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 11 of 11]
************************************************************************

Second range of hills, north of Rongbuk Monastery
Tuesday, 6 October, 6:20 p.m.

Scully, her ears ringing in the aftermath of the gunfire, stared at the
men who trained their weapons on her, Mulder, and the Chinese who knelt
in front of her.  The last made a sudden movement, and was met with one
more gunshot.  He slumped before her, bleeding from the head.  The sharp
smell of smoke obscured the stench of rot in the cavern.

Scully kept very still; she felt the warm, sticky flow of blood on her
face ease a bit, though it did not stop completely.  Mulder set the
shotgun on the cave floor in front of him, moving slowly, then raised
his hands and turned slowly toward the leader of the newcomers.

The leader, tall and middle-aged, stepped forward.  From a corner, Diana
spoke quietly to him.  He nodded acknowledgment and she took a light and
disappeared in the direction of the surface.

Scully focused her attention on the iron-haired man whom Diana had
addressed.  There was something familiar about him, something that she
couldn't quiet place.

Mulder supplied the answer for her.  "Colonel Henderson," he said.  "I
don't believe it."

Of course, Scully thought.  Five years ago, this man had been running a
clean-up operation in Wisconsin, when she and Mulder had met Max
Fennig.

"Believe it, Agent Mulder."  Henderson smirked.  "Why am I not surprised
that you're mixed up in all this?"

Scully waited nervously for Mulder to do something foolish -- he had
harbored a measure of disdain for Henderson for years, ever since their
first encounter -- but he restrained himself, and the tension in the
cave at last eased enough for Scully to ask for a handkerchief.

Mulder stepped over to her and gave her one.  His hand trembled slightly
with unspent adrenaline.  "You okay?" he asked.
Scully nodded and took the cloth, pressing it to her nose and tilting
her head back.  From the corner of her eye, she surveyed their
situation.

Henderson was accompanied by several troopers, outfitted in desert
camouflage BDUs and heavily armed.  There was also a woman with them;
a raven-haired beauty, Scully noticed.  She had a vaguely sick look
about her, though, a general aspect of disquiet.

Mulder stayed close to Scully; Henderson didn't seem overly concerned.
He waved a hand at the dead men on the floor.  "This it?" he asked.

"Alex Krycek is here, somewhere," said Mulder.

Henderson grunted.  "So what is 'here'?" he asked.

Mulder indicated the doorway.  "See for yourself.  We just arrived,
actually."

Scully kept her eyes on the woman, who had begun to eye the passageway
that led into the alien installation, drifting toward the rear of
Henderson's group.  The soldiers, who had spread out to cover the area,
ignored her.  She took a quick look at Henderson, making sure his
attention was on Mulder, and slipped into the passage, vanishing from
sight.

Henderson's eyes narrowed.  "Very well, Agent Mulder, we'll do as you
suggest."  He turned to his men.  "Earl!  Jim!"

"Sir," two men said.

"Get these two out of here.  Vince, Mike -- you go with 'em and bring
back the plastique.  All of it."

"What?"  Mulder went rigid.

"My orders are to make sure that I leave nothing here that anyone can
exploit," Henderson said.  "And I intend to carry them out.  This isn't
an archaeological survey."

"That's outrageous," Mulder began, then stopped, realizing the futility
of arguing.  One of the soldiers gestured toward the passage that led
to the surface, addressed Mulder.  "Let's go," he said.

"Ms. Whittaker?"  Henderson looked about, but there was no answer from
the woman.  "Where the hell did she go?"

"Inside," Scully said.  "I saw her go into the facility."

"What is going on?" Henderson growled.  He turned to Mulder.  "What's in
there?  What's she interested in?"

"I didn't get a good look at it," Mulder said.  "But I know where it
is."

Henderson hesitated a moment, then made his decision.  He indicated
Scully.  "Earl, take her outside.  Keep an eye on her.  Mulder, take us
to it."  He paused ominously.  "And don't try anything cute."

* * *

A few minutes later, Mulder limped into the room with the black panel,
escorted by Henderson and several of his men.  In their progress through
the dimly lit corridors, they had seen no sign of Jill Whittaker or
Krycek, nor had they detected any other signs of living inhabitants.
When they reached their goal, however, Mulder noticed that something had
changed.

The black panel was gone.

Behind the place it had been was a small alcove, dark and empty.  The
air, thick with the smell of decomposition, carried the tang of ozone
as well.

"What is it?" Henderson asked.  His men looked about nervously,
positioning themselves to guard the entrances to the room.

"I don't know," said Mulder.  "But it wasn't open the last time I was
here.  There was a panel in front of it."

"Someone's used it, then."

"Maybe."

"Colonel!  Sir!"  One of the soldiers called from a corridor.

"What is it?"

"I found her, sir.  She's down here."  Mulder could hear footsteps
approaching.  The dark-haired woman he had seen briefly in the cave
was hustled into the room, her upper arm in the grasp of the soldier.

The colonel wheeled on her.  "What in the hell did you think you were
doing?"

"I have my own responsibilities.  This isn't just your expedition."
She glared defiance at Henderson.

He wasn't impressed.  "Bullshit," he said.  "I'm in charge here.  You're
here to make yourself useful.  If your little adventures start putting
my men in danger, I'll leave your pretty little ass for the chinks."  He
snorted once, gestured at the alcove.  "So what happened?  Did you see?"

Mulder watched the woman's defiance slowly fade as she realized the
extent of Henderson's contempt.  Whatever she had imagined her role in
this, she had just learned the reality of the situation.

She swallowed once, then spoke.  "I came this way, just to see what this
place was.  I couldn't believe it...."  She paused, then shook her head
and went on.  "There was someone here, a man --"

"Dark hair, one arm?" interrupted Mulder.

Jill nodded.  "He wore a prosthesis."  She pointed at one of the
consoles.  "He did something to that, and that thing opened up.  There
was a lot of light.  He stepped into it and disappeared.  I don't think
he saw me."

"That's it?" asked Henderson.

Jill nodded again.

The colonel turned to his men.  "Set the charges."  He looked at Mulder.
"And get him out of here."

Mulder would have protested -- he desperately wanted to know more -- but
he had no chance.  Two of Henderson's men grabbed hold of him and hauled
him out of the room, through the stygian passageways and finally to the
surface.

Scully was waiting for him by the river.  He joined her there, and they
stood together in the fading light.

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

Washington D.C.
Friday, 9 October, 9:00 p.m.

The smoking man read the last paragraph of the last report, then settled
back in his chair, lighting up for the fifth time that evening.

Not everything had gone according to plan, but that didn't overly
concern him.  The essentials had been dealt with.

Rongbuk had been sealed.  Krycek might have escaped, but that didn't
really matter.  After Henderson's demolition job, no one could hope to
explore the facility without heavy equipment, and there was no way a
major dig could be effected without the Chinese becoming aware of it.

The major concern was thus alleviated.

That left a few minor issues, but they were more perplexing than
worrying.  Agent Fowley, for instance, had not behaved as he had
expected, and that puzzled him.  The woman had actually persuaded
Henderson to just let Mulder and Scully go, and, surprisingly, he had
agreed.  Of course, the colonel had been in a hurry to get out of Tibet,
and had not really had time to deal with the two FBI agents.  And
Henderson, hard though he was, would not have been inclined to simply
shoot Mulder and Scully and leave their bodies for the vultures.

The smoking man hadn't given the order to kill Mulder anyway -- that
could always be done later, if need be, and keeping Krycek out of
Rongbuk had been more important.

Still, he had to wonder about Diana.  He had thought her thirst for
vengeance would have outweighed her affection for her former lover.
That it had not was not incomprehensible to him, but it left him
wondering.  He had misjudged his tool, in this case.

Perhaps it was for the best, though.  Better to let Mulder walk away
than to risk the Chinese authorities learning about the activities of
Henderson's team.  Yes, dealing with Mulder could wait for a more...
auspicious moment.

Ms. Whittaker had proved even more disappointing.  The smoking man had
thought her ambitious and clever, but she had proven ambitious and
foolish, instead.  In the Consortium, incompetence was a greater crime
than disloyalty, and was dealt with accordingly.  The treacherous could
always be retrained.  The stupid were simply too dangerous to be allowed
to live.

The smoking man took a deep, satisfying drag on his cigarette.  For the
first time in weeks, he could go home on a weekend and relax, leaving
off riding the tiger for a few short hours.

Perhaps he would do a bit of writing.

He closed up the files, picked up his briefcase, and walked out the door
of his office.  The war would go on, but the next battle could wait, for
a little while.

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

Washington, D.C.
Thursday, 15 October, 1:30 p.m.

The restaurant was small but cozy, a gold-lit refuge from the cold rain
outside.  Scully sat across from her partner and nibbled what was left
of her lunch, savoring a glass of white wine.  Normally, she would not
have had wine with lunch, but she and Mulder had the rest of the week
off.  Even after their recent travel, they both had considerable leave
remaining.

Mulder sipped at his beer.  He had finished his meal and now was
enjoying a second pint, an unusual indulgence for him.  But they were in
a celebratory mood.  Scully's oncologist had pronounced her healthy that
morning, confirming that her recent series of nosebleeds had simply been
a reaction to the thin, dry air of Tibet.

Tibet -- their trip to Rongbuk seemed like a dream, now.  The infinite,
cloudless skies and impossibly high mountains had been obscured by the
grey reality of Washington's autumn rains.  Scully found she did not
mind, though.  Autumn meant brisk, invigorating air and evenings spent
in front of the fire, snug and comfortable within a quilted blanket.

Home and hearth -- there had been too little of those in her life for
the past few years, but now she had both.  With Mulder there, her
apartment really did feel like home.

They had come a long way from the Roof of the World.

Two weeks earlier, Henderson had sent them on their way, and they had
gone.  There had been nothing else to do; the investigation had been
taken out of their hands.

A pair of soldiers had brought Mulder and Jill Whittaker out of the cave
and then vanished within it once more.  And half an hour later,
Henderson's entire group had emerged, just prior to a few low rumblings
that indicated the charges they had set had detonated, destroying the
last few working machines within the alien installation.  Rongbuk's
secrets would remain secret after all, it seemed.

After that, somewhat to their surprise, Henderson had released her and
Mulder, and Nawang as well.  He and his men, accompanied by Jill
Whittaker and, to Mulder's chagrin, Diana Fowley, had driven for the
Nepal border.  Diana had not had much to say, having spent most of the
time prior to her departure talking to the colonel.  Just before she
climbed into one of the Jeeps and left for good, she had approached
Scully.  Looking at Mulder, she had simply said 'Love him well; he
deserves nothing less.'  And that had been it.  She had not spoken to
Mulder at all.

They had found themselves alone with the cave once again.

Mulder had gone back underground in an effort to ascertain what, if
anything, Henderson's men had left intact, but one of their blasts had
collapsed the entrance to the facility.  It had been no use.  There had
been nothing for them to do but turn their backs on Rongbuk and return,
at the last, to Washington.

Scully had expected Mulder to be upset, but he had displayed remarkable
equanimity, letting her tend to his injuries and relaxing and enjoying
the scenery during the ride back to Lhasa.  They had spoken of the case
only a little.  Mulder had told her what he had seen within the alien
facility, and they had discussed possible explanations.  He suspected
that the device into which Krycek had disappeared had been some sort of
time-travel apparatus, but there had been no way to confirm that, or
even investigate it.  At any rate, Krycek had been nowhere to be found,
and his fate remained a mystery.

Other matters remained mysterious as well.  For starters, Scully wanted
to know how John Leslie had learned the combination that opened the door
in the cavern.  In the excitement of opening the portal the first time,
she and Mulder had not asked that question, but in retrospect, it seemed
obvious that he could not have simply guessed the correct sequence of
numbers.

Someone must have shown him which keys to press, or perhaps there was
some other explanation.  Scully had broached the subject on the ride
back to Lhasa, but Mulder had just shaken his head, admitting that while
he too would like to know the answer, it would have to wait for a new
development, something that would give them a new angle from which to
investigate the Rongbuk matter.

Like so many of their cases, this one had begun to fold in on itself.
Upon their return to Washington, Mulder had attempted to locate Diana,
but she had disappeared.  A.D. Skinner had had no information on her new
assignment.  And their attempts to trace Jill Whittaker had failed as
well.  Inquiries had led them as far as a shipping company called Apogee
Transport, but company managers listed Ms. Whittaker as a former
employee.  No, they didn't have any information about her current
whereabouts.  Yes, they would certainly let Agents Mulder and Scully
know if they heard anything.

And Leslie was no longer at Arkham, naturally.

Scully had not been surprised to learn that he was missing, but his
disappearance frustrated her more than any other aspect of the case.  If
Mulder was correct about the apparatus behind the black panel, then it
was possible that the John Leslie she had met in Arkham was in fact the
very man who had disappeared in Tibet 64 years ago, and that he had been
translated forward to the present time.

The implications of that were stunning, but with Leslie gone, they might
never learn the truth.

Only the documents remained, and even they were incomplete.  The last
thing Mulder had done before leaving Rongbuk had been to hand the
crucial pages from Leslie's journal back to Jamyang Dorje.  The old monk
had not commented, just nodded sagely, as though Mulder had passed a
test of some kind.

Scully found it frustrating, but ultimately, she could live with it.
There would be other cases, more secrets to uncover, new mysteries to
solve.  What she couldn't figure out was why Mulder was taking it so
well.

She gave her partner a long look.  "Penny for your thoughts, love."

Mulder looked up from his study of the bubbles in his beer, gave her a
slight smile.  "Just thinking," he said.

"About?"

"About what that monk told us, before we went to the cave."

Scully didn't say anything, just waited for him to continue.

Mulder took a drink, shifted slightly in his seat, letting his gaze
wander around the room, taking in the antique photographs and news
clippings that made up the restaurant's decor.  "What he said about
grasping at truth.  Do you remember?"

Scully nodded.  "I think so."

Mulder returned his eyes to her.  "I've been thinking about that.  For
years, I've been grasping at truth, trying to compel it to reveal itself
to me.  And I've paid a price for that."  He looked at his injured hand
-- it would heal, in time, but would probably never be the same as it
had before Florescu had cut him.  "I think I have to find another
approach."

"Don't give up on the truth, Mulder.  It's out there.  And if we keep
looking, we'll find it."

He shook his head.  "Don't get me wrong.  I'm not going to quit
searching.  I'm not ever going to give up.  But I am going to try to
accept whatever happens and move on.  I have to stop fighting with
myself; we have enough opponents already."

She gave him another searching stare; he did not shy from it.  The fire
was still there, she decided at last.  It was burning just as hot, but
under control.  And that was a good thing.  She reached across the
table, taking his right hand in hers.

"I've been thinking about what you said as well," said Mulder.

"Me?"

"On the rooftop, at the guesthouse.  I asked you what it was that we all
wanted."

Scully thought for a moment.  "I said 'love'."

Mulder nodded.  "Not truth, but love.  And you're right.  It's taken me
a long time to learn this, but ultimately, truth isn't our greatest
aspiration."

Scully looked into the rich hazel eyes of the man she loved and felt her
heart swell.  She tightened her grip on his hand, unable to express her
feelings with words.

His eyes conveyed his understanding.  He nodded again, slowly.

"Love makes us immortal, Scully," he said.

They said no more after that.  Mulder tossed a few bills on the table
and stood, offering her her coat.  Scully slipped into it and linked her
hand with his once more.  Together, the passed through the restaurant's
heavy doors and into the enfolding rain.

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

Second range of hills, north of Rongbuk Monastery
High noon

Alex Krycek pushed aside the last of the stones and walked the final
distance through the passageway to the surface.  The sun blazed brightly
into the cave mouth, causing him to blink painfully against the glare.

He must have slept.  By his reckoning, he had entered the cave for the
first time just an hour or two before, and the sun had been setting
then.  After Mulder had blind-sided him, he had been unconscious, but
not for very long, he was certain.  And shortly after he had awoken, the
sound of gunfire -- a lot of it -- had come from the entrance of the
facility, and he had realized that a new player had arrived on the scene
and it was time to take cover.  He hadn't been able to resist trying the
console by the black panel, though, and when it had opened with a blaze
of light, he had decided to step into it and see what happened.

The light had gone out, but that had been about it.  However, when he
turned and stepped out of the alcove, he found the room that he had just
left in ruins.

Something was very wrong with that, but he couldn't quite get his head
around it.  Besides, he was tired and thirsty, and it could wait for
later.

He had made his way through the rooms full of dusty wreckage and past
the collapsed part of the entranceway -- clearing room so that he could
squeeze through had been a labor of some hours -- at last coming to the
doorway that led out of the installation.  He had ignored the scattered
bones lying on the cave floor and made his way upward.  Now, he
scrambled down the rocks to the bottom of the canyon and knelt by the
river, slaking his thirst with several handfuls of water.

The sun beat down on him, and he took off his jacket.  It was hot,
surprisingly hot, for October.

At last he stood and surveyed his surroundings.  No Landcruisers were to
be seen, so he turned south and began the long walk back to the valley.
He stopped several times on the way to drink more of the river's cool
water.

The sun slowly fell from zenith as he walked, and by the time he reached
the place where the canyon opened on the wider valley that lay north of
Rongbuk, it had crept halfway to the western horizon.  In the distance,
Krycek saw a few Tibetans herding yaks.  Despite his fatigue, he began
jogging in their direction.  They watched him coming, nonplussed.

As he neared them, Krycek slowed to a walk.  He spoke to the closest
nomad.

"What is the date?" he asked, in English.

The man just stared at him, uncomprehending.

Krycek tried Russian.  "What is the date?"

No response.

Krycek sighed and gave up speech, settled for pointing, first at himself
and then in the direction of the monastery, which lay past the hills to
the south.  At this, the nomad nodded and turned to one of his fellows,
saying something in his own language.  After a moment, he turned back to
Krycek, motioning for him to follow.

Krycek went after him with an air of resignation.  It would be a long
walk to Rongbuk, and he was very, very tired.


*** The End ***


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

Author's notes:

Well, if you have made it this far, then please allow me to express my
very deep thanks to you for sticking with me.  I hope that you enjoyed
this story, and naturally I would love to hear what you thought of it.
This is my first attempt at a work of this length, and I would like to
know the extent to which I succeeded, if at all.  If you care to, please
send feedback to my email address (at the top of this file).

In the notes at the very beginning, I mentioned that I would take this
opportunity to explain the various references and allusions that I make
in the novella, and I will do so.  First, however, I would like to
discuss some of the inspirations for this story, as well as a few
general points of Tibetan culture and geography.

One of the main inspirations for "Rongbuk" was the book "A Journey in
Ladakh," by Andrew Harvey, and yes, the character Nawang Tsering is
named after the Nawang Tsering in that book.  In addition, I would like
to mention "East of Lo Manthang," by Peter Matthiessen and Thomas Laird,
and "My Tibet," by His Holiness the Dalai Lama and Galen Rowell, both
of which helped me to picture Tibet in my mind's eye and describe it on
the page.

As for Rongbuk itself, there is in fact a real Rongbuk Monastery in
Tibet.  It stands near Mount Everest at an elevation of about 18,000
feet.  My "Rongbuk," however, is purely fictional and lies somewhere on
the Tibetan Plateau between Lhasa and Kathmandu, Nepal.  Yes, I have
played fast and loose with Tibet's geography, but I hope I can be
forgiven.  I just liked the name "Rongbuk," and so I used it.

I really do not know too much about what life in a Tibetan monastery is
like, so I had to wing it and remain vague when necessary.  Hopefully,
my writing conveys a believable atmosphere, even if some of the details
are incorrect.

And as for travel in Tibet, and dealing with the Chinese authorities who
police it, suffice it to say that this is fiction, and in all
likelihood, one could never hope to get away with some of what I depict
in this story.  Don't try this at home! <g>

With regard to the specific references:

Chapter One:

"Weave a circle round him thrice...."  This is a line from the poem
"Kubla Khan," by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.  Since the poem describes the
unique, "touched" nature of the poet, who is (at times) shunned by more
ordinary people who cannot share his vision, this seemed an appropriate
way to express Mulder's sense of alienation from his peers.

Chapter Two:

Nain Singh, et al -- The four explorers that Mulder mentions to Scully
were all real people, and they all had extraordinary adventures in
Tibet.  (I think it's fair to assume, however, that none of them had any
sort of UFO encounter.)  For those who would like to learn more about
them, I will recommend a book called "Trespassers on the Roof of the
World," by Peter Hopkirk.  It's a fascinating account of some very
obscure history.  Another good source on this topic is "A Mountain in
Tibet," by Charles Allen.

Chapter Three:

Arkham is of course named after H.P. Lovecraft's fictional town of
that name.  I greatly admire Lovecraft's work, and just thought it
singularly appropriate that Mulder and Scully visit the place in which
so many of his stories occurred.  Of course, Lovecraft's Arkham was a
much larger town than the village in my story.

Chapter Four:

"She sheds tears.  She gives water to the dead."  This line alludes to a
funeral scene in Frank Herbert's novel "Dune."  The native culture in
that story is a desert society that values water above all things -- so
much so that even the body's water (perspiration and tears) is recycled
for drinking.  At a funeral, a character weeps openly, "giving" tears to
the dead and provoking awed wonder from those around him.

In my mind, without Scully's love, Mulder's life is death in life, and
her tears, as an expression of her love, give his life back to him.
Does this make sense?  If you've read "Dune," as Mulder probably has, I
think it must.  If you haven't read "Dune," please do so.  It's a
masterpiece.

Chapter Five:

"Le Chateau des Pyrenees" is a painting by Renee Magritte.  Basically,
it depicts a castle on a huge boulder, which is hanging in the air above
an ocean.

"...who killed whom..." is an allusion to Monty Python's movie "Holy
Grail," and I think one has to have seen it, so I won't explain any
further.  I strongly believe that Mulder is a fan of Monty Python -- he
studied at Oxford, after all.

Chapter Eight:

The description of yetis as having "squarish heads" was inspired by the
account in the book "The Long Walk," by Slavomir Rawicz, who claimed to
have seen a yeti in the Himalayas.  His book is an incredible tale -- so
incredible, in fact, that some have questioned its veracity -- but
whether one believes it or not, it's a great read.  I recommend it.

Chapter Nine:

"Matthiessen's famous book" is, of course, "The Snow Leopard."  It too
is a wonderful read, and I highly recommend it.

And that's it, I think.  Thanks again for reading, and please write if
you have any questions or comments.  I'll reply as soon as I can.

All the best,

Ravenscion.

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