can I say that will convince you?  I can't waste any 
more time on this.  I need to start looking for Scully."

They seemed to consider this.  "Well, it would be more convincing 
if we could see you together in the same room," Langly said.

I shook my head.  "Can't do that.  He can't see me.  Not can't, 
but ... shouldn't.  There are risks involved.  And I won't leave 
here," I finished firmly.  "Not without Scully."

Silence reigned, and I started to become nervous.  I didn't blame 
them for being cautious, but they'd come all the way out here -- 
it couldn't take that much to convince them.  I needed them to 
believe me.  If I didn't have their help, everything I needed to 
do would be much harder.

I seized on an idea.  "Byers."

"What about him?" Frohike looked wary.

"Have him call me -- the other me, right now.  He can confirm 
when that Mulder picks up; when they're talking.  But I'll be 
right here in front of you."  I spread my palms as an entreaty.  
"Come on -- that's almost as good as having us in the same room."  
I thanked the deities above that they had not yet heard of Alien 
Bounty Hunters who could morph into physical replicas of human 
beings.

"Works for me," Langly said, shrugging, and from one of the bags 
they'd brought, whipped out a cell phone that was roughly the 
size of my cordless phone at home.  I'd forgotten how bulky those 
early models had been.

Langly quickly explained the situation to Byers.  I half listened 
as I resumed pacing, and hoped that this would go as 
expeditiously as planned.  It would be just like me to put a 
spanner in the works by being unreachable for some reason.  
Suddenly Langly went quiet, and I stopped in my tracks, looking 
at him inquiringly.

"He's calling you," Langly explained.  A few more moments passed, 
then Langly began speaking again.  "Right.  I see.  And you're 
sure about this?  So what did you say?  Uh huh.  Okay.  Is he 
kidding?!  No -- all right.  All =right=, I said.  Cheesesteaks 
next Friday, gotcha."

I rolled my eyes and tried not to let impatience get the better 
of me. Strangling my friend would no doubt prove satisfying, but 
would only hurt me in my quest.

He finally hung up and Frohike asked my question.  "Well?"

Adjusting his glasses, Langly gave me a level look.  "So what do 
you need?"

***

March 1, 1993
2:45 p.m.

It turned out that Scully was in the very last place I thought to 
look, and the most logical.  If she'd been with me, I might have 
found her sooner.

I caught a glimpse of her auburn head as I made my way down the 
hall, impatiently jostling the people who were unfortunate enough 
to be in my path.  When had there ever been this many people in 
this particular hallway, anyway?  As I got closer I could see 
that she had her arms crossed, a frown marring her still-
beautiful face.

When I finally reached her I was out of breath and apologetic.  
"Sorry, Scully, I'm so glad to see you ..."

Without a word she turned and jabbed the call button for the 
elevator.

Shit, she was really pissed.  I swallowed nervously.  The 
elevator arrived and we got on.  I hoped that no one would follow 
us ... but of course, no one did.  Who ever needed to go to the 
basement at Hoover other than us?

"I'm sorry it took me so long," I said, trying to smooth things 
over.  I used my most placating tone of voice, needing her 
forgiveness.  I'd just found her again and I wanted to celebrate; 
it hurt that she wouldn't meet my eyes.  "I just never thought 
you'd be here, of all places."

"Then why are you dressed for work?" she asked.

"Huh?"  I looked down at myself, and sure enough, I was wearing a 
typical suit ensemble for work.  "Well ... we're at work, aren't 
we?"  It was a lame retort, but it was the only thing I could 
think of to say.

"Maybe you didn't really want to find me," she said quietly, 
still without looking at me.

I was shocked.  "No, Scully ... God, I looked everywhere for 
you."

"You didn't look here," she returned accusingly, and I couldn't 
refute that; I hadn't.  But how could I explain that it didn't 
make any sense for her to be here?

I was ready to defend myself, but the tear that slid down her 
cheek undid me.  I'd made her believe that I didn't want to find 
her, that I'd abandoned her, that I didn't care.  I was an idiot 
that some village somewhere was missing.  I didn't deserve to 
look at her, to see her cry.

And I wanted so much to hold her, but I knew that to try and 
touch her now would only compound my sins.

I was surprised when she turned and buried her face against my 
chest, sniffling quietly.  Automatically, my arms wrapped around 
her and I held my breath, not wanting to move for fear that she'd 
realize what she was doing and stop.

"I'm sorry, Scully," I whispered to the top of her head.

A loud bang against the elevator door made us jerk apart.  We 
were still in the elevator?  How odd that neither of us had 
noticed how long it was taking.

"Open up in there!" someone shouted from the other side, sounding 
muffled.

I pressed some buttons but the doors remained closed.  "We're 
stuck," I said in dismay.  I didn't want to look at Scully, 
didn't want to see the annoyance that was sure to be directed at 
me.

But suddenly she grabbed my arm and yanked me back, away from the 
control panel.  I didn't know what to think when she reached up 
and pulled my head down close to hers.  "Scully?" I got out 
before she pressed her lips against mine, and then I was beyond 
caring about anything but that Scully was kissing me ... all 
those people shouting on the other side of the door clamoring to 
be let in could go straight to hell ...

"Mulder!  Open this damn door!"

My eyes popped open and my first instinct was to grab my gun.  
Then I remembered where I was and who was making all the racket, 
and I flopped back down, groaning.  I realized I was clutching my 
pillow as if I were holding a soft, warm body, and wished that my 
dream had been real, that I'd found Scully -- angry maybe, but 
warm and alive.

I looked at the clock and saw that I'd slept for three hours, but 
my eyes were gritty, as though they hadn't closed at all.  My 
joints were stiff and my hands felt like they'd been through a 
dehydrator while the rest of my body was drenched in sweat.  
After Langly and Frohike had arrived and I finally convinced them 
I was who I said I was, we pulled an all-nighter.  Well, Frohike 
and I did.  Langly went to "rest" his eyes around four a.m. and 
didn't return.  Frohike had pleaded exhaustion at eight a.m., and 
I'd finally collapsed into bed around noon, too exhausted to go 
on.

The pounding on the door resumed.  "Mulder!"

I was still wearing my jeans.  Ugh.  With effort, I managed to 
get up and make it over to the door, jerking it open without 
ceremony.  I squinted against the sunlight that threatened to 
blind me.

It was Frohike, and at the sight of me, he actually took a step 
back.  "Whoa.  You look like shit."

"You know, you never lose that sweet talking ability," I said.  
"What's going on?  You have something?"  I couldn't mask the 
eagerness in my voice, and the physical discomfort I'd been 
feeling took a hike with the arrival of anticipation.

"Maybe," Frohike said, holding out what looked like a polygraph 
result.  I didn't think that was what it was.  "Langly got this."

"What's this?"

"A gravitometric reading.  We were able to hack into an old 
Soviet early warning satellite, and discovered that the day you 
appeared here, there was a gravitational anomaly.  It looks like 
there might have been two of them, but we can't be sure.  The 
epicenter was right here --" his thumb jabbed at the map he was 
holding "-- about thirty miles northwest of Vegas."

"Let me take a quick shower," I said, grabbing the weird 
printout.  "I'll meet you back here in fifteen minutes.  Get the 
Jeep ready."

My mind worked overtime as I went through the motions of getting 
cleaned up and dressed.  We had concrete data.  A place to start.  
We'd searched the area early this morning, but the Nevada desert 
was a big place, and I had no idea where I'd been "dropped off."  
And not knowing where or when to pay particular attention for 
clues or evidence, moving on always left the feeling that 
something had been missed.

Other than providing monetary support and the confirmation that 
there was a Dana Scully in the FBI working at Quantico -- 
something that I already knew, but was nevertheless vastly 
relieved to hear -- the boys hadn't been able to drum up anything 
too helpful until now. I'd had them search historical records 
from all over, but so far, no "Dana Scully" had popped up.  I 
couldn't help but think of Sullivan Biddle.

If Scully were trapped in the past, how would she let me know?  I 
trusted that if she were put in that situation, she'd know what 
to do to make sure I'd find out.  But supposing I found evidence 
that Scully was trapped in 1802 -- or even as "recently" as 1962 
-- what could I do?

I finally decided that I'd burn that bridge when I came to it.  
At the moment, I had enough to think about.  More than enough.

Fifteen minutes later, as promised, I met Frohike next to our 
rented Jeep.  Langly would stay behind and continue to use 
technology to our advantage, though right now I wasn't sure how 
much help that actually was.  I'd forgotten that six years ago, 
the Gunmen weren't as well-equipped as I'd come to expect, nor as 
resourceful -- not to mention that the world itself wasn't as 
technologically advanced.  It'd be quite a thing to see them in 
another ten years.  Or sixteen.  Whatever.

Frohike held out a Styrofoam cup of steaming hot coffee.  I 
thanked him as we climbed into the Jeep, taking a large gulp and 
enjoying the way it burned down my throat.  I felt awake, alive, 
and confident.

"You ready?" I asked, revving up the engine.  I put on a cheap 
pair of sunglasses that we'd procured from Fred's.

"Hey, I'm the one who dragged you out of bed," he retorted.

"We've wasted enough time," I agreed, and put the gears in 
reverse.

***

5:05 p.m.

"I don't think she's here.  Even if she was before, she's not 
here now, and none of this is getting us anywhere."

I pretended not to hear Frohike's soft assertion.  Maybe going 
over the terrain one more time would reveal something we'd 
overlooked.  There was a lot of ground to cover and it wasn't a 
stretch to think that we might have missed something.  We'd just 
have to be more careful.

"Mulder, are you listening to me?  There's nothing here, buddy.  
We've looked.  We've looked under every rock within a thousand-
yard radius of the anomaly and haven't found anything.  No bits 
of clothing, no messages scratched into the sand, no footprints  
-- not even yours.  We've been out here for hours -- don't you 
think that if there were physical evidence that she was here we 
would have found it already?"

I knew he was right, but wasn't ready to admit it yet.  With 
every passing minute I felt Scully slipping further away from me.  
We had no leads, and I didn't know what I was looking for.  That 
had never stopped me before, but this was different.  This wasn't 
about solving a case, it was about finding my partner, and I 
couldn't seem to distance myself enough to come up with a glib 
theory.  In any case, I didn't have Scully's rationalism to 
counteract whatever I came up with, and the last thing I wanted 
to do was get caught up in a wild goose chase that would do more 
harm than good.

"She might not have come with you, you know.  And even if she did 
travel at the same time, we don't have enough data on whatever it 
was that brought you here to make any credible guesses as to what 
happened."

"You said there were two anomalies," I said.

"I said there =might= have been two; the truth is, we don't know.  
The data's fuzzy.  Look at it!"  Frohike held the paper up again, 
but of course I still couldn't make heads or tails of it.

"She could have traveled with me and ended up not far from where 
I started," I persisted.  "It was so dark, I could barely see 
anything.  Or they could have found her first."  Dread crept 
through my veins like oil.  It wasn't the first time I had 
considered this, but I'd dismissed it until now.  After all, 
presumably they wouldn't even know who she was even if they had 
picked her up.  Nor would they care.  She wouldn't become a 
threat to them until after we met.

But what if I was wrong?

"The Area 51 guys?  What would they want with her?"

I didn't know.  But everyone seemed to want Scully; it no longer 
appeared to be such a far-fetched idea to me.  Besides, I was 
running out of alternatives.

"Well, why wouldn't they keep you, too?" Frohike went on.  "You 
were wandering, just like she was -- assuming she =was= dropped 
here like you.  This is six years in the past, remember.  They 
probably wouldn't know her from Eve."  I winced.  Frohike went 
on, oblivious.  "If anything, you'd be the prime catch, being 
that you're such a pain in the ass to their head honchos."

"I know, I know," I said, kicking the sand in frustration.  
Something glinted in the sunlight, and I hurriedly knelt down.  
Her cross.  Let it be her cross.  Let it be physical evidence 
that she was here.  But it wasn't.  Just an old bottle cap.  I 
stood up again, tossing it away in disgust.

"From what you've been telling me and from the background checks 
we've done, this gal seems pretty straight-laced," Frohike went 
on reasonably.  He seemed determined to voice all the thoughts 
that had gone through my own head.  "She'd have no reason to be 
hanging around, and would cooperate with the authorities, right?  
And they don't want some FBI snoop hanging around.  They'd let 
her go, probably within hours, even if she =was= picked up -- 
because they also wouldn't want the publicity that would stem 
from a missing FBI agent in the area.  I don't know if you've 
noticed, but these Area 51 guys like to keep a pretty low 
profile."

I wasn't sure Scully would have been that complacent, if her 
rather belligerent behavior with the MIBs before the flash was 
anything to go by.  But for the most part, what Frohike said was 
true.  The problem was, if I gave up on that theory, then I had 
no others to take its place.  That left me feeling vulnerable and 
quite frankly, scared shitless.  I buried my face in my hands, 
rubbing fiercely at my temples.

"Hey -- what happened to you?" he asked good-naturedly.  "The 
Mulder I know would be running around in circles, thrilled by the 
idea that he'd traveled in time.  He'd be sending himself 
basketball scores and World Series results."

I didn't know what to tell him.  The Mulder he knew wasn't me.  
He was gone, lost in the past.  I no longer knew him.

"This is all my fault," I mumbled.  "One more in a long series of 
fuck-ups.  If something's happened to her, I just ..."  Slamming 
my fist against the front hood of the Jeep didn't solve anything, 
but it sure felt good.

It had, of course, been my idea to come to Nevada.  I'd bent 
Scully to my will (again).  I'd put her life in danger (again).  
And I'd taken advantage of her loyalty (again).  Would I never 
stop until she was killed?  Would my selfishness finally be 
appeased then?  The realization that this time I might have 
caused Scully irrevocable, grievous harm made me want to eat my 
gun.

Immediately, I was disgusted at myself for wallowing even briefly 
in guilt and self-pity.  I needed to focus my energy on a 
solution.  If I had to, I'd spend the rest of my miserable, 
worthless life fixing this.

"So what are you suggesting?" I asked hollowly.

"Come with us back to D.C.," Frohike said immediately.  "We've 
got resources there, and our equipment.  Byers can't do any of 
the techie stuff without one of us holding his hand; you know 
that.  We'll figure out what happened, maybe even where your 
partner is.  We'll find a way to send you home, buddy."

I wasn't ready to chuck the idea that she might have traveled 
with me and we missed each other for some reason.  If I were 
Scully, stuck in the Nevada desert in 1993, what would I do?  
Wring Mulder's neck, the answer came immediately.  That wasn't 
helpful.  What about after that?  She might try to contact her 
family.  I considered this.  If she hadn't, maybe she would. But 
I could hardly call Mrs. Scully and ask her to watch for her 
daughter from the future to show up on her doorstep.  And oh, by 
the way, when she did, to give me a call.  Who was I?  Why, her 
partner of six years, of course, who was also from the future.

She might even try her sister, who would still be alive.  But I 
had no idea where Melissa Scully was.  That was something the 
boys could look into.  Her brothers?  As far as I knew, Charlie 
was at sea.  I had never met him but I was starting to suspect 
that he was the Starkist Tunafish.  Bill?  I had no idea where he 
was based in 1993 -- but I doubted Scully would go to him before 
her mother.  Or her parents, really, because her father was still 
alive, too.  It occurred to me that I'd like to meet the man who 
was held so high in Scully's esteem.  Not sure he'd like to meet 
me.

In any case, there didn't seem to be much point in staying in 
Nevada.  The Gunmen could keep an eye on the area.  In D.C. I 
would have fresh possibilities, people that Scully would probably 
try to contact.  I didn't know if she had friends she could turn 
to, but if there were it was likely they'd be on the East Coast 
as well.  At the very least, it would also be a logical place to 
look for other clues she might have left at our various haunts if 
she'd gotten stuck in some past time.

"Okay, you think on it some more.  But let's head back," Frohike 
urged. "It's really hot out here.  Besides, the Jeep needs to be 
refueled -- and so do we."

Giving the Nevada desert one last baleful look, I climbed into 
the driver's seat, feeling every day of my age.  The ride back 
was silent; I was busy trying to profile Scully, and Frohike 
seemed to sense that I was preoccupied.

I'd barely turned the engine off when the door to Langly and
Frohike's room opened and Langly strode out, a sheet of paper in 
his hand.  He exuded such an air of importance that I wouldn't 
have been surprised if what he was holding was proof of who 
killed JFK.

I quickly exited the Jeep, anticipation creating butterflies in 
my stomach.  "What is it?" I asked, reaching him in a few quick 
strides.

"This," he said, handing me the papers with a dramatic flourish, 
"is a United Airlines flight manifest from yesterday morning -- 
the morning you got here.  An early flight.  Seven fifteen a.m., 
to be exact."

I quickly scanned the document, my heart leaping into my throat.  
I could barely see straight, overwhelmed by adrenaline.  I saw it 
at the same time Langly delivered his conclusion.

"You'll see that seat 13F was occupied by one Dana Katherine 
Scully."

==========END CHAPTER FIVE==========