X-X-X-X-X-X

Chapter Nine

X-X-X-X-X-X

Her living room clock ticked off long seconds as she waited 
for him to understand what she was telling him.  Cold night 
air stirred her curtains, and the breeze made her shiver.  
The papers on her coffee table flared up, threatening to 
blow away, and she smacked a hand down on them.

"This...this can't be right."  Mulder clutched a page in 
each hand, looking back and forth between them.  

"You're the one who told me what they were," she said.  
"You're the one who stole them from Brandt's lab."

She'd been shaking since she had first made the connection, 
but saying the words aloud calmed her.  She was no longer 
alone with her knowledge.

"Maybe these aren't the same papers."

"You've had them all this time.  They were just sitting 
there in the file cabinets." 

 How many times had he asked her to read through the old 
cases?  That first year, he must have egged her on at least 
a dozen times, telling her to immerse herself in X-files 
history.  She hadn't bothered.  She hadn't cared where the 
X-files had been; she'd only cared where they were going.  

"No, I never had these.  Not since Diana left.  She took 
this with her so I wouldn't get caught with the evidence of 
the break-in.  She said she was protecting me.  Scully..."

He moved to get in her line of sight, but she turned away.

"You have to believe me.  I didn't know what this was."

She gripped the back of the armchair and looked at the 
ceiling.  "I always thought it was an accident, that no one 
could have seen Duane Barry coming.  That's what I told 
myself.  It's part of working this job, coming in contact 
with dangerous and mentally ill people.  I knew the risks.  
I...I made choices."  She turned to him, and he stood 
there, the pages pinched in his hands, his expression 
troubled.  "I chose to work with you."

"Scully, I swear I didn't know."

"No," she said hoarsely.  "You didn't know."

He held the printouts in front of him again.  "I looked at 
these a thousand times.  It never made any sense.   I 
thought it was about his research, maybe test results, but 
I couldn't break the code.  I went over them every way I 
could think of, but nothing ever clicked.  If I had figured 
it out..."

"Don't," she said, more sharply than she'd intended, and 
Mulder flinched.

"I'll understand if you hold me responsible," he whispered.

She shook her head, her eyes closed.  She'd been holding 
him responsible for years, at least a little bit.  His 
sister, his work, his unceasing search, but somehow she had 
paid the price.  "I wanted it to be true," she said at 
last, "that we had that kind of power.  If you could have 
stopped this, maybe there was a way to stop it from 
happening again."

"There is," he said, a little desperate.  "We finally have 
proof."  He held up the pages, fisting them so tight they 
wrinkled in his grasp.

"Proof of what, Mulder?  Those pages were stolen seven 
years ago from a man who's now been dead for over a week.  
I can pick my name out from this list but untangling the 
rest of it may be damn near impossible, and if precedent 
holds, most of them are probably dead from cancer by now."

"There is still one person left who can put it all 
together," he replied as he started for the door.

"Mulder, wait a second.  What are you going to do?"

His mouth was set in a grim line.  He was angrier than 
she'd ever seen him.  "I'm going to find Diana," he said.  
"And then I'm going to find some answers."

X-X-X-X

Mulder baked like beans inside his tin can home.  He opened 
the only window on the trailer that he could, as the others 
were stuck shut.  The remnants of the hurricane had 
disappeared, leaving strong, clear sunshine and tree 
branches scattered outside on the ground.  He wore his T-
shirt from the night before, scratchy cotton stiff from the 
dried rainwater.

He lay in the narrow bunk and tossed his orange repeatedly 
at the low ceiling.  The pillow still smelled like Scully's 
hair.  He had kissed her part that morning before she'd 
left, her head in his hands.  "Don't do anything rash," 
he'd murmured at her temple.

She'd held his hands and nodded, but she hadn't looked him 
in the eyes.  

Partly he remained trapped from his own handiwork.  He'd 
made himself the target and in doing so had removed most of 
his powers of investigation.  Partly he just didn't know 
where to turn next.  Maybe he didn't even want to know.  If 
it turned out Scully was guilty, she was liable to turn 
herself in or remove the chip.  Either option could be a 
death sentence.

When Diana's phone rang, he stopped juggling the orange and 
checked the caller ID, but the number was not one he 
recognized.  Scully, he thought, from a pay phone.  But he 
said nothing when he clicked it on, waiting for the other 
party to speak first.

"Mulder," said Skinner in a low voice.  "We need to talk."

"This line is secure?"

"Of course, what kind of idiot do you take me for?  But I 
don't know how much longer we can keep this little charade 
going.  Rivera's dogs are circling.  He's got a cleaning 
woman holed up downtown, and the word is that she heard you 
and Diana arguing the night of the murder."

"That's good."  Mulder ran a hand through his hair and 
walked the worn carpet from end-to-end.  "As long as he's 
still focused on me, we're doing okay."  He hesitated.  
"Scully told me you took her gun."

"You've talked to her?  Jesus, Mulder, you like living 
dangerously."

"She wouldn't hurt me."

"I don't mean that.  I mean her phones are probably bugged 
and Rivera no doubt put a tail on her."

"We were careful."

"Did you tell her?" Skinner asked, and Mulder didn't 
answer, so Skinner's voice got even quieter. "Did you tell 
her about the gun?"

"I told her."  He stopped pacing and rested against the 
short kitchen counter.  "She says she wasn't there that 
night."

"That's all well and good except she's been places before 
without any memory of it."

"I know that," Mulder snapped.  No one needed to explain 
the situation to him.  He'd been going over every 
interaction he'd had with her over the past few weeks, 
wondering if there were clues he could have missed.  Scully 
at the shooting range.  Scully exhausted and distracted at 
her desk.  Scully in his bed.

She hadn't talked about it and he hadn't asked.  Now he was 
afraid of the answer.

"I'm going to figure out something," he told Skinner.  "I 
just need more time."

"We have another problem."

"What's that?"

"River a is trying to get a warrant for the Bureau.  He 
wants the gun."

"Can he do that?"

"I don't know.  I don't think so, but it's possible he can 
find a way in on a limited warrant.  I don't want him 
setting foot in here at all if we can help it, but my 
opinion isn't going to carry much merit on this subject."

"We've got to get rid of it."

"I was thinking about that," Skinner said, and the odd tone 
in his voice made Mulder's heart skip a beat.

"What are you talking about?"

"If it's like you say, if it's a frame job...without the 
gun, there's no frame.  I don't think Rivera could build a 
case against you or anyone else if he's missing the murder 
weapon."

He squeezed his eyes shut.  It's not like he hadn't had 
this idea himself, even as he was running out the front 
door with Diana's body cooling behind him.  Just dump the 
gun in the river or bury it in the woods and chances were 
that no one would ever recover it. But then he would never 
know the truth.

"We can't," he said at last, hating the words even as he 
said them.

"Mulder..."

"Not after we've told her.  Can you imagine living with 
this forever?  Whatever the answer turns out to be, Scully 
deserves *some* sort of answer.  And to get it, we're going 
to need that gun.  We can't risk Rivera getting hold of it."

"You realize that if we get that answer for Scully, we may 
not be able to protect her."

Mulder's bleak silence was his answer. Skinner sighed.

"What do we do with the gun in the meantime?"

"I'll take it back," Mulder replied immediately.

"Do you think that's wise?"

"I can't get in any deeper than I already am.  You should 
try to stay out of it from here on."

Skinner snorted.  "Fat chance.  I'll bring the gun myself.  
Where do you want to meet?"

"There's this jungle gym..."

X-X-X-X-X

It was after hours but Diana was still at work, lights 
burning in the basement even as the rest of the Bureau sat 
cloaked in shadow.  She didn't hear him approach so he was 
able to lean in the doorway watching her for a long minute.  
So many times he'd observed her this way, her dark head 
bent over her reading, the glow of the computer screen 
reflected on her glasses.  A million years ago, he might 
have crept up behind her, pushed aside her thick hair and 
kissed the warm spot at the base of her neck -- just about 
the spot where Scully's chip now lay.

Eventually the anger radiating from his being must have 
registered because she looked up with an expectant gaze.  
"Oh, it's you," she said coolly, and removed her glasses.  
She rubbed the bridge of her nose in a tired gesture.  
"It's really too late to argue, if that's why you've come."

"I asked Scully."  He was surprised at how calm he sounded, 
like the words came from another person instead of 
somewhere inside him.

She didn't pretend to misunderstand.  "I thought you might.  
What did she say?"

"What would you expect her to say?" he asked as he moved 
into the room.  "She was marked as a lab rat almost a 
decade ago, and you made sure her torture went ahead on 
schedule."

"Let's not get overly dramatic here, Fox.  I had no idea 
what that list meant back then, and I most assuredly didn't 
know her name was on it."

"Excuse me if I don't quite believe you."

"Believe what you like," she said as she pushed back her 
chair and stood up.  "I couldn't have stopped it any more 
than you could."

"You didn't want to stop it."  She tried to pass and he 
grabbed her arm, his fingers biting into her flesh.  "You 
wanted to stop me.  That's why you took the papers.  If I 
had figured it out, Brandt might have been shut down."

"Let go of me."

"She could have died." He yanked her arm harder, and she 
resisted, her whole body tense.  "They used her up and just 
threw her away like garbage. She came back so weak they 
even took her off life support."

She tried to jerk free again.  "I'm sorry for what happened 
to Scully.  I am.  But this is your problem, Fox.  This is 
exactly why they can continue to manipulate you and why 
you're never going to be able to find the real truth in all 
this.  Here's some truth for you:  it's not about Scully.  
It's not about you, or about Samantha.  You have these 
grand aspirations about saving the world, but your world is 
always so small."

"You're calling me myopic and saying that it somehow 
justifies your deceit.  If I was blind then I must have 
deserved it, is that it?"  He shoved her backwards.  "You 
can call my moral compass narrow, but at least I have one."

"The future's on the line, Fox.  Your way may get us there 
but then again it might not.  Sometimes a person has to 
hedge her bets."

"So that's what you were doing with Brandt -- hedging your 
bets in his bed."

"I was gaining information."

"For whom?" he asked, stepping closer to her again.  "Who 
is the ultimate beneficiary of your services?"

"I am," she replied with grim determination, and he gave a 
bitter laugh.

"So we're not so different then.  Your world is smaller 
than mine."

"I gave you access to those documents, didn't I?  You never 
would've even had the chance to get inside the Brandt lab 
if it wasn't for me.  You'd still be here in perfect, 
blissful ignorance!"

"I'm supposed to thank you for setting me up."

"I told you, it wasn't a setup.  I had no idea those guards 
were coming.  I got us in and I got us both out again, and 
then I took the heat for it too.  A little thanks would not 
be out of the question here."

He took another step toward her, and she backed up.  "Who 
ordered Scully's abduction?" he asked evenly.

"I--I don't know.  I don't know how they chose the names."

"You know."  He had her nearly trapped against the wall.

"I tried to find out, I did.  I never got that far inside.  
I don't know who makes those decisions, but it wasn't 
Brandt."

"The Smoker?"

She licked her lips.  "Maybe.  I don't know."

"But you know him.  You know his friends in low places."

"I can give you a phone number if you want.  That's all I 
have."

"I don't want numbers. I want names. I want places.  I 
want to know everything you know or ever have known about 
the men behind these abductions."

For the first time, her expression turned to pain, and she 
dropped her chin to her chest, shaking her head.  "No," she 
said softly, "You don't."

He pinned her with his knees, staring intently at her face 
as she held herself as far away from him as she could.  Up 
this close, he could see she'd aged, could smell the make-
up she'd used to hide this fact.  Foundation caked the 
wrinkles at her eyes and mouth.  Her cheeks sagged just a 
bit.  "Still like it rough, Fox?" she asked, but he could 
detect the underlying tremor in her voice.

He reached up with one hand and ran his fingers down the 
length of her hair, not quite touching.  "I could kill you 
right here."

She swallowed.  "Go ahead.  I'm half dead anyway."  She 
made herself look at him and would not turn away under the 
force of his gaze.  "Take a good long look.  This is what 
happens to people who know too much.  I don't know how 
Scully got on the list, but I know I got added quite 
purposefully."

"Then tell me."

"I can't," she whispered, and he shoved himself roughly at 
her, making her wince.

"Tell me!"

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes but she didn't 
wipe them away.  "For once, I'm doing things your way.  I'm 
choosing the small victory, Fox.  If I could help you, 
believe me, I would."

He wanted to shake her, rattle her until her eyes rolled 
and everything she'd hidden from him came tumbling out 
between them.   When he spoke, his voice was strangled, 
anger literally choking him.  "I gave you everything...every 
opening, every chance.  And you gave me nothing."

He released her abruptly, breathing hard, and they looked 
at each other. 

"You make me sick," he said as she righted herself.

"Yes, well, at least you still have that luxury."  She 
snapped her suit jacket down over her hips and started 
gathering papers from the desk.

"You can take your secrets to the grave, but they won't die 
with you.  I'll find out eventually."

She halted awkwardly and looked almost beyond him, her gaze 
clouded.  If she was imaging the future or the past, he 
could not guess.  "I'm counting on it," she said.

He left her standing at his desk, surrounded by a life he'd 
built, the evidence of her betrayal folded against his 
heart.  

X-X-X-X

Mulder added a sweatshirt and an old Yankees hat to his 
grunge look as he set out to meet Skinner.  As before, he 
parked a respectable distance from the park and walked the 
two blocks to the side entrance.  The sun shone high in the 
sky but the park was empty; all the kids were in school.

Skinner stood by the jungle gym, his bald head gleaming and 
his dark coat flapping in the stiff breeze.  He squinted in 
Mulder's direction and then looked away.  Mulder scanned 
the outskirts of the park, searching the bushes and trees 
for signs of anyone suspicious.

He loped up the grassy knoll to the playground, and Skinner 
straightened his stance.  "You look like hell," he said by 
way of greeting.

"Hell's my address these days."  He gestured with his chin.  
"Did you bring it?"

Skinner withdrew a paper sack from the inside of his coat.  
"I don't see how this helps you."

"It helps me by keeping it out of Rivera's hands for a 
little while longer."  Mulder felt the heavy outline of the 
gun through the thin paper, and he tucked it carefully 
under his sweatshirt.

"What are we going to do about Scully?"

Mulder kicked the dirt and looked around again.  "You took 
her gun, right?  At least we know she's not going to shoot 
anyone."

Skinner scowled and shoved his hands in his pockets.  "You 
told her about the gun.  There's no way I'll be able to 
keep her away from this investigation now."

"I wouldn't bet on that."  He waited a beat.  "Those 
answers Scully desperately needs...experience says she 
won't be able to bring herself to ask for them."

"I'm going to hold you to that."  

Mulder nodded.  "I'll be in touch."  He pushed away from 
the bars and watched from the corner of his eye as Skinner 
grew smaller and smaller in his wake.  But then there were 
two Skinners, then four, and they were closing in fast.

Mulder whirled and found a SWAT team bearing down on him, 
guns at the ready.  Men surrounded him on all sides, but it 
was a smaller, thinner guy who emerged from the fray.

"Hold it right there, Agent Mulder!"  The business end of a 
revolver pointed at Mulder's chest.  "Don't you move a 
muscle."

Mulder raised his hands in the air.  "You must be Rivera."

"Down on the ground, face first, and keep your hands where 
I can see them.  I don't want any funny business."

Mulder lowered himself to the grass, the smell of dirt 
filling his senses.  The gun dug into his belly as five 
pairs of dark boots gathered around him.

"Put your hands behind your back," Rivera ordered. 

A moment later, the cuffs snapped around Mulder's wrists, 
biting painfully into his skin.  Rivera grabbed him by the 
arm and jerked him to his feet.  Mulder stumbled for 
balance and looked his captor in the eyes.  Rivera assessed 
him with a level gaze.  "You're not the toughest mouse I 
ever trapped."  He jerked a nod at one of his colleagues.  
"Frisk him."

Mulder closed his eyes, resigned as a muscled guy with 
bulging forearms started patting him down.  It took him 
less than two seconds to come up with the gun.  "Lookie 
here," the burly guy said with a leer.

Rivera took the sack and peered inside.  "I've been looking 
for this," he said as he glanced at Mulder.  "Even more 
than I've been looking for you.  And here I find the two of 
you together.  What are the odds?"

Another SWAT team member appeared behind him, pushing 
Skinner roughly.  The AD also wore cuffs.

"Great, now the gang's all here," Rivera said.  "We'll go 
get this gun logged in and then you and I are going to have 
a long talk, Mr. Mulder."

"I don't have anything to say to you."

Rivera shrugged.  "Maybe you talk to me, and I don't charge 
your boss here with aiding and abetting a felon."

"You can't do that."

"Oh?"

"I'm not a felon."

Rivera didn't smile.  "Suit yourself, federal agent man.  
Now you're going to come play in my house, with the local 
boys.  I've got a four-by-seven cell with your name on it."

X-X-X-X-X

Mulder rubbed his hands over both cheeks, his new beard 
scratching at his palms.  He'd been sitting alone in the 
interrogation room for going on three hours, with nothing 
but gray walls and the sight of his own reflection for 
company.  A uniformed officer had dropped off a Coke ages 
ago, and Mulder soothed himself by playing table hockey 
with the empty can.

At last, the door opened and Rivera came in holding a brown 
file folder; his expression was unreadable.

"I want my phone call," Mulder said.  

"Tough.  You turn yourself in, you get a phone call.  You 
bust my balls for four days, you get nothing."  He drew the 
chair across the cement floor and took a seat across from 
Mulder.

"Then I have only one word for you: lawyer."

"Oh, that's too bad," Rivera said, feigning disappointment.  
"Now we don't get to talk.  I can't tell you what we found 
on the gun."  He made a show of opening the folder, licking 
his thumb, and leafing through the pages.

Mulder tried to get a look but Rivera didn't let him get 
close enough.  He held the folder back and really studied 
it.  "Yes, sir-ee, very interesting.  I never saw this 
coming."

Mulder's pulse quickened and sweat beads broke out on the 
back of his neck.  Had Scully already been arrested?  He 
shifted in his chair and the scraping sound echoed in the 
bare room.  

"You say you're not a felon," Rivera said, "but I'm having 
trouble figuring out how that squares with everything I 
know to be true.  I know you were there the night Diana 
Fowley was killed.  I know you fled the scene, and I know 
you hid out instead of coming forward when you had to know 
we were looking for you.  Best of all, I find you with her 
gun right on your person -- a gun you stole from her house 
the night of the murder.  You look like a guilty man, Agent 
Mulder.  A very guilty man."

"Looks can be deceiving."

"Oh, this I know.  Take me, for example."  He closed the 
folder and rested it in front of him.  "People see my dark 
skin, they hear my Spanish accent.  Everyone thinks I am 
Mexican.  They don't realize I am from Colombia." He tapped 
the side of his head.  "False assumptions.  We all make 
them.  So this is why I'm in here with you now, to give you 
a chance to explain yourself, to see if you can tell me why 
I shouldn't book you on murder charges this very 
afternoon."

"Because I didn't do it?" Mulder ventured.  He folded his 
arms over his head.  "I don't know if your dogged 
investigation turned up this key fact, but Agent Fowley was 
shot last year and nearly killed."

"I did learn this.  She was working with you at the time."

"You don't think I'm responsible for that shooting too?"

"They never caught the guy," Rivera mused.  "Funny about 
that."

"Maybe whoever it was tried again."

"Maybe."  Rivera lifted the edge of the folder and peered 
at the contents again.

Mulder twitched and placed his hands on the table to still 
them. Even with the prints on the gun, it wouldn't be 
enough to arrest her, he reasoned.  Not until they proved 
it was the murder weapon. 

"Making you nervous?" Rivera asked.

"Are you trying to?"

Rivera flashed a white-toothed smile, but it disappeared 
quickly.  He leaned across the table.  "I would be," he 
whispered. "If I was you."  He picked up the folder again 
and sat back in his chair.  "What if I was to tell you that 
your prints turned up on the gun?"

His heart stopped but he tried not to blink.  "It was in my 
possession.  That doesn't make me a killer."

"It does if you had your finger on the trigger."  Rivera 
watched him closely for a reaction, so Mulder didn't give 
him any.

"I wouldn't know anything about that."

"No?  You think we didn't find your prints on the trigger?"

"If you did, it's not because I put them there."

"You'd be right," Rivera said, his expression grim.  "We 
didn't find them.  In fact, we didn't find any prints at 
all."

Mulder was glad he was sitting because otherwise his knees 
would have given out.  His mouth went suddenly dry.  
Skinner, he thought.  Shit.  Thank God.

"But here's the part I find really interesting," Rivera 
continued, taking out a page from the folder.  "No prints, 
I can understand that.  You're a long-time fibbie and I'm 
sure you know how to make evidence disappear.  Hell, I 
would've wiped my prints off too.  I wasn't really 
expecting to find anything, but we've got to look.  Not a 
single print anywhere on that gun.  What my lab guys did 
find?  Print dust."

He slid the paper across to Mulder. 

"See there?  Traces of it all over the gun.  And so that 
gets me thinking.  A guilty man flees the murder and takes 
the incriminating weapon with him.  But why on earth would 
he print the gun if he was the shooter?  The only answer 
I've got is that maybe he wasn't so guilty after all.  
Maybe he only wanted us to think he's guilty because he's 
covering for someone else."

Mulder slid the paper back to the detective.  "I think I'd 
really like that lawyer now."

X-X-X-X-X

Scully parked in the visitor's lot of the precinct and 
walked past a half dozen cruisers on her way to the front 
door.  She kept her head down and tried not to look 
directly at them.  Part of her still worried this was a 
trap, but Mulder had called and said he'd been arrested.  
She had little choice but to come.

The desk sergeant summoned Rivera for her, and he appeared 
looking less smug than she would have imagined.  "Agent 
Scully, I didn't realize you held both a medical and legal 
degree.  Talk about an over-achiever."

"What are you talking about?"

"Mulder said he was calling a lawyer."  He bit into a shiny 
apple and started crunching.  "I assumed that must be you."

"Can I see him?"

"I'll even lead the way."

He led her to the back where the interrogation rooms were 
but stopped just outside the door.  The narrow hallway 
filled with the scent of apple.  "Talk fast.  We're going 
to take him to booking in a few minutes."

"Booking him for what?"  Her heart had lodged in her 
throat, pounding out a steady beat just behind her 
epiglottis. She kept her hands in her pockets so he 
couldn't see them shaking.

"Hindering a police investigation for starters.  The list 
grows from there."  He turned the handle with a sharp twist 
and let the door fall open.  "He's all yours."

"Mulder?" 

He stood as she entered, relief plain on his hairy face.  
"Hey," he said.  "Turns out he was following Skinner 
instead of you.  We both got picked up in the park."

"Skinner's here?"  She slid into the seat across from him, 
and he sat back down.

"They hauled him in for helping me.  I haven't seen him 
since."  He reached out and took her hand, and she curled 
her fingers around his.  "How are you holding up?"

She felt sick.  "They're going ahead with the booking.  
They'll prosecute you."

"Good luck to them."  He glanced over her shoulder to the 
two-way mirror behind her.  "They barely have enough 
evidence to hold me.  There were no prints on the gun."

"What?"  She jerked her hand free in surprise.

"Shh. Rivera showed me the report.  They found fingerprint 
powder but no prints."

He'd wiped them off, covering for her.  "Oh, God, 
Mulder..."

"Shh, shh," he said again, trying to get her hand free from 
where she'd clenched it against her body.  "It'll be okay."

"How did he get the gun?"

He looked sheepish.  "I kind of had it on me when I was 
arrested."

"Then they will charge you.  The won't need your prints if 
they found you with the murder weapon."  She pulled free 
and gripped her head with both hands.  "You wanted to make 
yourself look guilty, Mulder, and you did a damn fine job 
of it.  They have a witness at the scene, another who 
overheard your argument with Diana, and now the murder 
weapon.  They won't need fingerprints to convict you."

"Let me worry about that."

"And how am I supposed to do that?  How can I sit here and 
just let you take the fall for this?"

"I'm not taking the fall."  He gave an anxious look at the 
mirror again.  "We can talk more when we have less of an 
audience.  I need you to sit tight for now, okay, Scully?  
I'll figure something out."

Already her head was swimming.  She swore she could 
actually feel her brain bobbing inside her skull. "No," she 
said, her voice breathy but certain.  "I have to find out 
what happened.  I have to."

He shook his head violently and squeezed her hand so hard 
it hurt.  "Scully, listen to me.  You can't fix this on 
your own.  You have to give me time to think.  I'll get out 
of here on bail, right?  We can figure out what to do 
then."

"Mulder, if you're right about what really happened..."

"We don't know what happened.  We don't know that."

"But if, if it's true."  She tried to swallow but her 
throat had gone dry.  "I can find out."

He looked alarmed.  "What are you proposing?"

She leaned way across the table, and he met her halfway.  
Her heart was beating so fast she was surprised it didn't 
knock on the wood. "No matter who pulled the trigger," she 
whispered near Mulder's ear.  "I didn't want her dead.  But 
I think I know who did."

"Scully, no," he whispered back.  He pulled away and looked 
at her.  "It's too dangerous.  You'll never be able to 
prove anything."

Either the Smoker had made her a murderer, or he'd done the 
setup himself.  She was sure of this.  And thanks to Diana, 
she now had his phone number.

"It's the only way."

"No," he said, suddenly loud.  She jumped and he lowered 
his voice again.  "These men leave no loose ends," he 
murmured, reaching for her once more.  This time he touched 
her cheek. 

She leaned into his hand for just a moment.  "I'll let you 
know what I find out," she said as she got up to leave.

"Don't do it.  Scully, please."

Tears stung her eyes.  He'd never begged her for anything.  
"I have to know," she said, her voice thick.  "One way or 
the other."

"At least wait for me to post bail."

"I've got to go," she said, heading for the door.

"Scully, wait.  Wait for me!"

She practically fled -- past the Coke machine, past Rivera 
with his apple core and surprised expression, out of the 
station and into the cold sunshine.  Only when she'd 
reached the car did she let the tears come.  Mulder was 
right that she could be walking willingly towards her 
death, but at least she would have the truth.  One way or 
another, she would be free.

X-X-X-X-X

End chapter nine.  Continued in chapter ten.

Many thanks to Amanda for proofing!

Coming into the home stretch...

Laptop works great!  Eyes?  Not so much.  It's been a bad 
week for the peepers, so if I owe you email, it's coming 
soon, promise.

Feedback?  I'll soak it in green tea and cover my eyes with 
it. ;-) syn_tax6@yahoo.com