The Second Ones II: Crumbling Foundation

By Anna Otto and Rachel Ehrentreu
annaotto1@aol.com & firephile@aol.com

Rating: R
Classification: XA
Spoilers: The Beginning
Archive: Not yet
Feedback: sure thing!
Summary: As Mulder and Scully grow further apart, changes cause their 
lives to go in different directions.  Scully gets a new partner and 
Mulder finds two unexpected allies.
Disclaimer: Everyone you recognize belongs to CC, 1013 Productions,
and FOX. We use them for fun not profit. Everyone else belongs to us.

You may find The Second Ones I: Conduit at

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

New chapters of The Second Ones III: Masters of War will also be 
posted there.


"The me that you know doesn't come around much
That part of me isn't here anymore
All pain disappears it's the nature of my circuitry
Drowns out all I hear there's no escape from this 
my new consciousness..."

Nine Inch Nails, "The Becoming"

Chapter 1/6 

Scully:
 
I felt hands pulling me onto my feet. Leave me alone, I wanted to say, 
get away from me, let me try to get through to him. Then it became: oh 
God, he can't breathe! You're killing him! And I wanted to perform the 
procedures on him, clear his airway, but I couldn't bear to touch him. 
I wept with the frustration, feeling so awfully weak from the bizarre 
pain and the fact that I hadn't slept more than three hours in almost 
two days. 

His eyes closed and the world narrowed around me. I no longer heard 
the commotion, the ADs crowding around, or realized that I was still 
being held back and moved towards a chair. All I saw was Mulder and 
the sudden thought that I could lose him this way. The sharp pain in 
my chest gave me new strength. 

"Get those cuffs off of him," I practically growled to the security 
guard. Everyone looked my way and I ignored them.

"Now, turn him onto his back," I commanded. I mentally geared myself 
up for what I had to do. No matter how much it hurt, I had to save 
him, I would have never been able to live with myself if I had sat 
back and done nothing.

"Agent Scully, we only gave him a mild sedative. To calm him down."

I glared at the security guard. A litany of thoughts ran through my 
mind. Oh God, he gave Mulder a sedative while he couldn't breathe... 
what was he thinking?

I shrugged off Diana and knelt down next to him. I was about to check 
his pulse when I saw two Emergency Medical Technicians running towards 
me, one carrying a medical kit and the other wheeling in a stretcher. 
The FBI had an emergency medical unit on call during business hours, 
the rationale being that if something happened they wanted a team on 
site moments later.

I moved out of the way, grateful for the reprieve and let them do 
their job. 

"What happened?" the male EMT asked no one in particular.

"He pulled a gun on me and started raving about infections. He had to 
be sedated," Kersh explained.

"He needs oxygen...now!" I interrupted. "And get him off the floor, I 
think he believes he's drowning."

I'd never received so many skeptical glares at the same time. Now I 
knew how Mulder felt while delivering his theories. "Listen, if you 
don't do as I say, you're going to kill him." I glared at the EMTs 
and they finally started working. Either I was forceful, or they 
noticed that Mulder's skin was turning an unnatural shade.

They lowered the stretcher and gently placed him on it. Then, the 
female dug into the kit and set up a nasal cannula to give Mulder 
oxygen.

I breathed a sigh of relief when his face lost its blue tinge.

"I'm going with you," I told them, grabbing my purse from the floor 
and turning so that my back was to the panel.

"Agent Scully, we have some questions to ask you," AD Kersh spoke, 
the anger creeping into his voice.

I reluctantly turned around. "With all due respect, sir, I need to be 
with my partner now...I will answer any questions later." I glanced 
at their faces one last time and noticed something odd. Diana was 
watching me almost as if she...understood.

"Let her go, sir," she told Kersh for me, and I was barely able to stop 
myself from gasping in surprise.

I walked out of the room before anyone could stop me.

Inside the elevator the other agents gave us the strangest looks and 
I stared straight ahead, ignoring them. Every cell in my body wanted 
me to reach out and hold Mulder's hand. Only my brain and the painful 
memories stopped me from doing so.

* * *

We were inundated with a team once we reached the ambulance.  It was 
crowded in the small back area and the team went to work on Mulder 
immediately, making sure he was getting enough oxygen and starting 
an IV needle.  They also checked that the seatbelt-like straps on the 
stretcher were secure.  

"Hey, Sue!" the driver called back to a female EMT.

"Yes, Brian?" she answered while checking the oxygen tubes once again.

"How are his vitals?"

"Steady."

"Is he going to the ER or the psych ward?" Brian asked before calling 
in. I don't think I realized what had happened until that moment. Oh 
God, he'd not only lost the ability to breathe...he had also slipped 
off the edge of sanity and almost killed Kersh. I felt a lump 
in my throat. A few errant tears slipped out before I could regain 
control. 

Sue glanced over at me before answering loudly: "The ER."

"You know, it's okay to show emotion," she told me a moment later. 
God, I must have looked worse than I thought.

"Maybe for you. Not for me." I answered and once again dug my nails 
into my palm. I needed a physical pain to take my mind off the 
emotional ramifications of what had happened.

"If you clench your fist any tighter I'm going to have to bandage it." 

I opened my fingers and noticed that I had four half-moon red marks on 
my palm.

* * *

I hated waiting rooms. Every memory I had associated with those 
godforsaken places were bad. Once again, I was waiting to hear of news 
and going through every emotion humanly possible while the clock kept 
up its incessant ticking. I sat on the hard plastic chair, 
half-watching "Jeopardy" and half-trying to get up the strength to 
throw out the Styrofoam cup of coffee I had been holding for at least 
thirty minutes. Yet another part of me was just clutching for 
control... everything was so easy earlier. We were going to get back 
the files, Mulder was going to get back his lifeblood, and nothing in 
the world could separate us. How wrong I was... it was all I could do 
to stop myself from running into the nearest ladies room and letting 
out the emotions I had been bottling up since I heard the chair crash.

I didn't want to believe it was happening...that Mulder had snapped. 
But the evidence all weighed in favor of it. They were waiting for the 
CAT scan results. Part of me almost wished that they would find a 
tumor. At least that would be something to treat...to explain.

How could I have been so blind? I should have recognized...what was 
about to happen, what was happening, the irritability, and the sleepless 
nights, the bizarre behavior. But what could I have done if I found 
this out earlier...I could have strapped him into bed and forbidden 
him from attending the meeting. No, that wouldn't have worked...but 
was there nothing I could have done? When will I learn to trust some 
of my instincts? Even worse, was it somehow my fault? Did I contribute 
to it by going home last night? 

All I had were questions and all of the answers were unsettling. I 
recognized the pattern of recrimination and blame, but was unable to 
stop my thoughts from going down the path.

"Agent Scully?"

Suddenly, I noticed that my view of "Jeopardy" was blocked by a large 
figure. My eyes were at its waist level, and I raised my head to see 
who it was.

"Sir," I was unable to hide my shock. "What are you doing here?" I was 
secretly glad that he had arrived to check up on Mulder or me, but I 
didn't want him to get fired or censured for it.

"I heard what happened at the OPR. How is Mulder?" Skinner sat down 
next to me.

I moved over to give him more room. "They had to put him in five point 
restraints, it took four doctors to get a CAT scan done. When he 
recovered from the sedative, he started screaming and they had to 
sedate him again, heavier this time," I spoke softly, keeping my voice 
even and calm.

"What brought it on?"

I looked up at him. "Stress? Insomnia? I've been asking myself that 
question for the past three hours, and I haven't come up with an 
answer." 

"I don't need to tell you that Kersh is pushing for prosecution, 
do I?" he asked regretfully.

I shook my head slightly and felt the tears well in my eyes. "I 
figured he would...but doesn't he understand that Mulder's not...
well?"

"Honestly, Scully, I don't think he cares what Mulder's mental state 
is right now. He's calling for his resignation and prosecution and 
the Attorney General is behind him on this one hundred percent."

It took a moment for his words to seep into my tired mind. "Did you 
come here just to give me this news, *sir*?"

"No, I'm here as a friend, Scully. You know as well as I do that if 
they caught me here, I'd be in trouble." His voice had a new kind of 
intensity to it.

I nodded and tried to take in a deep breath without collapsing into 
sobs. "I never thought it would end this way," I admitted and felt my 
walls start to crumble.

"No one could have predicted this would happen..." he tried to comfort 
me, and I suddenly longed to be held and be able to sob into someone's 
shoulder. 

I wanted it to all be a dream. I wanted to wake up and find myself in 
my bed and realize that the past few days had all been just one 
horrific night, that I would go into the office and Mulder would be 
there eating sunflower seeds and we would go off on another case.

I covered my face with my hands and whispered: "I want to wake up now."

"When was the last time you slept?" He asked me with concern.

"A day...two days...why?"

"I think you need to go lie down. Come on, I'll drive you home."

"But sir...Mulder will wake up and I need to be there for him."

"Agent Scully, you will be no good to him or anyone else if you don't 
get at least a few hours rest. I'll come right back here and wait for 
the news." He stared me down and I had to give in. I reluctantly stood 
up and put my coat back on.

"You'll call me the minute he becomes lucid," I told Skinner sleepily, 
the exhaustion hitting me like a freight train.

He nodded. "My car's this way Scully."

I barely made it into the passenger's seat before collapsing.

* * *

Mulder:

I was swimming as fast as I could, trying to reach the shore, 
recognizing belatedly that my life depended on the speed of my arms 
and legs, on the regularity of my breathing. The distance was not that 
great, the waves were gentle - but I knew that unseen dangers waited 
for me here. Already the sky was turning faintly red, and the rays of 
sun were dying one by one like street lamps in the morning. 

And the water I was immersed in was darkening, the splotches of black 
rapidly spreading over the ocean. The waves that rolled towards the 
white shore suddenly stilled, and I had to double my efforts, my body 
working overtime to advance in the thickening liquid around me. If I 
could still my movements, I would hear its soft inhalations and 
exhalations - the rhythmic breath of the beast that was stealing my 
very life force. 

I tried to lift my arms, bracing myself for a desperate plunge, for my 
last chance at safety. But they were bound, just as my legs. 
Helplessly, I thrashed around, while the red rain fell on the black 
water in which I was drowning. As I screamed, I saw the faces of 
monsters around me - their eyes hollow pools of nothingness, their 
teeth bloody from the feast on their previous victims, their claws 
poised to strike me when I was helpless.

"Help me!" I cried, desperately. "Help me, please." Why was I 
screaming? I knew that no one would hear. There was no one else in 
this hell. No one who could hear me weep as my body was being torn 
apart. 

"It's all right..." I heard a human voice trying to console me. "It's 
all right. Just a dream."

I gasped in relief, silently thanking whoever it was for this respite, 
however brief it may have been. I kept my eyes closed. I never knew 
what horrors I would see should I open them. I could breathe and it 
was all that mattered then. The taste of air was so sweet I couldn't 
seem to get enough of it. A few deep breaths and I felt the burning in 
my lungs subside.

Moving my arms was considerably more arduous, and I was suddenly 
terrified that this was a mere illusion of safety - that I was still 
trying to swim, only to find my extremities bound. I had to check and 
make sure that I was all right... that it really was only a dream. 
Opening my eyes, I discovered myself in a hospital bed, covered by a 
thin blanket of a nauseating bluish color. 

My arms were caught in standard-issue restraints.

"What happened?" I started, only to feel the choking pain from my 
throat, my normal speech rapidly changing into a pathetic whisper. 
"It hurts."

"Here is some water," the same voice that woke me up offered 
helpfully.

I took a few sips from a glass that someone held gingerly to my lips. 
Chancing a glance to the side, I was greeted by the familiar face of 
Walter Skinner. "Wait," I was starting to feel panic, as the fragments 
of the past events started to form in my mind - as I began to recall 
the terrifying visages facing me in the OPR room, my helplessness, 
and the tears on the tired face of my partner. "Where is Scully?"

He looked acutely uncomfortable, probably already considering the 
avenues for flight - or maybe just unwilling to tell me the truth. 
"She had to get some rest. She will be here as soon as she wakes up."

Was he honest? As much as I wanted to trust him, how did I know that 
he wasn't one of them - one of these beasts that faced me with such 
contempt and hunger? What if these restraints were put on me by his 
very orders? 

Why were these restraints put on me?

I told myself to be patient. I had to make sure... "Is she all right?" 
Speaking was becoming a torturous task. A sip of water wasn't going to 
undo the damage. "They didn't... they didn't take her?"

"Who is they, Agent Mulder?" 

Such an easy confusion and innocence in his eyes. Perhaps... perhaps 
he really was the man I knew. "There were monsters..." I explained. 
"And the ocean was seeping in through the walls... I couldn't 
breathe... I was so afraid for Scully, but," I stopped, recalling a 
vision of the familiar blue eyes gradually marred by ugly black traces. 

OhGodohGodohGodohGodohGod, I chanted inside. Not Scully. This must 
have been an illusion, a trick of lighting. I couldn't have seen 
this... my partner was still my partner, and nothing could come 
between us. 

"She will be here soon," Skinner's reassuring voice as he repeated the 
words was tinged in sadness, and I wondered if perhaps he'd understood 
me. Maybe he could help me. "Just try to rest. I will call Scully, 
and find your doctor."

I decided to believe him and closed my eyes - lest I saw something I 
would bemoan. I heard his regretful sigh - felt him hesitate before 
walking out of the room.

A tear slid down my cheek just as I heard the click of a door lock. 
Something gnawed at me, something important that I was forgetting. 
Skinner's words...

The realization was shattering.

I was in restraints, my throat was raw from screaming, and my mind was 
sluggish, undoubtedly from the drugs I was given. I was in a hospital.

But was I just a regular patient?

* * *

I braced myself when the door opened, feeling restraints bite into my 
skin from the force I was exerting against them, relaxing only when I 
recognized my partner's petite figure. Before I had a chance to speak, 
she frowned and exited again - only to return with a harried-looking 
nurse who unsnapped the restraints from my arms and legs without much 
emotion and disappeared. 

I studied Scully, her face haggard, her eyes bloodshot. She appeared 
tired and barely able to stand on her feet. Perhaps Skinner shouldn't 
have woken her up.

"Hey, partner," she averted her face as she dragged the chair slightly 
away from my bed. "How are you feeling?"

"I..." feeling the burn in my throat again, I propped myself up and 
reached for water. The glass shook in my hands, and Scully made a 
move as if to help me - but restrained herself quickly. "Scully, what 
happened?"

She was silent for a long second. "What do you remember?"

"We were answering questions to the almighty powers that be," I 
grinned faintly. "I can't recall much of what was said... Diana was 
there, and you stepped out with her. And then, my God, Scully, it was 
the most bloodcurdling sight of my life..." Before the vision could 
spill out yet again, dragging me back under its nightmarish black 
wings, I suddenly felt as if fog that followed me around for days was 
dissipating. 

I couldn't have seen what I'd seen. 

There was no ocean anywhere near J. Edgar Hoover building, and Kersh, 
for all his faults, was not a bloodthirsty monster. I pointed a gun at 
my boss. I nearly took his life. I could hardly remember what happened 
after that, but I certainly recognized the reason for my restraints - 
or why Scully appeared so frail and distant.

"Scully, what hospital am I in?"

"Sibley Memorial," she answered quietly.

"What department?"

Scully glanced at me sharply. "Psychiatric Unit."

Well, at least she was honest with me. 

"A psychiatrist is scheduled to see you tomorrow morning," she 
explained, her eyes trained on the point somewhere behind my head. 
"He will determine the appropriate course of treatment."

I didn't want to believe it. But in this rare moment of lucidity, even 
I was able to recognize the simple truth: I had fucked up. Badly. My 
actions of the past few days spoke louder than any words I might speak 
in my defense. 

I had lost my job. Perhaps, I had lost my life as I'd known it. And 
in the process, I screwed up Scully's life just as badly. 

We'd lost the X-Files. How was it possible to lose something we held 
so dearly so many times and survive?

"Were you crying?" I asked her softly. "Scully?"

She shook her head mutely, stubborn as always.

"Scully, I am so sorry," I reached out for her hand, begging 
forgiveness where none could be. "If I could go back in time..."

She gasped as my fingers closed over hers, and I fought the sudden 
nausea. Why hadn't I noticed it before? 

My touching Scully brought on this sickening feeling?

I closed my eyes, fighting the images that I knew were just waiting to 
crawl from under the floorboards of my conscience. "You feel pain when 
you're around me, don't you?" I whispered to her. When silence 
followed, I spoke louder, more insistent. "Answer me. Scully, please!"

"No," her voice was strained. "Mulder, it was my fault. I should have 
never let you go to this OPR hearing if..."

"You're lying," I hissed, swinging my legs over a bed. Two steps, and 
I was towering over her, perversely enjoying my superior height. "How 
does that feel, Scully? You don't feel faint, do you? No migraines?"

"Mulder," she was backing away from me, her voice pained, pleading, 
and I was suddenly ashamed of my actions. My God, how could I ever 
want to hurt her? What was happening to me? I stepped away, but 
before I could return to my bed, a shadow crossed my vision, and in 
the uneven light of the small room, I fought hard to distinguish its 
features that seemed to blend in with the walls, with the uneven 
silhouettes of the tree branches, with the flecks of dust in gray 
air. 

"Melora?" I heard Scully's anguished moan, and I shushed her 
impatiently. Was I seeing ghosts - or was I truly going mad? The face 
that materialized in the rippling background was nearly that of the 
woman I'd remembered, the woman I didn't have a chance to save. "Is 
that you?"

The light was seeping away, replaced by the growing black stain. It 
spread in an ever-widening circle, reaching its arms for Melora. How 
many times would I have to see her die?

"We will not succumb," I whispered, the words suddenly giving me the 
much-needed strength. "We will not succumb!" I yelled louder, knowing 
only that I had to make her listen, that she had to run away from this 
room. 

Her dark eyes focused on me, but she made no movement, waiting 
calmly - as if accepting her fate. The black stain seemed to consume 
her, and I could hardly see her anymore. I stretched my hands to her, 
beseeching her to use me as an anchor and pull herself back from the 
darkness. But it was all in vain.

"The time of unrest is now," she whispered before disappearing 
completely. 

"Oh God," I cried, wishing her back to the land of living, back to 
this reality which resembled my nightmares so much. Too late, too 
late, I was always too late.

And all around me, the stain was still growing, the dark streaming in 
from the cracks in the walls. Melora was gone, and I was the next 
victim. Others would follow, feeding the beast. Just as... just as... 

I screamed. My throat constricted as I tore each tormented cry from it, 
but I couldn't help it. This vision was too real to be an illusion, 
the slimy touch of black water too substantial to be a dream. 

"Mulder!" Scully was standing next to me - why didn't I notice her 
before? Her hands were fluttering nervously around me, not quite 
touching me. "Mulder, please, don't do this!"

What was I doing, I wanted to ask. I was only trying to save myself 
from the mouth of this madness. I was too busy screaming to talk back 
to my partner. 

The doors opened, letting in a fresh flood of black water, and the 
people clad in white robes surrounded me. People? Were they people? I 
stared from one face to the next, searching for comprehension. Quicker 
than a flash of lightning, one of them produced a syringe, stabbing me 
in the shoulder. Several others held me down, pushing me into the 
water, securing my thrashing limbs.

"Scully..." I whispered, fighting the heavy slumber induced by the 
drug. "Don't make me... don't make me dream."

End of Chapter 1/6

The Second Ones II: Crumbling Foundation

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

Chapter 2a/6

Scully:

After Skinner drove me home I collapsed into bed. It was a quick and
dreamless sleep. I felt like I had only closed my eyes for a few 
seconds when the phone rang. It was Skinner, telling me that Mulder was
awake, and he was coming to pick me up. I felt bad about using him as
a chauffeur, but my car was still at the Hoover building. I wanted to
stay away from there as long as humanly possible.  

I pulled myself out of bed and realized suddenly that my face was wet.
Had I been crying in my sleep? Not surprising, sometimes when I was
emotionally stressed I would wake up to a damp pillow and the salty
taste of tears on my tongue.  

Once I was at the hospital, I ran into Mulder's room. Seeing him in
restraints reminded me of the "Bug incident". At least that's what we 
had taken to calling it. But, there were no easy jokes this time, and he
wasn't begging for me to understand. But he had seemed better...oh
God he had only seemed better. I was afraid for him, but when he was
standing over me, God help me, I was afraid of him. When he started
screaming, I didn't know what to do, and it scared me on a very deep
level. After he was sedated again and he looked at me with
terror-stricken eyes, I felt something inside me crack. Suddenly, all I
wanted to do was run from the room and never look back. I didn't, of
course. It was only a fleeting thought, but I wanted to so badly for a
second or two.

I stepped out of the room to talk to Dr. Carr, a heavyset, bearded man
in his thirties, who reminded me more of a mountaineer than a
psychiatrist.

"Do you have any idea what caused this?" Dr. Carr asked me.

"None, he started having nightmares, insomnia, and then it seems to
have culminated in hallucinations."

Carr sighed and checked the chart. "I have a feeling that we're going
to see this pattern for a while, periods of lucidity, then delusional
behavior, perhaps even dementia."

"What does it mean?"

"It means...we're not sure how to treat him. We ran the CAT scan and
it came back clear. I've put him on strong anti-psychotics and
hopefully that will help. He's in no shape to start therapy, but
eventually that will be necessary."

I nodded slowly. "What is your prognosis for recovery time?"

He shrugged and flipped through the chart again. "At this point I'd say
weeks, but it could easily be months, even years before he's cured."

"What about his breathing problem?"

"Delusional behavior can be a powerful thing. It can trick the body
into believing things. Hypochondria is connected with depression.
This could be the same kind of relationship." He glanced at his watch
hurriedly. "Excuse me, I have other patients to attend to."

"Of course," I said, as Carr ran off to another room.

I walked back into the waiting room, and Skinner stood up to meet me.

Hopefully, I looked better than I felt. A few hours sleep was not 
nearly enough to deal with that kind of emotional pressure.

"What happened in there?" he asked concerned.

I couldn't answer, my voice wouldn't work. Finally, I was able to get
past the silence. "He's umm...he needs help sir," I admitted softly. 
But I looked down at my fingers, unable to meet his eyes.

"Scully, what happened?" More insistent this time.

"He seemed fine, and then he...wasn't." I didn't add that I was 
feeling strangely responsible for this latest outburst and had no 
idea how.

"It's not your fault."

Had I spoken out loud? "I know," I said after a few moments, barely
even convincing myself. "I blame *them*," I spit out, surprised at my
revelation. Of course, how could I have been so stupid?

"Scully, I don't think *they* are behind this..."

"I have to make sure...if I subjected him to this and...I have to make
sure." This glimmer of hope was like a security blanket.

I walked back to Carr and caught him outside a room.

"Yes, Agent Scully?"

"Is it possible that Agent Mulder's condition could have been caused
by some sort of a hallucinogenic?"

"I suppose so, why?"

"I'd like to have a battery of tests run on his blood. " I stared Carr
down, even though he was about seven inches taller than me, and
dared him to refuse me.

"Okay, okay...Jenny, would you please draw a sample of Mr. Mulder's
blood and send it down to the lab for a full work-up?" He asked a
passing nurse.  She nodded and walked off.

I checked my watch. It was only 1:00 am. This had to be one of the
slowest days of my life.

"We should have the results shortly," Carr told me before running to
see his next patient.

In the waiting area I sat down next to Skinner.  He turned to look at
me, and it seemed as if he had something he wanted to say.

"Something wrong, sir?"

He hesitated a moment, sighed, and said, "I'm surprised you're out
here."

"Sir?" I didn't understand what he meant.

"Usually, you'd have to be almost dragged out of Mulder's hospital
room.  Wild horses couldn't pull you away from his bedside."

"It's way past visiting..."

"That never stopped you before," he reminded me.

I rubbed my eyes, usually I had a need to be by Mulder's side. I'd wait
for him to regain consciousness while holding his IV hand, sometimes
stroking it lightly with my thumb. Then, his eyes would open, I'd
smile, he'd make some terrible wisecrack, and I'd just be happy to have
him back. Consciousness wasn't the problem this time -- it was sanity.

I couldn't stand to see him this way, in restraints, my worst fears
coming true. Even worse, being that close to him brought me physical
pain. It suddenly struck me: Mulder knew that touching him caused
me pain. Was it possible that these headaches weren't psychological at
all? No, I couldn't think that way. The implications were too
horrifying.

"This time is different," I finally answered. 

Skinner looked like he was starting to worry about how long it took 
me to respond. "Are you okay, Scully?"  

"I'm fine. Excuse me," I stood up and walked until I found myself in
the chapel. A non-denominational God and cheap stained glass
greeted me as I sat down in one of the pews.  

Almost as if I weren't in control of my actions, I put down the 
kneeling pad and knelt down. My hands went to the pew in front of me, 
and I bowed my head, a reflex. It had been longer than I wanted to 
admit since I last prayed. It felt awkward, but I started to whisper 
quickly.

"God, please let Mulder's condition be explained...let him get better.
Please make him better and allow him to get over this...through this
and come out stronger. Grant me the strength to deal with that
asshole, sorry, I mean Kersh, tomorrow. Also, give me the ability to
handle Diana. But...more than anything...make Mulder himself again.
I already miss him." I stood up, crossed myself and walked over to
light a candle.  

Please give me strength because I've never felt this weak.

* * *

After a nap on the chairs, I woke up and Skinner brought me to my
meeting with Kersh. I didn't care if Kersh noticed that I was wearing
the same outfit two days in a row. I didn't even want to think about
what I looked like, but out of habit ducked into the ladies room.

I was a mess, no make-up, and dark circles under my eyes. I even had
chapped lips. I dug into my handbag and tried to perform a little
damage control. I applied make-up and tried to smooth down my hair,
which was not cooperating. Why should it be any different from the
rest of my day? After about five minutes, I figured there was nothing
else I could do and mentally prepared for the meeting. "You can do
this. It will be over soon," I whispered to myself.

I walked by Kersh's secretary and knocked on the office door. My
mouth felt dry, and my heart was practically leaping out of my
chest. I commanded myself to calm down.

"Come in," I heard from inside.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" I walked into the room and stood in front
of his desk. Surprisingly, he was the only one in the room.

Kersh glanced up from the file he was reading. He noticed me and
looked at me strangely for a moment before recovering his composure.
Oh God, I must have been quite a sight. "Yes, Agent Scully, thank you
for coming. We need a full account from you of yesterday's events
and...your ex-partner's actions and mental state."

I blinked and tried to appear calm. "Ex-partner?" It was already
decided then, and even though I expected it...I still felt pain in my
heart.  

"Yes, Agent Fox Mulder has been relieved of his duties, and I expect
his gun and badge to be on my desk by 9 am tomorrow morning."

I had to try and defend him. "Sir, Mulder's had a breakdown but he
will recover...."

"Agent Scully," he interrupted me. "I was almost killed yesterday.
Your former boss, Assistant Director Skinner, gave you both many
second chances. Your ex-partner has put people's lives in danger
numerous times - including your own. He has defied authority and
acted in ways that do not reflect well on the bureau. I am putting a
stop to it right now."

"Mulder saved my life and many others. This is a mistake, sir. He will
be well again, and the Bureau will have lost one of its best agents." I
realized that my argument was thin, but I felt at a loss for words and
knew that nothing I said would make any difference. 

"Then perhaps he will find a job in the public sphere -- unless he's
serving time for attempted murder."

"Attempted murder? Sir, he...." 

Kersh interrupted me again. "I am quite aware of his mental state
Agent Scully. I know he won't be convicted, but it is my life. I want 
to prosecute anyway."

"Sir, please reconsider."

"As of this moment Fox Mulder's career as an FBI agent is
terminated."

The words resonated in my heart. "Will that be all, sir?" I asked
through the clenched teeth, fighting the urge to tender my own
resignation. But I knew it might not be the most logical choice, and
there wasn't anything I wanted more than to bring them to justice. If I
walked away, they would win without a fight. I took a deep breath and
felt my eyes start to sting.

"No. You are also being reassigned."

"Where?" What assignment could possibly be worse than the one I had 
then...perhaps background checks on interns or maybe mail fraud?

"You will replace Agent Spender on the X-Files. Agent Fowley is
expecting you shortly. You are dismissed."

Talk about a bittersweet victory.

I felt like I had survived a war. When I walked out of the office, 
there was a hollow space in my chest. This was it. It was over. I'd 
never work with Mulder again...I was no longer his partner. What were 
we now? I swallowed painfully and walked non-stop to my car. 

We'd never sit on a stakeout together again. He wouldn't call me about
a case. I'd never call him on the cell phone again. For some reason 
that last one broke me.  

I would face Fowley later... for now I had to be alone. I drove off to
my apartment. I wouldn't cry in a car in the parking lot. I wouldn't - I
barely made it to the couch in my apartment before collapsing, my
body no longer able to support me. "Goodbye, Agent Mulder," I
whispered and then wailed into a throw pillow and dug my nails into
its softness. I wanted to scream, wanted to hurt someone...wanted to
rage against something, anything. This was so unlike me, I rarely ever
sobbed. And yet I couldn't stop, not until I had drifted into a deep
sleep.  

My last thought was that I had lost him.

End of Chapter 2a/6

The Second Ones II: Crumbling Foundation

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

Chapter 2b/6

Mulder:

Slow.

Wouldn't want to rush and veer off course. Wouldn't do to run away.
How could I run away? Restraints wouldn't let me. Good.

I had to go over the facts and make sure I had them straight. My name
was still Fox Mulder... and my feelings about the first name didn't
change. I was doing pretty well so far. My family... didn't want to
open this can of worms even now. My job... gone. The X-Files... what
did happen to the X-Files? Mental note to ask my partner.

My partner. Maybe tomorrow I could deal with... with my guilt. With
my concern. With my terror.

I wanted Scully. I wanted her here, by my side, at all times of day and
night, to hear her voice, to see her face, to touch her fingers. And
therein lay my insanity. Her mere presence incapacitated me, her
touch could send me back to the middle of the bloody ocean, in one
unconscious, cruel twist. 

And my touch could send her reeling from the pain.

Were these the thoughts of a normal man? Were these the facts of my
life or delusions of a lunatic? 

Maybe I should see a doctor. There was laughter bubbling somewhere
deep in my mind, and I wondered why I was trying to suppress it. Hey,
I was already insane, if I started talking and laughing to myself no 
one would think it strange, least of all my doctor. A psychiatrist.

Right, wouldn't want to delude myself as to where and why I was
being held.

I hated restraints and barred windows, the forced immobility and
closed doors. And yet, a part of my mind accepted and understood
these barriers. I welcomed them in the face of my increasingly
unstable state of mind.

I wanted to seize the reason why - to understand why this happened
to me. But my mind was clouded from drugs - the sedatives still
pushing their way through the bloodstream. I vaguely recalled
listening to Dr. Carr recite all the medications I was currently on... I
considered telling him that I needed to have some clarity of thought if
I was ever to get out of here - then decided against it. 

Clarity of thought would only let me view my reality in its stark,
grotesque colors.

Instead, I requested that he add Diazepam to the array of all expensive
anti-psychotic medications I was already on. He glanced at me with a
trace of surprise, but agreed that it might suppress the dreams, might
even obliterate their memory.

Anything to stop the dreams - anything. X-Files, my bank account,
and the world for one dreamless night.

What time was it now?

Why wasn't Scully here?

I hoped she would come.

I hoped she would not.

The door opened with a slight screech, letting in a ray of light from
the hallway. "Scully?" I whispered, eagerness finally overpowering the
doubts in my mind.

"Shhhhh..." she put a finger to her lips and smiled. "Don't talk."

Something was wrong... the height, the figure - this wasn't Scully. I
tensed, terrified of the approaching woman. She was tall and
unhealthily thin, the "inmate" uniform not even close to covering her
extensive legs. Her long raven hair hung limply around her face like a
dark cloud, obscuring her features and wild, unfocused eyes.

She crept towards my bed, glancing nervously behind her at the door. 

I licked my lips. "Who are you?" I asked softly. "Why are you here?"

"Shhhhh..." the finger went to her full lips again. "Too many
questions - don't - they will hear."

Now I was really nervous. "Who is they?"

Silently, she started undoing my restraints. "We have to go," she
explained to me.

"Where? And would you please tell me your name?"

She sighed, as if talking to an annoying child. "I am Jody - Jody
Larson. And if you don't come with me now..." she stared off in the
distance. If I weren't mistaken, she was even loonier than I was - and 
I certainly had no desire to go with her anywhere.

I was uncomfortably positive that I heard her name before. 

Once I was free of the restraints, Jody stood up. I remained seated and
she stared at me expectantly. "Well, come on, I haven't got all night!
See, I even brought this, in case we need any doors open," her hand
snaked into her pocket, revealing a gleaming, small piece of metal.

A knife. 

My breath caught in my throat, terror leaking back at the alarming
rate. A homemade, sharp knife in the hands of a madwoman. Where
did she find it? Did this hospital know anything about the security
procedures?

"Hey," I smiled, trying to appear friendly, inching closer to the blade
in her hands. "What other ammunition do you keep in there?" I
nodded at her pockets.

Jody stopped, glancing at me in confusion. "Just... this," she pulled
out a little black cylinder.

A lipstick?

This time, I laughed out loud, feeling the tension drain away. Really,
how different could this woman be from those who lived outside of
these walls?

"How did you end up here?"

"Visions... delusions," she grinned in reply. "I thought I was crazy...
maybe I was crazy... but I am getting better... we will not... we will
not succumb."

"The time of unrest is now," I whispered in return, mechanically. 

Her lips trembled, her whisper bitter in the still air. "I knew... I 
knew you would understand... the dreams told me so. I don't want to
believe in them - but they never lie to me. I try to go against their
orders - but I only end up here. I resist - and I wake up drugged and 
in restraints."

My mind was working overtime, processing the disjointed pieces of
this bizarre information. We shared the same madness. Melora, I, now
this woman. "How long have you been here?" I continued probing.

"I don't remember. Who can remember?" Jody laughed, as if she
couldn't care less. "It stretches into days and weeks and months...I
learned to breathe underwater," she shared thoughtfully. "After several
dreams, I had to sink or swim."

"What do you dream of?"

"You know... you know," she sat on my bed, apparently forgetting the
idea of escape. The short robe exposed her long thin arms, and...

Oh my God. 

I inhaled sharply through the clenched teeth, contemplating the sight
of the pale, thick scars on her wrists and forearms. They traced a
grotesque map of veins and arteries, marring the smooth white skin -
crooked, ugly, taunting. "Jody?..."

She followed my gaze unwillingly, and tried to pull the sleeves of her
robe down in a quick, embarrassed movement. "Don't..." she
whispered shamefully. "Don't ask me."

I nodded, trying to convey understanding, even if there was none. Did
someone hurt her?

I crossed my legs under me and watched her in silence. She played
with the knife, turning it over this way and that, like a small girl
with a Barbie doll.

Then Scully came to visit, and all hell broke loose.

* * *

My partner's eyes focused immediately on the blade gleaming dully in
the dim overhead light. Without the slightest hesitation, she stepped
up to my guest and extended her hand.

"Give me the knife," she demanded.

"Scully, wait," I started to explain that she shouldn't worry, while
Jody scurried off the bed clumsily, her long limbs disobeying her 
drugged mind.

Scully paid me no attention. "Give me the knife," she repeated with a
military precision.

Jody shot me a wide-eyed look, begging me for help? understanding?
and continued crawling backward. In the small room, there was no
space to run away. Pinned against the wall, she offered the knife to
Scully in surrender. "Take it," she whispered. "Just don't - please
don't touch me."

And suddenly, I knew what was about to happen.

"Scully!" I cried before her hand had a chance to come in contact with
Jody's. "I will get it for you."

I hated her for not turning around - for being deaf to me in that
moment.

And when her fingers collided with the handle of the knife, brushing
past the madwoman's trembling wrist, I was almost gratified to hear
Scully's scream.

Didn't I tell you?

You should have trusted me.

"Scully, oh god..." I ran up to her, then stopped inches away, helpless.
She was clutching her head in her hands, her eyes screwed up
tightly shut. She was trying hard not to cry until her knees buckled 
and she sat on the floor, panting for breath. 

"Jody, you have to go get someone - " the retching sounds interrupted
me. 

The knife was lying on the floor, abandoned, and Jody was curled up
against the wall, still trying to crawl as far as possible from her
attacker, while her stomach threatened to expel everything she
consumed in the past several hours and more.

I didn't have to worry about help not arriving soon enough - the room
was flooded with orderlies and nurses in minutes. And this time, when
they secured my hands tightly and injected me with a sedative, I
screamed against the injustice of their actions - against the oblivion -
because now I worried about the fate of not one, but two women.

Scully, please be all right, I chanted inwardly.

Jody, I wish I had come with you.

* * *

Several hours later, I was seated in bed, my hands in restraints, a 
tray of food and an orderly's thick wrist with a spoon poised right 
above me.

I stared at the ceiling, trying to trace the cracks and put them into
funny shapes.

"Mr. Mulder, you were on the IV nutrition for the last few days," the
orderly, a burly black man, tried to coax me into eating with 
surprising gentleness. "Solid food will be good for you."

If he called the mush in the spoon solid food, I honestly pitied him.
Besides, I wasn't hungry.

"Tell me, what kind of food do you like?" the man asked me with
interest. "Maybe I can get it for you."

"Greasy fries and hamburgers," Scully, coming to the rescue. 

"Oh," the orderly liked my tastes. "So do I, so do I... tell you what, if
you have some of this Jell-O, I will smuggle some fries in for you."

"Enough of this," I spoke finally, indifferent. "Just take it away."

"Mulder, please, you have to eat something."

I couldn't take her pleading voice - and turned to look at her, my lips
opening to ask her a question, I forgot about what. Maybe inquire
about her health. Before the words formed, the spoon dumped its
contents into my mouth, and my fists clenched in helplessness.

I looked down onto the tray, trying to at least comprehend what it was
they were trying to force into me. Red Jell-O and some grayish
substance which qualified as an X-File in itself. 

"Mulder, don't fight it... don't fight it, come on, chew and swallow -
that's it," Scully's intonation was soothing as she inched closer to my
bed.

Blink - and it was no longer Jell-O on the tray but thick poisonous
blood, frozen solid and cut into a funny shape. I ate this? And the
grayish thing was breathing, darkening, spreading across the plate like
some octopus reaching for my lungs from inside of my own body. They
forced me to consume this?

Without warning, my stomach convulsed, and its vile contents were
splattered across the tray and the blanket, and orderly's black hands.

"Scully, stay... stay away," I begged in between the gulps of air. 

She obeyed. Blink - and the colors in the room returned to normal, and
the darkness no longer loomed over me. 

The man cleaned everything up with equanimity and efficiency. "I
guess it's back to IV for you, Mr. Mulder," he spoke regretfully before
departing.

"Mulder, I have to tell you something about the X-Files," Scully spoke
after a prolonged silence, pausing after each word. "Kersh had ordered
me to work on them with Diana."

"Scully, where is Jody?"

"Jody?"

Oh yes, I didn't properly introduce them. "Jody Larson - she was
visiting me when you came and..." Jody Larson. Once again, the
nagging familiarity of it haunted me.

"I don't know," her tone was abrupt. She sounded mad at me. "Mulder,
she had a knife - she could have hurt you!"

"She wanted to get me out of here, Scully," I couldn't keep the
resentful note out of my voice. My partner no longer trusted me, if the
restraints on my hands were any indication. "It was supposed to be a
key."

"Mulder, this is ridiculous!" Scully exploded suddenly. "The woman
was completely out of her mind, just as..."

"Just as I am?" I asked softly. 

Her silence served as a sufficient answer. 

"Thank you for clearing that up."

"Mulder, I thought you would have more reaction to what happened
with the..."

X-Files, oh yes, I remembered. At the moment though they seemed too
far away from me to really care. "I wish you success, Scully," I
murmured.

Suddenly, I sucked in a shocked breath. I knew - I knew where I heard
Jody's name before! "Scully, about Jody..." I began and stopped as she
sighed impatiently.

"Mulder - you need to worry about your own mental health."

"Scully, could you ask Skinner to visit me again, please?" 

Her fingers gripped the handles of the plastic chair tightly. "Why?"

"I need to speak with him."

"Anything you'd like to share with me?" she inquired caustically, but I
could hear the undertones of hurt in her voice. 

Oh yes, Scully, there are many things I would like to share with you.
But right now, your eyes, ears, and mind are closed off to me, and I
can't afford your disbelief and skepticism. And let's face it, your
touch seems to have lost its healing powers.

And you have to stay far away from me because I can't watch as you
writhe in pain on the floor.

"No, Scully."

No.

End of Chapter 2b/6

The Second Ones II: Crumbling Foundation

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

Chapter 3a/6 

Scully:

I hadn't spent this much time on my couch in months. 
Yet, here I was sitting and staring into empty space 
while nursing a glass of wine. There was a soft burn 
in my throat each time I took a sip.

It never occurred to me how hard it would be to watch 
someone lose all touch with reality, to witness that 
moment when madness invaded like a cancer, erasing all 
logic.   

Earlier, when I walked into the room and saw that 
woman on Mulder's bed, only one thought flashed 
through my mind -- get the knife.  

I put on a false bravado and pretended that she 
was an armed suspect -- all I had to do was disarm 
her. I had stripped people of their weapons too many 
times to count. It would be simple, routine even, or 
so I had thought. 

She reacted in a most peculiar manner, and I should 
have processed what was happening -- should have 
*known* what would happen. But, I refused to believe 
it - refused to consider that the simple brush of 
someone's skin against mine could send me into throes 
of agony.  

I heard my name being called and I ignored it, didn't 
want to listen. Then...oh God the pain. You'd actually 
think I might get used to it --it had happened so many 
times. I almost whimpered, this was the worst attack 
yet, but I refused to allow myself the weakness. However, 
my knees gave out under the assault -- my brain was no 
longer able to process the complex commands needed to 
stand. Time passed as I focused on trying to stay 
conscious, but it wasn't until Mulder was once again 
asleep that I was able to regain my footing.

"You okay, Ma'am?" one of the orderlies asked as I 
shakily made my way towards the door.

I nodded curtly, "I'm fine." It was easy to lie to 
complete strangers. But I wasn't fine -- and it was 
about time that I admitted it to myself.  

Mulder never looked at me when he spoke. It had been 
days since I had seen his eyes lucid and focused on 
me. But...he had seemed calm while Jody was sitting on 
the bed. She was able to accomplish something I could 
now only imagine: being near him without any adverse 
effects.

I felt like little more than a messenger: "I want to 
see Skinner," he'd said, "Larson," he'd whispered... the 
black bile -- the nervous eyes... maybe Mulder was a 
clone. A replica, while my Mulder (as much as I hated 
referring to him that way) was locked up somewhere, 
the victim of an experiment. No, that kind of thinking 
only led to madness... the kind of madness that Mulder 
was experiencing. Seeing him this way was more 
heartbreaking than all the hospitals and late night 
phone calls and the worst part was, and I could only 
admit it in the dark - alone at night - I missed him 
so much it was a physical ache. And he... he seemed 
wholly unconcerned with what had happened to his career 
- to his life - hell, to us.  

He seemed unfazed at the idea that he was no longer an 
agent and I was going to work with Diana. It was hard 
to imagine that this was the same man who once told me 
that I made him a whole person and that I saved 
him...well I sure as hell wasn't saving him now.  

There was no putting it off any longer, the next day I 
had to see Diana -- report to my new partner and try 
to forget Mulder's wisecracks, sardonic grins, 
understanding eyes, and generally brilliant leaps of 
deduction. 

Oh God, I'd downed at least a half of the bottle, no 
wonder I was starting to have trouble thinking 
straight. I couldn't save him -- I couldn't. Suddenly, 
I realized that not only was I incapable of helping 
him -- I was actually harming him in some way.  

It was impossible but all the facts pointed towards 
that conclusion.  His reaction when I was too close to 
him, the way he actually got worse in my presence. Was 
I responsible for his descent into madness? And if so 
-- how?  

Perhaps the best thing for Mulder would be if I walked 
away and never looked back. My eyes stung at the 
thought and I downed the half-full glass of 
wine. I yawned, stretched out on the couch, completely 
unable to move into my bed, and closed my eyes. Things 
had to look clearer in the morning. As I fell asleep, 
one thought whispered in my mind: where had I heard 
the name Jody Larson?

* * *

I was in the office, pre-fire. The "I Want To Believe" 
poster was still up, but I was alone, sitting at my 
desk and waiting for the phone to ring. Suddenly, mom 
and Diana appeared with a huge book of wallpaper 
samples. The book was thrown onto my desk with a loud 
bang, and mom opened it up. 

"What do you think of this pattern?" she asked, 
pointing to what looked like black drops.

"For what?" I placed my hand on the pattern and 
actually felt it move a little.

"For the office of course --it's time to redecorate," 
Diana explained coldly -- but slowly as if she were 
talking to a small child.

"Redecorate?"

"Yes -- redecorate, would you rather have flowers?" 
Diana flipped through the book.

I stared at my hand, which was still tingling, and 
managed to shake my head no.

The room was full of the black pattern, and I was 
pushed against one of the walls.

The unmistakable beginning of "Here Comes the Bride" 
was heard and the room was suddenly full of smoke. 
Mulder was rolled into the room still in his bed. His 
arms were caught up in restraints and his eyes 
appeared wilder and more insane than ever, his 
screaming -- incoherent babbling -- was drowned out by 
the music.  

That other woman -- Jody, walked down the aisle behind 
him, her wrists dripping blood, moaning when she saw 
me. A knife appeared in her hand, and she ran towards 
me -- the long blade would easily run me through. 
Before it happened, I saw a faceless man reach for a 
book and my eyes closed.

When I opened my eyes again, I was in the white place 
and I saw the drill near my body and the faces 
surrounding me and...

I shot awake with a gasp.  I couldn't get a deep 
breath, and my heart was pounding. My clothes were 
drenched with sweat, and I jumped off the couch and ran 
into the bathroom.

I barely reached the toilet before my stomach gave 
out.

* * *

Deja vu all over again, was the only thing I could 
think as I stepped off the elevator and made my way to 
the familiar door. I half expected time to twist and 
turn -- fold in on itself. Yet, I knew those things 
just didn't happen.

Besides, I doubted that circa 1992 Mulder would get 
along very well with circa 1999 Scully. I could almost 
imagine it, opening the door and seeing him bent over 
slides -- the optimism shining in his eyes, the 
torment of the next few years having not happened yet 
to him or me. He'd look at me and I'd tell him - get 
away from here, run as fast as you can before escape 
is impossible. You have no idea what will happen - how 
much we both will change...after Billy Miles there 
will be no turning back -- but now we could both get 
out.

Most likely he would consider me psychotic and open up 
an X-File about my vision of the future. I could just 
imagine his reaction to what was happening in the 
White House -- or anything else that happened in the 
last six years.

I raised my hand and knocked on the door - the 
nameplate "Special Agent Diana Fowley" was the first 
thing I noticed - so much for time travel. I had to 
smile to myself at that thought. It allowed me to 
forget that once I stepped through the office door, 
everything would change.

"Come in," a female voice called.  

I took a deep breath, straightened my back, and walked 
into the office.

Diana stood to greet me, "Agent Scully."

"Agent Fowley," we shook hands, deceptively civil.

She knew I'd rather be anywhere but here -- didn't 
she?

"I am sorry to hear about..." she started, stumbling 
over her words slightly.

"Don't be," I cut her off sharply and watched her 
coolly. She blinked and looked away.

"What is our first case?" I changed the subject 
quickly.

She looked startled for a moment - surprised that I 
wanted to get to get down to business, but she should 
have known by now that I had no desire to make small 
talk with her.

"Stacey Bunner, age thirty two, from Nevada, 
disappeared from her home three weeks ago. Her family 
reported her missing. She was found dead a few days 
ago," she said while picking up the file.

"And?"

"The odd part is - no one can figure out where she had 
been for the weeks before it."

"I see no reason why this is anything beyond a 
kidnapping. Or perhaps she just wanted to run away."

"Pathology reports say that she died of massive organ 
failure due to cancer. According to her doctor and 
family, she never had cancer."  

"Even the most advanced cancer takes longer than three 
weeks to kill - where was she found?" I asked while 
flipping through the file.

"That was also strange -- in a gazebo by a lake in 
Connecticut."

"Is it possible that she ran away because she knew she 
was about to die?"  

"Her husband said that they were discussing going on 
vacation together -- she had just started a new job 
and signed up for a class on the day she disappeared."

"That is unusual," I murmured but my mind was already 
trying to make connections and find plausible medical 
explanations.

"That's why it was sent here, Agent Scully."

"Dana," I corrected her. I couldn't take anyone else 
calling me Scully and "Agent Scully" sounded too 
formal.

"Diana," she replied after a moment and smiled 
slightly at me.

I took a deep breath and stepped off the edge into my 
new life. "When do we leave for Nevada?"

"Our plane takes off at 3:20 this afternoon. Try to be 
at Dulles at least a half-hour early. You know how 
unpredictable air travel can be."

"I will see you at the airport, Diana."

"Bye, Dana." She reached for the phone and dialed a 
number. "Hello, is this New Haven Police Department?" 
I heard before I closed the door.  

It was going to be a strange couple of days with my 
new partner.

I kept expecting the tightness in my chest to 
dissipate, to no avail.

* * *

It was still hard to get used to the idea that I no 
longer reported to Kersh. I felt odd walking right 
into Skinner's office without worrying about 
repercussions. Part of me wanted to turn around, but I 
knew I had to do this. I sat on the couch and waited 
for his meeting to end.

Kim studied me out of the corner of her eye; she'd 
obviously heard about what happened. Of course, news 
of Mulder's...breakdown had spread like wildfire 
through headquarters. Everyone had been giving me the 
oddest looks in the hallways -- a mixture of sympathy 
and derision.

Skinner's door opened and two agents stepped out, 
giving me that same look as they walked into the 
hallway.  

"What can I do for you, Agent Scully?" Skinner turned 
towards me. He was one of the only people who regarded 
me with pure concern and respect.

"Sir, it has to do with Ag..." I caught myself in 
time, "Mulder." 

"Do I have any appointments now, Kim?"

"No, you're clear until the section head meeting at 
one o'clock."

"Hold all my calls."

I followed him into his office. I sat down and 
considered my words for a moment while he shut the 
door and sat behind his desk.

"What is it, Agent Scully?"

"I assume you heard about the incident in Mulder's 
hospital room the other day," I hoped he had because I 
didn't want to go over the details. To my relief, he 
nodded slightly and looked at me expectantly.

"The woman involved in that incident was named Jody 
Larson. Mulder says that he recognizes her name and 
wants to talk to you about it," I rushed through the 
sentences.

"About a name?"

"Sir, you know his mental condition." I tucked a 
strand of hair behind my ear and continued, "I took 
the liberty of researching Jody Larson's mental 
history. I discovered that several weeks ago she tried 
to commit suicide in front of a classroom full of 
children. Jody is not well... she tried to attack 
Mulder with a knife."

Skinner's expression was faintly troubled. "What are 
you trying to say, Agent Scully?"

I wanted to say, be careful, you don't know what will 
happen...he might pull you in. But, I realized how 
ridiculous I would sound. "Nothing. Just go see him, 
sir."

"Is that all?"

I bit back my concerns. "Yes, thank you for your 
time," I stood up and walked out of the office. There 
was packing to do before I had to meet Diana.

End of Chapter 3a/6

The Second Ones II: Crumbling Foundation

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

Chapter 3b/6 

Mulder:

"You're not hurt," I whispered, studying the shadowy 
outline of a thin woman lying on the bed.

She shifted, propping herself up on the elbows. We 
faced each other in silence, two strangers who had 
nothing - and everything - in common. I studied her 
face, the lines around dark green eyes more defined, 
the full lips now pale and devoid of lipstick, and 
scars on her arms that couldn't be hidden even in the 
shadows. 

"No," Jody confirmed raggedly. "Once in a while, I see 
one of them, and it never ends well. But now that 
she's gone, I feel better."

Scully. Now that Scully was gone, I felt... lost and 
alone. 

After three days of her absence, I felt much better.

God, I wished I didn't.

"One of them?"

"How long have you been seeing the dreams?" she asked 
me instead of answering.

"Two weeks at the most," I closed my eyes briefly, 
then opened them, relieved that my surroundings didn't 
shift with the gesture. "Just talking about it..."

Her face seemed lifeless. "I tried amphetamines, you 
know?" she confessed. "I didn't care what happened to 
me, as long as I didn't dream, as long as I didn't 
feel tired enough to sleep. My son... my son was afraid 
of me. In the middle of the night, I would stay up and 
cook, and he would wake up in the morning and look at 
the dishes filled with sweets, and... I saw him crying 
once, in the bathroom." Her mouth twisted grievously. 
"And it didn't help. None of it helped. I still 
dreamed - but now I didn't have to be asleep for it."

I reached out a hand to place on her shoulders in an 
almost unconscious comforting gesture. "You have a 
son?"

"Mark," Jody confirmed. "He is twelve." 

"Do you have any other family?" I held my breath 
waiting for her to answer. Say it, say it...

"Yes, my father. My mother is dead, and I am 
divorced."
 
"What's your father's name?"

"Jeremy Larson," she seemed surprised at my question.

I was tempted to whoop triumphantly. A small victory. 
A very small victory, but it was the first step.

"They let you out, alone at night?"

Was I mistaken or was there a spark of humor in her 
green eyes? "I've been a good boy," I smiled. "Guess I 
was good enough to be left alone."

Jody nodded, serious. "Not good enough to discharge 
though."

I sucked in a short breath, the unintentional blow of 
her words hitting me harder than I expected. "No," I 
answered hollowly.

"We have to leave," Jody's eyes focused on the stars 
outlined in the navy sky. Scattered drops of silver 
and evil. 

Where did that come from?

"There is a stronger voice - a purer voice - that 
tells me we need to be someplace..." she continued 
urgently.

"Where?" I asked indifferently. More delusions, more 
insanity, the stark reality of barred windows and 
closed doors. "Why?"

"You will understand," she smiled sadly. "And I will 
wait for you."

I stood up, feeling the floor tilt momentarily. 
"That's very sweet," I whispered, reaching out to hold 
the wall. Or let the wall hold me as may have been the 
case.

"You will feel better," Jody's hand suddenly encircled 
mine in a gesture of support. "As long as you try to 
take care of yourself, and as long as she is not 
around, and..."

Scully. But I wanted to be around Scully.

"And if I learn to breathe underwater," I finished.

"I can teach you."

I shook her hand off, suddenly furious, at her, at 
myself, at the whole goddamn world. "Sweet dreams," I 
told her smoothly, the insidiousness of my goodnight 
wish tearing into me without warning.

Jody seemed to shrink, her lanky figure folding in on 
itself. Her words were soft and sincere. 

"Sweet dreams to you, too."

* * *

The psych ward of Sibley Memorial was small, and there 
was but one nurse on duty in the middle of the night 
on this floor. Not for the first time, I thought that 
running away could be accomplished without much 
trouble. I couldn't imagine so many locks on the door 
that I wouldn't be able to open them all, and the 
security guards weren't that numerous.

Stepping out of these walls could be a breath of fresh 
air I so desperately needed, a permanent way to get 
rid of restraints, pills, and IVs. Dear God, I wanted 
to get out of here. 

But an annoyingly sane part of my mind whispered 
disapprovingly against that choice. I wouldn't get too 
far away without clothes and money, my credit cards 
could be traced too easily, I couldn't waste time 
stopping by my apartment to pick up any necessities, 
and Scully already knew all my aliases. 

I would be found in a matter of days, if not hours. 

And perhaps, this hospital was exactly where I was 
supposed to be at the moment. How many times did I 
gaze into the face of madness? How many times did I 
see the wild anguished eyes of the men lost in their 
own bizarre vision of reality? I myself have come 
dangerously close to that edge more times than I cared 
to remember, and was it not plausible that I stepped 
off it now?

Slowly, I made my way toward the door of my room, from 
one end of hallway to the other, the extension of my 
world. A few inhabitants of this floor were most 
likely asleep - their troubled minds yielding uneasily 
either to fatigue, or more likely to the action of 
some really damn good drugs. Had I obeyed the orders 
of Dr. Carr, I would have been one of them, too. 

Probably what the person moving behind the door of the 
softly lit lab was counting on. 

Wondering what anyone could have been doing here at 
this ungodly hour, I knocked on the door and entered. 
"Maria, is that you?" I called softly. The view that 
greeted me shouldn't have come as a shock, yet I stood 
rooted to the spot, watching as a conservatively 
dressed short man packed vials with blood into 
cellophane bags. 

"Maria was busy," he spoke distinctly, unperturbed.

Here we go again, I thought nonsensically. As if of 
its own volition, my hand went to my non-existent 
holster, searching for a non-existent service gun. 

Oh.

I turned to run, fear overtaking me belatedly. Now, 
closer to the nurse's desk, I could see Maria's blond 
head on the table, could hear her gentle snoring. My 
mouth opened to scream for help, but a gloved hand 
closed over my lips. 

I was too weak, and the same drugs that kept me from 
killing myself also acted to slow down my reflexes and 
rob me of my normal agility. 

It was only seconds before I was pinned against the 
wall, my head colliding with brick unceremoniously, 
one time, then again and again. A needle was shoved 
into my upper arm, and I could feel the ice-cold 
fingers of the liquid slipping into my blood, at once 
burning and numbing, while a harsh whisper of "I'm 
sorry" floated through my ears. I tried to struggle, 
but the hands were stronger than my stubbornness, 
stronger than my mulish determination to prevail.

He held me until I slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

Run, run, until your lungs burn and every cell begs 
for release. Run, run, until your legs lose ground and 
the wind knocks you down. Run, run, faster than the 
water moving behind you, keep up the speed, and 
breathe in and out, until a wave closes over you.

Feel someone's hands pulling you to a dry ground, 
gentle fingers smoothing your hair out of the flushed, 
sweaty face. Wonder if it is an illusion of safety, if 
they will turn into claws and rip you apart. Try to 
crawl away, keep your eyes closed, you never know what 
you're going to see. Hear a voice calling your name 
and don't answer, never answer, close your ears and 
don't listen...

This is the end. This is the beginning. There is no 
reality but this. There is no hell but this.

"Fox, please, don't run."

"You don't understand." Don't speak! Don't listen. 
Close your ears. "Leave me alone!"

"It's safe. You're safe. No one will hurt you."

Put your hands over the ears and keep your head down. 
Bury it the sand. Don't listen. Don't listen. Don't 
listen!

"Fox, open your eyes. The sea is at rest. They can't 
reach you here."

Peek out from under your lashes. You want it to be the 
truth, but can you trust this new voice? 

"It's an illusion." Hear your own voice and feel the 
burn in your throat. Keep your head down. Close your 
eyes again.

"No. You're safe here. We would all have been safe 
here. I am sorry I haven't told you before."

Curiosity will kill you. One day you will learn too 
much. One secret too many. Why are you opening your 
eyes?

"Melora?" Do you see my point? Do you realize that 
you're talking to a dead woman? Do you remember what 
happened the last time you saw her?

"Look around you."

See the smile grace her face, at once young as a 
child's and old as the world. Look around and wonder 
if what you see is the truth or yet another lie, like 
links in the chain, wound up so tight that only a sword 
could break through the knots. State the obvious. "You 
are dead." 

See her frown. "It is only a dream. Sometimes, the 
dead visit the dreams of the living."

Didn't you hear enough of this bullshit? Why are you 
continuing this conversation? Do you really feel safe 
here? Chock on the tears you're trying to keep back. 
"Why?"

"It wasn't your fault I'd died. I couldn't tell them 
where I was going. I couldn't tell *her*."

"Scully."

"There will be better dreams, Fox."

"When?"

See her eyes linger in the distance. "You will wake up 
soon. But you need to come back here. Remember this."

Repeat after her like a stupid fool. "Come back here."

"Come back here. Come back here..."

Wake up and feel the burn of restraints on your 
wrists.

* * *

"Dr. Carr, are you telling me that he had done this to 
himself?" Walter Skinner's voice had a deadly 
intonation I've had a privilege to hear very few times 
in my life. At least I'd never be on the receiving end 
of it again.

Because I'd never be an FBI agent again.

"We can't be certain," the doctor replied steadily. 
"We've found him in the hallway, unconscious, with a 
few head wounds. In his condition, it is not uncommon 
to experience certain impulses..."

"Suicidal impulses," Skinner inferred. "That is what 
you are telling me."

"Sir, are you family?" Dr. Carr sounded impatient. "I 
would be happy to discuss Mr. Mulder's illness with 
his next of kin. As it is, let me just assure you that 
we are doing all we can to keep him from hurting 
himself or anyone else."

"This man is not suicidal," he didn't sound too sure.

"Excuse me, sir, I must see my other patients."

Dr. Carr stalked away, and Skinner came inside my 
room, his face a picture of fury. 

"Thank you," I spoke softly, hoping to distract him. 

He flinched. "How much did you hear?"

Enough to know that your faith in me is sadly 
misplaced, I answered inwardly. "There was a man 
here," I said instead.

Skinner's eyes narrowed as he came closer to my bed. 
"What man?"

"He was taking some blood samples in the lab... I 
surprised him," I explained. "You can see I didn't 
win."

"Did you tell them about this?"

I wondered if I did. Maybe. I wished the pounding in 
my ears would subside. "I don't remember."

"Then I will."

Before he could stand up, I reached my fingers for 
him, feeling impotent when the binds stopped me. 
"Wait. I... I needed to speak with you."

He sat down. "Yes. I apologize for not coming here 
sooner."

"It doesn't matter." I tried to collect my rapidly 
scattering thoughts, wondering what I considered so 
important. "There is this woman - Jody..."

"Jody Larson," Skinner's tone was carefully neutral.

"She -" Now that I remembered, the words poured out in 
a rush. "Her father, Jeremy Larson. I remember him. He 
was an acquaintance of our family. Jody has the same 
disease."

There was a prolonged silence. "And what would you 
like me to do?"

"Run a check on him. If he and my father were 
connected..." I tried to keep the note of desperation 
out of my voice. "This can't be a coincidence."

"I will." Skinner sounded as if he were talking to a 
small child. "I need to speak with them about the 
incident, and I will make sure that Agent Scully 
speaks with Dr. Carr soon."

"No!" Please don't, I begged inwardly. "She can't come 
here."

"Ag..." he began, then corrected himself slowly. 
"Mulder, Agent Scully is still your next of kin. I am 
sure she would look out for your best interests."

I felt my chest constrict painfully. There was no way 
I could possibly say these words... "Please tell her not 
to come." 

Now that it was out, I felt as if the time itself 
stopped. This wasn't happening. What kind of new hell 
did I just create for myself? 

Skinner's voice as he replied was devoid of warmth. 
"Anything else you'd like me to tell her?"

Scully, you've saved me. 

You've kept me alive. 

I trust no one but you. 

No matter what happens, I will come back to you.

I replayed the words of Melora, the cryptic message 
from the rapidly dissipating vision of the previous 
night suddenly crystal clear. "Yes. Tell her... there 
will be better dreams."

"I will make sure she gets the message."

I closed my eyes under the weight of his acquiescence, 
heard him call out to the doctor as he closed the door 
on the way out. 

"Dr. Carr, I need to speak with you."

End of Chapter 3b/6

The Second Ones II: Crumbling Foundation

By Anna Otto and Rachel Ehrentreu
annaotto1@aol.com & firephile@aol.com

Chapter 4/6

Scully:

There was a rational reason why I was sitting in a coffee
shop at 8:03 in the morning and had been there since around
four. At least I had gotten a few hours of sleep before my
phone rang.

It had taken me a moment to realize that the noise wasn't
coming from near the hotel bed -- but rather from the inside
of my trench coat pocket. I groggily glanced at the digital
clock on the small dresser near my head. 1:35
AM...whoever was calling at that hour had better have a
damn good reason. I padded over to my coat and answered
the phone on about the sixth ring.

"Scully," I'd said knowing that if it were SprintPCS trying to
get me to switch cellular companies I would have to hurt
somebody.

"Agent Scully, this is Dr. Carr," a voice almost as weary as
mine had answered.

It had taken me less than a second to make the connection.
"Did something happen to Mulder?" I was then
wide-awake, the fear I kept at bay flooding into my mind
immediately.

There was an awkward pause on the other side of the line. I
resisted the urge to repeat my question.  

"Yes. We found him in time."

"In time?" I had echoed, my heartbeat already speeding up. 
I sat down on the edge of the bed before my legs gave out. 

"Mr. Mulder was found in one of the hallways, passed out.
We believe he had been trying to commit suicide by hitting
his head against the wall."

Involuntarily, I envisioned the attempt. I was glad I was
sitting.  Suicidal...just like Melora...just like...Jody.  
"Why?"

"We have no idea, Agent Scully -- but he is back in
restraints... I'm ashamed to say that we thought he was
getting better. He did visit another patient earlier...Jody
Larson.  I'll call you when we know more."

"Yes, please...thank you.  Please keep me appraised of his
condition."

"You will be informed the minute he regains consciousness."

"Thank you," I had ended the call and placed the phone
gently on the bed next to me.

Sleep was unthinkable after that conversation. Here I was,
in Nevada, unable to help him, unable to see him. I
wondered if he had even noticed that I was gone. I knew I
had promised myself that I wouldn't worry...but it was so
damn hard.  

Every cell in my body was screaming for me to fly back to
D.C. No, I wouldn't give in to my feelings. I had a greater
responsibility and that was to the FBI and this case. It
would be unfair for me to run off in the middle of the night;
I owed it to Stacey and her family to discover what had
happened.

I tried to tell myself that Mulder would be fine. He had only
attempted to kill himself, it was another cry for
help...nothing more.

And one day he would succeed and you wouldn't be there,
Dana, my conscience had supplied a counter argument
easily.  

I quickly imagined a new nightmarish scenario and picked
up my phone to call the airport. That's when another
thought dug its way back into my mind and made me drop
the phone as if it were burning my fingers. Even if you were
there...you have no ability to save him, and you would only
make things worse, the insidious thought whispered.  There
was that stifling pain in my chest again...I wrapped my arms
around myself and tried to block all thoughts of him...but I
kept returning to the phone conversation. Before I was even
sure what I was doing I'd put on a jogging outfit and was
out of the hotel room. The clerk at a front desk gave me an
odd look as I ran by him. Apparently, people didn't usually
leave Motel 6 for jogs in the middle of the night.  

By that point, I had barely registered the outside world. No
matter how hard I tried, my thoughts were only focused on
one thing. I had to get my mind off of Mulder and if the
only way to accomplish that was by running until I collapsed
-- well, it wasn't the first time I'd had to resort to physical
pain to keep myself from thinking.  

The crisp, almost freezing air hit me immediately as I started
running towards an unknown destination. Two or three
hours later, I found myself in an all-night coffee shop in the
middle of town and now debated whether or not to force
myself to stand up, go back, and take a shower in the hotel.
After all, today Diana and I were supposed to fly to
Connecticut to investigate the crime scene itself.  

The locals were worse than useless.  Stacey's husband was
still in deep mourning...and it was one case where the
husband wasn't a suspect. Even Diana had to agree that
Steve Bunner was certainly not our chemical genius.  

Our... it felt beyond strange to refer to Diana and I as a
'we.' Our skills and interviewing styles weren't
complementary, and we stumbled without the established
lines of communication, often working on the same leads, as
a result, underscoring each other. Our dialogue was
peppered with uncomfortable silences. Our eyes scrutinized
each other with growing mistrust. 

I half expected Diana to pull up in the car and have a cup of
coffee with me, even if it was this early. While I admired her
for making an effort to build this partnership, I hardly had
the desire or the energy to deal with her more than was
absolutely necessary.  

As if on cue, a car pulled into the parking lot and a woman
walked into the restaurant, her demeanor energetic, her long
dark hair shining.

"Good morning," Diana sat down next to me and ordered a
cup of coffee.

"Morning," I nodded slightly.

"Sleep well?" she asked with a friendly smile.

"Yes," I lied, calling over the waitress to order another cup.

"The clerk said you left late last night...obviously you
haven't been back to your room since then." The look in her
eyes was almost concern.

"I needed to think," I resisted the urge to steal the car and
drive back to the hotel.  

"Sleep is very important, Dana, your body needs at least
eight hours a night." This time she did look worried.

"I'm a doctor. I know how much sleep I need." 

Her fingers tightened around the ceramic mug. "I'm sure
you do," she replied stiffly. I studied her expression, the
feeling of deja vu sweeping over me momentarily. It was the
same anxious look that I often bestowed upon my
ex-partner, wondering whether the amount of rest he got
during the night was sufficient, trying to guess if he would
run off on some unauthorized investigation the minute I
looked away. 

I tried to tell myself that her concern was misplaced - and
more than unwelcome, and yet I felt my anger dissipate. "I'll
get some rest on the way to Connecticut," I said after a
moment. Perhaps we did have some things in common.

After all, we both had the privilege of having worked with
Fox Mulder. I smiled self-deprecatingly. What I viewed as
privilege, others would consider a misfortune.

Once again, my thoughts slipped into the same excruciating
groove. Once again, I tried to tell myself that there was no
use contemplating a past that would never happen again. I
had to stop thinking about him.

I had to stop missing him.

* * *

I'd gone back to the hotel, showered, changed and was
trying to nap in the car on the way to the airport when my
phone rang.

"Scully," I answered groggily.

"Agent Scully, this is Dr. Carr. He's awake."

Part of me wondered why Carr always managed to wake me
up. "How is he?" I asked softly, looking at Diana out of the
corner of my eye.

"He appears to be fine."

"I'd like to speak to him."  

There was a moment of silence on the other end. "I'm afraid
that's not possible."

"Why? Is he having problems speaking...?"

"No."

"Then I would like to talk to him. Now!" I was quickly
losing whatever patience I had left. My voice must have
risen in volume because Diana looked over at me for a
second, only reluctantly turning her attention back to the
road.

"Agent Scully, he can't talk right now."

I refused to take this line. "As you said, but why?"

There was some shuffling of papers and noise in the
background. Then a new voice came on the line, "Agent
Scully."

"Sir, what are you doing there?" I couldn't hide my shock.

"Mulder wanted to see me," Skinner answered.

"What happened last night? They won't let me speak to
him," I hated the pleading note that crept into my voice.

"Mulder claims that he was injected with something after
being slammed against the wall a few times. You know
what the doctor thinks."

"Injected...you mean *they* are responsible?" I whispered,
all too aware of Diana's presence.

"We're not sure."

"Let me speak to him, sir."

"Scully...no."

I was starting to get frustrated. "Put him on the phone."

"You can't speak to him."

"Why not?" I asked again, louder this time.

"Because...he doesn't want to speak to you...or see you," he
told me finally, traces of sadness and anger in his voice.

Why did I push him into telling me? For a moment I could
only hear my own ragged breathing. The world blurred, 
and it felt like I had been stabbed. I was surprised when 
I touched my chest and my hand didn't come away covered 
in blood. I closed my eyes but all I could see was the 
image of Mulder from my dream. I realized suddenly that 
he must have blamed me for what had happened, must have 
hated me for what I'd done. I bit my lip hard enough to 
taste blood.

I opened my eyes and shrunk into my seat, deflated. I
wanted nothing more than to curl up under some blankets
and sleep for days. I couldn't speak, yet I had to try to 
keep up a professional front because of Diana. I really 
should have known it would only be a matter of time before 
Mulder cut off all ties with me. Still, like a masochist 
searching for a fix, I kept asking questions. 

"Scully?" Skinner called softly, and I realized that I must
have been silent for an unnaturally long period of time.

"Did he give a reason?" I swallowed painfully, barely getting
out the words.

"He didn't say."

"I see." I refused to get emotional in front of Diana.
Closing my eyes again brought little relief, for this time I 
kept seeing the image of Mulder from my dream but his eyes
were cold, angry, and filled with hate. He looked at me as if
I was the enemy, fixing me with a stare I'd only seen a few
times, and I opened my eyes quickly, but still I could see his
face in my mind.

"He did want me to give you a message. He asked me to tell
you that there will be better dreams," Skinner sounded both
confused and sarcastic.  

The words made no sense to me, not as a proper goodbye to
six plus years of partnership. No, they sounded like...a
deranged thought from a damaged mind. I stopped myself
from following the idea any further. "Thank you for the
news, sir," I managed to say and hung up before I could
sound any more pathetic. 

The finality of the conversation should have brought relief, I
knew where I stood with Mulder and what the future would
hold for us. I was sure there was no 'us.' I resisted the urge
to ask Diana to pull over when I felt my stomach lurch,
refused to let her see my weakness.

For her part, she was staring at the road and ignoring me. I
was almost ridiculously grateful to her, but after a few
minutes she could keep up the charade no longer.

"Who was on the phone, Dana?"

Lie after lie presented themselves to me, but I didn't have
the energy to choose one. "The hospital," I admitted,
looking out the window at the passing landscape.

"Oh, how is Fox?" 

I envied her distance and nonchalance at that moment.
"He's...better."  I wanted to stop the conversation at that
point, to mute the sound and stare out the window until we
reached the airport.

"Dana, you don't have to pretend that this is not affecting
you," she spoke after a moment. "I know what it means to
lose a partner." 

You also know what it feels like to betray a partner. "I don't
want to talk about this," I said aloud. 

"You should talk to somebody about it. Perhaps a
counselor -" Diana stopped, probably recognizing the
futility of her advice.

"I still trust him," I said suddenly, before I could bite my
tongue and force myself to stay silent. "There is nothing
worse than realizing that he doesn't trust me."

"Dana, I can only imagine what you are going through." She
turned into the airport parking lot and drove up to the car
rental place. "And I know you have no reason to trust me.
But if you ever need someone to listen, I'm here."

Somehow, I gathered enough energy to step out of the car.
"Diana, if you're worried that I am not focused on the
case..."

She shook her head, smiling as if in answer to some private
joke. "We are partners, Dana. And I would like to have you
here full-time."

I nodded. At least she was more or less honest with me. My
desire to ask for reassignment the minute we got back to
D.C. diminished a notch. Given a choice, we both would
have wished for other partners - but for now, we were
stuck. 

Besides, it wasn't about Diana, it was about the X-Files -
about not giving up. Like a foolish idealist, I imagined that
the torch had been passed to me - instead of mourning, I
should have been out there searching.

Even if I disagreed with Mulder about the final goal, I knew
that there was some sort of international conspiracy and it
only served to hurt the public. I had seen their methods and
the results with my own eyes and instead of sitting back and
existing in denial, I should have been more proactive. My
work mattered. 

Diana walked around the car to stand next to me. "I didn't
mean to step over any lines. I'm used to being the concerned
partner."

"That, I can identify with," I muttered, and for a split
second, we shared an understanding glance. "Excuse me, I
need to make a phone call," I walked into the terminal
lobby, quickly finding a payphone. It wasn't a number I
knew by heart, so I had to search through my wallet to find
the scrap of paper I'd written it on. They had balked at the
idea of being in my address book - too public and unsafe,
they'd said. I found the number tucked away in between a
coupon for toothpaste and a doctor's business card.  

"Lone Gunmen." I recognized Langly.

"It's Scully, turn off the tape," I heard a small click after I
spoke.

"Agent Scully, we heard the news. But, when we went to
the hospital they said that Mulder wasn't taking visitors
and..." 

The phone line was silent for a second and then a new voice
broke in. "Dana, how are you?" Frohike asked worriedly
and then the phone was grabbed from him. Bemused, I
listened to harsh whispers in the background.

"Don't ask her questions like that - she doesn't want to talk
about it!"
"She needs our support now..."
"She doesn't want it...it's hard enough for her without..."
"Should we tell her about the autopsy findings?"
"How about Jody Larson's past? Or does she want to know
about the father?"
"Shouldn't we find out how she's feeling?"
"No. It's not our place..."

I couldn't tell who was speaking, but after a few moments
Byers picked up the line. "Agent Scully, we have some
information you need to hear. When are you going to be
back in D.C.?"

"Not for several days, we're flying to Connecticut."

"We?" Byers asked, clearly confused.

"Diana's my new partner," I admitted reluctantly.

Several seconds of dead silence followed. "You're kidding."

I closed my eyes. "We're investigating the case of a woman
who died of an extremely fast acting cancer or cancer-like
illness. I need any medical reports you can find on people
with similar causes of death."

"How fast are we talking here?"

"At most, two weeks from first symptoms to death. I need
the information as soon as possible - email me what you find."

"Will do, Agent Scully," I sensed many things that he
wanted to ask me or tell me and I was grateful that at least a
few people in my life understood my need for silence.

I hung up and picked up the phone again, this time to call
the hospital. Pathetically enough, this was a number I knew
by heart.  

"Sibley Memorial," a too chipper voice answered.

"Dr. Carr, please."

"This is Dr. Carr," I heard after a few moments of silence.

"Dr. Carr, this is Agent Scully. Have all the tests come back
yet?"

He sighed in a way that obviously signified annoyance and
shuffled through some papers. "Yes, the blood you insisted
on re-testing for the fifth time has come back and yet again
it's negative for PCP's, LSD, any mind altering substance, or
poison."

"I want another lab to look at it. A representative will be by
later today to pick up the sample."

"But, Agent Scully, we've tested his blood so many times, if
there was anything to find, we would have found it by
now."

"Listen to me very carefully, you will seal up a sample of the
blood, place it in a biohazard container, and hand it to Mr.
Byers when he asks for it," I was beyond being polite. 

"This is reaching the point of insanity! We test the blood
once and that's sufficient. There is nothing there - you are
reaching. You could send it to the FBI labs and get the
same findings. Mr. Mulder's breakdown had nothing to do
with chemicals or hidden drugs."

It was a really good thing that I was about two thousand miles
away at that moment, because I felt like strangling him.
"Mulder did not have a breakdown, this is only temporary -
he will get better." 

"You're talking about a man that tried to commit suicide last
night by hitting his head against the wall -- is that well
behavior to you, Agent Scully?"

"If you'd bothered to take a sample of his blood you would
have seen that he was drugged and that other samples may
already be missing! It's not my fault that your hospital can't
protect its own patients," I barely even noticed that people
were starting to look over at me.  

"Agent Scully, it's a very good thing that Mr. Mulder
doesn't want to see you anymore, because I don't want you
back in my wards. I'll do the sample and then we'll have no
more contact - is that clear?" His angry words pushed into
me like fists but I refused to feel the pain.

"Crystal. Thank you," I hung up and dialed the gunmen
again.

After going through the tape ritual I asked to speak to
Byers. "I've arranged for you to go to the hospital and get a
sample of Mulder's blood -- I want it tested for all possible
drugs, poisons, contaminates, anything out of the ordinary. I
think that's the last favor Dr. Carr will do for me."

"We'll send you the results with the cancer records."

"Thank you." I hung up, because I didn't trust my voice 
anymore. I knew the minute Byers got off the phone, he 
would voice his concern about me.

I realized my stupidity as I was walking towards the
airplane's gate - I probably should have avoided alienating
Carr, but at that moment I just couldn't get up enough
strength to care.  

As I settled into the window seat, my eyes drifting shut, I 
felt Diana's oblique, calculating gaze on me and scolded myself 
for paranoia.

End of Chapter 4/6

The Second Ones II: Crumbling Foundation

By Anna Otto and Rachel Ehrentreu
annaotto1@aol.com & firephile@aol.com

Chapter 5a/6

Mulder:

Warm fingers wrapped around my wrist. "Why did you do it?"

"I didn't," I squeezed Jody's hand lightly before releasing it. 
"Though sometimes I wish..." 

She dropped on her knees, and her face was suddenly mere inches from 
mine. 

"Don't," she whispered desperately. "Don't surrender. I know that it 
seems easier. But it isn't."

Her hand traveled to my forehead, tracing the bandages. The sleeve of 
her robe fell away, exposing the ugly markings on her forearms, and I 
stared at them in dawning comprehension. "Jody...I'm glad you haven't 
succeeded."

She stumbled back as if mortally wounded, pulling the sleeves down 
hurriedly. "I have to go. I have to go. I..."

I watched her retreat helplessly, immediately regretful for my 
tactlessness. 

Apologies would never suffice, and platitudes would sound trite. Once 
again, I cursed the restraints that prevented me from simply reaching 
out to her. "Jody, stay."

"You know what they say?" she turned around suddenly, her face hard 
like stone. "That women can never do it right. I should have bought a 
gun, put it in my mouth, and pressed the fucking trigger. That's the 
way a man would do it. Cutting up my hands with scissors in front of a 
classroom full of children - now that's got to be a cry for help." 

Jody held out her arms in front of her, and in a moment of clarity, I 
knew that this was what she did alone in her room, more often than not: 
counting the scars, remembering each slash, wishing that it were fatal. 

I closed my eyes against the horrifying picture. "I'm still glad you 
haven't succeeded," I repeated stubbornly.

She nodded wearily. "It would have been selfish. My son, my father...I 
couldn't do this to them."

Once again, I wanted to broach the subject of her father, yet couldn't 
find a way.

"Fox..."

"It's Mulder," I corrected her half-heartedly, as if following the 
script. "Sorry, I don't like my first name."

"Mulder," Jody repeated obediently. "That woman who came to visit you 
before - was she your friend or..."

"She was my partner," I replied dryly. "I told her to stay away from 
here." Her relieved sigh did nothing to alleviate the emptiness in my 
chest.

The door opened a notch, revealing a tall silhouette. Jody glanced 
anxiously at the man who stepped inside my room, then at me. I smiled 
at her reassuringly. 

"Jody, why don't we talk later," I spoke calmly, reluctant to alarm 
her, but eager to get her out of the room. "I need to speak with my..." 
I hesitated for a second, "Cousin."

Still watching the visitor suspiciously, Jody retreated, and I felt my 
friendly smile dissolve. 

"Ex-Special Agent Fox Mulder," Jeffrey Spender's thin lips creased in 
a small smile. "I think that's the same lie I just told the nurse on 
duty so she'd let me see you."

* * *

Spender's gaze never left the floor as he paced my room, finally 
stopping at a window. "I'm sorry to barge in here," he announced at 
last. "I don't exactly belong in the 'friends and family' category." 

I watched as he made his way to a small chair, settling down 
uncomfortably. "Why did you come here?"

"I heard about your breakdown," he shrugged. "I will admit to feeling 
some satisfaction, at first. After all, it was because of you that I 
got booted out of the FBI."

"I think you got booted out because you were covering up some evidence," 
I corrected him flatly. "And you were so bad at it that you were 
discovered."

He studied me calculatingly. "That's what they'd like you to believe. 
How ironic that this little plan never worked out."

I wished he would just spit out whatever he wanted to say. "What are 
you talking about?"

Instead of answering, Spender leaned back in the chair as his narrow 
eyes took in the surroundings: barred windows, IV, restraints 
permanently attached to a bed. "Wow," he whistled softly. "I'd say you 
got what you deserved, but I don't have time to gloat."

My teeth were ready to grind a hole in my cheek. After yet another day 
in this hell, I was neither strong nor lucid enough to deal with this 
prick. "Then leave."

"I came here for a reason," he objected stubbornly. 

I rolled my eyes in sheer exasperation. "What is it, Spender? Some 
sort of a grand conspiracy was put in place to make you look 
incompetent?"

"Haven't you figured it out?" Spender smiled scornfully. "I was set 
up. And you were set up to get the X-Files back, to work on them with 
Diana."

I shook my head, bewildered. "You're free to disregard the opinion of 
a psychiatric patient, Spender, but perhaps it is you who belongs in 
restraints. This makes no sense."

He grinned suddenly. "I always thought you were nuts. But this time, I 
think I'm the only one who doesn't believe that you belong in this 
place."

I fell silent, stunned. "Perhaps, you should start at the beginning."

Jeffrey Spender gripped the handles of the chair so hard that his 
knuckles turned white. "Yes," he squeezed finally, as if resolving 
some great internal debate. "I need to talk to you." Suddenly, he 
leaned over me, unsnapping the restraints clumsily but determinedly. 
"On equal terms," he explained.

I sat up, quickly regretting the headache that flared up with the 
abruptness of my movements. "I just hope you know," I whispered 
through the clenched teeth, "that I find this extremely ironic."

Spender didn't seem to appreciate my forced humor. "My first mistake," 
he began slowly, "was the case in Indiana.

"I didn't understand at the time why the case was directed to the 
X-Files department. Irene Mori, a twenty-five-year-old woman, was 
killed by her boyfriend, Carl Jacobsen. The case was clear-cut: there 
were witnesses and there was an admission of guilt. Yet suddenly, I 
was supposed to fly out and investigate.

"I met with Carl who appeared to be a raving lunatic. He claimed that 
Irene's presence caused him to have nightmares; that she induced 
nausea and dizziness in him, that some voice told him not to trust 
her," Spender stopped, glancing at me curiously. "I thought you'd 
find this interesting."

There was a dull noise in my ears. Oh Scully. I'm so glad I told you 
to stay away from me. 

Like a drug addict craving more poison, I found myself begging him to 
continue. "Go on. Please." 

"Though he understood the seriousness of his crime, Carl begged us to 
let him go, claiming that he had to be somewhere. Only he couldn't say 
where. "I came back to Washington, not wishing to waste anymore of my 
time. Unbelievably, my actions were questioned. Apparently, certain 
people were very interested in the coordinates of Carl's 'place to 
be.' I flew back to Indiana, but it was too late.

"That same night, Carl tried to escape from the prison. The guards 
shot him before he made it over the fence. The next morning, my father 
called me a 'raging incompetent.'"

"Your father?" I asked, confused.

"The man who arranged for me to be assigned to the X-Files in the 
first place," Spender faced me squarely, his chin stuck out 
defensively. "I understand you two know each other."

I struggled to contain my sudden repulsion. Unimaginable that the 
smoking bastard had a family - children who carried his genes.

Unimaginable? Haven't I suspected that my sister or myself may carry 
these very genes? 

I rubbed my temples to stave off the growing dizziness. "You said that Indiana 
was your first mistake. What was the second?"

"I was supposed to go to North Carolina and question Melora Sanchez," 
Spender sighed. "Without consulting with Diana, I judged the case to 
be outside of the scope of our work and returned the file to the 
administration. I presume you can tell me the rest of that story."

"Your father was unhappy about your actions," I stated, feeling as if 
pieces of the puzzle were finally falling into their places. The 
resulting picture was not encouraging.

Spender nodded, his eyes downcast. When he finally looked up again, 
harsh fluorescent light delineated his features into a mask of fury 
and anguish. "My own father decided that I've failed him. All of the 
favors and advancements of my career... he needed me - to keep you in 
line, to keep the X-Files department within his control. And when I 
went against his wishes - do you know what he told me?"

I shook my head uneasily. It seemed neither of us was blessed with 
loving parents.

"He said that I was a mistake," Spender's voice broke. Jumping off the 
chair, he began pacing the room once again, like a caged wounded 
animal.

A wave of compassion towards this man whom I never liked or respected 
was immediate and involuntary. His father considered him a mistake. 
How could any man inflict such damage on his own offspring?

"I was supposed to take your place and work on the X-Files with Diana," 
I whispered dully, still disbelieving that the smoker would ever 
willingly aid my return to the department.

"Your breakdown wasn't part of the original plan," he smirked insipidly. 
"God, I wish I could have seen the expression on Diana's face when she 
realized that she was to be partnered with Scully."

I remained mute. If I let myself dwell on this situation too long, I'd 
convince myself that it was one of the dreams that felt more real than 
the unstable reality. 

"I want to understand why Carl Jacobsen and Melora Sanchez were more 
important to my father than his own son," Spender clenched his fists, 
his entire body growing visibly rigid. I wondered if he was grieving 
for the loss of his remaining parent, perhaps more deeply than he 
grieved for him in childhood. Could he blame anyone else for this 
latest loss?

He glanced at me obliquely, obviously embarrassed of displaying 
weakness. "Finally, I can't help but feel somehow responsible for your 
present circumstances."

"My illness started before I met Melora," I spoke bleakly, falling 
back on the pillow. "I wish I knew the answers you're looking for."

"But it is in your interest to find them."

I could only laugh weakly - did he know how ridiculous he sounded? 
"Spender, I'm charged with a murder attempt. I'm a patient in a 
psychiatric institution. You aren't seriously suggesting that I can 
help you?"

"Perhaps we can help each other," he lowered his voice. "I could get 
you the things you need to get out of here."

My heartbeat speeded up as if of its own volition, the distant memory 
of a peaceful ocean shore tugging at the strings inside me that I 
never knew existed. 

"I have to be somewhere," I whispered.

Spender recoiled, then turned away, as if trying to recover his 
composure. "I've heard this before," he mumbled.

Now that I saw the real opportunity to escape this prison, the earlier 
doubts returned with a vengeance. Was I ready to face life on the run? 
Was I prepared to plunge Jody into danger with me? Was I ready to 
leave Scully?

But didn't I tell Skinner to make sure she never came back here?

The realization that I already left her sent my teeth chattering, and 
I dropped my face into my hands, trying to hide the tears welling in 
my eyes.

"Mulder?" Spender's voice cut through my musings, and I took a few 
deep breaths to quell the tremors inside.

There would be no more doubts or questions.

"I will need something to pick the locks, cash, and clothes for me and 
Jody - the woman who was visiting when you came," I ran down the list 
of items. "Perhaps a used car."

He chuckled in disbelief. "Neither of you are in any condition to 
drive."

I closed my eyes, tired. "We'll have to try."

He had the courtesy to look compassionate. "Tomorrow night, Mulder. Be 
prepared."

I studied him intently. "Spender, you're your own man. Don't let 
someone's asinine judgments - not even your father's - affect you."

His eyes shot daggers as he glared at me. "Don't mistake my intentions, 
'cousin,'" he hissed. "I'm not doing this out of any brotherly 
tenderness. I don't feel particularly sorry for you. I just want to 
know the answers."

"I'm relieved," I tried to restrain a helpless grin. "You'd better put 
the restraints back on me, or you will never walk back in here again."

He stood up, starting to fumble with the straps. I bit my lip when he 
fitted them too tightly, but didn't complain. 

"One more thing," he turned around before walking out the door. "The 
real name of Melora's father was not Gustav Sanchez, but Andrew Moore."

The name sounded vaguely familiar, yet I couldn't place it. I made a 
mental note to call Skinner. "Why is it important?"

"If I had the means to research it, I'd tell you," he looked chagrined. 
"But every bit helps, doesn't it?"

I nodded gratefully, watching as the door closed softly.

Tomorrow night, I'd be free. 

End of Chapter 5a/6

The Second Ones II: Crumbling Foundation

By Anna Otto and Rachel Ehrentreu
annaotto1@aol.com & firephile@aol.com

Chapter 5b/6

Jody fluttered around her small room, rearranging things, as if 
determined to cover up any and all indications that it was located in 
the psych ward of the hospital. Her face was flushed from the effort 
as she worked, and I stood by, uncertain whether I should feel amused 
or concerned. 

"Jody, we have to talk -"

"Not now, not now," she sang impatiently, surveying the results of her 
work critically. "This room needs plants," she whispered, seemingly 
exhilarated at this discovery. "I like green color."

"Please, it's important," I touched her arm, hoping to distract her 
from this mad activity. "We're leaving tonight."

Jody flung my arm off. "My son will be here any minute. I don't want 
to leave. I don't want you here, either."

I watched as she went back to redecorating her bed, and panic crept up 
inside me slowly, twisting my guts. "We have to go," I repeated softly. 
"You know that - you were the one who told me that!"

Her eyes found mine for a second, burning me with a look full of 
despair and something very close to hatred. "I know nothing," she 
nodded her head in affirmation. "You should go back. You are supposed 
to be in restraints."

"Jody, I had to listen to a half-an-hour lecture from Carr, *and* eat 
every disgusting dish on my lunch tray to get out of these restraints 
today," I chuckled though I felt very close to screaming. "Only so 
that I could come and talk to you. Please, listen to me."

"You're crazy," she hissed. "And so am I. I'll stay here, because I 
want to get better. Leave."

I grabbed her by the shoulders, hoping to break through this crazy 
onset of normalcy. "Jody, if you want to get better, if you want your 
son to have his mother back, you will remember that staying here won't 
help you! We're leaving!" 

The force of her palm hitting my cheek was enough to send me reeling. 
I stared at her in horror - the sudden fear of leaving here without 
one person who understood making me tremble. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't have done that. I didn't want 
to listen."

I nodded numbly. "I deserved it."

For a fierce, strange moment, she enveloped me in her arms. "The time 
of unrest is now."

"You remember," I exhaled into her hair as she loosened her grip. 
"Will you come?"

"Yes," she replied simply. "Mark will be visiting today. I have to say 
goodbye."

"I understand," I straightened up, hesitating for a long second. "Tell 
him something else instead of 'goodbye.'"

Jody already turned away, busy hands now brushing her hair. "Tonight," 
she said to the reflection in the mirror.

The door was suddenly flung open, and a long-limbed boy rushed through, 
impatient to embrace his mother. He hardly paid any attention to me, 
and I slipped out, feeling a familiar weight of guilt on my chest. 
What right did I have to tear them apart?

With lead-weighted steps, I walked in the direction of my room. 
Spender peeled himself off the wall once he saw me, and I tried to 
focus. 

There was an escape to plan.

* * *

"You have no reason to trust me now, but..."

I crossed the line, staring blankly at the notepad in my lap. The 
words teemed in my mind, and I wanted to cover the unresponsive white 
pages with the firm, assured strokes of my hand, hoping that at least 
one percent of them would reach the target, would relay the message I 
was trying to send. 

"Scully, you've always had faith in me, and I need you to..."

I need you to believe me now, more than ever before. I need you to 
listen to your instincts instead of the cold voice of logic. I need 
you not to look for me after you receive that panicked, bewildered 
phone call from the hospital informing you that I'd disappeared. 

Impulsively, I tore the page away, crumpling up the scratched out 
apologies and entreaties. We were too far apart already for any of my 
words to reach her ears. Whether she would disregard them as ramblings 
of a madman or a half-hearted excuse for me to ditch her once again, 
I could not hope for understanding. 

Once again, I saw Scully's beatific smile, blossoming as she raised 
her hands to receive the red rain, as her body melted into the 
darkening ocean. Obscenely, the sickening image was superimposed with 
her face as I remembered it from the time before this nightmare - 
cloudless and serene, and I blinked furiously, trying to rid myself of 
the vision.

"What are you writing?" a sudden voice in my ear caused me to flinch. 

I looked up to see the nurse, holding a glass of water and a few pills 
on a plate. "Poetry," I replied amicably as I accepted the offering. 

She chortled good-naturedly, rolling her eyes, and walked out of the 
room. Putting a hand over my mouth, I spit out the pills from under my 
tongue before they had a chance to dissolve. For the tenth time this 
night, I reached under my mattress, needing to feel the touch of cold 
metal of a lock gun under my fingers.

Only one more hour to wait.

Only one more hour to cover pages with words that would have no 
meaning and no destination.

* * *

Jody ran inside of my room and leaned against the door, her thin frame 
trembling slightly. Before she had a chance to speak, I shoved clothes 
in her arms, motioning for her to change. 

"Who is on duty tonight?" she whispered while pulling on the clothes.

"Beth. The minute she leaves, we're walking out of here."

"All done," Jody announced finally, and I turned around, evaluating 
her appearance critically. It was a stroke of genius on the part of 
Spender to break into my apartment and borrow some of my own stuff. 
Jody was close to my size, and my old pullover and a pair of jeans fit 
her well.

"You'll pass for normal," I grinned, satisfied with my examination. 

A ghost of a smile passed over her face, failing to erase the 
weariness in her eyes. "Best compliment I've had in months." 

I watched the nurse's dark head bob up and down as she held some 
animated conversation on the phone. Absently, I rubbed my temples, 
already regretful that I haven't swallowed at least a couple of 
painkillers. The headache, bearable a few hours ago, was now steadily 
progressing, and I wondered with detachment whether it wouldn't be 
easier to just forget the whole thing, lie down, and try to get some 
sleep, preferably sans nightmares. 

"Are you all right?" Jody's worried whisper carried me back to reality.

"Yeah," I replied hurriedly. "I'll be fine."

"This wound is only two days old."

As if I needed a reminder. "Do you know where we are going?" I tried 
to distract her, and myself.

"I think we both do," Jody replied evenly, coming to sit at the edge 
of my bed. 

I nodded. "What happens when we get there?" 

"We can rest." 

I felt an eerie calm settle over me as I contemplated my companion's 
silhouette shadowed against the moonlight. "For a while," I acquiesced. 
"For a while."

I couldn't tell if mere minutes or long hours passed before Beth 
finally stood up and walked past my room to the end of the hall, 
disappearing behind one of the numerous doors. "Come on," I grabbed 
Jody's hand and turned the knob with care. Getting out of the psych 
ward would be the only challenging piece of the operation - once we 
were in the general area, we'd only have to find the nearest set of 
doors and run as fast as we could.

"Mulder, look."

I felt Jody tugging the sleeve of my leather jacket suddenly as she 
pointed behind us. I was only able to notice a flicker of movement as 
a familiar black shadow disappeared behind an incidental set of doors. 
"Shit," I hissed. "That's the man whom I have to blame for my nicely 
staged suicide attempt."

I quickened my tempo, dragging Jody along. The footsteps behind us were 
but an echo of our own, and I had no desire to confront my late night 
acquaintance. In vain, I made a few attempts to pick open the lock, 
only to admit with a growing sense of panic that I was sadly out of 
practice. Jody watched with wide eyes as the short man dressed in 
black approached swiftly and boldly. 

"Faster," her desperate whisper only intensified my frustration, and I 
kicked the door, still trying to work some magic with the lock gun. 

"What's going on?" Beth's high-pitched voice suddenly sliced the hall, 
and stunned, I looked up to see her running in our direction.

Just as the man turned around, momentarily distracted from his purpose, 
I quickly enveloped my fist inside the jacket, hitting the unresponsive 
glass with a far from expert move. Jody screamed thinly. Groping 
through the opening to the other side, I turned the knob, feeling the 
door finally give. Even through the thick material of the jacket, I 
could already feel the sharp edges of pain and blood running down my 
arm. 

"Go," I gave Jody a shove, then followed her, turning around just in 
time to see Beth sliding down the wall to the ground, a dazed look in 
her eyes. 

I couldn't remember the last time I ran so hard. Away from the 
exploding building in Dallas, perhaps, or after Gerry Schnautz's van 
with an unconscious Scully inside. What was the agenda of this 
Consortium rookie? I had no doubt he was one of them, yet I could 
hardly reconcile his presence here. I was already fairly certain that 
our madness had nothing to do with their machinations. Then why...?

"Stairs," Jody pointed, breathless. "Best to take them."

"Run," I pushed her towards them. "I'll meet you downstairs."

"What..."

Our advantage was minute, and I had no time to explain the details of 
the plan to her. Exasperated, I waved at her to disappear and waited 
as the heavy steps approached inexorably. The moment I saw his profile 
in front of me, I drove my fist into his jaw, pouring all of my anger 
into the punch. The bones cracked, and my bloodied fist stung from the 
impact.

Not to be outdone, the man retaliated with a blow of his own, setting 
my stomach on fire. Another blow to the same spot followed, and I 
doubled over in pain, somehow still managing to lash out at my 
attacker. 

"Mr. Mulder," he grunted as he charged me once again, knocking me over 
on the floor. I was vaguely aware of the blood soaking the bandages on 
my head. "You don't understand - be reasonable about this..." I felt 
him plunge the syringe into my shoulder, some of the contents already 
spilling inside my bloodstream.

I almost laughed. "Reasonable?" I hissed, struggling as he pinned my 
body beneath his. Having the gall to ask for reason from a lunatic 
didn't speak highly of his mental capacity. 

Quick hit to the balls made him howl, and I rolled out from under him, 
punching his jaw a couple more times for good measure. Now I was sure 
that the security guards would fill this floor any second, and I 
staggered toward the stairs, pulling the syringe out of my shoulder on 
the way. There was no time to examine its contents; I just had to hope 
that not enough of it made its way inside of me. 

"Fourth floor," I mumbled to myself as I leaned against the rails, 
looking down into the endless spiral of stairs. "Six flights. You can 
do this."

Detachedly, I watched a thin trail of blood follow me as I crept from 
one floor to the next, one step after another. It soaked my jacket, 
giving black leather a crimson cast. 

It would be so fucking easy just to slide down to the ground and give 
in to the exhaustion that intensified with each passing second. "No," 
I whispered. There was a reason why I had to leave, though I was 
hard-pressed to remember it now. Someone... someone was waiting for me 
downstairs. Scully? No... someone else.

"Oh God." The hands were touching me, pulling me up, and forcing me 
to walk. 

"Can't," I whispered, hoping to open my eyes and see who'd come to 
disturb my peace. Yet, the force of gravity seemed more than I could 
handle - more than my feeble attempts to control my muscles.

"You have to," the voice insisted. "Is someone waiting for us outside?"
Now I remembered. Jody. "My... cousin..." I forced the words out, 
trying to gain my footing. "Should have... a car... ready to go."

"Let's go, Mulder." She pulled my good hand around her shoulders, 
leaving the other one to hang lifelessly by my side. Now embarrassed 
that she was doing my walking for me, I tried to pick up the pace, 
to ignore the fog that threatened to overwhelm me. "Almost there."

The "EXIT" sign, lit in the reddish glow, was one of the most welcome 
sights of my life. 

"What's your cousin's name?" Jody asked insistently as she struggled 
to support me and hold the door open simultaneously.

"Spender," I breathed in fresh air of the street in dull amazement. We 
made it. "Jeffrey Spender," I repeated.

"Wait here," she instructed shortly. "Be right back."

"Right," I sat down on the cold pavement. I hoped she would find him. 
I hoped he would find us. The commotion we've caused in the hospital 
was bound to be noticed sooner rather than later, and it was better to 
clear the premises promptly. I closed my eyes, preparing to wait. 

Minutes later, I felt a different pair of hands settling me down onto 
something soft. The seat of the car - how did I get here?

"Easy, easy," a familiar voice spoke soothingly. "We're in the clear."

"Jody... can drive," I whispered. "Knows where to go."

"Right," Spender snickered with disdain. "I'll drive."

Whatever. I sighed, settling deeper into the seat. Jody's arms cradled 
my head, started to unwrap the bloody bandages. There was something 
important that I had to ask her... "What did you tell your son?"

She paused in her ministrations, fingers freezing for a long second. 
When she finally replied, I wondered if it were a part of a dream or 
an actual answer, but her words resonated inside me, giving me hope 
in the place where there was none.

"There will be better dreams."

End of Chapter 5b/6

The Second Ones II: Crumbling Foundation

By Anna Otto & Rachel Ehrentreu
annaotto1@aol.com & firephile@aol.com


Chapter 6a/6

Scully:

The hospital doors slammed behind me, and I felt like an avenging 
angel swooping in to make things right.

Or like a woman who had truly lost the most important person in her 
life. I pushed aside the pain and entered the psychiatric ward. I 
couldn't think about what was happening... even if he never wanted to 
see me again, I needed to find him. I rationalized it as an old debt 
being repaid. There was of course a more personal reason: I just 
needed to know that he was safe.

"Where is Detective Woods?" I demanded of a security guard that walked 
up to me. I recognized the weakness in my voice, and I hated it. 

I'd taken a flight from Connecticut as quickly as I could after I got 
the phone call. Diana appeared a little angry and hurt that I was 
ready to leave Stacey Bunner's case so quickly - but how could I 
explain it to her? With each passing day, the case looked more like a 
waste of our time, and while the Lone Gunmen's findings of similar 
occurrences were nil, Mulder's blood analysis that they emailed me 
drove my blood pressure skyward. In addition to the traces of all the 
other drugs he was floating on, the concentration of Phenobarbital in 
his system would have been enough to put him in a coma, and I berated 
myself for ever doubting his story - for ever leaving him alone while 
he was most vulnerable.

After that, the case couldn't hold my attention. Diana tried to stop 
me, but I disregarded her advice. Her last effort was to try to come 
with me, but I refused. This was personal. It had nothing to do with 
any investigation, and I wasn't sure if I trusted her enough to have 
her accompany me to the hospital.

"Agent Scully?" A man in his mid-forties with a rugged face and 
thinning hair called to me. I recognized his voice from the phone.

"Detective Woods," I walked over to him quickly. "What happened here?"

"We're not sure. We found blood on the stairwell, a broken window on 
the door leading out of the psychiatric wing, a hypodermic needle, the 
night nurse Beth unconscious over here," he pointed towards a spot 
near the doors, "and an unconscious John Doe."

I closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them, the world suddenly 
seemed clearer. "Is John Doe still here?"

"Of course, we put him in custody. He's not being very cooperative 
though."

"I'd like to speak to him." An idea was forming in my head, and as we 
walked down the hall to the John Doe's room, I saw a young boy sitting 
on a chair, tears streaming down his face. An older man was comforting 
him. Both turned to look at me, and I got the strange sensation that 
the older man recognized me. His haunted dark eyes followed me 
intently as I walked away.

"Who are they?" I asked Woods discreetly.

"That's Jeremy Larson, his daughter, Jody Larson, also disappeared. 
The little boy with him is his grandson," Woods explained.

I opened the door and saw a man with a bruised face, broken nose, and 
a wired jaw lying in the bed. Two guards stood outside in case 
anything happened, but I strongly doubted that I had anything to fear 
from this man.

"Can I speak to him alone?" I asked Woods, in my most professional 
voice. He nodded, and I closed the door behind me.

"John Doe? I'm Agent Dana Scully, and I'd like to ask you a few 
questions," I told the nondescript man. He regarded me with clear blue 
eyes and said nothing.

"You recognize me, don't you," I said, awareness suddenly creeping at 
the edges of my memory.

"I don't know what you mean," he wrote on a yellow pad near the bed.

"You sure as hell know what I mean. You're one of them, aren't you?" 
By now, my patience was gone.

"I have no clue what you're talking about," he wrote again.

"The hell you don't. They took him, didn't they?"

"Agent Scully, I assure you that I don't understand your questions," 
he wrote slowly. 

I leaned over him, "Was he bleeding? Did you hurt him? Do you know 
where he is? I swear to God if you..." I grabbed his shirt and pulled 
him towards me, "How did you get the bruises on your face if it wasn't 
him?" I asked and then realized what I was doing. I was assaulting a 
man, an injured man in a hospital bed. I lowered him back to the bed 
and took a step back. 

"I'm sorry," I apologized softly and covered my face with my hands. 
Mulder was gone and whether it was by Their hand or his own will... 
I shivered involuntarily as tears sprang to my eyes. "I'm sorry, 
Mulder," I whispered, and the sudden fact that I might never see him 
again hit me. I never got to say goodbye, and an irrational envy towards 
Jody Larson sideswiped me...if he was dead she was the last person he 
saw and wanted to see. Or wherever they were taken, she was with him, 
comforting him, trying to protect him. 

Then, I came back to myself and realized that I had just shown 
incredible weakness during an interrogation. The best thing to do 
would be to leave...I had lost any respect from the man in the bed. 
However, he might have known where Mulder was and I needed to know. 
I forced myself to remain calm and professional. "What is your name?"

The John Doe stared at me for a long moment, "I can't remember," he 
scribbled on the pad.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Doe." I walked out of the room, and was 
immediately confronted by Woods. 

"What the hell went on in there, Agent Scully?"

"He knows something, Detective Woods. I would bet anything that he is 
the person responsible for what happened to the night nurse, Beth. Has 
she regained consciousness yet?"

"No - we think she might have been injected with something. We're 
waiting for the blood results to come back to be sure."

"Phenobarbital would be my guess," I mused aloud. "We might have to 
wait a really long time for her to come around."

"Your guess?" Detective Woods studied me suspiciously. "Do you know 
something about this case that you're not sharing with me?"

"I only know that this man," I jabbed my finger at the John Doe's 
room, "participated in the possible abduction of my partner."

"To tell you the truth, Agent Scully, I think it's possible that Mr. 
Mulder..."

I cut him off. "He'd never do that. If he hurt that man in there...let 
me assure you that it was only in self-defense. Mulder would have 
never hurt an innocent bystander." I stared him down, and he looked 
away quickly.

"Agent Scully, you didn't let me finish. I believe you. I also think 
that when we get the results back on the blood in the hallway, the 
blood type will be a match for Mr. Mulder or Ms. Larson. There's 
definitely something strange going on here."

I realized that I'd jumped to Mulder's defense automatically, assuming 
the worst. Without even giving Woods a chance to complete his thought, 
I concluded that he was going to blame Mulder for what had happened.
"Did he see anything?" I pointed towards the boy.

"He wasn't there when it happened."

"I'd still like to talk to him." 

I could tell that Woods was less than pleased by my last interrogation, 
but he nodded slightly and walked us back towards the young boy.

"Mr. Larson, can I speak to your grandson for a moment?" 

The elderly, black haired man looked up at me with piercing eyes. 
"Why?" I thought I detected a hint of an accent.

"Oh, I'm Agent Dana Scully, FBI," I flashed my badge at Jeremy Larson 
and held it a bit longer in front of the young boy who regarded it 
with a sort of awe. "I'd like to ask him a few questions."

"Mark, do you want to talk to her?" Mr. Larson asked in a much kinder 
voice.

The boy nodded quickly and turned to face me, wiping his face with the 
back of his hand. "You're an FBI agent, like in the movies?" he 
sniffled.

I crouched down to his level. "That's a nice name, Mark, and yes, just 
like the movies." I forced myself to smile.

"Do you shoot people? I was watching this movie where this guy shot 
like ten people and then jumped off an exploding skyscraper. You ever 
do that?"

His exuberance made me grin. "Not recently. Do you know how much money 
it costs to rebuild a skyscraper? Now, Mark, I'd like to ask you a few 
questions. You don't have to answer them if you don't want to. Okay?" 

He nodded again, dark hair falling onto his forehead. 

"How old are you?"

"Twelve."

"You're about the same age as my Godson." And the same age as Mulder 
was when Samantha disappeared, the number permanently imprinted in my 
memory.

"Really?" 

"Yes, really, I bet you would be good friends if you ever met. He 
loves sports. Do you like sports?"

"Yes, I love soccer! Mom used to tell me that some day I would be in 
the major leagues..." he trailed off at the memory, and it took all 
my willpower to keep up my cheerful facade.

"She did? And you visited her yesterday?"

"Yes," Mark whispered, his voice once again thick with tears.

"Now, this is very important. Was anyone in the room with your mom 
when you saw her?"

"There was this man."

"Can you describe him?" I took out my pad and started writing.

"He was sorta tall, wore hospital scrubs, spiky hair sorta, large 
nose." I smiled to myself. He was obviously talking about Mulder. 
"Was there anyone else, maybe outside the room, in the hallway?"

Mark frowned. "Well, before I entered my mom's room I heard this 
slight argument she was having with the spikey-haired guy, and then I 
heard her slap him, and then I saw them hug before I went in to see 
her. There was this guy milling around the hallway. He was about the 
same height as the spikey-haired guy, had this strange short curly dark 
hair, looked kinda weak."

Why would she slap Mulder? I felt a sudden rise in anger towards her, 
and I wondered what Mulder had done to deserve a slap. Truthfully, 
there had been times where I wanted to hit him so much I had to leave 
the room, but I wasn't a psychiatric patient. Maybe Jody was 
responsible for what happened and in her twisted mind she blamed 
Mulder and she killed him. 

Ridiculous. I shot down that theory, but I felt a twinge in my chest 
when I heard about the hug...when was the last time I even touched 
him? Weeks?

"Can you tell me anything else about the man in the hallway?" I 
realized that I had been silent for several moments.

"Yeah, he was dressed in a suit."

"Did you talk about anything in particular with your Mom...did she 
say anything that struck you as strange?"

"Yes, after she hugged me goodbye, she whispered 'there will be better 
dreams.' Those were the last words she said to me." Tears streamed 
down his face, and I felt horrible for pushing him but...the words 
clicked in my mind, from that all-too-memorable phone call. They're 
connected, they're connected, they're connected...I repeated over and 
over to myself.

"They're connected," I whispered aloud and stood up quickly, the blood 
rushing to my head. Suddenly, my image of Jody shifted, and I saw her 
sitting on the bleachers watching her son play soccer and helping him 
with his homework. It was disconcerting to think of her as a person, 
not just a...patient.

"Agent Scully?" Mark asked in a small voice.

"Thank you for your time. You really helped us a lot, Mark, we'll find 
your Mom."

"Really?"

"Really." I smiled at him and patted his hand. I now had a goal in 
mind, the hospital control room and the videotapes. The elderly man 
still watched me intently, but I had no time to ask myself the 
question why at the moment. 

"Detective Woods, where would I find surveillance tapes?"

"At the front desk, but the tapes from last night are all blank."

Surprise, surprise. "I'm looking for tapes from yesterday afternoon. 
I think I might have a lead."

* * *

"Now back up to around...what time did Mark say he visited Jody?" I 
leaned close to the operator at the control panel.

"Around four o'clock, after school." Woods said from behind me. I'd 
almost forgotten he was there.

"Okay, here is the tape from that time." The woman stopped it at a 
certain point. 

"Does that man fit the description?" Woods pointed to a man leaning 
against the wall, his hands in his pockets.

I nodded numbly. I had suspected as much from Mark's description. Why 
the hell was Spender visiting Mulder? What was going on here? Pieces 
fell into place once more, and I swore I smelled cigarette smoke in 
the room.

"That bastard," I muttered under my breath.

"Agent Scully, do you want us to print out a picture of that man and 
get an ID?"

"No, that won't be necessary. Put out an APB on Jeffrey Tyrone 
Spender." I said in my coldest voice, trying not to show how furious 
I was towards him.

"Actually, he does appear to match the description of a man who broke 
into an apartment in Alexandria yesterday, at Hegel Place."

"Mulder's apartment," I whispered. Dammit, someone set this up. And I 
had a pretty good idea of who was responsible.

I dialed a familiar number. "Sir, you'd better get down here. I think 
they've got Mulder."

* * *

"You should have called me the minute you found out, Scully." 

"I know, and I'm sorry, Sir, I wasn't..." I struggled to keep up with 
Skinner's long strides as we made our way to the psychiatric ward. 

"I have information that you need. Scully, you really should have 
contacted me sooner," he repeated, his voice tired.

"What information?"

"I researched the two names that Mulder gave me, Andrew Moore and 
Jeremy Larson."

"What did you find?" This was the first time I heard the name Andrew 
Moore, and Mulder had never mentioned anything about Jeremy Larson...
not that he was talking to me towards the end... I pushed the thought 
away and forced myself to concentrate.

Skinner pulled me into an empty room. "Gustav Sanchez was killed in 
1972, as you know, but he was also Andrew Moore, a CIA Agent, reported 
missing in action in 1960."

"What? Gustav Sanchez was a reporter for the Washington Tribune, he 
was a food critic, and you're telling me that he was..."

"Andrew Moore. As far as Jeremy Larson is concerned, he worked for the 
State Department for many years - retired recently. But, he just 
bought a three million dollar house in Westchester, New York, and 
guess where he got the extra money."

"Roush." Skinner nodded, and I swore under my breath. "But that would 
mean that..." Connections formed in my mind, and I felt sick at the 
revelation. "They planned this whole thing."

Skinner put his hand on my shoulder, trying to comfort me, but I 
looked at him with dry eyes. I didn't need any comfort. The time for 
comfort was over. 

An anger I felt very rarely blossomed in me, giving me strength, 
setting me free. I felt like slamming someone's head into the wall. 
Now was the time for action. "Get me a meeting," 

"Scully, no," he dropped his hand.

"Dammit - he knows where Mulder is!"

"Listen to yourself, Scully! You're erratic, making leaps of logic, 
willing to sell yourself to the devil...whether you realize it or not, 
you're on the edge and are in no shape to even be in on this 
investigation. Actually, you're too close...I should yank you back to 
Connecticut. I should give you the same advice I gave Mulder several 
years ago: step back."

I shook my head stubbornly: "I'm fine. I need to find him, sir."

Skinner broke off eye contact and turned away from me for a moment. I 
was worried that I had lost him too. Finally, he spoke. "Scully, why 
did Mulder ask you to stay away?"

Because my very presence and voice sent him tripping down the road to 
madness, and his touch caused me excruciating pain, I thought, 
Skinner's words turning like a dagger in my chest. "I...it's 
complicated. He believed that I somehow caused his delusions. Sir, 
I have to find him. I need to be in the loop and the only person who 
can help me is the smoking man. I'm asking you to set up a meeting. I 
know what's at risk, I know the power he can hold over...us. But, if 
he knows what happened...I'm going to find out." I took a deep breath, 
"Sir, if you don't help me I'll find someone who will." It was a 
subtle but empty threat, for who else could do this for me?

His expression resigned, he pulled a folder from his briefcase. 
"Melora Sanchez' autopsy findings," he explained. "In addition to the 
malignant tumor in her frontal lobe, she was barren. I thought you'd 
want to see this."

"There was no chip," I commented darkly. "She must have removed it." 
Internally, I cursed myself for not paying more attention to the case 
that started this spiral into madness. "I need this meeting, sir," 
I whispered. Now, more than ever.

Skinner's stern eyes focused on me. "*If* I do this, you have to 
promise me you won't take any chances or make any deals. Do not sell 
your soul for this, Scully, don't let them own you." I sensed that he 
was speaking from experience and resisted the urge to ask if they 
still owned him.

I ran a hand through my hair. But, sir, if I could get back Mulder the 
way he was before -- it would be worth my pound of flesh. I bit my lip 
before I could speak and instead nodded imperceptibly and whispered, 
"I promise."

Skinner left the room without another word, and I leaned against the 
wall for support, thin pages trembling in my hand. 

What had I just done?

End of Chapter 6a/6

The Second Ones II: Crumbling Foundation

By Anna Otto and Rachel Ehrentreu
annaotto1@aol.com & firephile@aol.com

Chapter 6b/6

Instead of going home, I drove to Mulder's place and stood for a few 
minutes outside the door to his apartment. What did I expect to find 
here but a room already devoid of his essence? What clues to his 
whereabouts did I expect to discover? 

Slowly, I pushed the door open and walked inside, trailing my finger 
along the surfaces and picking up dust. A cup of stale coffee still 
stood on the small table, a TV remote was tossed on the couch. I sat 
down, perusing old newspapers. Being here without him was a small 
comfort, but a comfort nonetheless as I contemplated the future.

There was nothing left to do but wait. Would Skinner arrange for a 
meeting? Would Detective Woods call me with the news that Spender's 
car was spotted? Would someone call to inform me that Mulder's body 
was found and I had to identify it? 

I didn't change my position as I heard a shy knock on the door, only 
making sure that my gun was ready should I need it. "Come in," I 
called out, fully prepared to face whomever decided to visit. I didn't 
care any longer should it be a salesman or the devil himself.

"Why is it dark here?" a familiar voice asked softly.

"I'm saving electric energy," I replied caustically. "Contributing to 
a better environment."

The room was suddenly bathed in light, and Diana took a few steps to 
stand in front of me. "I was trying to find you. I should have guessed 
you would be here."

I wrapped my coat tighter around me. "What's the urgency?"

Instead of answering, she sat down on the side of the couch, a strange 
light in her eyes. "Dana, were you crying?"

I touched my cheek, surprised to discover the wet tracks on my face. 
Well, what do you know. "How is the case going?"

She shrugged. "You were right. Stacey's friend shed some light on the 
mystery. She hid the cancer diagnosis from everyone, and left to 
Connecticut to spend the last few weeks of her life in the place she 
loved most."

"What a waste of Bureau resources," I commented indifferently.

"I wouldn't say that," Diana objected. "It did distract you for a few 
days, didn't it?"

I clenched my fist, struggling to control my emotions in the 
anticipation of worse things to come. "Why are you here, Diana?"

She fished inside her purse for a tissue, and I accepted it mutely. 
"Connecticut was dull, one of my old friends is missing, and my 
partner has a meeting to attend." Her dark eyes focused on me as if 
in anticipation of my next movement.

I chewed my lip thoughtfully. "You mean I didn't have to go through 
Skinner? This is a lot more convenient."

Diana's expressive eyebrows shot upward for a moment as she struggled 
to regain her composure. "There is no time to waste," she announced 
abruptly. 

"I'm ready," I stood up, walking out the door without a glance behind. 
Diana caught up to me downstairs, pointing in the direction of a black 
car waiting on the curb. 

As I slid inside, Diana following me closely, I felt as if a part of 
me had broken irreparably. 

Still, I wasn't about to let go of the first small grain of hope that 
I had in weeks.

* * *

I trailed Diana's footsteps blindly as she led me through the maze of 
corridors. Her familiarity with the place should have frightened or 
repulsed me, yet as I searched inside for any trace of emotion, I 
could find none. It was as if my very being was put on hold; each beat 
of my heart, each intake of air was now focused on one goal: to find 
Mulder.

Not for one moment did I stop to consider what would happen after I 
found him. An image of him walking away from me in distaste haunted 
the fringes of my consciousness, and I pushed it away consistently. 

It didn't matter either.

We stopped in front of the nondescript door. Diana's eyes raked over 
me sharply, as if assessing my presentability. "I'll wait for you 
downstairs."

"I'm sure you will," I muttered, knocking on the wood.

"Agent Scully." A gust of warm air scented by cigarette smoke greeted 
me. "We have much to talk about." The smoker's hand connected with my 
shoulder briefly, ushering me inside. "I don't believe you've been 
introduced formally," he continued briskly as a black-haired man 
walked over from the shadows. "Jeremy Larson - Dana Scully."

Numbly, I shook the offered hand. This meeting was progressing too 
speedily for my liking, slipping further and further out of my control. 
Yet, even before I could open my mouth to speak, the smoker was 
already asking, rapid fire, "Do you have any idea where Mulder may 
have gone?"

I blinked a few times, rendered mute by the absurdity of the question 
as well as by the urgency of his expression. My eyes slid to look at 
Jeremy Larson as if searching for some explanation. He failed to 
provide me with any.

"Do you think I'd be here if I knew where Mulder was?" I glared at 
them. "I came to ask you the same question!"

The Smoking Man stood back as if losing any interest in me. I watched 
his face transform into the mask of indifference as he pulled out a 
pack of cigarettes, slipping one out with deft fingers. "You're always 
so quick to blame, Agent Scully," he spoke lazily. "I almost wish I 
hadn't spoken first. God knows what you'd have offered me, under the 
circumstances."

Jeremy Larson frowned at him in obvious disapproval, turning to me 
with a kind smile. The man was striking, even in the old age: the 
high cheekbones, large sad eyes, and an aristocratic profile created 
an extraordinary portrait, one in which I already noticed some 
similarities with Jody. "Perhaps you've overlooked something. A small 
comment your partner made, or a letter - did he not mention that he 
wanted to leave?"

For reasons I was almost afraid to examine, I felt myself responding 
to his well-honed charm. My need to trust someone was finally 
overriding all the cautionary bells and whistles in my mind. 
"He couldn't stand to be around me," I shuddered at the memory. 
"Why would he share his plans with me?" 

He nodded, understanding written on his sharp features. "And still, 
you wish to find him."

I sank into the nearby chair, no longer relying on my knees to support 
me. Mulder ran away - forgetting about me so easily that he didn't 
even bother to leave a note. I was reduced to an annoying obstacle in 
his way. The notion was enough to make me forget my surroundings, and 
I gasped at the sharp pain in my chest. "If he wishes to be found," 
I whispered. "Oh God."

The Smoking Man was suddenly standing in front of me, a glass of water 
in his hands. I accepted it with shaky fingers. It figured that 
I would finally break down here, of all the places in the world. 

"Agent Scully," he sounded uneasy, as if embarrassed by the words he 
spoke earlier. "This is not a question of what he wants. We have every 
reason to believe that his life, and that of others is in danger."

I tried to focus through the fog in front of my eyes. If these people 
were afraid... what did that say about the nature or magnitude of the 
danger?

"Our... goals... seem to coincide at the moment." The smoker paused, 
sharing a glance with his companion, seemingly coming to a decision. 
"We can collaborate."

"I need to find my daughter," Larson's dark eyes focused on me with 
intensity that was hard to resist. "You need to find your partner. 
I'm sure that my friend would like to see his son again, as well."

"Your son?" I asked, sheer intuition propelling me to the next guess. 
"Jeffrey Spender?"

The smoker nodded, growing increasingly more uncomfortable with the 
subject matter.

"Spender was kicked out of the FBI, and he let it happen. I wouldn't 
be surprised if he was behind it," I looked at Larson meaningfully, 
finally starting to feel that I might hold some advantage in this 
game. "What makes you think he cares about his own son, or about your 
daughter?"

The Smoking Man stabbed the cigarette into the ashtray viciously. 
"Agent Scully, the motivations don't matter in the long run. Say yes, 
and you will have resources, information, and backup at your beck and 
call, all focused on helping you find your partner."

"They're targeting our children," Jeremy Larson's voice resonated with 
guilt and responsibility as he probed the smoker's eyes. "That's all 
that matters."

His words struck a chord in me. "Andrew Moore," I whispered, another 
piece of the puzzle falling into place. "He was involved in the 
Project, wasn't he?"

"Yes," the Smoking Man admitted easily. "He also betrayed us. Moore 
was good," he commented distantly. "It took us twelve years to find 
him."

I wasn't expecting him to be so forward, but decided it to milk it for 
what it was worth. "When was Melora Sanchez abducted?" 

"I'm hard-pressed to remember the exact dates," he shrugged. "Several 
times."

"What happens after we find Mulder and Jody?" I asked them after 
digesting the information, instinctively sensing the importance of 
the question. Then, as an afterthought, I followed with, "Who is 
'they?'" 

The smoker's expression was once again an owlish, hooded mask. "I 
wish I could answer both of these questions, Agent Scully," he 
replied, tentative words getting lost in the clouds of smoke. "I wish 
I knew."

"How am I to trust you?" I asked sharply. "Will my partner be safe? 
Will Jody?"

"You needn't worry about that," the smoker smiled vaguely. "They will 
not be harmed."

Larson's eyes pleaded with mine to accept, yet I refused to yield just 
yet. No use in letting them know that they already won and had me even 
before I stepped inside the room. "Look past our differences for the 
moment," he asked. "The old grudges hold no meaning at times like 
these."

I felt an inexplicable urge to reach out and touch his arm, in hopes 
of comforting him, but I restrained myself, knowing how damaging it 
would look. "How is Mark?" I settled on asking instead.

"He believes that you will find his mother," Larson replied simply. 
"I believe that you will find your partner. Mark is just a boy," he 
continued, words pouring faster, in an avalanche of grief and need. 
"But I'm an old man, and since my wife died, Jody was all I lived 
for... He will survive if he loses her. I'm afraid I won't. Her 
insanity was bad enough, and now... how am I supposed to sleep at 
night while my daughter is missing?" he stopped, his voice catching. 

I sensed that he was no longer asking the smoker or me for help - 
rather anyone who listened. I closed my eyes momentarily, like a 
swimmer before a plunge. "I'll help you."

Larson grasped my hands. "Thank you."

Still, something was bothering me. "I'm an invested party, and I can 
understand why you'd find me useful. But there is more." I looked up 
to see the smoker's eyes flicker imperceptibly. "Isn't there?" I 
pushed.

"Agent Scully, ask yourself," his voice was a snake as it wrapped 
around me, squeezing my innards. "Why did you feel pain when Mulder 
touched you? Why was your presence so damaging to him? There was 
nothing physiologically or psychologically wrong with you. Even with 
him, if you care to go that far. There is only one possible 
explanation."

I touched my hand to the back of my neck, the small piece of metal 
growing in my mind's eye to leviathan proportions. "The chip?" I 
whispered, wondering why I refused to make the connection before. 
"But how... why?"

"Contrary to what you may think, no one controls it," the Smoking Man 
exhaled, the fire going out of his eyes. "No one human, that is."

This was too much to bear. "If I take it out..." I refused to finish 
the thought, not ready to face the consequences.

"No, no, don't do that," he waved his hand vigorously. "It's a perfect 
compass, in a way."

"To help us find them," I finished. "Only it works in an opposite way."

He beamed, a gleam of approval in his eyes. "Oh, Agent Scully. I don't 
think either of us will regret this union." He extended me a hand, 
and after some hesitation, I found myself returning the gesture. 
"Agent Fowley should have more information that we've compiled so far. I'm sure you will find it most helpful. 
Anything you need, just ask."

"Be assured that I will collect a toll after this is over," I gave my 
words an extra emphasis, and the smoker nodded in easy acceptance - too 
easy. I offered a final encouraging glance to Jeremy Larson as I 
walked out the doors. I was gripped by the sensation akin to falling 
down an elevator shaft, yet I couldn't help but think the awaiting 
destruction worthwhile if I reached my goal. 

Nothing else mattered.

Diana slipped out of the waiting car as she saw me approach, an 
anxious expression on her face. "Dana. Have you reached an agreement?"

"Yes," I answered briskly. "We're to work together."

"Of course," she sounded indignant. "We're partners."

"Indeed," I smiled, extending my hand in an unmistakable gesture. "I 
know you have information for me, but first we make a stop at a 
friends' house."

She relinquished the car keys with a mute question. 

"Oh, I think you know them," I replied breezily. "I'm sure they've 
missed you very much."

"All right," Diana sat down in the passenger seat. After a few moments 
of silence and deserted streets sliding behind us as I drove to the 
Lone Gunmen's lair, she turned, trying to meet my eyes. "Dana, you're 
not alone in this anymore."

If this was meant to be reassuring, I appreciated it. She was right. 
She was also very wrong. Once again, I recalled Mulder's distant face 
as he sent me away, my personalized and very real nightmare.

"Yes, I am."



~997~

Crumbling is not an instant's Act
A fundamental pause
Dilapidation's processes
Are organized Decays.

'Tis first a Cobweb on the Soul
A Cuticle of Dust
A Borer in the Axis
An Elemental Rust -

Ruin is formal - Devil's work
Consecutive and slow -
Fail in an instant, no man did
Slipping - is Crash's law.

Emily Dickinson

End of Part II

Author's Notes:

From Anna... 
First of all, Rachel - I have no idea how you put up with me while I
decided to take an unexpected sabbatical. And thank you for putting up
with all the rest of my complaints and idiosyncrasies. 
Huge thanks go to Danielle Leigh whose criticisms and suggestions are
always invaluable. 
Seda, we couldn't have found a better conclusion to this part without 
you. And more than that, thank you immensely for editing  this long, 
long journey to the coming up Part III.
Ashlea, as always - thank you for putting up with both of us, for
encouragement when we needed it most, and for making us write when it
was the least thing we wanted to do.

From Rachel...

You can find all missing parts and maybe something new at

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

Thank you for reading. As always, your comments are invaluable.