The Second Ones
Part I: Conduit

by Anna Otto and Rachel Ehrentreu
annaotto1@aol.com and firephile@aol.com 

Classification: XA

Rating: R

Archive: Gossamer yes, others please ask us before archiving. 

Feedback: absolutely! 

Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, and other characters you recognize 
belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and FOX. No copyright 
infringement is intended, no monetary profit is made. The others 
belong to us.

Spoilers: All, up to and including The Beginning. Nothing after 
that had happened yet.

Summary: A strange case threatens to tear Mulder and Scully 
apart. But much more than their partnership may be at stake.

Author Notes: This is only part I of the series and it leaves off 
on a major cliffhanger. Read at your own risk. Rachel writes 
mostly Scully's POV, Anna writes mostly Mulder's POV. More notes 
at the end.

The Second Ones
Part I: Conduit

"Unseen before by gods or traveling men,
Darkened the place."

	~John Keats 'Hyperion: A fragment'~

"See the stars, they're shining bright
Everything's alright tonight."

	~Depeche Mode 'Never Let Me Down Again'~

Prologue

Ten minutes in the future...

We interrupt this program to bring you a special report. 
Reporting live from the scene is NBC's own Allison Workman...

Thanks Bob. Earlier this morning at 9 AM, students of Jody 
Larson's third grade class at Greenwood elementary were shocked 
when their teacher tried to commit suicide during their regularly 
scheduled reading lesson. Fortunately, the screams from her 
frightened students attracted the attention of the teacher next 
door, Alison Solomon, who rushed to the classroom and was able to 
wrestle Ms. Larson to the ground, sending a student for help and 
saving Ms. Larson's life.

The brave teacher was unavailable for comment at this time. 
However, we were able to get a statement from the Principal who 
reiterated the belief that Ms. Larson is a sweet and wonderful 
teacher, and an excellent mother to her twelve-year-old son, but 
needs some serious mental help. It seems that there had been 
reports of her unusual behavior and irritability towards 
colleagues for quite some time. Police are looking into mental 
illness as a factor but have yet to rule out foul play. Ms. 
Larson was treated for cuts and bruises at Sibley Memorial 
hospital and is being held for observation. For channel 4 news 
this is Allison Workman live at Greenwood Elementary School, back 
to you Bob.


Chapter 1/6

In the beginning

Mulder:

The time of unrest is now.

The words haunted me, spinning their strange magic listlessly, as 
I fell back against the pillow. The time is now, the time is now, 
the time is now, now, now... The dream had melted, leaving me with 
nothing but a vague sense of uneasiness, an anticipation of 
something inevitable. The sudden gust of wind chilled me, and I 
stumbled off the couch in search of warmer covers, only to 
discover my window was open. I delayed closing it, instead 
leaning outside and letting the winter air wake me fully.

A snowflake drifted by, a promise of an upcoming snowfall from 
the brooding, clouded sky. It's been such a long time since I 
had seen many stars in the city, even when the skies were clear... 
the darkness was never complete, the blanket of electric lights 
was always more powerful than the celestial sources. This night 
was no different, and I closed the window swiftly.

Ever since I was a child, I have watched the stars with 
fascination and bitter disappointment, knowing that the cosmic 
distance would have prevented me from seeing them any closer 
than this - scattered drops of silver across the vast navy field. 
And even now, after all I've seen, knowing the magnitude of 
danger coming from one of these stars, I still found them as 
magnetic as years before, as alluring as the wildest dreams of 
my childhood.

And I wished I knew which star I should have feared the most.

Later, as I was about to fall asleep on the flight from D.C. to 
North Carolina, another line from the morning dream caught me 
unguarded, and I flinched in surprise. As my eyes flew open, I 
saw Scully peering at me in concern, and I smiled vaguely, hoping 
she would attribute my start to the pre-slumber dreams of 
falling. 

As I closed my eyes again, I could still sense her gazing at me 
intently, assured that I wouldn't notice. I felt strangely safe 
even as the foreboding words whirled through my weary mind, over 
and over, playing a game of hide and seek as I struggled to 
relax.

We will not succumb, we will not succumb, we will not...

* * *

As much as I prided myself on my intuition, I never knew by 
looking at the nondescript cover of the case number 897390 that 
it would change my life irrevocably. In my defense, I put up a 
minor amount of struggle as Kersh handed it to us. At the moment, 
I prayed for a distraction from the succession of endless 
terrorism inquiries. Bland is never a word I would use to 
describe the crime, but unfailingly, it couldn't compete for my 
interest after all I'd seen in my time with the X-Files. 

Scully's unwavering belief that we would eventually end up where 
we've been before evaded me. For once, I wished her God would be 
more merciful than the non-existent deity of atheism; for once I 
wondered if perhaps I was being punished for crimes real and 
imagined. Each time, the thought was draped in cynical humor, but 
the crack of self-doubt embedded in it was ever present and 
widening. 

I knew that in some ways, I had achieved more in my life than 
many others, but in every single thing important to me, I'd 
failed. The X-Files, the department I brought to life, now 
belonged to two people who couldn't possibly honor its name. The 
other goal of my life, finding my sister and restoring my family, 
seemed so pathetic that I cringed recalling my bull-headed 
stubbornness of two previous decades, my dedication to the search 
for her. A grown man with an education such as mine, I should 
have realized that finding her would not make me happy or bring 
me peace. 

Only my partner was still on my side, and I accepted her support 
and strength with gratitude even as I swallowed bitter regrets. 
More and more often, I asked myself if she would still be here 
had she had any other choices. Not easy choices presented by 
opportunity, but those she would deem acceptable. After all, I 
knew that Scully's loyalty had cost her dearly.

Sometimes, I asked myself whether she remembered the words I 
spoke to her on the hot June afternoon in the hallway of my 
apartment building, and if they were the reason why she chose to 
stay on in spite of everything else; or if she pitied me and 
thought her departure would devastate me - an astute assumption.

And sometimes, I hoped that she would reciprocate my gesture... but 
to no avail.

I couldn't claim weariness as I sat down to question Melora 
Sanchez, but my heart was not in the investigation, and I let 
Scully take the lead. So it was all the more shocking when the 
young woman all but ignored the first question of my partner, 
instead focusing on me with intense, almost black eyes. Her first 
words, a mere whisper that I had to strain to hear, stripped me 
of all my defenses and sent me reeling.

* * *

Scully:

"The time of unrest is now."

The words barely registered with me, more rambling from a damaged 
mind.  This case felt like a waste of time. I couldn't say for 
certain that there was even a crime here worth investigating. 
Kersh seemed pretty sure when he handed the file over to us, but 
an insane witness to an already explained murder... I couldn't 
think of a less needed interview. Not only was the murder solved, 
it had been solved years ago. There was no new evidence, nothing, 
just this woman who said she needed to speak with someone. I 
guessed that our insubordination was not forgiven or forgotten, 
because we won the opportunity. 

The plane ride only took a couple of hours but Mulder was acting 
oddly the entire flight. He flinched at the slightest touch. I 
looked at him and searched for signs of illness. His face wasn't 
flushed, and he seemed to be fine. Still, I made a mental note to 
keep an eye on him during the case. He noticed my concern and 
tried to smile, but his eyes weren't in it. Perhaps it wasn't 
illness at all.  

I was engaged in yet another chat in a psychiatric institution. 
The woman looked at us with wide pupils, obviously not used to 
the light, and ignored me.  

I'll never forget Mulder's reaction to her whispered phrase. His 
eyes opened wide and his face grew pale. His hands dropped the 
file he was flipping through, and he stared at the woman in 
shock.

I debated with myself for a bit, there was professionalism to 
remember, but he was so still, and I felt my earlier concern 
return. "Mulder?" I whispered.

He took a deep breath and blinked. "Excuse me," he left the room 
quickly.

Melora regarded me with piercing eyes. "He knows," she said in 
a tone that brokered no argument.

It took me a moment to realize that her comment was directed 
towards me. "What?"

"He *knows* -- we will not succumb," she whispered.

"What are you talking about?"

She stared at me again. "You can't know... you weren't 
contacted."

Contacted, the way she said it made it sound like a gift, as if I 
should have felt left out for not knowing what she was talking 
about. I leaned forward.

"Contacted? By whom? For what?"  

She smiled slightly as her eyes closed and she breathed her 
answer, "I can't tell you." Her eyes opened again. "You weren't 
chosen," she hissed, and I felt a chill run down my spine.

At that moment, Mulder re-entered the room. "Scully, we have to 
go."  His expression was unmoving.

I didn't bother asking why. I just stood up and walked out of the 
room. Part of me was glad to get away from Melora.

We didn't speak until we were in the car. "What was that all 
about?" I demanded.

"I don't know," Mulder whispered and leaned back in the passenger 
seat. There was no way in hell I was letting him drive after his 
behavior in the institution, not if I wanted to survive the trip 
to the motel.

"Are you okay?"

No answer.  

It took me a moment to realize that he'd fallen asleep.  

About five minutes later I heard him scream and felt my hands 
slip off the wheel.

* * *
	
Mulder woke up with a shudder, shrugged my hand off his shoulder 
as if it were a claw about to rip him apart, threw open the car 
door, and stumbled outside, as if he couldn't get away from me 
fast enough. Our rental was standing on the muddy shoulder of the 
highway, and in his haste, he had ended up ankle-deep in the 
middle of a puddle. I saw him sag a little - heard him swear 
softly as he walked around the car. 

He looked at me as if I personified the Spanish Inquisition. "Why 
did you pull over?" he asked immediately, probably deciding that 
attack was the best method of defense.

My hands were shaking and I was afraid if I didn't stop I would 
lose control of the car - I answered silently. Aloud I replied 
bluntly, "You screamed, Mulder. You haven't been yourself since 
this morning. What's going on?"

He stared at me dully, as if surprised at this revelation. "I 
screamed?"

His confusion knocked the wind out of me slightly, and I felt my 
voice soften a little, "A nightmare?"

Mulder shook his head, as if trying to reconstruct the remnants 
of the dissipating vision, and sighed in frustration. "I don't 
remember."	

I couldn't decide whether to let him off the hook this time or 
press on. A passing car slowed down, and a kindly middle-aged 
gentleman asked us if we needed help, resolving my internal 
debate. We must have presented quite a sight, arguing on the 
shoulder of the road in a pouring rain. I waved him off with an 
automatic smile, then opened my car door. "Let's go. I'm hungry, 
and this is not the best place to talk."

Mulder appeared ridiculously relieved, probably grateful that the 
third-degree inquiry was postponed, and settled back into his 
seat. 

I could almost hear him constructing a plausible defense in his 
mind.

* * *

In the diner, Mulder remained silent, save for mumbling an 
unimaginative choice of hamburger and fries to the waitress. I 
waited patiently for some explanation of his actions, reluctant 
to push him. But all he could offer was a soft request. "Let's go 
back to D.C.," his voice was almost pleading. "There is no case 
here, and everyone knows it."

This was beyond strange. "Mulder, we still have to finish 
questioning her," I felt as if I was teaching proper etiquette to 
a five-year old. "Let's get some rest today, go there tomorrow, 
and finish off this matter once and for all."

He remained silent while the waitress served our food. Then, he 
stared at his plate as if his hamburger was a rare animal never 
before seen in nature, raising his eyes to watch sullenly as I 
picked at my salad. 

"Melora said that you were chosen," I said quietly, recalling the 
encounter with a shiver. "That you were contacted by someone and 
I wasn't supposed to know about it."

"Jealous, Scully?" Mulder attempted to waggle his eyebrows in a 
poor imitation of his own leer, and failed.

"She also mentioned something about not surrendering," I 
reflected, ignoring him. "Her exact words were 'we will not 
succumb.' "

His fingers twitched, and his fork fell on the floor with a loud 
bang. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw our waitress running 
over with a replacement. Mulder took a deep breath, and 
straightened in his seat. "Scully, why are you listening to her? 
The woman is not mentally sound. She witnessed the murder of her 
parents when she was barely eleven years old, and she would 
have been dead as well if the neighbor hadn't scared the robber 
away. I'd say that qualifies as a traumatic experience."

"I've read the same file you have, Mulder," I pointed out 
quietly.

"Then I'm surprised that you haven't come to the same 
conclusion," he replied in tone.

"Which would be?"

"We're wasting our time here," Mulder snapped.

My hand hovered over his in a pacifying gesture. "Mulder. Melora 
is the only witness to the crime, and she may have remembered 
something important about that night. Maybe there was an 
accomplice - who knows? Besides, we don't know enough of her 
recent medical history to make informed judgments."

He looked hesitant, as if reluctant to share something, then 
sighed, pulling a few pages out of his suit pocket. "Agent 
Scully, you're underestimating my abilities."

I took the papers, frowning. And here I thought he left the 
questioning to get a drink of water. "You've got to be kidding." 

Mulder smirked, as if enjoying my indignation. "Melora's recent 
medical history."

Someday I was going to teach him the value of going through the 
proper channels. That smirk of his was really starting to get on 
my nerves. I flipped through the rumpled pages skeptically. He 
was right. The woman was under heavy sedation and anti-psychotic 
medication for weeks. She was undeniably delusional, but then, I 
never argued for her sanity.

"Melora suffered a complete mental breakdown a couple of months 
ago," he whispered wistfully. "I don't think that in her state, 
she can offer us anything of value. Though I do wonder why..."

I stared at him slightly confused. "Why what?"

He perked up a bit, displaying some interest in the case for 
probably the first time since our arrival in North Carolina. "Why 
does a woman - a business woman - have a complete mental 
breakdown?"

I gave him my best 'you must be kidding' glare. "Breakdowns 
happen to many successful people. In fact, the stress from that 
kind of life, combined with the trauma she suffered in her 
adolescence... what?"

Mulder had a slight grin on his face as he spoke, "Melora's 
psychologist reported she had been having disturbing dreams, 
visions, for weeks before she was admitted. She didn't snap, this 
was a gradual process." As he spoke his grin faded.

"Mulder? Are you okay?" I asked softly, worried about his rapid 
mood changes.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He waited for my answer.

"Mulder, I am not disagreeing with you," I took a deep breath. 
"Personally, I think that Kersh is just yanking our chains. So 
tomorrow, we'll ask her about the murder and then go back to D.C. 
- okay?" Surprisingly, this suggestion was difficult for me. Even 
though I'd sooner shoot myself than admit it, Melora was giving 
me an uneasy and nervous feeling. And I didn't like the way this 
was affecting Mulder at all. Even now I could see the residue of 
fear in his eyes.

"Mulder?"

"Hmm?"

"Is that okay with you?"

"Oh, yeah, okay," he answered distractedly and tried 
unsuccessfully to smile.

I nodded and took another bite of my salad -- trying to 
concentrate on the too tangy dressing instead of the meaning 
behind Mulder's actions.

*  *  * 

"See you tomorrow, Scully," Mulder said as he stepped out of the 
car and walked into his room. We were at yet another motel, a 
look-alike for hundreds of others we had visited previously. It 
was still early, 6:00 PM, but I knew not to push him, certainly 
not with the way he had been acting all day. Besides, an early 
night would be good for him, nothing could disguise the black and 
blue smudges under his eyes.

I walked into my room armed with files and a plan of action. It 
was easy enough, hook up the laptop, get information on what 
Melora seemed to be suffering from - then, get the hell outta 
Dodge. I knew that he wanted to leave, but it was never our style 
to leave a case until all the leads had been exhausted. This 
had a simple answer, and I knew it...and that was enough.  

Searching the Internet took longer than I thought it would. My 
favorite search engine was down, and I also wasn't entirely sure 
what keywords to use. I searched through medical sites for the 
medicines that Melora was taking and the causes of breakdowns, 
read a few files on mental instability and nightmares and some 
recent reports on the rise of stress in modern society.
 
By the time I collapsed into bed, I was sure that Melora's 
condition had a reasonable explanation, an obvious one. Words 
like post-traumatic stress syndrome and recovered memories 
floated through my subconscious. Mulder was identifying with 
her, for some bizarre reason, and that was all. I tried to tell 
myself that...I think I actually believed it.

It was only later that night when I was awakened by noises 
through the wall behind my head, that I knew something was 
horribly wrong.

End 1/6

The Second Ones
Part I: Conduit
By Anna Otto and Rachel Ehrentreu
annaotto1@aol.com & firephile@aol.com

Chapter 2/6

Mulder:

My feet were drowning in the soft white sand as I walked along 
the ocean shore. I was in a hurry, though I wasn't certain why. 
But I knew that I had to run, had to rush, had to get away from 
here quickly. The water lapped at my toes, and I moved away from 
the ocean, knowing that it was easier to walk on the dry land. 
And yet, I couldn't keep up with the movement of the water, and 
soon I was knee-deep in it. Still, I kept walking, my eyes fixed 
on the distant goal in front of me.

"We will not succumb," I heard the gentle breeze echo in my ears, 
and I knew that there, I would find the help I needed.

But then, I looked down and saw that the ocean had changed color 
from green to black. Where before I could see the ocean floor, 
the seaweed and mollusks, I saw nothing... nothing but jet-black 
water that reflected no light. It wasn't water, but a living 
creature, pulsing in some syncopated, irregular rhythm, as 
if breathing in and out, but I doubted that it needed oxygen. 

Desperately, I looked up, alarmed that the ocean no longer 
reflected light. And I saw the clouds obscuring the sun, growing 
ever darker with the black liquid from the ocean. And I knew that 
the coming storm would bring nothing but black rain, nothing but 
darkness. 

The water reached my chest, and it squeezed lightly, almost 
languidly. Testing my limits. Testing its own strength. The first 
drops fell from the sky, and I stared in mute horror at their 
color. I was prepared for black.

I wasn't prepared for red. How could I see red without sunlight?

How could I move when the black ocean tried to bind me with its 
cold, liquid fingers?

How could I breathe when blood itself was flooding the passages 
to my lungs?

And when I heard a somber voice say, "The time of unrest is now," 
I wondered why no one helped me.

"Breathe, Mulder! Deep breaths... that's it," Scully's voice 
sounded panicky, the edge of hysteria creeping up imperceptibly. 

Bright overhead light stung my corneas. The dusty air of the 
motel room was like a sweet delicacy, and I savored its taste in 
my starved lungs. 

"You were choking," she informed me shakily. "My God, Mulder, you 
looked like someone was strangling you."

Not surprising, considering I was drowning in blood, I thought 
bleakly. The memory of the dream, every excruciating detail was 
suddenly so clear in my mind that I could almost taste the salty 
copper on my tongue. As I flew into the bathroom and retched, 
trying to rid myself of the horrible images, I knew that this was 
just the beginning.

The beginning of what?

Scully knelt beside me, silently offering me a plastic glass 
filled with water. I leaned against the wall, turning my eyes 
away from the processed remnants of my lunch. I had no lunch. I 
heard Scully flush, then refill a glass again, but I shook my 
head, refusing it mutely. God, the simple pleasure of breathing 
was so underrated. 

"Mulder, I am worried."

I would laugh if I could. Wasn't she always? "Just a couple of 
nails I ingested accidentally, Scully."

"Which prevented you from breathing?" she questioned softly. "And 
may I remind you that you had practically nothing to eat all day 
long?"

"I'll be fine," I spoke without much conviction. I just needed to 
stop sleeping, but that shouldn't be too difficult. "How did you 
know to come in here?"

"You screamed for help," Scully offered me her hand, and I stood 
up, moving back into the room. "What did you dream of?"	

"The ocean," I replied honestly, then shaded my face with my 
hands. "Drowning in the ocean. I need to talk to Melora."

She looked at me as if it was the most preposterous suggestion in 
the world. "Why?"

Wasn't she the one who wanted to stay in this godforsaken place? 
We weren't disagreeing about this now, as well? 

"Because," I felt the air particles freeze as the words left my 
mouth, as Scully's eyes crystallized into two blue icicles. "The 
time of unrest is now."

* * *	

"I knew you'd come back," Melora was unsurprised. "I dreamed 
about you."

Of course she did. 

"Tell us about the night your parents died," Scully's voice was 
flat, business-like. I cringed, wondering why my partner wasn't 
taking Melora's condition into account, afraid of how the young
woman would react to the insensitive question.

"We came home after celebrating New Year's," Melora focused on me 
once again, ignoring Scully as the day before. Well, as long as she 
listened to her questions. "I stepped inside and it was so dark... 
I couldn't remember for the longest time," her fingers knitted 
the white robe nervously. "Not before the dreams started... like a 
vacuum in my memory. There were shots, and then I was running 
upstairs, going up, and up, and up, and the footsteps behind me 
were so loud," she moaned, closing her ears. "Ahhh..."

She didn't continue, and Scully spoke after a while, the ice 
melting away from her voice. "And then what happened?"

"The police cars have very loud sirens," Melora complained in a 
little girl voice.

"The man who shot your parents was apprehended," I was reluctant 
to push her, but we had little choice. "It was a robbery, and you 
were unfortunate enough to scare him. The man admitted to the 
crime, and then he committed suicide in jail. What else can you 
tell us about it, Melora? It's been over twenty years, and the case 
was clear-cut."

"It wasn't a robbery," she shook her head, dark eyes glowing with 
anger, once again a grown woman. "My parents' murder was set up."

"By whom? Why?" Scully leaned forward, at attention.

Melora paid her no heed. "Bad night?" she asked me 
sympathetically, changing topics like gloves. "I was scared to 
sleep, in the beginning..."

Scully wouldn't go back to her room after I woke up, probably 
afraid I would just stop breathing in my sleep. Fat chance. I 
wouldn't go to sleep for all the money in the world. Remembering 
this, I felt my breath hitch. Scully's hand squeezed mine gently.

Melora's mouth twitched at the gesture. She tore her gaze off me 
with seeming difficulty and glanced at my partner. "I don't want 
to talk to you. I will talk to him if you leave the room."

If I didn't know better, I'd think she was in love with me, just 
waiting to confess her feelings. I thought that I should have 
been outraged by Melora's behavior, but I didn't protest, 
silently begging Scully to leave it be and just exit. Tense 
silence filled the room for a moment, and she stood up suddenly. 

"Mulder, I will be outside," she spoke crisply, her face a 
sculpture in ice. Her steps were soft on the gray carpet.

"I know that my parents were important," Melora said after the 
door closed with a loud click. "A threat... the dreams told me 
that."

"What are you dreaming of?" Oh God, I didn't want to know, I 
didn't want to hear...

"Why are you asking?" her smile was poisonous, the color of her 
silky voice changing subtly. "You know exactly what I'm dreaming 
of."

"No, I don't," I shook my head in denial. I didn't, did I?

"The time of unrest is now," she enunciated, and I knew that I 
heard this voice in my dream as I was drowning in the black 
ocean. "You saw what awaits us... you felt its taste just as it 
tasted you... but you can fight it."

I stared at this woman, a sick, delusional patient in the mental 
hospital, and I felt the fear squeeze my chest lightly, testing 
my limits. How soon would I end up in the same place?

Why was I so certain that our fates were similar?

"You are important, too," Melora's smile grew, and I stood up, 
wanting nothing more than to get out of this room.

As my hand closed over the doorknob, I heard the words that 
probably scared me the most, and I knew they would haunt me for a 
long time to come.

"Don't trust her, Fox."

How did she know my first name? 
	
"She will never be one of us."

I flew into the hallway, only to be greeted by Scully's chilly 
eyes.

"We're leaving today," she spoke calmly. "I already booked the 
tickets."

Turning around, she headed to the exit, brushing past the doctor 
as if she didn't even notice him. 

Handing him the missing pages from Melora's file on the way and 
hearing his shuddered intake of breath, I ran after her. 

* * *

Scully:

Walking was easy, one foot in front of the other. Repressing the 
desire to run was a bit harder. I heard his footsteps behind me, 
but I didn't turn around.
 
I refused to look at him, would not let my concern override the 
incredible anger I was feeling. Never, in our five plus years of 
working together has he treated me the way he just did. I still 
couldn't believe he let Melora order me around. I felt the wall 
erect between us and it had never been so strong. The sudden 
shift in our relationship tore out a piece of my heart. Maybe I 
was reading too much into it -- after all he barely slept last 
night and we did want to know....  
 
Enough, I was a grown woman, not a jealous teenager. I refused to 
sink to that level. Yes, I could forget it. He would tell me what 
she said after all. There had been times where I needed to be 
alone with someone to get information. It was understandable.
 
I stopped suddenly and turned around. Mulder almost ran right 
into me. I glared at him and was ready to chew him out for his 
behavior, but the words died in my throat as I looked up at him. 
Damn, I knew this was going to happen.
 
A thin sheen of sweat glowed on his too pale face. His hands 
couldn't stay still, and it caused his briefcase to shake. He 
gripped the handle harder, and I saw his entire body tense up.  
 
"What did she say, Mulder?" I asked softly. God only knew what 
would would happen if I reprimanded him now. I studied him 
intently, and he blinked, looking away immediately.
 
"Nothing, the delusions of a madwoman, the insane wanting 
company," Mulder whispered and met my eyes. His pleaded with 
mine to drop the issue and to accept his lies. 
 
I recognized the look. It was one I had given him many times. 
"Did she say anything about her parents?"
 
He shook his head quickly, "No, but she did tell me that she 
admired my work -- like every other mental patient we've met. 
What is it about me and the mentally unstable?" He tried to grin 
and failed miserably.
 
I felt more than knew that he was lying to me but decided to let 
the matter drop. "You have a reputation," I smiled at him 
slightly.
 
Mulder visibly relaxed and returned my smile. "Let's go back to 
D.C., G-Woman."  
 
I felt his palm on the small of my back and relaxed at the 
contact. Still, his behavior scared me -- no I was angry at 
Melora - what had she really told him? As sure as I was of 
anything, I knew that she caused Mulder's dream last night... in 
the beginning? What was she talking about?
 
I hated the way she made me feel... isolated, for lack of a 
better word. A feeling of intense loneliness settled over me, 
when she wouldn't speak to me and treated me like a non-person, 
almost as if I had failed in some way. I wondered why it bothered 
me so much.
 
* * * 
 
North Carolina to Washington, D.C., a flight that usually took 
only about an hour and a half -- or so. But, after the waiting on 
the ground and now the actual flying we had been in the plane for 
at least three hours. Mulder was wide-awake, which wouldn't have 
bothered me if he weren't already on his eighth cup of coffee.
 
"If you have any more coffee you'll be able to fly yourself 
home," I whispered.
 
Mulder faced me after a moment - his eyes impossibly bright and 
his hands shaking from a caffeine overdose. "I like coffee."
 
"You have to sleep eventually," I knew what it was like to be 
afraid of closing my eyes, staving off sleep as long as humanly 
possible.
 
"I know," he answered noncommittally and motioned for another 
cup.  
 
I sighed and stared out the window. Fine, if he wanted to stay up 
for days on end it really wasn't any of my business. This thought 
lasted for a millisecond before my usual worry and concern crept 
back to me.
 
"Promise me you'll sleep tonight."
 
"I promise."
 
I didn't trust this pledge, not with the way he was looking 
everywhere but in my eyes. I was sure that if I got him away from 
Melora, the dreams would stop, and he would return to normal. 
Well, at least Mulder Normal.
 
What was so frightening about the ocean?
 
I dreamt about it often, but almost always in a happy context. 
Ahab teaching me to steer, the wind in my face when we sailed, 
the ocean calm and gentle. Except for that one storm...the one 
that had me running upstairs to read my Bible and thank God when 
we got home. 
 
I could never forget it, the thunder and lightning -- incredibly 
loud to my young ears. Waves hitting the sides... "Our Father who 
art in heaven..." I remembered whispering as the waves grew 
higher.
 
Occasionally, I dreamt about the storm not stopping. I could 
easily see myself falling out of the boat, and the last thing I 
saw each time before death was my father's frightened face. But 
I still fell asleep every night.
 
No, it was only during the past few years that sleep had become 
a chance for my demons and repressed memories to come out and 
play. Many nights I awoke from one nightmare or another, unsure 
about the details but remembering my helplessness and fear.  
 
"We'll be landing at Dulles in about fifteen minutes. Please 
return tray tables and seats to an upright and locked position. 
The temperature is 30 degrees and thank you for flying United." 
The captain's voice pulled me out of my thoughts.
 
I looked over at Mulder who grinned at me slightly and lifted his 
empty cup in a mock toast before handing it to the stewardess. 
I rolled my eyes and thanked God that I only had to deal with 
a caffeinated Mulder for a short while longer. 
 
It was then I felt it. A dull twinge at the base of my neck. I 
reached up and massaged it...sitting up all night was not good 
for my body. Mulder's nightmares caused me no end of worry and 
these damn airline seats were always hell on my neck. After a few 
seconds of rubbing I felt the pain dissipate.  

"You okay Scully?" 

"Just a little sore... nothing a good night's sleep won't fix."

The words were out of my mouth before I could regret them. Mulder 
blinked and turned away, as if mesmerized by the view outside the 
window. Scolding myself for such callousness, I watched the 
ground approach on a fatal collision course, relieved when the 
plane stopped moving. We followed everyone out of the main cabin 
and to the baggage claim in silence. I could feel his gaze on me 
from time to time, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't.

"I was rude to you," he finally spoke up.

An apology from Mulder was something I rarely heard. "You had to 
question an insane witness. You did what you had to do." Even to 
my own ears, my words sounded forced. "I'm glad this case is 
over."

"Write a report, hand it to Kersh, sprinkle fairy dust, and wait 
for him to give us something more interesting," Mulder 
reciprocated. "I volunteer to do the paperwork - you need to 
rest."

I grabbed my suitcase, angry with myself. "So do you."

"Scully..."

"What?"

"Nothing." He reached for me, as if wishing to embrace me 
briefly, and I felt myself tense, inexplicably wary of his touch. 
I stepped away and his hand fell. He sighed unhappily, turning to 
watch the baggage line spin, waiting for his bag.

Suddenly, I felt so tired, so exhausted, that I could barely 
stand on my feet. Without waiting for Mulder, I turned around and 
walked away, to the escalators leading out of the terminal. Rest,
sleep, and my own bed.  No screams in the middle of the night and 
no Melora.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Scully," Mulder shouted after me. 

"See you," I called back. It was only when I was driving out of 
the parking lot that I realized how my departure must have looked. 
But I wasn't running away from him.

Or was I?

End 2/6


The Second Ones
Part I: Conduit
By Anna Otto and Rachel Ehrentreu
annaotto1@aol.com & firephile@aol.com

Chapter 3/6

Mulder:

The baggage carousel continued its maddeningly slow spin, and I 
watched my bag pass by me a few times before I remembered that I 
was supposed to reach out and grab it. The energy generated by 
caffeine had vanished. Innocent as it might have seemed, the drug 
fooled the body, made the muscles tremble with unreleased 
tension, coerced the brain into looping patterns of thought.

I tried hard to clear from my mind the image of my partner 
recoiling from my touch, then walking quickly away. I was 
unsuccessful.

What had just happened?

Soon, I realized that I had to move or I would be swept away by 
the sea of people in the overcrowded airport. Escalators to the 
parking lot to the car, purely mechanical movements. My body was 
being driven by sheer instinct and remnants of the caffeine.

Once inside my apartment, I dropped my bags and changed into my 
runner's outfit. It was already dark outside. If I stayed at the 
house, I would have to face the fact that people, myself 
included, were supposed to sleep during the night, unless they 
were vampires.

The joke seemed out of place.

My legs soon found their rhythm, my breath warmed the freezing 
air of the winter night. My mind cleared up enough for me to 
assess the situation rationally. Scully was still simmering over 
my behavior during the interview, still rattled by what happened 
during the night. I knew she thought that if I left North 
Carolina, if I got away from Melora, the dreams would stop, and I 
would return to my pattern of the movie-of-the-week nightmares. 
And while the normally scheduled programming could leave me 
whimpering for help, transform me into a child begging the 
monsters for mercy, it never robbed me of my ability to breathe. 
It never threatened my life.

There was only one problem with her reasoning. The dreams came 
before I met Melora. Therefore, I didn't believe they would 
depart now, when I was back in D.C.

When faced with a menace in a dream, whether falling from great 
heights or being gunned down by a squad of men in black, the 
normal response was waking up. I was a light sleeper. Yet, if 
Scully hadn't woken me up, I might have ended up being strangled 
to death. 

Sleep was a threat and out of the question, unless I could find a 
way to wake up. 

Catching my breath, suddenly aware of my surroundings, I realized 
that I had jogged too far. This was not a good idea, considering 
the only source of nutrition I'd had in the last couple of days 
was endless cups of coffee. Turning around, I headed back home, 
trying to take my time.

The streets were empty. Yet, several times, I glanced behind my 
back nervously, almost certain that someone was following me. I 
knew that there was no reason for this paranoia unless I was 
truly losing it. 

Back in my apartment, feeling no relief, I closed the blinds and 
picked up my alarm clock. I never had a need for an alarm to wake 
me up. Yet, for the first time in my adult life, I set the time 
for two hours ahead and turned the volume up.

Only then did I feel even remotely safe to lay down on the couch 
and close my eyes. 

Sleep welcomed me like a long-lost lover.

* * *

When the clear blue water reached my knees, I reached out 
for my companion and grabbed her hand, inexplicably afraid, and 
yet excited. She was my best friend, and I was happy to be here 
with her, savoring the leisurely afternoon on the idyllic ocean 
shore. She wanted to take a swim. I followed her into the water,
but soon the waves were growing, and as I glanced behind me, I 
realized that the shore was narrowing. Soon, there would be no 
firm ground left to rest my feet on.

All this I wanted to say but couldn't. The fear paralyzed my 
throat when the words tried to leave my mouth. 

"Silly," my friend laughed beside me, and I took assurance in the 
sound. She wouldn't laugh if she didn't think we were all right. 
"You can swim."

No, I can't, I wanted to shout. If I could, I wouldn't be this 
terrified. If this ocean were safe, it wouldn't be so dark. If 
the weather were fit for swimming, the skies wouldn't look so 
menacing. 

"Silly," she repeated, still laughing, then dropped my hand and 
dived, meeting the waves head on. Emerging back in seconds, she 
turned towards me, beckoning. "Come on in. The water's fine."

But in the waning light of the sun, I suddenly noticed that her 
face had turned dark, menacing, the color of the ocean that was 
bubbling around me, higher and higher. I realized that I didn't 
really know this woman. Was she really my friend? Why couldn't I 
remember driving here with her? 

She reached out for me, and I lunged back, swimming towards the 
shore. I could swim. I could get away. Yet I felt the touch of 
her slimy fingers on me, and soon I was going down.

To become one with the black ocean. To await the red rain that 
would pour down from the sky.

I woke up to the alarm and banging on the wall I shared with the 
neighbors. 

"The time of unrest is now," I whispered, hoarse, over and over 
again, hitting the snooze button quickly. I must have been 
screaming, once again, waking up my neighbors. At least, in this 
instance, I didn't drown in blood.

For the first time, I thought it might be a good idea not to be 
alone while I was sleeping. Not for the first time, I felt 
terrified for my sanity.

I reached out to my phone, the fingers ready to push the familiar 
buttons, needing to hear Scully's voice which had an instant 
ability to soothe me after my nightmares. Yet, I stopped short, 
remembering her tired face and voice heavy with fatigue.

Three o'clock in the morning. Soon, it would be time to go to 
work.

* * *	

I arrived first to the office that we shared with about a hundred 
other people. We used to mock our dark, stuffy little basement, but 
I would give anything to have the kind of privacy it afforded. To be 
alone at work now, one literally had to work during the night. 
Perhaps, there were some advantages to my current insomnia. 

"Mulder," I turned to look at my partner standing in front of my 
desk. She drew in a quick breath, probably startled by my appearance. "You look awful."

"Sorry, Scully, forgot to put on my make-up this morning."

She barely smiled at my wisecrack. "Did you sleep at all?"

I grunted noncommittally, doubting whether the two hours I spent 
swimming in the dark with my best friend who was really a monster 
could be considered sleep. 

"Do you have the report?"

So we would ignore what happened yesterday in hopes that it would go 
away. Fine. "Yes, you should read through it to make sure we're in 
sync," I gave her the papers and rubbed the back of my neck tiredly. 
The lack of sleep was doing a number on my body. 

Scully put the report down and walked around me, her fingers 
starting to knead my shoulders gently. Well, massage could be a 
great substitute for sleep. "Thanks," I murmured softly. 

In an instant, she stopped and took a few steps away, her posture 
rigid.

"Scully... what's wrong?"

"Nothing," her voice was low, somewhat pained, as she walked to her 
desk and sat down to read the pages I offered. The tense silence was 
soon disrupted by a knock on the door. I wondered if the entire 
Bureau was now getting up at the crack of dawn. "Come in," Scully 
spoke up, grateful for the distraction. 

Diana Fowley always liked to make an entrance. Today, her smile was 
bright enough to light up the entire office. "Hello, Fox. Agent 
Scully."

Scully nodded, studiously avoiding looking at the visitor. I waited, 
wondering why she decided to grace the pariahs with her heavenly 
presence. She didn't disappoint.

"Fox, may I speak with you alone?"

"No," I cut her off abruptly, knowing that agreement would be just a 
reminder of Melora. 

Diana recoiled slightly, her smile losing a few notches as she passed 
a nervous look over at Scully. "All right," she didn't sound 
convinced that this was a good idea. "I wanted to talk with you about 
the possibility of you coming back to work with me on the X-Files."

I was too surprised to react. 

"What about Jeffrey Spender?" Scully questioned.

"He is currently on suspension," she explained, training her eyes on 
me. "And I think he will probably be reassigned to another 
department when he comes back."

* * *

Scully:

Last night I stared at my phone for at least three hours, willing 
it to ring. Bone-weary exhaustion ironically was not a reason to 
collapse into bed. A few times I even reached for the phone to 
call Mulder and chided myself as I placed it back on the stand. I 
somehow knew there would be no call. I even managed to envision 
him sleeping soundly, free from fear and nightmares. This 
comforting thought finally led me into deep sleep.

It felt like only a few minutes later when I opened my eyes, but 
my alarm was already buzzing and had been for the past five 
minutes. As I was getting ready and running out the door I prayed 
silently to find Mulder in the office well rested and ready to 
tackle the next case. 

Instead, I found him hunched over his desk, his eyes shining from 
sleep deprivation. I stopped myself from commanding him to go 
home and get some rest. Instead, I settled on massaging his 
shoulders and neck, knowing from experience how lack of sleep 
could make the entire upper body tense.  

I had barely started working on the first knot when the same 
inexplicable feeling I'd felt in the airport overtook me - a 
sudden awful headache and random muscle aches. I almost screamed 
at the sensation. I felt as if a drill was boring its way through 
my head. Yet, when I pulled my hands away from Mulder and walked 
over to my desk, the pain stopped. I didn't want to analyze what 
this meant, but something told me a psychologist would have a 
field day with this new affliction.

Maybe God was answering my prayers after all, I thought, when I 
heard the knock on the door. The woman who entered though showed 
that luck was not on my side. I paid as little attention to her 
as humanly possible, just barely repressing a smile when Mulder 
wouldn't talk to her alone. My feelings towards Diana were so 
convoluted that I didn't understand them myself. I disliked her 
strongly, felt angry that she plotted, schemed and managed to 
steal the files from Mulder and me. If she hadn't been in a coma 
at the time I would have accused her of being partly responsible 
for the office fire. 

Her next words struck right at the heart of my antipathy. My 
reaction was sudden. I knew why she wanted to talk to Mulder 
alone about this, but I'd be damned if I were going to let her 
use her charms and seduce him into her trap.

"Suspension?" I asked after a moment.

Diana nodded slightly, "We had a difference of opinion," she 
stated simply. She still looked straight at Mulder.

My annoyance at being ignored was increasing by the second. I 
stamped down the anger that was starting to rise and forced 
myself to smile up at her slightly.  

Mulder ran a hand through his hair and looked over at me. Our 
eyes met for an instant, exchanging a thousand thoughts and 
feelings.  

"Diana, this is more than inappropriate. I'm forbidden to come 
into contact with the X-Files department," a bitter smile crossed 
his face before he continued. "Moreover, I'm assigned here with 
Agent Scully. She was as much a part of the X-Files as I was. If 
it so happens that I work on them again, so does she."

It wasn't the greatest declaration of loyalty, but after the 
amount of sleep he'd had in the past few days it was probably 
about as coherent as he could get.

Diana's smile fell a few more notches. I felt a strange sense of 
accomplishment at her disappointment. I tried to tamper down the 
feeling. I hadn't felt this way towards a woman since college, 
for all intents and purposes, we could have been trying to trade 
research partners.

"I know, Fox. I just wanted to inform you of the open position," 
Diana struggled slightly with her words but then smiled widely.

I bet that wasn't the only open position she had in mind. Where 
were these thoughts coming from? At least Mulder noticed the 
predatory look in her eyes also -- so it wasn't just my 
imagination.

"That's very nice of you Diana, but I'm sure you understand why I 
cannot accept your offer." It was obvious he meant it on more 
than one level.

A few awkward moments of silence passed, and I tried to hide my 
amusement behind the file I had been reading. If she wasn't going 
to acknowledge my existence -- there was no reason for me to talk 
to her.

She nodded slightly and turned to walk out.  

"Please inform us of any further developments," Mulder called 
after her, apparently deciding to disregard the matter of 
protocol. He smiled -- really smiled for the first time in weeks 
when the office door shut. Immediately he turned to face me.
"Did you hear that, Scully? Trouble in paradise. You were right, 
it was just a matter of time." I hadn't heard this kind of 
enthusiasm from him in... well, months.

He was referring to the night a few days after the OPR meeting - 
after we found out that Spender and Diana now had control of our 
files. In some ways it was worse than the night after the office 
had burned. Having the files reopened and yet being forbidden to 
work on them or even have contact with any of the cases or 
Skinner, was worse than having them closed outright. At least if 
they were shut down, Mulder and I could have still pursued them 
on our own time. Their decision was final, and I could tell it 
was slowly killing him.

We had sat on a couch in my apartment, nursing our drinks and I 
felt the passion seep out of him. "They won't work well together 
you know -- I predict that we'll have the files back before the 
end of the year," I had said, trying to cheer him up.

Mulder had drained his drink and looked up at me humorlessly. "I 
bet they said the same thing about us six years ago." Staring 
into the empty glass he asked, "Why do you think we've lasted so 
long?"

I had taken another sip and felt the ice crunch under my teeth. 
"Because we have no hidden agendas," I had answered softly.

He had given me a look. "Trust no one, Scully? I admit that 
Diana's reappearance seemed a bit..."

"Suspicious?"

He had nodded and poured himself another drink. "And Spender's 
appointment seemed...."

"Insane, ridiculous, wrong, unbelievable...."

"Any of those would work."

We had sat in comfortable silence until I whispered, "At least 
we're still partners."

"That's the only thing keeping me here," Mulder had whispered 
honestly and placed his hand over mine.

Back in the present the phone rang and Mulder picked up the one 
on his desk. "Mulder."

"Yes sir, right away." He hung up.

"That was Kersh. He wants to see me about something," he 
explained as he slipped back into his suit jacket.

"What kind of rumors is he hearing now?"

"I don't know, I'll tell you when I get back." He walked out of 
the door and I felt myself start to grin. A feeling filled 
me...one it took me a moment to recognize as optimism.

* * *

Mulder:

"Agent Mulder," Kersh watched me carefully. "Thank you for coming 
on such a short notice."

That was new. Kersh had yet to thank Scully or me for anything. I 
remained silent, waiting for the next surprise. It didn't fail to 
come.

"Are you satisfied with your work?"

"Yes," I didn't feel the need to elaborate. The key to a good lie 
was saying as little as possible.

"You and Agent Scully have had several very successful months," 
Kersh stared at me as if daring me to deny it. "I must say that 
when I became your supervisor, I hadn't expected as much."

Now it was my turn to stare. What had happened to change his 
position so drastically?

"But your solvency rate with the X-Files department was much 
higher than it is today," he continued. "And I want to find out 
why."

I was glad that we were back on familiar ground - accusations and 
half-hearted, insincere apologies. "What are you implying?" I 
inquired sullenly.

"Agent Mulder, you should know by now that I never imply. I say 
what I mean," Kersh explained unemotionally.

I had to admit that it was the truth. Walking the minefields for 
so many years, speaking in the language of half-truths with 
almost everyone in my life has made me look for hidden motives. I 
hardly had reason to suspect that Kersh had any. "The X-Files 
department was - is - my life," I spoke truthfully. "Anything 
else doesn't hold the same attraction."

He nodded thoughtfully, and for the first time I felt as he were 
trying to understand me. "How was your trip? Did you bring a 
report?"

"Agent Scully has it. There was hardly a case to speak of, sir."

"Then I hope you got some rest?"

I suddenly had an urge to look at the color of his blood and make 
sure it wasn't green. Kersh didn't ask questions like this. 
"Yes," I said warily.

"There is an OPR meeting scheduled for two days from now, 9 AM. 
We will discuss the possibility of your reassignment to the 
X-Files."

"Just mine?"

"I will be speaking with Agent Scully later on today," he 
answered obliquely. "You are dismissed."

"Yes, sir."

The news should have enabled me to practically fly out of his 
office, yet something troubled me. It wasn't just the fact that 
Scully might not be offered the same chance for reassignment. I 
stood up and walked to the door slowly, trying to dispel my sense 
of uneasiness. Just before I turned the doorknob, I heard Kersh's 
voice trailing after me. 

"If this trip was so uneventful, why do you look like you haven't 
slept in days?"

Oh, the question of the day. I chuckled briefly, turning around 
for a glance at the imposing black man. "Sleep is highly 
overrated," I replied honestly. Then added softly, "But I think I 
have more reasons to enjoy my dreams now."

At that moment I felt as if I had told him the truth. That my 
nightmares would disappear like morning smog, and that with the 
prospect of the X-Files being under our control again, I would 
breathe easier. 

I wish I knew then just how wrong I was.

* * *

Kersh's request to see Scully didn't come before late afternoon, 
and by that time I was desperately trying to keep my eyes open. 

"Mulder, why don't you go home," she suggested. "I promise I will 
recite everything word for word when I come in tomorrow."

I shook my head. "I'll wait."

"I know you're worried, but..."

"Scully. I told you. I will wait," I replied, now annoyed. "If 
you think that I will get some rest before I know what he tells 
you... you're gravely mistaken."

She sighed and gave me a shaky smile. "Wish me luck, partner."

I gave her a thumbs-up and watched the door close behind her. 
Then I closed my eyes and fought the dizziness that threatened to 
crush me, despite the overriding anxiety I still felt after the 
morning meeting with the Assistant Director. It seemed that 
nightmares followed me from night into day, taking on different 
forms. The break of partnership with Scully was equivalent to 
drowning in the ocean. What was the use of having the X-Files if 
I couldn't work on them with her?

Diana may have been an essential part of the department in the 
beginning, but it was her choice to leave - and the strength of 
her commitment couldn't rival that of my partner's or mine. 

A cold wave of dread passed through me. 

When after some time the door opened and my partner stepped back 
in the office, I felt as if my worst fears were confirmed. 

"They will not reassign you back to the X-Files," I spoke, 
silently praying that she would laugh at me.

"Mulder..." Scully stopped, and I froze in anticipation of the 
worst. "I don't think they know what they want yet," she 
shrugged. "This was one of the vaguest conversations I've had in 
my life."

"What did Kersh say?"

"Kersh thinks that during our time with the X-Files, you 
influenced me in dangerous ways," her mouth creased slightly. "I 
wish I could say that he was wrong."

I laughed a little, trying to cover my chagrin. "But he did 
invite you to the OPR meeting."

"Yes," Scully confirmed. "Though what happened to Spender, or 
what will happen with both of our reassignments is still 
unclear."

I watched as she made her way to her desk and began to pack her 
bag to leave for the day. After a moment, she spoke softly. 
"Mulder, promise me something..."

"Anything, Scully."

"If they offer you the chance to work on the X-Files, you have to 
take it regardless of whether they offer it to me."

"No."

"Dammit, Mulder!" she whirled on me, a small hurricane of fury 
and pain. "I can't stand by and watch what this... what all this is 
doing to you. You cannot pass up a chance like this."

"I can and I will," I stood up to face her. "The X-Files belong 
to us, Scully - not me alone."

"The X-Files belong to the FBI," Scully cut me off coldly, 
"regardless of our personal agendas."

"Scully..." I began and stopped. What could I possibly say that 
would make any of this right? Why did the initially good news 
have to turn bitter in the space of one day?

"The way I see it," her voice was suddenly strong and reassuring 
again, "it all depends on us. If there is a chance that both of 
us can work on the X-Files again, we need to make sure that we 
work to get it. It will be all right."

"Words of wisdom," I tried to match her tone. "Dinner, Scully?"

She smiled briefly and shook her head. "Mulder, you need to go to 
sleep. I will see you tomorrow, bright and early."

I watched as Scully exited once again, hoping that she was right 
and that everything could still be turned around.

As long as we wanted the X-Files badly enough, nothing could stop 
us.

End 3/6


The Second Ones
Part I: Conduit
By Anna Otto and Rachel Ehrentreu
annaotto1@aol.com & firephile@aol.com

Chapter 4/6

Scully:

I waited until I walked into my apartment to collapse. The couch 
had never felt so warm and inviting.

I wondered if he had heard the insincerity of my words. If he 
knew how terrified I was of losing him...even if he had gotten back 
the files. I knew what I said -- I did. And I meant it. At least if 
one of us was working on them, the other could "consult". I felt 
very out of my element at that moment, a doctor -- a pathologist 
-- tracking down terrorists.

At least he'd be happy. Maybe the dreams would stop and he'd have 
that smile again -- the one I saw briefly earlier, and the look 
of a dog on the scent in his eyes, instead of the blase attitude 
he displayed lately.

But, if I were chosen and he weren't...I didn't want to think 
about it. I could live without them, they were my life but I 
could be patient. Mulder, on the other hand, needed them back 
like he needed air. If we gave up our last best chance, we would 
never have forgiven ourselves.

*God* I hated my assignment, tracking down militias and odd 
package receipts. They were doing it to humiliate us, torture 
us...it was rookie work. It was as if they forgot anything we did 
before the X-Files. While part of me was thankful that Mulder was 
not back at ISU (my psyche couldn't take it), the other wished for 
something to sink my teeth into. Maybe something that had some 
bearing on any of my experience. I would have even taken mob 
activities. I probably should have thanked God it wasn't 
wiretapping.

At least if Mulder had the files...I could have a small hope for 
something more exciting than what we'd been doing.

The funny thing is, until he mentioned it, I hadn't considered 
that they might be splitting us up.

Splitting us up.

Oh God...how could I have been so stupid? Of course they would 
use the files against us.

Unbidden, images of what could happen flashed before my eyes.

Mulder and Diana, him trusting her over all others. Diana working
for *them*...betraying him. Mulder lying dead somewhere...Mulder 
handing over evidence to the smoking man. Mulder joining 
*them*... betraying me.

I shook my head, stop it Dana, you're overreacting, making leaps 
of logic angled towards conspiracy and paranoia. Not everything 
had a hidden agenda.

Enough. I didn't want to think about anything that night. I 
turned on the television.

The news, just what I needed, to hear more stories about our 
President, impending war, and more feel good topics. There had to 
be something halfway decent on cable. Wait, what was the reporter 
saying? Oh my God...

I turned up the volume, unable to believe what I was hearing.

"North Carolina police are on the look out for an escaped 
psychiatric hospital patient. Melora Sanchez is described as 
armed and dangerous..."

A few minutes later, the phone rang.

"Are you watching the news Scully?"

"Yes, where are you?"

"Why do you think she escaped?" He ignored my question and I 
heard a car door slam. 

"Where are you Mulder? Is that a car horn I hear in the 
background?" Please don't tell me he decided to go down to 
North Carolina. I could just see trying to explain this one to OPR. 
'My partner would be here sir, but he had to go run after an escaped 
mental patient and will be back shortly.' Yeah, that would go over 
really well.

"Yeah, I'm on my way over to your place." He hung up.

"Okay," I said to the dial tone. After feeling slightly annoyed, 
I allowed myself a little relief. This meant one more night where 
I wouldn't have to worry. Yes, I was worried about his safety. 
With a partner like him, I never knew if he'd leave the office 
and I'd hear from him later that night in a hospital, or have to 
bail him out of a possible disaster. Which was one of the 
reasons why I cherished his late night phone calls -- at least 
then I knew he was in his apartment, if not actually sleeping. 

After six years I should have been able to relax. I had thought 
at the beginning of the partnership: this is only temporary. 
It'll be calmer soon. After all, none of my friends from the 
academy had partners who would actively run off during cases or 
in the middle of the night. 

Yet, instead of it becoming easier, I started to care deeply for 
him and it became an ever-present nervous feeling. For a short 
period of time, before I realized how ridiculous it was, I was 
making up excuses to spend more time with him out of work.

That was a disaster I never wanted to repeat. We could do it 
now, be with each other and not talk about anything 
related to work. But then, it was awkward. At least for me, 
because the more time we spent together the more I realized I was 
going to have to talk about my feelings at some point. My 
childhood...basically myself - a topic I tried to stay away from 
as much as humanly possible. 

Mulder, even though he wore his heart on his sleeve, had a very 
hard time talking about anything related to emotions other than 
guilt and loss. He could talk about guilt for hours...how he 
blamed himself for the world's events, his inability to save 
someone, these were almost comfortable topics with him. Yet, when 
I tried to get him to talk about his life, past relationships, 
how he felt about things, his family...he practically ran out of 
the room.

That was the reason why it didn't work. Two emotionally stubborn 
people trying to carry on conversations without the crutch of a 
case or suspect always led to disaster.

It was only when I was diagnosed with cancer and we realized that 
my life expectancy had suddenly become much shorter, that he was 
able to tell me about himself, and I was able to share myself 
with him. It led to a new intimacy, a non-romantic close 
friendship...and it showed in our work.

I smiled slightly and turned up the volume. I could watch the 
news until Mulder arrived. 

Thirty minutes later, I was about to turn off the television in 
disgust and order some food, when there was a knock at the door.

"Sorry it took so long, traffic was a nightmare," Mulder said as 
he walked into my apartment, tracking snow through the living 
room.

I didn't even notice that the snowfall, predicted on the news and 
radio for the past four days, had finally started.

"It's okay. Do you want something to drink?" I walked towards the 
kitchen. A cup of coffee sounded like an excellent idea. Decaf, I 
added mentally.

"No, we don't have much time anyway."

"Time? What're you talking about?" I turned around to face him, 
hands on my hips. I was still wearing my work clothes but had 
thrown my shoes off and didn't feel like searching for them at 
that moment.

"We have to catch a flight to North Carolina soon," he sounded 
almost apologetic.

"Mulder..." Trudging outside and taking a plane in the middle of 
one of the heaviest predicted snow storms this winter didn't 
appeal to me. Not when we had to make sure we got back for a 9 AM 
meeting in less than two days. I walked over to him, but kept 
a few feet away. I hadn't forgotten the sharp pain I'd experienced 
earlier in the day.

"We were investigating her claim. She disappeared. It's still our 
case. We have to find her Scully."

"They have police for that Mulder."

"A doctor was found with a broken neck. The outside guard was 
found with a crushed larynx."

"Melora killed those people? She barely looked strong enough to 
lift a fork let alone..."

"There's something else at work here Scully. The guard's gun is 
also missing.  Don't you want to know why she escaped? We have to 
stop her." He looked at me then and pleaded with me to listen to 
him, to believe him.  

"Stop her from what?" I let myself inch closer to him, already 
starting to feel a small twinge of pain.

"I don't know." He shook his head slightly.

I breathed out sharply and started out angrily, "Look, we have a 
very important meeting in less than two days. The chance to get 
back the X-Files. If we're stuck chasing an escaped psychiatric 
patient through the dirt roads and small towns...or can't get a 
flight out because of the snow...we could lose it. I don't want 
to take that chance, not if we can avoid it," I finished softly 
and looked at him. I tried to make him understand. "Is Melora 
important enough that you'd risk our last best chance?"

Mulder nodded. "I can't explain it, but we'll be back before the 
meeting. I promise."

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. "We've been through this 
before and it didn't end well that time." I reminded him.

"That was Texas. This is North Carolina. In and out in a day, 
we'll just lend our expertise and be home in plenty of time for 
OPR. Besides, chances are they'll pick her up on the side of the 
road sometime tonight. I don't want to face her alone Scully...I 
need you to be with me," he pleaded.

I swallowed painfully and smiled slightly. He knew my weakness, 
damn him. How could I say no after that? I pushed aside any 
thoughts of feeling manipulated. "Okay, but midnight tomorrow I'm 
going to be on a plane back here - whether you're on it or not." 

He reached out and gently held my hand. The headache was 
immediate. I jerked my hand out of his and retreated to my couch, 
trying to stop myself from screaming.

"Are you okay Scully?"

"I'm fine." God, maybe it was time to see a psychologist, or a 
therapist...or maybe I just needed to spend a night with my good 
friends Ben and Jerry. "I'll be ready in about ten minutes."

"I'll be waiting in the car." He walked out of my apartment and 
shut the door softly.

Once he left I rubbed my temples and then stood up to take an 
aspirin. Perhaps it was stress... I rubbed the back of my neck, 
which was starting to feel tight. Maybe I'd treat myself to a 
massage after this was all over. 

* * *

Mulder:
 
In retrospect, my partner's obvious avoidance of my touch should 
have alarmed me. Yet as I sat in the car, I could think only of 
Melora and of the words that haunted her dreams, the same words 
that haunted my dreams, that robbed me of sleep. The urgency that 
plagued me even before I listened to the news intensified with 
each passing minute; the need to understand Melora's illness and 
behavior overrode all of my other concerns. 

Scully was suddenly knocking on the window, and I realized that I 
forgot to unlock the doors.

"I'm driving." Her face was impassive. "Move over."

I sighed, threw her the keys, and settled in the passenger seat. 

"Close your eyes," she instructed as she turned on the wipers, 
getting rid of the snow that fell steadily, silently. "And I 
don't want to hear another word from you before we get to the 
airport."

Her insistence that I get rest might have come from the best of 
intentions, but I couldn't appreciate it then. I knew what waited 
for me on the other side of consciousness, and I didn't long for 
another date on the beach with my monstrous best friend. 
Silently, I turned to the window and watched the passing cars and 
blinking lights, wondering if Scully would break some speed laws 
that night, and if I could broach the subject.

On second thought, I decided that she would simply turn around 
and handcuff me somewhere safe before the morning of the OPR 
hearing. While the prospect might have sounded attractive at any 
other time... I bit my tongue, suppressing a chuckle. Playing it 
safe, I didn't speak.

The concern in Scully's eyes had grown progressively as I 
fidgeted and drank inordinate amounts of coffee during the plane 
ride and at the rental counter in North Carolina, but when she 
dove for the driver seat of our rain-washed rental Ford, I 
protested.

"Scully, I'll get there faster." I grabbed the keys from her 
hand.

She winced. "Mulder, you shouldn't..." she stopped with a sigh of 
resignation. "Do you remember the way to the hospital?"

"No," I replied absent-mindedly. "It doesn't matter."

Scully stared at me as I pushed the gas to the limit, as the 
wheels skidded on the wet pavement. "What do you mean?"

If I had any doubts until this moment that Melora's madness was 
related to my nightmares, it was now swiftly evaporating, being 
replaced by cold certainty. I'd barely seen this place before, 
yet I knew unerringly where to go, as if a cosmic compass was 
helping me find my way.

"Scully..." I couldn't answer her question, not without appearing 
mentally unsound. The very notion paralyzed me, numb fear 
squeezing my innards. "Could you promise me something?"

Her voice was strained but sincere. "Anything," she replied, 
adding after a moment, "except to work with Diana Fowley in the 
X-Files without you."

I would have laughed at any other time. "If I do something... 
strange. Promise that you will not come to quick decisions."

She seemed lost for a moment. "Mulder...?"

"Just say yes, Scully."

"I... I promise," Scully whispered.

Then she leaned away from me, massaging her temples distractedly.

* * *

The raindrops slid over the car windows like tears, and even the 
high beams could not penetrate their heavy fall through the 
darkness and fog of the night. The mud slushed under the tires. 
The roads were flooded, and sometimes I felt that it was only my 
sheer will that allowed the car to move forward. 

"Mulder, how do you know that we're driving in the right 
direction?" Scully questioned softly.

There it was, once again. The question I was so afraid of, but 
this time I didn't have the strength to make up excuses. "I just 
do."

"We should contact the police," she suggested evenly, "make them 
aware of our location, and request backup if we come across 
Melora."

"No," I snapped harshly, hearing her draw in a tight breath. It 
slapped me back to reality, and I glanced over at my partner, 
noting with detachment her pale face and thin lips. "Sorry."

"Mulder, we need to notify authorities of what we are doing," she 
repeated, determined to make me listen. 

"Too many people will scare her," I explained hastily. "I need to 
talk to her alone. Besides," I added as an afterthought, "I don't 
think we could give the police our location if we tried."

I could almost hear her grind her teeth. "We could stop at the 
nearest gas station and ask where we are."

"I don't want to stop," I emphasized each word, trying to make 
her understand - needing her to understand the urgency of this 
chase, the desperate need to reach the destination. 

For a few minutes we drove in silence. Another hole in the road 
shook the car, throwing me against Scully. I slowed down somewhat 
at her startled gasp, turned to look at her. She was clutching 
her head in her hands, her face chalky white.

"Scully," I whispered. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

The familiar phrase acted like an acid on my nerves. "Do you need 
to stop?" I asked curtly.

She appeared to hesitate for a second, then shook her head. 

I didn't question her answer, not wanting to waste any time. When 
the car hit another puddle of water, too deep to drive through, I 
tried to backup and couldn't - knowing that this time we were not 
going anywhere.

"Now what?" she asked indifferently.

"Now we walk," I jumped out of the car, landing knee-deep in 
water. "It's not far."

Scully ran after me, disregarding her designer outfit and shoes. 
"Mulder, we have to call someone."

"No," I quickened my tempo, only barely aware of how difficult it 
must have been for her to keep up with me, too consumed with the 
chase to notice her discomfort. "They're already there."

* * *

After running through the wet forest for what seemed like hours 
but was probably just minutes, I hardly recognized that I'd 
finally reached my goal when I heard a male voice, hoarse and 
scared, talk nonsensically over the gusts of poring rain.

"Ms. Sanchez. Please put down your weapon. We mean you no harm."

He repeated the words in an endless litany with no apparent 
results, and after stepping closer to the source of the voice, I 
saw the woman he was addressing. Melora still wore a thin 
hospital gown, which clung to her form like second skin, water 
sliding down her long black hair in small rivers. Her dark eyes 
were desperate, wild.  Her mouth shook from what may have been 
fear or anger, but was probably just cold.

In her delicate hands she was clutching a gun, one that she 
pointed unwaveringly at the four police officers who surrounded her. 
Their weapons, aimed at her, contrasted starkly with the promise 
of peace that the leader was trying to relay so insistently.

I stepped out of the trees, coming to stand between Melora and 
the officers, trying to catch her eyes. 

"What do you think you're doing," the hoarse voice addressed me 
roughly, and I turned around momentarily, flipping my badge.

"Federal Agent," I snapped. "Stand a few steps back and lower 
your weapons. Do it!" I screamed when they hesitated, then 
focused again on Melora. 

"It's you," she whispered, apparently recognizing me. "Are you 
coming with me?"

"Coming where?" I asked softly. 

"They are calling us," Melora sounded plaintive. "The second 
ones, and the doctors wouldn't let me go."

"Melora," I was uncomfortably aware that the nuzzle of her gun 
was pointing straight at my chest, "give me the gun. Then we can 
talk about everything else."

"You will want to be there, as well," she continued, not moving. 
"It's better if you come with me now."

"Give me the gun." My eyes caught a movement from behind Melora, 
and I realized that Scully was taking a position in the backup, 
her weapon drawn. 

"They want to take me back to the hospital," Melora explained, as 
if she expected me to understand, "but I can't go back. The time 
of unrest is now, and I need to... I need to..."

"Melora," I kept my voice level, thinly aware that she was ready 
to crack and I had no time. If I wanted to see us all survive 
this ordeal, I needed to hurry. "No one will hurt you. If you go 
back, we can work this out. You will see."

Her gun wavered slightly. "It's you," she repeated, her gaze 
almost sane for a moment. "I don't want to hurt you."

"That's right," I nodded. "Good."

Suddenly, her eyes swung to the side, and I turned around with 
her, to see that two police officers were moving closer, their 
weapons at the ready. I motioned for them to stop. Yet the next 
thing I knew, Melora was holding her gun to her temple, the index 
finger dangerously poised over the trigger.

"No," I reached my hand for her, took it away when her finger 
twitched. "You don't want to do this. Remember," I conjured a 
smile, recalling the words from the dreams, "We will not succumb.  
If you do this, you are admitting surrender."

Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say because she shook her 
head, tears starting to course down her cheeks. "I never wanted..." 
she stopped. "I will not succumb."

"That's right," I nodded, my smile widening even as I knew that 
something was horribly wrong. Scully's blue eyes shone from her 
drawn face as she waited in the shadows. I tried not to look at 
her, concentrating only on the desperate woman in front of me. 
"Just relax your fingers and give me the gun."

Too fast for comprehension, her left hand snaked out behind her, 
reaching for my partner and squeezing her shoulder lightly. With 
a gasp of pain, Scully crumpled to the ground, unconscious. 

"Scully!" I screamed in horror, running over to her, searching 
her neck for a pulse. In the same second as I felt a thready line 
beating under my fingers, I heard a deafening roar behind me. 
Dazed, I turned around, my eyes clouding at the picture of Melora 
Sanchez sprawled on the muddy forest floor, blood and tissue 
splattered in a gory display over the brown leaves.

Her fingers were clutching the gun tightly, and her eyes were 
upturned to watch the dark sky.

End 4/6


The Second Ones
Part I: Conduit
By Anna Otto and Rachel Ehrentreu
annaotto1@aol.com & firephile@aol.com

Chapter 5/6

Scully:

I opened my eyes slightly and groaned softly. How did I wind up 
on the floor? Using my hands, I pushed myself to a sitting 
position and gently massaged my temples.

"Are you okay, Ma'am?" One of the officers asked me, the same one 
who had been holding a gun on Melora.

I reached into my inner pocket and pulled out my badge. "Special 
Agent Dana Scully, FBI." It was hard to look authoritative 
sitting on a muddy forest floor and covered in leaves. I placed 
the badge back in my pocket.

A sandy haired policeman reached a hand to help me up and I 
grabbed it and pulled myself to my feet, almost falling again in 
the process. He held me by the shoulders to make sure I was 
steady enough to stand. "Are you sure you're okay?" He asked 
over the increasing rain.

"I'm fine," I didn't want to waste any time in getting to Mulder. 
He sat crouched down, head bowed in contemplation over an 
unbreathing body.

"Mulder?" I half-stumbled, half-walked over to him.

"She killed herself...we could have stopped it." He didn't look 
at Melora or me but stared off at a distant point.

I was struck by the incredible urge to touch him, squeeze his 
shoulder, envelop him in my arms, but I didn't dare try. What 
happened when I accidentally brushed against him in the car was 
still fresh in my mind.

"There was nothing we could have done," a gust of rain-soaked 
wind hit me as I turned around to face the officers. "Call the 
morgue. Have them send over an ambulance to pick up the body. Do 
it," I commanded when no one moved.  

"Is he going to be all right?" The officer in charge asked me, 
looking over at my partner with concern and confusion. "What was 
he talking about anyway?"

"Agent Mulder will be fine," I assured the officer, hoping my 
voice didn't betray my fear.

Mulder muttered something to Melora under his breath that sounded 
like "I'm sorry" but could have been "I will not succumb". The 
latter sent a chill through me that had nothing to do with the 
frozen rain. He reverently closed her eyes with the thumb and 
forefinger of his right hand.  

"Do you need a lift back to your car?" the sandy haired policeman 
asked trying to ignore my partner's behavior.

I considered our options for a second and nodded. "We have to 
go," I called to Mulder, hoping that he could hear me.

He finally looked up and became aware of his surroundings. 
Standing up, he brushed himself off and walked over to 
the squad car. "We need to wait for the ambulance," he told me 
softly.

"No, we have an OPR meeting in a day...the snow is getting worse 
up in D.C., no." As far as I was concerned, this case was closed. 
Part of me, although I tried to hide it, was almost relieved that 
it had ended this way. If Melora had been affecting him, perhaps 
now Mulder would be able to sleep.

"You have to perform an autopsy on her." 

"I refuse to perform an autopsy on someone who shot herself in 
the head. I think in this case the cause of death is blatantly 
obvious." I regretted the words the minute I got a good look at 
his face. The pain reflected in his darkened eyes almost undid 
me.  

"She could...been drugged...ways to force psychosis...you 
know...."  There was a bit of a plea in his words.

I swallowed hard, even if it was hard to hear him over the roar 
of the wind, I understood what he was saying.

"I can't do it." I bowed my head and closed my eyes trying to 
shut out the hurt look on his face.

"Are you two okay?" The officer in charge asked me again, worry 
clouding his ruggedly handsome features.

"We're fine. Mulder, we're leaving!" I hoped that I sounded more 
in control than I felt. I wasn't entirely sure he could hear me, 
but I opened the door to the squad car and hoped that he would 
follow.

He did walk over to me, leaned down close and in a voice only I 
could hear hissed. "I'm staying here -- with or without you 
Scully. If you won't do the autopsy I'll find someone who will." 
He stared into my eyes and then turned away.

Any other time that would have been enough for me to close the 
door and stay with him in the pouring rain. But not that day, not 
then. Something inside me snapped, his erratic behavior, the 
nightmares, the plane trips, the meaningless cases, it was all 
too much.

I took a few deep breaths and dug my nails into the fleshy palm 
of my hand. We were not going to fight in front of four officers 
and in the middle of nowhere -- it was not going to happen. I 
closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, I was almost in 
control.

"Fine," I said in a voice that was just a notch too calm.  

"Scully..." he reached out a hand towards me, and I moved away.

"I'll see you at the hearing, Agent Mulder." I slid into the 
backseat and deliberately closed the door gently to stop myself 
from forcefully slamming it and knocking out the back window 
glass.

As if on cue, the rain stopped as the car drove off. The two 
other officers and the squad car stayed with Mulder.  

It just figured: the weather would be on his side. I folded my 
arms over my chest and mentally composed a note I would never 
write or send. My eyes started to sting as I thought about his 
words and the lump in my throat became painful. I would not lose 
control: I was in total control. There was plenty of time for 
anger and tears. This was not the place for an emotional release. 
I repeated these words like a mantra and was able to save myself 
embarrassment.

Yet, the minute we got the car out of the ditch and I was able to 
drive off, I stopped on the side of the nearest highway and laid 
my head on the steering wheel. Surprisingly, when I could afford 
to let myself feel hurt...the tears would not come.

***

The D.C. weather was on Mulder's side also. There were already 
five inches of snow from the snowstorm, and at the airport all I 
found were delays, delays, and delays. I was so tired I could 
barely see straight. No wonder I had fainted earlier. When was 
the last time I ate? I couldn't remember, which was never a good 
sign.  

The hard airport seats made staying awake almost impossible, even 
after I had a bite to eat. I absently checked my watch, 3 AM. 
There went sleeping for tonight. By the time the airplane got 
into D.C. and I got home, it would be 6 AM and time to wake up. 
At least there was a chance I could catch a nap on the plane, 
even if the trip was short.  

I could shut my eyes for a moment, or so I had thought. But I had 
a short dream about Mulder falling off my father's boat and 
getting tangled up in the pages of a Bible. During the dream I 
felt my father stand behind me and look down into the dark water. 
I thought I heard him say, "It's for the best." 

I awoke with a start to a loudspeaker announcement, "Final call 
flight 731 to Washington, D.C." I practically ran down 
the corridor, almost falling in the process. Only when I was 
settled in my seat did I check my watch. It was 4:30 AM.  

We traveled in darkness, and by the time the taxi dropped me off 
at my apartment, it was daylight.

I put the key into the lock and opened the door. Before running 
to take a shower I saw that I had one answering machine message.

I pressed the button. Beep. "Agent Scully, this is Assistant 
Director Kersh's office. The Office of Professional Review 
meeting has been rescheduled for 2 PM tomorrow. I hope this is 
not an inconvenience."

I replayed the message, praying that I was dreaming. No it was 
real.  Fuck, fuck, fuck -- I resisted the urge to pick up the 
phone and throw it against the wall. Of course, this was fitting. 
Why was I surprised?

Instead, I picked up the phone and dialed Mulder's cell phone.  

"The cellular phone customer you are trying to reach...."

If it weren't so damn pathetic I would have started laughing.

But then again, why was I surprised? My life was a comedy of 
errors anyway. At that moment my cell phone rang.

I debated about whether or not to answer it. But, there really 
was no decision to make. I pulled it out of my pocket and flipped 
it open.

"Scully." Was that sleepy voice me?

"Scully, is that you?"  

"Who else would it be Mulder? Why did you turn off your phone?"

"You have to get back down here."

"Mulder, I can't..."

"But Scully..."

"The meeting was rescheduled for 2 PM today, you have to be 
there."  

There was silence on the other end of the line.

"Mulder, are you there? Mulder?"

A dial tone was my only answer.

I threw the phone against the couch cushions and walked into the 
bathroom, when it started to ring again. I stalked over to it and 
flipped it open angrily.

"Mulder, what the hell happened?"

"Agent Scully?  

"Yes?"

"Uh, this is Doctor Shrenk...your partner just collapsed and I 
found your number in his wallet."

Concern overrode all anger - as it always did. "Where are you?"

He gave me the hospital name and I ran out the door.

Hopefully I could get a flight back to North Carolina soon.

* * *

Mulder:

I watched numbly as Dr. Shrenk, a displeased, balding overweight 
man in his fifties, prepared to do an autopsy on Melora's body. 
He was grumbling something about the middle of the night and the 
biggest storm to hit North Carolina in months while he slapped on 
the latex gloves and searched haphazardly for his instruments.

I flinched as a knife sliced the body, the doctor's sleepy voice 
hoarse on the recorder. I was suddenly worried that she might 
sense the pain of the blade, might cry soundlessly at the horror 
she felt. As irrational as the notion was, it gnawed at me, 
causing my own eyes to water in mute sympathy, until I was forced 
to turn away.

"You will run a toxicology screen on her?" I asked the doctor 
softly.

He looked up at me with disapproval, the fluorescent lights 
reflecting in his glasses. "The results won't be ready for two 
days."

"Then could you please direct the samples to the FBI lab in 
Washington?" I insisted.

He shrugged an acceptance and returned to the work at hand. 

"Could you cut the back of her neck to look for..." I had to 
ask him while Scully would have done it automatically, 
"anything strange?"

Dr. Shrenk rolled his eyes slightly as he checked the area. 
"Nothing here."

I was relieved - but then the saw whizzed, dissecting the 
cranium, and I took a deep breath, trying to dispel the 
queasiness I suddenly felt. 

I tried to imagine what Melora was like before the onset of 
madness – before the inner demons drove her fingers to press the 
trigger. She was probably a normal, attractive young woman who 
had friends, who was good in the art of business, who would one 
day have a family... Was there really nothing I could have done 
to stop her? Why was I so certain that I was to blame for her 
demise?

I was aware of my tendency for needless self-recrimination; I had 
a talent for turning any event upside down so as to persuade 
myself that I was to blame for it. Scully, convinced that I had a 
warped vision of reality, always tried to dissuade me from making 
the unjustified leaps of logic and passing self-accusatory 
verdicts. I longed for her presence now, even as I knew that no 
one could convince me that I might have prevented this needless 
death.

On the other hand... it was Scully's presence which caused my 
attention to falter in the first place. I caught myself before 
the thought could blossom, before the cautionary words of Melora 
could sound again in my ears. 

"This is interesting," Dr. Shrenk mumbled under his breath, and I 
summoned the strength to come closer, averting my eyes from the 
bloody remains. "There is a tumor in the frontal lobe - small but 
growing."

"Could it have accounted for her mental state?"

"Hard to say, but if it is malignant it would have killed her 
soon if the bullet hadn't. I don't suppose she even knew of it. 
I've taken a sample and will be able to tell you more later."

"How long do you think she had it?" I questioned again, strangely 
resentful of the pity in his voice.

"Not long - several months at most. I'll send the results with 
the report."

The time when the visions started could have coincided with the 
onset of cancer. I was chilled. The implications were far too 
unpleasant. Once again, I wished that Scully hadn't left - why 
did she have to run back now, when I needed her the most? 

I pulled out my cell phone, only to discover that it was out of 
range. 

"These things never work in the hospital," Dr. Shrenk pointed me 
to his office. "You have to dial nine to get out."

Please, please, Scully, pick up, I chanted as I began dialing the 
familiar number. Why was it so dark in this room, I distinctly 
remembered turning on the light. 

Her voice, worried and edgy, came on the line, and I was 
immensely grateful to hear it - until she repeated that she 
couldn't come back.

I reached out to grab the desk when it started to move away from 
me - wondered why inanimate objects were suddenly so unstable.

I was certain that Scully said something about the meeting - what 
meeting? - Melora was dead, and her dark eyes were watching in 
horror as the knife cut deep into her flesh...

"Don't trust her," a floating, melodic voice that I would never 
hear again.

"Agent Mulder..." someone else called out to me, but I couldn't 
listen, couldn't understand the words as the ground leaned upward 
to greet me.

* * *

"Scully."

She reached out to meet my hand halfway, squeezing it briefly 
before snatching it away. Even through the fog of overwhelming 
weakness, I could feel her body tense as if the contact cost her 
more than she was prepared to handle. 

"How're you feeling?"

"Not good," I wondered why my mind was so lethargic. "You came," 
I realized suddenly. "Why did you come?"

Scully smiled, a makeshift gesture that didn't seem sincere. "You 
were out for hours, Mulder, and we need to get back to D.C."

Faintly, I was aware of something important I needed to tell her, 
but I couldn't recall what it was. "When is the meeting?"

"In four hours," she paused, uncertain. "Mulder, let's call them 
and cancel. You're in no condition..."

I sat up straight. "Scully, this is our only chance. We can't 
cancel... I will be fine."

"Mulder, this is not a good time... please."

"No," I searched for my jacket, straightened my tie. "Let's go - 
we can still make it."

Reluctantly, she followed. I walked up to the doctor, asking him 
to send all the autopsy results to Washington. As I paused to 
steal a last glance at Melora's still face, I heard Scully's 
voice calling to me in resignation, and I turned away resolutely. 

"I'm sorry, Mulder," she spoke when we were seated in the car. "I 
should have stayed."

"You don't possess powers of precognition, Scully," I felt like 
an asshole for my acidic reply but I couldn't stop the words 
tumbling off my tongue. "I can't always count on you to rescue 
me."

"When was the last time you slept?" I didn't get even a glare in 
return, feeling only the worse for it.

"Night before last - for two hours."

"Mulder, I am worried," Scully's voice shook slightly. "Your 
behavior... your nightmares - and now this. Can't you tell me 
what's happening?"

"Oh, Scully." I would if I could. "I dreamed... of the same 
things Melora did. Terrible visions...black ocean, and blood 
raining from the sky... her face awash in tears... the time of 
unrest is now..." I stopped, recognizing the expression on my 
partner's face as fear, and incredulity. "I can't explain."

She drove silently, switching lanes and passing cars without any 
regard for the traffic rules. In the airport she walked without 
even glancing at the signs, apparently quite familiar with the 
setup by now. "If there is no delay, we will be in D.C. close to 
1:30, and then we will catch a taxi," she informed me. "Maybe you 
can sleep some more on the plane."

Walking into the half-empty plane, I suddenly felt dizzy - once 
again - nearly stumbling into my seat upon reaching it. If Scully 
noticed my momentary weakness, she didn't comment on it. I closed 
my eyes, praying that I wouldn't dream, just as I was lucky not 
to have dreamt during my blackout.

Yet, once again I woke up gasping for air after the seaweeds of 
the deep black ocean bound my extremities, and I couldn't keep my 
face above water long enough to catch my breath. And as I glanced 
at the face of my best friend, longing for her to reach out 
and save me from this horrible fate, I recognized Scully's 
darkened features. She smiled as she watched me drown, and she 
extended her arms upward to receive the benediction of the bloody 
rain that fell upon the earth.

And when the light assaulted my eyes, I covered my face so that I 
wouldn't see the dread in Scully's eyes - or utter the words that 
still spun through my mind, because the time of unrest was now...

And I would not succumb.

End 5/6


The Second Ones
Part I: Conduit
By Anna Otto and Rachel Ehrentreu
annaotto1@aol.com & firephile@aol.com

Chapter 6/6

Scully:

Had I been smarter, I would have asked the taxi driver to drive 
us straight home and said to hell with the panel, the review, the 
meeting. After all, enough bad omens (if I believed in that sort 
of thing), had happened, so that any optimism I had was now 
completely gone.

The fear I felt for Mulder had overrun everything else. I hadn't 
had a single coherent thought that wasn't related to him in 
hours. Oh God, he's having Melora's dreams -- what did that mean? 
I didn't want to know what it meant. At least he didn't ask if I 
thought he was going insane, because I couldn't have honestly 
answered that question.

Instead, I sat on a very uncomfortable chair and faced five angry 
stares. Mulder sat next to me, totally still and calm. His 
calmness scared me more than anything. Instead of my partner, it 
could as well have been a stranger sitting next to me.

"Agent Mulder, why were you in North Carolina last night?" AD 
Maslin asked while shuffling through her papers.

Great, the hardest question first. I prayed silently that my fear 
didn't show to the panel.

"I received word that a witness in a federal case was in danger 
and offered Agent Scully's and mine assistance," he answered, 
cool and confident.  

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding and relaxed a 
bit.  

"You didn't have other cases to follow up on?" Kersh asked.

"Sir, I and Agent Scully both felt that Ms. Sanchez was a vital 
part of the case and therefore needed to be found."

"And your thoughts on Ms. Sanchez, Agent Scully?" Maslin asked.

"I agree with my partner's assessment. Melora Sanchez was the 
only surviving witness and..." I felt their stares like ten sharp 
knives.  

Being in front of this panel always reminded me of the time when 
I was eleven years old and had slapped Frank Griffen, who loved 
to play with my long hair during recess. He pulled it too hard, 
and I yelped in pain, then slapped him. He had started crying and 
thus I was sent, my first and only time, to the principal's 
office. I remember, with crystal clarity, sitting with my mom and 
dad in front of Principal Griffen's desk. I remember the cold 
knot of dread that developed when I realized who he was, and how 
nervous I felt during the meeting. The way Principal Griffen 
stared at me as I told my story was exactly the same way the 
committee's gaze felt. 

"We received word of Ms. Sanchez's untimely death. Agent Mulder, 
could you recount this event?" Kersh cut me off in much the same 
way that my dad had done after we'd gotten home from that meeting 
in the principal's office.

Mulder's retelling was a cut and dried version of last night's 
events, almost as if he had written out a copy and memorized it. 
"The subject ran into the forest and we pursued her. Agent Scully 
backed me up and I tried to negotiate with Ms. Sanchez. I failed. 
The subject disarmed my partner and then while my attention was 
elsewhere, shot herself point blank in the head. She was dead in 
a matter of minutes."

"We know the basics, Agent Mulder. We are asking how this 
happened."

"Could you reword the question, sir?"  

Kersh glanced skeptically at Mulder. "Why did Ms. Sanchez commit 
suicide?"

Mulder's expression resembled a deer caught in headlights, so I 
took over.

"The results are inconclusive, sir, but we theorize that she had 
suffered a total mental collapse and believed she was acting 
under the orders of a voice. This is consistent with 
schizophrenic behavior. In addition, during the autopsy, it was 
discovered that she had a brain tumor which could have 
contributed to her mental state at the time of her death."  I 
rattled off the answer easily, even if I hadn't actually 
discussed any of the whys with Mulder.

Kersh nodded slightly and I hoped that my explanation was 
satisfactory -- maybe now we could move onto reassignment. I 
could hear my heart beat like a pounding drum and I wished for 
this thing to be over as soon as humanly possible. But it was not 
to be.

I risked looking over at Mulder, who gave me a shaky smile, one 
which didn't even come close to reaching the rest of his face.

"Thank you, Agent Scully. Now, to the matter at hand..." 
Assistant Director Bart looked over his notes. "Agent Fowley?"

For the first time I noticed another person in the room. Diana 
Fowley was all smooth and confident, her face a mask of steely 
determination and knowledge.  

"Agent Fowley, could you explain this request for a new partner?"

Diana straightened even more and read from a paper in her hand. 
"Three weeks ago I discovered that my ex-partner, Agent Jeffrey 
Spender, was hiding evidence, which was vital to one of our 
cases. When I confronted him he denied it, but later I found a 
medical report was missing from an open case, case X456774, if 
you recall. I cannot work with a partner that I do not trust."  

She hesitated for a moment and then continued. "Furthermore, I 
believe that Agent Spender is completely unqualified to 
investigate these cases and put forth the suggestion that he 
should be transferred to white collar crime or mail fraud. In my 
opinion, there is only one person who has the qualifications and 
experience that the X-Files require and that person is Agent 
Mulder."

I bit back a few choice words and forced myself to stay 
emotionless. Yet, when I looked over at Mulder I noticed that 
there was a thin sheen of sweat over his face, and he was unable 
to meet my gaze. His pupils seemed wider and under the table I 
noticed he was nervously tapping his fingers against his thigh.

I resisted the urge to reach out and steady his hand - mainly 
because we were in enough trouble with OPR as it was. For some 
reason, touching your partner's thigh wasn't looked on too kindly 
and the action would have added fuel to the theory that Mulder 
and I were secretly engaged in a passionate love affair. My 
mindset was such that I completely forgot the shooting pain that 
accompanied even the slightest brush of his skin against mine.

"Thank you, Agent Fowley," AD Bart said and Diana nodded 
slightly. She stood up to leave, and as she walked out I noticed 
that Mulder seemed to regard her with confusion.

"Agent Scully?"

"Yes."

"Would you please step outside, so we could talk to Agent Mulder 
alone."

I'd sooner sleep with Spender. There was no way I was going to 
leave Mulder alone in this state, not after what had happened in 
the hospital. Yet, I quickly realized that arguing would only 
lead to trouble and so forced down my disagreement and walked out 
of the room.  Now, this really reminded me of the Principal's 
office and I felt absurdly as if my parents were behind the door 
discussing my future.

I sat down on the padded bench and stared straight ahead. Soon I 
brought my hands up to my face and pressed my fingers lightly 
against my eyelids, trying to regain control.

"Are you okay?" I heard a voice on my left ask.

I lowered my hands quickly. Of course she would be out here. "I'm 
fine." I always thought that if I said those two simple words 
enough I would eventually feel them and kept doing so, 
regardless of the fact that it never worked. I folded my hands in 
my lap and again stopped myself from saying exactly how I felt 
about Diana.

"If I may say so, you don't look fine."

I quickly summed up how much sleep I had gotten the night before 
and realized I must have looked like hell. But this was the 
absolute last person I wanted to talk to right now -- or ever. "I 
am fine," I said gritting out each word as its own sentence. My 
jaw clenched of its own accord, and I stifled a yawn.

She sat down next to me. "Is Fox coming down with something? He 
looked ill in there."

Our eyes met, and I found myself telling her a version of the 
truth. "He just hasn't been sleeping well lately."

She nodded and ran a hand through her hair. "I'm sorry..." she 
began but then stopped suddenly.

A crash from the other side of the door, which sounded 
suspiciously like a chair or a table being overturned, alerted us 
both. "You're all infected!" I heard, the voice slightly muffled.

I jumped up and ran to the door, flinging it wide open in my 
haste. In that moment I saw a sight which would haunt my dreams 
for months to come. Mulder had one of the Assistant Directors, I 
couldn't tell who, on the floor, and as I watched in shock, he 
dug his knee into their back and lay the butt of his gun against 
the base of their neck. "We will not succumb," he whispered.

The click of the safety release was like the sound of thunder in 
my mind.

* * *

Mulder:

I was not well.

I told myself to still my fingers that beat an incessant drum 
against my leg, to act coolly. That day, of all days, I needed to 
appear the rational man, something I'd never been under the best 
of circumstances. I needed to make sure that we got back the 
X-Files, that the journey we began years ago could continue. I 
would not let my partner down.

I could not concentrate. My head was burning from within, and 
each heartbeat sent fiery pain through my cells. I was so very, 
very tired. I wished that I could sleep. My eyes closed as if of 
their own accord, and I drew in a quick startled breath. I needed 
to stay awake long enough to endure this trial... and then I needed 
to stay awake for the rest of my life. Because I couldn't bear to 
see the images that haunted me.

"Why did Ms. Sanchez commit suicide?"

Because she served her purpose. Because one human life was 
inconsequential. Because she was too weak to resist the visions... 
or maybe because she was strong enough to defy them. 

I didn't know. I didn't know... I only knew that I could not bear 
to think of Melora's death without a deep ache searing my every 
nerve. We were bound together somehow - I understood that now, 
when it was too late. Perhaps I should have gone with her... she 
would have still been alive today.

No. 

A different kind of pain stabbed me. Scully, my partner, my 
friend. I could not leave her. 

"You must," a somber voice whispered in my mind, almost 
regretfully, and I tried to resist... I tried so hard but it pulled 
on me, tugging the strings of my very being, changing me from 
within.

It was so hot in this room. Perhaps I had a fever. I was certain 
that I shouldn't have been there at that moment.

I sensed a shift in the room and I realized that Diana had 
finished speaking. I hadn't heard a word she had said. Then 
Scully stood up to leave, and I was suddenly afraid that I was 
losing every source of support. Don't leave, I begged her 
silently. Something... something terrible was about to happen, and 
I couldn't stop it. I was too weak. I spoke to her with my eyes. 
Scully, you understand me better than I do. Scully, you have 
helped me live. You've given meaning to my hollow personal quest.

Why didn't you hear my silent plea then?

Scully opened the door and stepped outside. I reminded myself 
that I needed to stay focused, but the ground seemed to tilt 
underneath my feet. I closed my eyes briefly, trying to regain my 
balance.

And when I opened them, I saw black water dangerously close to my 
feet, licking the floor of the room, lazily but unavoidably 
seeping in from the windows and cracks in the walls. 

I tried to scream, but only a hoarse moan came out. I must have 
been sleeping... no, it was reality, it was happening, soon the 
water would reach me and I would drown in its dark depths.

I had to run, but the blackness streamed in from underneath the 
doorway.

I had to survive.

I was not well.

* * *

"Agent Mulder," Kersh's voice called out to me, a warning, a 
threat, a dark omen. 

I stood up, and a chair overturned, lost to the sea. I was still 
searching for the one dry place that would save me. 

A whisper of voices in the room swelled, and I tried not to look 
at the faces that spoke, inexplicably frightened of what might 
have happened if I chanced a glance.

"What are..." it was Kersh again. I wished he were silent. He was 
breaking my concentration.

I lifted my eyes and suddenly, I understood. The eyes that stared 
at me with such contempt were not Kersh's at all. They were so 
like the eyes that I'd seen in the dream, that beckoned me down 
in the whirlpool of blackness and death, the nauseating, 
repulsive eyes of a monster. 

I stepped back, but he came forward, oblivious of the ocean that 
was only gaining in strength. Of course, I almost laughed 
hysterically. Of course, he wouldn't be afraid of it. They all 
came from the same place.

He smiled. His lips opened and closed, and I suddenly saw blood 
seeping from his mouth, from the tips of his fingers. 

The blood of those whose lives were lost in the wake of that 
madness.

The life of Melora. Of her parents.

My own if I couldn't escape that fate.

A new fear almost suffocated me: what if Scully chanced coming 
back inside? She would have been lost as well. 

It dawned on me suddenly that I was not powerless. This was not a 
dream over which I had no control. I was still an armed federal 
agent, and I could protect myself. 

I drew my gun and charged the offender. He was not invincible for 
he fell to the floor, and his eyes darted back and forth.

I was gratified. He was afraid. 

I looked up and around, seeing the same terrifying visages all 
around me. Maybe I could defeat one monster, but I would never be 
able to kill them all. I was so scared. The door opened and I saw 
Scully standing there, her face creased in terror. She saw the 
monsters too. I tried to motion to her to leave while it was not 
too late... but she stepped inside, Diana following closely.

Maybe Scully could help me fight this. She understood the danger 
at that moment. I almost smiled at her, when I realized that my 
precious advantage was already lost: while my attention was 
focused elsewhere, my hands were suddenly cuffed behind my back, 
strong hands forced me down. 

And the water was coming closer and closer, and I gasped as it 
touched my face. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Scully drop on her knees, 
her hands stretched out to me beseechingly for a moment. She was 
crying. I wanted to speak but I was choking on the black water. 
Help me Scully.

Please.

She screamed at someone desperately to dial 911. Her fingers 
touched my torso, and she drew back with a gasp, white and 
shaking. Diana's hands were on her shoulders, and she helped 
Scully to stand up, simultaneously pulling her away. 

My partner was limp in her hands. Maybe Diana was one of them 
too... one of the monsters that would devour her. 

Oh God, I couldn't breathe. I needed to stand up, but one of 
those monsters forced me down. I was drowning. 

Something penetrated my skin, a sensation akin to a needle, but I 
knew that it was a claw, a first stab in the upcoming carnage. 

I was still so tired. I couldn't breathe... I couldn't live.

Before my eyes closed for what I feared might have been the last 
time, I threw the parting glance to my partner. Forgive me, I 
spoke wordlessly. I couldn't save you or myself.

I was too weak.

And yet, her eyes didn't speak to mine. I saw suddenly the traces 
of black in their blue clarity. 

Oh God, Scully.

I had lost you too.

End 6/6

End of Part I

Author Notes: 

Huge thanks to Sue, Danielle, Ashlea, and LionMother for editing
and beta-reading. This monster would never be posted had it not
been for your help.

We are currently finishing up Part II, and then we will start on 
Part III. There is some question if it will be the last, but - we 
know where we are going, we know how to get there, and we are 
working on it. Your opinion on what you've read so far would be 
greatly appreciated.
 
If you are interested, several chapters of Part II: Crumbling 
Foundation have been posted as a WIP at the following address:

http://www.geocities.com/~annaotto/second.html