Title: Rongbuk
Author: Ravenscion
E-mail: ravenscion@hotmail.com
Rating: R (language, violence, sex)
Category: XR
Keywords: Mulder/Scully romance, some angst
Spoilers: possible for seasons 1-5 and the movie.
Date of First Posting: 29 August 1998
Author's website: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dunes/6767/
Archiving: Please archive at Gossamer.  Others, please email for
permission.

Summary and notes: see chapter 1.

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, and all of the other characters
and situations related to the X-Files, belong to Chris Carter, 1013
Productions, and the FOX network.  I am using them without permission
but intend no copyright infringement.

[begin part 7 of 11]
************************************************************************

Kennedy Airport, New York City, N.Y.
Monday, 21 September, 11:05 a.m.

Radu Florescu waited until he felt the wheels of the Korean Airlines jet
loose contact with the runway and then settled into his seat, allowing
himself to relax at last.

The past day or so, since he had almost killed Agent Mulder, had been
extremely stressful.  He had known they would be, ever since he had seen
the approaching lights of the police car and fled the scene, leaving
Mulder alive behind him.

That didn't sit well with him.  Florescu never liked to leave a job
unfinished, and Mulder was a loose end that would have to be dealt with,
eventually.

For now, though, he could take it easy.  After driving out of Arkham,
unpursued, he had traveled as far as he felt he could and then ditched
the van, knowing that even if the cop at the scene behind him had
stopped to help Mulder, he would surely have radioed in his plates.
Thus, Florescu had to change vehicles or risk capture down the road.

That had meant leaving the van, and most of his equipment, by the
roadside and legging it through the woods of western Massachusetts, an
exhausting hike of several miles.  At the first village he came to, he
had stolen a car, and that had gotten him as far as a larger town, where
he had taken time to alter his appearance slightly and assume a new
identity.

After that, getting to New York had simply been a matter of bus and cab
rides -- slow and tiresome, but very doable.

The plane reached cruising altitude and an attractive stewardess brought
Florescu a Bloody Mary, which he sipped with relish.  All he need do
now, he thought, was ride airplanes, think, and drink.  He had a long
flight ahead of him: New York to Anchorage, Anchorage to Seoul, and
Seoul to Hong Kong.

That would give him close to 24 hours in which to review the errors he
had made during the past couple of days.  To do that, and...other
things.

Mistake number one had been not killing the duty nurse in Arkham.  If
he had not indulged in chivalry, he might have had as much as an extra
half-hour to escape before anyone alerted the authorities.  Instead, he
had played it cute, rendering her unconscious and simply leaving her to
wake up later.

He had been overconfident.

Next, he had done something to alert Mulder to his presence, allowing
the agent time to defend himself and thus cause a nearly unaffordable
delay in his escape.  Florescu had wracked his brain in an effort to
determine what had warned Mulder, but he had come to no satisfactory
conclusions.

He had made no sound.

He had been careful to approach from an angle that would not allow
Mulder to see either him or his shadow cast in the light of the car's
headlamps.

He had done nothing -- nothing -- to betray himself.

Yet somehow Mulder had known.  At the last second he possibly could, he
had wheeled and raised a hand between himself and death.  It was as
though someone had warned him, but there had been no one there but
Florescu and Mulder himself.

He sipped his Bloody Mary and shrugged inwardly.  That happened,
sometimes.  On occasion, humans perceived things in ways that simply
could not be explained.  Perhaps this had been one of those times.

Florescu finished the rest of his drink in one long pull and ordered
another one.  It was always like this after an operation.  Once the need
for absolute concentration had passed, he found that his mind began to
wander.  Some of the places it went were unpleasant, and that meant that
he had to drink.

The ghosts would come, Svetlana would come, but her image would be less
distinct in a fog.

The next Bloody Mary arrived and Florescu downed most of it at one go,
half of him already back in Moscow, with her.

With what was left of her.

He never remembered her as she had been before she died, when a young
and beautiful telecommunications clerk had fallen for a dashing Romanian
attached to his country's embassy.  The affair had been a professional
windfall for Florescu, and it wasn't until the Russians had killed
Svetlana that he had become aware of the true extent of his feelings for
her.

When he found her eviscerated corpse left in an alley near his apartment
building, an alley he passed through each evening coming home from work.
The warning had been unmistakable, but all that Florescu had been aware
of had been the sick incongruity of Svetlana's lovely face and blonde
hair, all unmarred, and her disemboweled torso and abdomen.

And years later, her lover had sold his soul to her killers.  He knew
that his decision had been the correct one, that the Organization's
objectives were goals he would give his life for, but that did not make
working for the Russians any less painful.

That Krycek was as much American as Russian made him a welcome companion
in the Organization.  It allowed Florescu to pursue the war with the
Visitors at a minimal cost to his psyche.  With the ghost of old love
haunting him, he needed whatever buffers he could get.

He decided to switch to strait vodka.  It looked to be a long flight to
Hong Kong.

************************************************************************

Northampton General Hospital
5:07 p.m.

Mulder awoke after another long sleep and again found that Scully was
not with him.

He was not alone, however.  Diana Fowley was there, seated in a chair
next to his bed.

"Fox," she said, a concerned smile on her face.

"Diana," he replied, looking around.  The room was otherwise empty, and
had the bland, cheerless air of every hospital room in which Mulder had
awoken.  His eyes returned to Agent Fowley.  "What are you doing here?"

"I heard you had been injured...I wanted to see you."

"Thanks."  Mulder felt decidedly uncomfortable, not wanting to revisit
the emotional minefield they had tread on Saturday morning.  He looked
himself over, considering the extent of his injuries.

"How badly was I hurt?"  He had not been awake long enough that day to
talk to one of the nurses, so he directed his question at Diana, both
for information and to change the focus of their conversation.

Diana smiled at him.  "The doctor said it could have been a lot worse.
You were stabbed, but the knife only cut through your skin and into your
abdominal muscles.  It will be a few weeks before you're yourself, but
you should be able to walk in a few days."

"Your hand is a bit more serious."

Mulder examined his left hand, which was almost entirely concealed by
bandages.  It had ached earlier, during his chat with Skinner, but now
it had begun to fairly scream pain at him.

"Bad, eh?"

"It will heal, but you'll probably need therapy to get the full use of
it back."  Diana attempted to put the best face on it.  "I know you're
due some time off.  Looks like you'll get a chance to take advantage of
it."

Mulder forced himself to sit up, despite the pain.  "The hell with
that," he said.  "We still have to go to Tibet."

"Fox, you can't be serious!"

He shook his head.  "Nothing's changed, Diana.  Anyway, I thought you
wanted to go."

"I did, but I don't want to see you get hurt -- worse than you are
already."  She reached out and took his right hand in hers, holding his
gaze with her own.  "I still care about you, no matter what has
happened."

Mulder gave her a long look, decided that the concern writ on her
visage was genuine.  Oddly, he felt almost no emotion in response,
despite the fact that this woman had been his lover, once.

His memory, of visual images at least, was close to perfect.  Yet he
found that he could no longer remember how it felt to be in love with
Diana.  Scenes from their time together, moments both professional and
intimate, he could recall clearly, but they came to him stripped of
their emotional content.  He could see them, himself and Diana, but
through a haze of numbness.

Mulder pulled his hand back.  The last thing he wanted was Scully
walking in on this little moment.  "I appreciate your concern, but I'm
going to Rongbuk.  If you want to help, then help.  Don't argue with
me."

She sat back, considering him.  "Does that mean I can come with you?"

"Diana," Mulder paused, wondering how to phrase his question, then
decided to take the direct approach.  "Why did you come back?"

From overseas, he meant, from her posting in Europe, thousands of miles
from him and the X-Files.  She had taken the job as their relationship
had fallen apart.  Though their work together had been rewarding, Mulder
had found that, by the end, her affection had become stifling.  Diana
had clung to him, and he had pushed her away.

Stung, she had put as much distance between them as she could.  And then
suddenly, a few months before, she had returned without warning.

"Why now, after all this time?" Mulder asked her.

Diana shifted, then looked him in the eye.  "I told you I had unfinished
business."

"What kind of business?"

"Professional," she paused, "and personal.  After we parted, I tried to
forget you.  I dated.  I was looking for someone...to take my mind off
you...off of what might have been."

Mulder said nothing.

"It didn't work.  Every time a relationship broke up, I found myself
checking with personnel.  But there were never any openings close to
you, until a few months ago."  Diana paused, then went on.  "I meant
what I said about the X-Files, too."

"The professional loose end," supplied Mulder.

Diana searched his visage.  "I hoped we could resolve both...aspects."
She dropped her gaze.  "I've found that things aren't so simple as I had
hoped."

"It's been six years."

"Longer."

"Longer," Mulder echoed.

Diana looked up at him again.  "Do you love her, Fox?"

Mulder's mind reeled at the enormity of her question.  Did he love her?
Did he love Dana Scully?

He loved her more than life itself.

She *was* his life.  She had given life back to him.

Mulder did not even attempt to express his thoughts.  "I love her," he
said simply.  "More than anything."

Diana's gaze lingered on him for several seconds, then something changed
in her visage.  "You do," she said quietly, then shook her head.  "Well,
Fox," she continued, her tone suddenly business-like, "that leaves
only professional issues to be resolved.  May I accompany you to
Rongbuk?"

"I suppose so," said Mulder.  "I need to talk to Scully first, though."

Almost imperceptibly, a muscle twitched in Diana's cheek.  "Okay.  But
let me know soon, will you?"

"As soon as I can."

Neither spoke for a while.  The silence hung between them, awkwardly,
until Diana finally spoke again.  "So, what happened in Arkham?"

"It's a long story."  Mulder wasn't yet sure how much he wanted to tell
her.

Diana indicated the hospital room around them.  "We've got time," she
observed.

There was no denying that.  "Alright," said Mulder, "but let me give
you the short version, okay?"

Diana nodded.

"We received...information...that Leslie could be found in Rongbuk, but
we also had reason to believe that one of Alex Krycek's agents had
become aware of his presence there."

"Alex Krycek?"  Diana looked blank.

"An old enemy.  He has interests similar to our own, but he's always
been more...corruptible."

"I see."

"Anyway, Scully and I drove to the mental hospital in Arkham, but just
as we arrived, Krycek's agent took off.  I went after him."  Mulder
glanced down at himself, shook his head ruefully.  "He won round one, I
guess."

"And your partner?"  Where had she been, Diana meant.

"I'm right here," said Scully from the doorway.

Diana whirled to face Scully, who glanced briefly at Mulder and then
focused on Agent Fowley.  Mulder sighed and closed his eyes.  This could
be interesting, he thought.

************************************************************************

Washington, D.C.
5:16 p.m.

The smoking man drummed his fingers on his desk, waiting for the phone
to ring.

It would be late in Tunis, and Strughold would likely not be pleased at
being contacted, but the smoking man judged the matter sufficiently
urgent that he had no choice but to interrupt the man who stood as first
among equals in the Consortium's inner circle.

The smoking man sensed that Strughold would not be pleased with what he
had to tell him, especially in the wake of the Wilkes Land debacle, but
the Rongbuk affair had reached a critical juncture.  Florescu had seized
Leslie's journals and, it had become evident, left the country.  There
was little doubt as to where he would resurface, and when he met Krycek
in Hong Kong, they would almost certainly head straight for Tibet.

The smoking man wanted to get a team into the area as quickly as
possible, but he would have to get Strughold's approval, and hopefully
his assistance as well, before he could do so.  A Consortium effort to
infiltrate Tibet would require official cooperation from a neighboring
country -- possibly India -- and securing that on short notice would
require the intervention of someone of Strughold's influence.

The smoking man went over the arguments he would present to his superior
while he waited for the return call.  He knew his logic was sound, but
there remained one glaring hole in his reasoning.  That hole, in fact,
was the premise upon which his reasoning was based.

He wished he knew Strughold's personal views of Rongbuk, assuming he
even had any.  The smoking man had long been convinced that the reports
of paranormal phenomena in Tibet were precisely what they seemed to be.
But many of his colleagues did not share his concerns about what might
someday surface on the world's highest plateau.  For that reason, he had
had no trouble in squelching Alex Krycek's efforts to lead a Consortium
expedition to the region.  Though he had privately agreed that such an
expedition was necessary, he had not wanted someone as untested as
Krycek leading it, and later, when young Alex had proved treacherous,
he'd had cause to feel vindicated concerning his opinion.

That had been years earlier, and Rongbuk had lain quietly throughout the
intervening time, but it would lie quietly no longer.

The phone rang, and the smoking man reached for the receiver.  Decision
time had arrived.

************************************************************************

Northampton General Hospital
5:17 p.m.

Mulder remained passive as Diana Fowley and Dana Scully exchanged a long
look.  He had no sense of what passed between them, but Diana quickly
excused herself and, wishing Mulder a rapid recovery, left the room.

Scully sat down in the chair Diana had vacated, her expression guarded,
but Mulder could see the stress, the exhaustion, etched on her
countenance.

He realized at once that the time had come to air a few old, unresolved
concerns.

"I'm sorry, Scully," he said, reaching out to her.

Her lips thinned into a tight line, and she didn't take his hand,
instead folding her arms across her chest.  "Mulder, don't do this to me
again," she said, her voice subdued.

Mulder retrieved his extended hand and folded his hands over his
stomach, unconsciously mimicking her posture.  "I'm sorry.  I mean it.
But there was no time...."

She cut him off.  "I don't want to hear it, Mulder.  You could have been
killed.  You very nearly were.  If he had driven that knife much
deeper...."  She trailed off, shaking her head as if to deny the image
that her words called into her mind.

Mulder kept silent.  He found himself unable to come up with a response
that would be helpful.

For several moments, Scully did not speak either.  When she did, her
voice was barely more than a whisper.  "Mulder, I've been thinking."

His heart sank.  I've finally done it, he thought.  I've finally driven
her away.  He realized he had never really believed it possible, even
when she had been facing transfer to Utah.  He had always assumed that
she would find her way back to him, that if he could find a way to
repair whatever was wrong, she would want to come back.

The irony was that he had resolved not to put her in this situation.
Well, Mulder, he thought, good intentions and all that.  He had to say
something, though, to make an effort to repair the situation.

"Scully, I...."

She raised a hand, cutting him off again.

"I've realized that for most of my life, I've been afraid of intimacy."
Her hands joined in her lap then, beginning a nervous, washing motion.
"I've always been afraid of being hurt, so I've kept my distance from
people."  She paused.  "That's what drove Jack away."

The admission shocked Mulder.  Jack Willis' was a name he had not
thought about in years; he'd hardly expected Scully to bring him up now.

She went on, not looking at him.  Her gaze remained locked on the edge
of the mattress.  "He wanted more than I could give him.  We dated for
a long time, but whenever he tried to get close, I pulled away."  She
shook her head.  "He finally couldn't take it any more.  He told me he
couldn't stay with a woman who didn't know how to love.  And then he
just left."  Her hands stilled.

Scully looked up at him at last.  Mulder met her eyes, waiting for more.
"In a way, working with you was easy.  We had a reason not to become to
close."

"We did, though," he said.  They had become close, so much so that their
becoming lovers had almost been an afterthought, in a way.

Scully nodded, acknowledging the truth of his remark.  "We did, but we
never crossed the line, so it was safe."  She kept her gaze on his, her
eyes moist.  "I was...insulated...against loss."

"I'm sorry," Mulder said.  "I shouldn't have...started this.  I never
wanted to hurt you."

He took a deep breath, not wanting to say what he knew he must, but
there was no avoiding it.

"Scully...Dana...I know what I'm like.  I try not to be, but it's what
I am.  There's always going to be a part of me that acts first and
thinks about the consequences later."  Scully wore an expression that he
could not read, and Mulder found that, for a long moment, he couldn't
get the next words out, but at last he just gave up and said them.  "If
you can't live with that, I'll understand."  He choked over the last
word.

Scully blinked, causing jewel-like tears to spill from her eyes.  She
shook her head, denying his offer.

"Mulder, no," she said.  "Is that what you think this is about?"

"I think you'd be better off without me," he said.  Today's a day for
being honest, he thought grimly.  He looked away from her, from the
woman he loved.  The pain in his side had disappeared, for some reason.

It was she who reached for him this time, bringing his gaze back to her.
"Mulder, when have I ever given up on you?"  Her left hand encircled his
right.

"Never," he said.  She'd always come after him, no matter what straits
he'd got himself into.

He could recall a dozen such moments.  When he came awake after his
disastrous expedition to the Arctic, her face had been the first thing
he had seen.  She'd been tired, her eyes shadowed by days of fear and
sleeplessness, but she had watched over him until he'd regained
consciousness, greeting him with a look of joy that had made his heart
sing.

There had been other moments as well.  Once, she'd even endured the
humiliation of imprisonment for his sake.  Upon his return, she'd had
only welcome for him.  No complaints, no accusations.

The guilt that had been weighing on him seemed to redouble itself.  "I
didn't mean that," he said.  "I..."  He didn't know what to say.

Scully tightened her grip on his hand.  "Mulder, I've never asked you
for much, but I'm asking for this."  Her eyes locked on his, all azure
intensity.

"Don't leave me behind.  Promise me."

How like her to convey so much in the simplest of words.  Mulder found
himself reflexively searching for an avenue of escape.

"That wasn't my intention," he protested.

She did not relent.  "Mulder, I've lost too much.  I don't want to lose
you too.  I can't."

The naked look of need on her face stunned him.  He had known that the
years had worn her down, but now he saw that even that realization had
been inadequate.  Throughout their time together, Scully had always
given of herself for him, not asking anything in return.  That she had
finally let herself admit to need spoke volumes about the fatigue in her
spirit.

He realized he should not be surprised.  The long months of her cancer
had taken a tremendous toll on her, and the trauma of her daughter's
death had followed close on its heels.  The only question was how she
had held it together this long.

Her faith, he thought, had sustained her, but she needed more than that.

It gave him pause.  Need had been the cause of his flight from Diana,
years before, but as he looked into Scully's eyes, Mulder saw love there
as well, love that would keep giving, at any cost, to her limits and
beyond.  He couldn't turn his back on that love; he didn't want to.

You've already made your promises, Mulder.  Time to start keeping them.

"I promise," he said.  "The next assassin is all yours."  The joke was
feeble, but Scully laughed through her tears.  He drew her to him, then,
and she joined him on the bed, setting herself carefully so as to avoid
jostling him.  Mulder wrapped his good arm around her, pulling her into
an awkward embrace.  "I won't let you down again," he said.  I promise,
he thought.

Scully molded herself into him.  They remained thus, clasped together,
for a long time.  They had no need for discourse; in silent communion,
they reconnected to each other.

Still, doubt tugged at Mulder's mind.  Scully had forgiven him once
again, but nothing had really changed.  They were caught in a cycle, he
realized, the same one that had trapped them since they began working
together years before.  It had intensified, but its essential nature
persisted.  And it would continue to manifest itself at intervals until
some fundamental change occurred.

Our quest is the last thing between us, he thought.  What was hurting
her was an integral aspect of his essential nature.  Mulder found that
he had no idea what to do about it.

But he feared he had already offered the only solution, the one Scully
had rejected, and deep down, he also feared he would have to insist on
it.

* * *

6:26 p.m.

Diana Fowley could not have explained what brought her back to Mulder's
room.  When Scully had arrived, she had known she had to leave; the
serious mien Mulder's partner had worn made it clear that the discussion
to come would not include Diana.  And Fox had already made it clear that
he no longer had any interest in her.

She had gone, clutching her dignity about herself like a tattered
blanket.

The smoking man would owe her, after this assignment.  Working with
Mulder and Scully now would be nothing but emotional torment.  Of
course, Diana knew that the smoking man would most likely not see it
that way -- he would have little sympathy for her inner turmoil.  To his
twisted mind, the chance at vengeance against the man who had spurned
her affections, and by extension his lover as well, should be viewed as
an opportunity.

But these matters were never so simple.  Vengeance would always exact
its own price.

Going on would be service above and beyond the call of duty -- if she
had not already been beholden, she would have opted out of the whole
business, sparing herself.

And yet she had returned to Mulder's room, only an hour after leaving
it, though she knew his partner would likely still be there.

Diana found that she was not mistaken.  Arriving at the door, she opened
it a crack and stole a quick glance at the scene within.  Fox and his
partner lay on the bed together, both asleep, in an unguarded intimacy
that the duty nurses had chosen to overlook, it would seem.  Scully lay
with her head pillowed on Mulder's right shoulder, seeming small and
delicate next to him.  She wasn't his type, Diana thought -- Fox had
always preferred his women tall and dark -- but she must be something
special.  Diana had never seen Mulder look at a woman the way he looked
at his partner, not even when he had been with her, years before.

Stare though she might, she could not divine what Fox saw in Scully,
what quality she had that captivated him.  It certainly was not her
youth -- Mulder's partner was but a few years younger than he -- yet
something about Scully drew his eyes to her whenever she entered a room.
When she was present, half of his awareness inevitably lingered on her.

Diana sighed and let the door fall closed, striding down the corridor
toward the exit.  The final death of her love affair with Mulder hurt,
but she found herself embracing the pain, gripping it tightly to
herself.

She knew she would need the strength that it gave her.

* * *

7:30 p.m.

It was Skinner who finally roused Mulder and Scully from their slumber.

He had left Mulder at the hospital hours before, dealing with the local
authorities for most of the afternoon, his intent to spare Scully as
much as possible of the bureaucratic hassle that inevitably followed a
event such as had happened in Arkham.  He knew she needed rest, but she
had insisted on pursuing Mulder's inquiries at the mental hospital, and
so Skinner had taken some of the load for her.

The day had stretched out endlessly, and by the time he returned to
Northampton that evening, Skinner felt tired and irritable and more than
a little in need of a shower.  Instead, he just had time for a final
interview with Mulder and Scully before he had to head out for the
airport in Hartford, Connecticut.

He knocked on Mulder's door, expecting to find both of them there, and
after a moment was invited to enter.  Scully sat in a chair next to
Mulder's bed, but from the foggy look the both of them wore and Mulder's
position on the bed, Skinner knew that they had been asleep when he had
knocked.

Asleep together -- his earlier conjecture had been correct, he realized.

He regretted disturbing them, but forbore from taking overt notice of
the circumstances in which he had found the two agents.  Instead, he
drew another chair near to Scully's, sat heavily, and brought up the
case.

"Agent Scully, how went your inquiries in Arkham?"  Mulder would want to
know this too, if he and Scully had not already discussed it.  Something
told Skinner they had not.

Scully shook her head, perhaps clearing cobwebs as much as expressing
futility.  "Not well," she said.  "The person calling himself 'Leslie'
who is currently in the custody of the mental institution is not old
enough to be the man we're looking for."

That revelation disturbed Mulder, if the frown that creased his forehead
were any indication.  He carefully worked himself into a sitting
position.  "What do you mean, not old enough?" he asked.

"This 'John Leslie' can't be more than 35.  That isn't--"

Mulder interrupted her.  "It may not matter.  Many abductees experience
time distortion.  If his absence were due to an abduction, who knows?
Maybe he hasn't aged at the same rate as the rest of us."  He shrugged
gingerly.

Scully was shaking her head again.  "Mulder, time can be distorted --
theoretically -- but the energy requirements would have to be of a
scale..."

"...to allow travel between the stars?" Mulder finished.  "Think about
it: Leslie my have incurred time debt while in interstellar transit."

Scully's hand described a non-committal motion.  "Yes," she began,
"that's possible, but even if true, it raises several other questions."

To Skinner's mild surprise, Mulder held his peace, merely inclining his
head, inviting her to continue.

"Well," said Scully, "if...extraterrestrials...took someone from earth
and then traveled at relativistic speeds out of the solar system, that
person would experience time more slowly than we would.  So if he was
returned, he might not have aged as much as we would expect."

Mulder's eyes lit up.  "Well, wouldn't that explain--"

"No, Mulder."  Scully shook her head.  "It wouldn't make sense.  If we
assume that extraterrestrials can master the energy needed for inter-
stellar travel, we also have to assume they've found some way to
overcome the lightspeed barrier, some sort of 'shortcut' between points
in space.  Reaching even the nearest star would require years of travel
if one could only accelerate up to the speed of light."

Mulder chewed his lip, frowning again.  He'd read enough science fiction
over the years to have heard that argument before.

"Well," he said, "if they've found a 'shortcut,' why couldn't they
distort time?  I've measured such effects in the past."  He pinned his
partner with his gaze.  "You've seen that."

Scully did not respond at first.  Finally, she said "I suppose it's
possible -- again, in theory.  But I--"

Skinner broke in.  "Alright, I'm sure this is all quite fascinating, but
we need to approach this in a more mundane fashion or it won't matter
what the smoking man says -- this investigation will be shut down."  He
faced Scully.  "What else did you learn?"

She gave him a questioning look.  "About Leslie?" she asked.

"For starters."

"Well, he does believe that he's the person that Agent Mulder thinks he
is.  But he may be delusional.  He's clearly been under considerable
stress.  I wouldn't be surprised to learn that he had been diagnosed
with some sort of breakdown."

"Which would make sense if he is the real Leslie," Mulder put in.

Scully nodded.  "True enough, if largely unprovable."

"What is he doing in a mental hospital if he hasn't been diagnosed?"
asked Skinner.

"Better ask our smoking friend about that," Mulder responded.  "He's the
one who put us on the road to Arkham in the first place.  I'm certain
that he arranged for Leslie to be held there."

"Okay, enough about him," said Skinner.  Speculation about the smoking
man could last all evening and end with nothing accomplished, and
Skinner inevitably felt greasy when discussing him.  He changed the
subject again.  "What was...the guy who attacked Agent Mulder, what the
hell was his name?"

"Florescu," said Scully.

"Right.  What was he doing in Arkham?"

Scully took a deep breath.  "I'm not sure.  He choked a nurse until she
was unconscious, but he didn't kill her.  Then he knocked out an
orderly, and killed a third man of...uncertain affiliation."

"What?" asked Mulder, leaning forward and wincing as his movement caused
him to inadvertently tug at his wound.

"He evidently broke into the hospital shortly before we arrived in
Arkham on Sunday morning.  According to the staff, he didn't harm anyone
working there, apart from rendering them unconscious."

"So what did he do there?" Mulder asked.

Scully hesitated.  "Well, he apparently went to Leslie's room, but the
patient calling himself 'Leslie' doesn't remember speaking with him.
The staff did say that he took certain...documents from a locker."

"What documents?" Skinner and Mulder asked simultaneously.

"The staff wasn't sure.  No one paid much attention.  Someone said there
was a book."

"Oh, damn!"  Mulder started to slap the bed in frustration but thought
better of it.  "Leslie's journal."

Skinner looked at him.  "Are you certain of that?"

To his surprise, Scully answered.  "That's what whoever set this up
really wanted.  He evidently had access to Sales' writings, but they did
not include accurate surveys that would reveal the location of...
whatever is near Rongbuk."

Mulder was nodding.  "But Leslie was carrying his books.  Krycek knew
that, or guessed it, and now he has what he wanted."

Skinner felt anger, a blend of old disdain for Krycek and frustration
with Florescu's success in Arkham, rising in him.  "So now what do we
do?" he asked.

"If the smoking man arranged for Leslie to be sent to Arkham, he must
have had him in custody at one point.  Maybe he has copies of the
documents."  Mulder slid his legs from beneath the covers and attempted
to stand, prompting a gasp of concern from Scully, who stood and
prevented him, forcing him to lie back on the bed.

"Mulder, don't even think about it."

Skinner noted that Mulder's injuries prevented his usual willfulness.
"Scully, we have to get moving.  We're in a race to Rongbuk, now."
Mulder protested, but he also returned to a prone position.

"We'll need permits -- we'll need time to arrange them," said Scully.
"You might as well rest."

"We need to contact the smoking man..." Mulder began.

"I'll take care of that," said Skinner, feeling unclean.  "I'm returning
to Washington tonight.  I'll get in touch with him."

That seemed to satisfy Mulder, so Skinner decided to head out.  "I have
a plane to catch in about two hours, so I have to get started.  Agent
Scully, are you on board with this?"  He waved a hand at Mulder and his
notions.

"I don't have a good alternative hypothesis," Scully admitted.

Skinner nodded.  "Alright.  Keep me informed."

With that, he left the agents in the hospital room.  As he walked to the
parking lot, he reflected on the unholy alliance he would have to cement
once again.

************************************************************************
[end part 7 of 11]