X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Chapter Three

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

By the time he caught up with Diana, late afternoon sun was 
painting streaks on her apartment walls.  She stood in the 
bedroom, in front of the mirror, pinning up her hair.  Three 
fat suitcases sat at the foot of the bed, and he felt the 
weight of them go straight to his stomach.

"I guess it's true then," he said. 

Her reflection met Mulder's gaze as he stopped short. 
"Fox..." 

"You weren't even going to tell me?"

She secured the last pin and turned around.  "I wanted to, 
but I wasn't sure I'd be able to walk away if I had to see 
you again."

"Well, here I am," he said, spreading his arms.  "Explain it 
to me."

"I shouldn't have to," she said as she clipped on an earring.  
"You know what happened with Brandt."

"Diana, he has no proof!  He can't force us to do anything!"

"Unfortunately, the Director sees otherwise.  I've been 
reassigned to Berlin, effective immediately."

He took a step forward, blocking her path to the suitcases.  
"You can fight this.  Brandt is making noise right now, but 
he knows he has no proof about the break-in.  If he had any 
evidence, we'd both be waiting tables by now.  The Director 
can't reassign you based on a hunch of one doctor from the 
NIH -- I don't care how many science fair prizes he's won."

"I asked for the assignment," she replied, looking at the 
ground.

"You...what?"

"This wasn't going away.  Brandt was going to keep demanding 
answers, and the more noise, as you put it, the more pressure 
on the FBI to take some sort of action, even if it's just a 
formal investigation."

"Let them investigate.  They won't find anything."

"Don't you see?  God, Fox, for someone so smart, you can be 
dumb politically.  They don't want to open the X-files.  
They'd just like it even less if you were to leave the Bureau 
entirely, so they're humoring you in the hopes that you'll 
wake up and go back VCU in a few months."

Mulder blew out a frustrated breath.  He wasn't blind to 
politics; he was above them.  "You think I don't know that?  
I know damn well that I'm the blue chip here, and they're 
just trying to keep me happy.  That's even more reason for us 
to fight this crap from Brandt."

She shook her head slowly.  "You're still not getting it. 
Brandt wants some sort of action here, some sort of 
demonstration from the FBI that we're no longer going to be a 
problem.  Sending one of us three thousand miles away is an 
excellent show of concern and support for Brandt's point.  
The men upstairs don't give a rat's ass whether we're guilty 
or not, although between you and me, I think ADA Jordan knows 
the truth of it.  If he could prove it, we might both have a 
one-way ticket to Germany."

"I can't believe you'd give up this easily," Mulder said in 
disgust as he turned away.

"Hey, I did this for you," she replied as she spun him around 
again.

"Like hell you did.  First sign of trouble, and you're out of 
here."

"They were sending one of us -- you or me -- one of us was 
getting on that plane."

He searched her face and she nodded shortly.

"I can't run the X-Files," she said at length, her voice 
rough with regret.  "It's not my project to begin with, and 
it's not fair that they try to hand it to me.  That would be 
as good as killing it."

"They wanted to send me," said Mulder as realization slowly 
dawned.  

Diana said nothing.  Outside, a car horn beeped three times.

"That's my cab."

"Diana--"

She shushed him by placing her fingers over his mouth.  "I'll 
be back, right?  This isn't forever.  We just need some time 
to lay low for a while and then I can return.  You'll have 
the X-files going, and we can deal from a position of 
strength."

He kissed her fingertips and squeezed his eyes shut.  "You 
can't actually be leaving," he whispered.

Alone with his monsters, ghosts and extra-terrestrials, he 
thought he might go mad.  When everyone around you says the 
spooks are all in your head, you start to believe it.

She smiled at him sadly and kissed him on the cheek.  "Walk 
me out," she said as the taxi horn beeped again.

Mulder hoisted the strap from one bag over his shoulder and 
picked up the other with his hand.  Diana took the smallest 
and they left the apartment together, the door clicking shut 
behind them.  He felt a familiar outline as her carryon 
bumped against his ribcage.

"What's in here?" he asked at the elevator.

"Just some files."

"Our files?"

"Not really.  I won't be doing this kind of work in Berlin, 
so I won't be needing them.  Fox, don'tÉ"

The elevator dinged as he withdrew the folders from the side 
of her bag.  "These are the papers from Brandt's office."

"I'm just taking them with me for your safety," she said, 
removing them from his hand.

"You just said you're not going to be working these kinds of 
cases."  He yanked the file back.  "And I can't believe you 
were just going to take it."

"Fox, listen to me," she said, her voice low and urgent.  "If 
you get caught with this stuff, it's over.  I don't care what 
kind of Wonder Boy you are, they will kick you out so far, 
you won't hit ground until Boise.  They'll bring charges of 
federal trespassing, theft, possibly espionage and treason."

"How am I supposed to find out what's going on if you take 
all the evidence with you?" he asked as he followed her into 
the elevator.

She leaned against the side, looking tired.  "I think you 
should drop this case for now.  Maybe come back to it later.  
You have a whole file cabinet of unexplained cases demanding 
your attention, and this one is perhaps just a little too hot 
at the moment."

"All the more reason to push it."  He looked down at the 
strings of numbers but they made no more sense this time than 
the other ten thousand times he'd studied them.

"I'm going to be working foreign intelligence," she said.  
"They have some of the best code breakers in the world over 
there.  Let me see if I can show this around -- quietly, of 
course -- and maybe we'll get some answers about what it 
might mean."

Mulder closed the folder but kept it pressed against his 
stomach.  "I don't know."

"Fine," she said with a sigh as the doors slid open.  "Suit 
yourself.  But if I were you, I'd keep that file buried deep 
until Brandt stops jawing in the Director's ear.  If he 
convinces them to search your place..."

"Take it," he answered, shoving the file at her.  "Let me 
know what you can find out."

She smiled as she tucked the file back in the bag that hung 
from his shoulder.  The movement jostled them close together.  
"Is that Mulder-speak for 'call me'?" she asked.

"Just keep in mind that my line might be bugged," he said, 
only half-teasing.  The taxi driver came to load her 
suitcases into the car.

"Does that mean no phone sex?" she breathed near Mulder's 
ear.

"Only if you're into threesomes."

"Kinky."

"Quite.  At least we'd be able to access the transcripts for 
posterity."

"No more illegal break-ins for a while, hmm?"  She pressed 
her lips to his, and he grabbed the back of her head.  They 
kissed until the driver interrupted with a not-so-subtle 
cough.

"Call me," he said, this time for real.

"I will."

She rode off in the direction of the low, setting sun, 
causing Mulder to shield his eyes from the glare. It was the 
last time he saw or talked to her again for almost six years.

X-X-X-X-X

Scully's eyes were pinched and dry, and a throbbing had 
started at her temples.  She couldn't remember the last time 
she'd had anything to eat, her stomach felt like a shriveled 
orange at her middle.  

She expected to find Skinner at his office despite the late 
hour, and indeed light slanted out from underneath the closed 
door.  She didn't bother to knock.

"I need to see the results of the autopsy," she said as she 
entered.

Skinner had a scotch in front of him.  "They won't even let 
me near the results of that autopsy.  You don't have a 
chance."

"We have to find a way.  Something about this whole story 
just doesn't make sense to me.  That trashcan Mulder 
supposedly knocked over was totally out of position.  I find 
it just a little too convenient that he managed to topple it 
right underneath the street light and make a racket good 
enough to be heard from the neighbors."

"You think he was set up?"

"I think he set himself up.  For some reason, Mulder was 
trying to draw attention to himself.  If he'd just killed 
Diana Fowley, why would he do that?"

Skinner rubbed the lip of his glass with one finger.  "I 
don't know.  But if he'd just walked in and found her body, 
why wouldn't he just call it in?"

"I don't know," Scully admitted as she sank into one of the 
chairs.  "But he must have his reasons.  Maybe if we got a 
look at the autopsy report, we could get an idea about what's 
going on."

"Gun shot to the head," Skinner said, sounding fatigued.  "I 
don't think there's a lot of mystery there."

"I want to see it anyway."

"I make no promises.  This show still belongs to the local 
boys, and they're not eager to let us play a part.  I think 
Rivera half believes that we have Mulder hiding out in the 
basement here."

"I looked.  He's not there."

Skinner widened his eyes at her, and she shrugged. "It was 
worth a try."

"You know," said Skinner, "I can help you more if you tell me 
what was going on between them."

"I'm not sure I knew," she said.

"Were they sleeping together?"

Scully considered her words carefully.  "Whatever happened 
tonight, you can be sure it wasn't because of sex."

"There are only three great motives, Agent Scully -- love, 
money and revenge.  One of them must have killed her."

"I think, sir, that in the end it may have been all three."

X-X-X-X-X

In Mulder's car, Scully noticed that the passenger seat, her 
seat, had been altered to fit someone with much longer legs.

"So what exactly did you and Diana do yesterday?" she asked 
as she fixed the seat.

"Not a lot.  We went to the scene of Brandt's accident.  
There were no skid marks that we could see, but of course 
that's not conclusive.  It was raining the night of the 
crash, so it's possible there wouldn't even be marks."

When they pulled up to the Darjeeling Cafe, they found Diana 
sitting outside with a newspaper, an espresso, and a 
cigarette.  She extinguished her smoke as they approached and 
tucked away her Washington Post.  "A bad habit I picked up in 
Europe," she said with a touch of embarrassment.  "You can't 
sit at a cafe there without one, or everyone guesses you're 
American."

Mulder took the chair closest to her and Scully dragged one 
of the white metal seats from another table.  "Coffee?" Diana 
asked them.  "I can also vouch for the raspberry croissant."

Scully had skipped breakfast because her stomach wasn't 
feeling well, but the smell of the strong coffee made it 
grumble.  "I'll have both," she said, and Mulder gave her a 
look of surprise.

"Nothing for me."  He still wore his sunglasses despite the 
shade of the large striped umbrella.  "What did you find out 
from the coroner?"

"They wouldn't give me a copy of the report, but he told me 
basically what was in it.  Christopher Brandt died of 
internal bleeding as a result of his car accident.  His 
abdominal aorta was punctured, and the M.E. says he would 
have died almost immediately."

"What punctured it?" Scully asked, leaning back so the waiter 
could put her food in front of her.

"Looks like the gearshift snapped off and he was impaled on 
the remainder, but that's just a guess right now.  He wasn't 
wearing a belt."

"What about the car?  Any evidence that it was tampered 
with?" Mulder wanted to know.

"They're still picking pieces of it back out of the valley.  
But my understanding is that they're leaning toward calling 
it an accident.  Brandt's blood alcohol was point two -- 
twice the legal limit."  She picked up her cup and drained 
the last of her coffee.  "Apparently, Brandt had a reputation 
as a drinker and was stopped a couple of years ago on a DUI.  
Someone made it go away, though, because he was never 
charged."

"I don't understand then," Scully said.  "What are we hoping 
to get out of the widow?"

Mulder scooped up Diana's paper from where she had set it 
aside.  "Right here on page four," he said, pointing.  
"Imogene Brandt says she thinks her husband was murdered."

Scully took another small sip of coffee.  So far, her stomach 
was not objecting.  "Does she why she thinks this?"

"She said he was involved in highly controversial research," 
answered Diana as she signaled for the check.

"Seeing as how that was our opinion seven years ago," Mulder 
said, "we'd like to know more."

Scully reached for her wallet to contribute her share, but 
Diana waved her off.  "My treat," she said with an even 
smile.

Scully left half the croissant uneaten.

Imogene Brandt also had an office at the NIH, although she 
maintained a research lab at NASA and an emeritus 
professorship at Cornell University.  Her secretary let them 
in, and she joined them in the living area of her large 
office.  

She had a shock of short, white hair, a bright magenta blouse 
and a black pencil skirt.  As she sat in high-backed end 
chair, she took off her glasses and blinked owlishly at them.  
"I remember Christopher talking about you two," she said to 
Mulder and Diana.  "He had half a mind to sue your whole 
agency."

"That was a misunderstanding," Diana said.

"Poppycock.  My late husband might have been a fool 
sometimes, but he didn't misunderstand much."  She frowned at 
Scully.  "You, I'm not familiar with."

"My name is Dana Scully.  I was a big fan of your husband's 
work.  We studied his seminal findings on natural killer T 
cells in medical school."

"You could fill ten text books with his work.  Who knows what 
we've lost with his death -- a cure for AIDS would be just 
the tip of it.  He was unlocking the major mysteries of the 
immune system.  What makes it turn on itself?  Why does it 
become less effective with age?  After nearly forty years of 
marriage, I can understand the murderous impulses, but 
killing Chris would be taking thousands, maybe millions, of 
lives with him."

"Did you collaborate with your husband?" Scully asked.

"Lord, no.  We both knew better.  Thank goodness our research 
interests were far enough apart that we were never even 
tempted.  He left me to my quantum mechanics; I left him to 
his viruses.  We did used to get a laugh sometimes out of the 
fact that we both studied entities no one could see."

"What exactly is your area of research?" asked Mulder as he 
leaned forward.

"String theory, at the moment."

Mulder looked at Scully for help.  "Isn't that sometimes 
called 'The Theory of Everything'?"

Imogene answered for her.  "Indeed it is," she said, arching 
an eyebrow.  "I would often kid Christopher that his nothings 
were contained in my nothings, so he should just sit around 
and wait for me to finish first."

"I'm not sure I follow," Mulder said.

Scully had an inkling now of why she'd been invited along.  
"String theory is designed to explain the movement of all 
particles in the universe," she said.  "Current laws only 
hold if you set aside gravity."

"I'm pretty sure gravity exists," replied Mulder as he looked 
at his feet.

"That's why we need new theories," Imogene said.  "The 
problem is that the strings are too small to be studied 
empirically, so we've got to test other theories that are 
premised either on their existence or lack thereof.  My work 
is also controversial, but the only ones debating it are 
snooty scientists wearing bowties and thick glasses.  Chris 
got death threats from people who thought he was interfering 
with God's plan."

"God's plan?" Diana asked.  "You mean AIDS?"

"AIDS and other illnesses, yes.  Certain religious groups 
took issue with his work because he often included 
homosexuals, drug addicts, and other social undesirables in 
his research.  Tax dollars shouldn't go to support these kind 
of 'alternative' lifestyles, don't you know."

"You think someone killed him because of his work?" Mulder 
asked.

"I think it's possible.  I don't care what the police say 
about Christopher and his drinking.  He knew his limits."

"Dr. Brandt," Diana said, "he had high levels of alcohol in 
his blood when he died."

"Yes, they told me his levels.  Christopher probably woke up 
every day with a BAC of zero point two.  That wouldn't be 
enough to get him even slightly knackered behind the wheel."

"These threats your husband was getting," Mulder said, "had 
they escalated recently?  Are there any that stand out in 
particular?"

"Talk to his secretary, Marian Ellsbury.  She kept the 
complete file.  You might ask her also about Chris's current 
bed partners -- perhaps she maintains that list as well."

"Excuse me?" Mulder said.

"Chris's appetite for knowledge was surpassed only by one 
other hunger, and he indulged early and often in the female 
buffet.  I found the first one before we'd even married.  He 
promised he'd change, but I knew better."  She shrugged.  "I 
married him anyway."

"If you don't mind me asking," Scully said, "why?"

"I knew I was never going to meet another man as brilliant as 
Chris.  That kind of brainpower, it's like being in the room 
with a giant vibrator."

Diana coughed, and Mulder hid a grin.

"You think I'm joking," Imogene said.  "Women didn't go to 
bed with him for his looks." 

"We'll, um, look into that angle," Mulder said.  "Any idea 
who he might have been seeing lately?"

Imogene rubbed her eyes with one hand.  "I tried not to know, 
if you get the picture, and Chris did his best to allow me my 
ignorance.  Last year he wrote a grant with Kendra Thompson 
at the VA, and I suspect some of their meetings were less 
than scientifically oriented.  I overheard him ordering 
flowers for her birthday."

"Kendra Thompson," Mulder said.  "Got it."  He paused and 
shifted on the couch.  "Dr. Brandt, it might help us in our 
investigation if we had access to your husband's research 
files."

"You mean to check for any aliens on the roster?"  She sat up 
with a sigh.  "I know a little bit about you and your work, 
Agent Mulder.  It's partially why I agreed to this meeting, 
because I know you're persistent.  The police seem willing to 
dismiss Christopher's accident as just that.  If you 
investigate and reach the same conclusions as they do, I'll 
have to accept the findings.  But this idea you seem to have 
that my husband was involved with extra-terrestrial 
research... well, it's preposterous, really.  There is 
doubtless intelligent life elsewhere in the universe, but the 
notion that they could come here only to collaborate in total 
secret with our government sounds like something only a 
paranoid schizophrenic patient could dream up."

"So I'm guessing that's a no on the research?" Mulder asked.

"Even if I wanted to help you, I couldn't.  I have no access 
to his files, and I'm not a collaborator on any of his 
research.  I've no claim to his data."

"Then I'm not sure we have the time to help you," Mulder 
answered.

"Look, the police don't know what my husband was doing on 
that road, or where he'd been that he'd had those drinks.  
They are mildly curious about the answers, but I get the 
distinct impression they won't be looking too hard for them.  
You, on the other hand, don't seem to stop until you have 
answers, and I know from second-hand experience that you'll 
do whatever it takes to get them.  I want to know where my 
husband was and what he was doing the night he was killed."

"You realize this isn't federal investigation," Diana said.  
"We have no official authority to investigate your husband's 
death."

"That doesn't seem to have stopped you in the past."

"Dr. Brandt," Diana began to protest, but the woman dismissed 
her with a wave of her hand.

"Ancient history as far as I'm concerned."

After they left, they stood around in the hot, sun-drenched 
parking lot and compared notes.  "I can't tell if she 
believes we owe her one because she thinks we broke into her 
husband's office," Mulder said, "or whether she's under the 
impression that the FBI is a private investigation unit for 
all government employees."

"You think her suspicions about Brandt's death are correct?" 
Diana asked.

"I haven't the slightest idea.  All I know is that it's the 
first window into this case we've had in seven years."

"What case?  The alien research angle again?"

"You and I both know that something was hinky with Brandt 
back then.  I don't know what exactly he was up to, but I 
think it's at least as likely that he got killed for his back 
alley research than by some jealous lover or religious kook."

Diana lowered her sunglasses a bit and looked at him.  "Okay, 
I'll handle the jealous lover angle, see if I can get a 
handle on whom he might have been seeing."

Mulder looked at Scully.  "Guess that leaves us with the 
kooks."

"You mean we're not going to start with the alien 
collaborators?"

"You know, that's not a bad idea."

"I was kidding."

"Yeah, but it's still not a bad idea."  He turned to Diana.  
"Those papers we got from Brandt's lab -- we should let 
Scully take a look at them to see if she can figure out what 
they mean.  Maybe there's a pattern there that will make 
sense to her as a doctor that we couldn't see."

"Sure," Diana said.  "Why not?  Let her take a look."

"Are they back in the basement with the others?"

She flicked a bug off her arm.  "What do you mean?"

"The papers.  You took them with you."

"I did?  I don't think so."

Mulder took off his shades and squinted at her.  "Yeah, you 
took them when you left because we were concerned I might get 
searched."

"Fox, I don't remember any of this.  I haven't seen those 
papers in years."

"You lost them?" he asked, incredulous.

"I don't think I ever had them."

"You had them," he said.  "Check the files and I bet they 
turn up."

"I'll check, but I swear to you I haven't seen them in ages."

Mulder shook his head as if clearing it.  "You look and I'll 
look too.  Maybe I have a copy someplace."

In the car, Mulder didn't immediately start the engine.  He 
watched Diana get in her Nissan, back out, and leave the 
parking lot.  "She took the files with her," he murmured to 
Scully.

"It was a long time ago," Scully said, and Mulder turned on 
the car.

"I remember it like it was yesterday," he said, and Scully 
pictured the long goodbye.  

He turned and looked at her. "It's the only time I ever let 
an X-file get away."

X-X-X-X-X

She drove with the windows down, the damp night air breezing 
in to keep her awake.  Her veins were half-filled with coffee 
and she had the radio on low just in case the news reports 
had any updates on the Fowley case.  Every hour or so, she 
tried Mulder's cell phone.

When his voice mail came on for the zillionth time, she flung 
the phone across the passenger seat.  She took a hard right, 
exiting from the highway at the last minute.  It was past 
midnight when she reached her destination, but she didn't 
even pause to think before she rang the buzzer.

"I know you're in there," she yelled at the camera as she 
banged on the heavy front door.  "Open up."

Static crackled from the intercom.  "Agent Scully," Byers 
said.  "What are you doing out so late?"

"Let me in," she said.

The intercom snapped off, and after a few more seconds, she 
pounded on the door again.  

"Listen, Scully, he's not here."  This time it was Frohike on 
the line.  "We don't know where he is."

"Right," she shouted into the speaker.  "You know he's 
missing, but you haven't had any contact with him."

"He's not here," Frohike repeated.  "And I swear to you we 
don't know where he is."

"Let me in."  She wanted to see them lie to her face.

"No can do.  Sorry."

"Mulder?" She braced a hand on either side of the intercom.  
"Mulder, can you hear me?"

"Scully, we wouldn't lie to you," Byers said.  "Mulder is not 
here."

"Then let me in."

She heard some unintelligible chatter and the intercom 
switched off once more.  Her heart thudded in her throat as 
she waited, but the door didn't open.  "What the hell is 
going on here?  Why won't you let me in?"

She was half tempted to take out her gun and shoot the door 
down, but the gunmen had more locks than she had bullets.

At last, the steel drawer in the door slid open.  She peered 
inside and found a cell phone, which seemed to be on.  She 
picked it up and held it to her ear without saying anything.

"Scully?"

"Mulder!" Her knees went out and she sagged against the 
building.  "What's going on?  Where are you?"

"I'm just trying to figure things out.  Are you okay?"

"Me?  I'm not the one who ran from a murder."

"I can explain, but not right now."

"Mulder, I need to talk to you."  She turned around so the 
guys could not read her lips on the monitor or hear her 
through the intercom.  "The police are looking for you."

"I figured as much.  Don't worry, I'm okay for now.  I just 
have to stay out of sight for a while until I can get some 
things straightened out."

"What things?  Tell me where you are. I can help you."

"I can't," he said, sounding genuinely regretful.  "It's too 
dangerous."

"Dangerous how?  Do you know who killed Diana?"

"No."  He paused, and his voice took on an odd tone.  "Do 
you?"

"They won't let me near the investigation, Mulder, but I'm 
pretty sure your name is at the top of the suspect list."

"What did you tell them?"

"Nothing, of course.  But the detective in charge, Rivera, he 
knows about your fight with her.  He just doesn't know what 
caused it."

"Keep it that way."

"I'm trying."  She clutched the phone tighter and swallowed 
the lump in her throat.  "Mulder, please let me help you."

"You are.  Just...just keep doing what you're doing.  Don't 
give the cops any help at all.  And leave the guys alone, 
okay?  They don't know anything, and you're scaring Frohike."

"They knew how to contact you."

"I'll give you this number and then you can know too."

He recited a foreign number, but the small victory was not 
enough.  "Mulder, if you did this because of me, because of 
what happened, maybe we can find a way out.  Diana was no 
innocent victim."

"That's not going to matter right now."

"Why?"

"Trust me.  It's more complicated than you know."

"So tell me," she begged.  "I can't help you otherwise."

"I have to go, Scully."

"No, Mulder, wait."

"What?"

She wanted to ask him a million questions.  Do you have 
enough to eat?  Are you safe?  Did you really do it?  
Instead, she said nothing.

"Yeah," he answered at last.  "Me too."

"Be careful," she whispered.

"You too."

He clicked off and she held the phone between her breasts, 
head tipped back against the wall.  The intercom came to life 
again, and she vaguely heard Byers calling her.  "Agent 
Scully?  Are you okay?  Scully?"

She placed the phone back in the drawer and walked away.

X-X-X-X-X

End chapter three.  Continued in chapter four.

Many thanks to Amanda for proofing!

Pop quiz.  What was Mulder wearing when he called Scully?

A.  Something black and sexy.  Good to hide out in.

B. Swim trunks.  He called from the motel pool.

C. Nothing.  Mulder only calls Scully in the nude.

D. The bloody shirt.  Why, oh, why won't he take off the 
evidence?

E. Something totally different that I will tell you about 
over email: syn_tax6@yahoo.com