~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

LAWS OF MOTION

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

by syntax6


Chapter Eleven: Boomerang


They took a late flight back to D.C., with two-thirds of the 
plane empty and the lights down low.  Mulder usually opted 
for the aisle seat, where he generally ended up tripping the 
flight attendants with his long legs, but this time he leaned 
against the hard plastic wall and pressed his nose to the 
cold window. In his dark suit, he blended with the night sky.

At his left, Scully sipped water from a plastic cup before 
delicately licking her lips and setting the glass exactly 
back inside its prescribed hole in the fold-out tray.  Mulder 
rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the pattern 
of city lights below them.

"My third week teaching at Quantico," Scully said, "I was 
going to demonstrate removal of the organs.  The cadaver was 
a man in his sixties who had died of a heart attack the week 
before.  He looked a little like Ross Perot.  I remember he 
seemed to be smiling, and I thought to myself that at least 
he must have died happy."

Mulder pushed his head up with one hand to look at her.  She 
seemed lost in her story.

"Anyway, I had already performed the major incisions before 
class started.  He was lying on the table covered in a sheet 
as the students came in.  I took the sheet off and this one 
young woman just started screaming.  I'll never forget that 
awful, awful sound."

"What happened?"

"She knew him.  He was her next-door neighbor growing up -- 
used to give her hard candy and let her pretend to drive his 
Cadillac."

Mulder shrugged and leaned against the plane again.  "Is 
there a point to this story?"

"You work so hard to remain detached."  She took another 
drink of water.  "You tell yourself it's not a person you're 
dissecting.  It's just a body.  But then sometimes the sheet 
comes back and it's your next-door neighbor."

"Scully, I'm kind of tired," he said, closing his eyes.  "Can 
we talk about this later?"

"Oh. Sorry."

Mulder kept his eyes shut, knowing he would not sleep wedged 
in like a pressed ham but needing some distance between them, 
even if it was only the thin skin of his eyelids. As long as 
they had a case in front of them, it was okay.  He could 
pretend everything was the same.  But he was not going to sit 
here and make painful in-flight chitchat with her.

The flight attendant stopped for their trash.  The plane 
would be landing soon.  Thank goodness for the short trip.  
Mulder sat up long enough to hand over his crushed cup and 
napkin.

Scully grabbed his arm.  "Mulder, your wrist."

He yanked free from her grasp and tugged his sleeve down over 
the angry red marks. "That's what happens when you get 
checked in to the loony bin against your will," he said.

"Let me see," she said, reaching for him.

"It's fine."

"Those are nasty looking sores, Mulder, you should have them 
bandaged or--"  She tried to pry his arm away from his body, 
but he held firm.

"Scully, stop it!"

She drew back, clearly wounded.  

"I don't need you to play doctor this time, okay?  I'm fine."

"I was just trying to help."

"Well, you're not.  Things are complicated enough without you 
putting your hands all over me right now.  If you haven't 
noticed yet, this little exchange is how we keep getting into 
trouble."

She dropped her chin to her chest.  "You think that's what 
I'm doing?  I just want--"

"What, Scully?  What do you want?"

Her head snapped up but she didn't say anything.  The flight 
attendant stopped and gave them a friendly smile.  "You need 
to put your seats up now and prepare for landing," she said.  
"Make sure your seatbelts are tightly fastened."

Scully fumbled around with her lap belt while Mulder 
tightened his with a sharp jerk, nearly knocking the breath 
from his lungs. She sat ramrod straight, staring at the seat 
in front of her and blinking just a little too often.

"Listen, forget it, okay?" he said.  "I'm just over-tired and 
it's been a hellish week."

Scully said nothing.

Mulder leaned over so his head nearly touched her shoulder.  
"Hey, you can't take me seriously, remember?  Two days ago I 
was in the loony bin."

Scully bowed her head and looked at her hands folded in her 
lap.  "I want us to be friends again," she whispered.

Mulder sagged.  Friends, he thought wearily.  Right.

He patted her arm weakly and righted himself in his seat as 
the plane began to dip downward.  "Then you have nothing to 
worry about," he told her.

~*~*~*~
~*~*~*~*~

They enjoyed a whole fourteen hours away from one another 
before reuniting on Saturday morning to track down Kitty 
Hill.   Mulder was waiting for her outside Kitty's apartment 
building.  The windy day made his hair stand up on end, and 
he had both hands wrapped around a paper Starbucks cup.   
Scully, who had overslept and not had time for coffee that 
morning, eyed it with fierce envy.

"Sorry I'm late," she said.

"I haven't been here long."  He squinted up at the ten story 
brick building.  "You say she's in three-seventeen?"

"That's what her driver's license says."  She looked around 
at the parked cars on the street.  "We may be striking out 
here.  She's the registered owner of a red Toyota Carolla but 
I don't see one around, do you?"

"She's young, it's the weekend -- maybe she slept elsewhere."

The wind shifted and Scully could smell the hazelnut roast 
from his coffee.  Mulder caught her looking and extended the 
cup in her direction.  She shook her head.  "No, I couldn't."

"Please, have some.  I think of it as self-preservation."  A 
smile played at his lips, and he tilted his chin, encouraging 
her to accept the coffee.  Scully gave in and smiled, too.  
After yesterday's tense plane ride, she was willing to do 
just about anything to keep the peace, and after all, this 
was caffeine he was offering.

She took a few long sips and handed the coffee back to him 
with a lipstick mark on the rim.  She tried not to stare too 
hard as he put his mouth right over it, just where he lips 
had been.  Mulder drained the cup and crumpled it in one 
hand.  "Shall we knock?" he asked with exaggerated gallantry 
as they headed for the stairs.

He tossed the cup over her head and pumped his fist when he 
hit the trashcan. They only had to wait a few seconds before 
someone exited the building, allowing them to slip inside.  
They climbed the stairs to the third floor and located 
apartment three-seventeen, which had a red checkered welcome 
sign hanging on the front door.

Scully raised her hand to knock but Mulder beat her to it.  
She heard the sound of footsteps on the other side, and a 
young woman in sweat clothes opened the door a few inches.  
"Yes?" she said, her expression guarded.

Scully flashed her ID.  "My name is Agent Dana Scully, and 
this is Agent Mulder.  We're looking for Katherine Hill."

The woman's face closed off completely.  "There is no one 
here by that name," she said, starting to close the door.  

Mulder stopped her.  "This address is listed on her driver's 
license."

"She used to live here.  She doesn't anymore.  I don't know 
where she went, and I can't help you."  She tried again to 
close the door.

"You are?" Mulder asked.

"My name is Stacy Isaacs," she said reluctantly.

"Stacy, it's really important that we talk to Katherine," 
Scully said.  

"Look, I'd help you if I could, but I can't.  She left about 
six months ago and she didn't tell me where she was going."

"No forwarding address?" Scully asked.  "What about her 
mail?"

Stacy widened the door so they could see a small table in the 
front hall.  It displayed a wire mesh basket that was filled 
to overflowing.  "She said she'd call when she could, but 
I've never heard from her."

"You say she left abruptly?" Mulder said.

"Actually, I didn't say that," Stacy replied, looking 
uncomfortable again.  "Why do you need to talk to Kitty?  Is 
she in trouble or something?"

"What makes you think she might be in trouble?" Scully asked 
as neutrally as she could.  Mulder had taken advantage of the 
widened door to poke around the hall and living room.  Stacy 
kept glancing at him as though she wanted to stop him, but 
she didn't protest.

"It's never good when the FBI wants to talk to you, right?"  
Stacy wrapped her arms around herself.

"You're worried about her," Scully said.

Stacy shrugged.  "I haven't heard anything from her since she 
left.  Not a card, not an e-mail, nothing."

"Did she say why she was going?"

For the first time, Stacy started to look more afraid than 
annoyed.  "You think something's happened to her?"

"We expected to find her here," Mulder said as he turned 
around.  "So any information you can give us about when and 
why she left would be extremely helpful."

Stacy hesitated a moment and then disappeared.  When she 
returned, she was carrying a folded piece of notebook paper.  
"It was the first week of October.  I was at my boyfriend's 
for the weekend, and when I got back, Kitty's things were 
gone and she'd left this note for me on the kitchen table.  
She also left five thousand dollars in cash to cover the rest 
of her rent."

Scully accepted the letter and read it aloud.  "Dear Stacy, 
I'm sorry to run out on you like this, but something has come 
up that requires my immediate attention.  I can't stay here.  
I've left the money for rent, and I'll have someone come by 
to pick up the rest of my things.  I'm really sorry for 
leaving so quickly.  I'll call as soon as I can to explain.  
Take care.  XXOO, K."

"Do you mind if we keep this?" Scully asked.

"I don't know what good it will do."

"What about right before she left?" Mulder asked.  "Did she 
seem worried about anything?  Maybe she mentioned if 
something was bothering her?"

"Not that I saw."  Stacy colored and looked at her sneakers.  
"But I wasn't really around all that much, you know?  I slept 
here maybe two nights a week.  But she seemed good, happy.  
She was working on a grant for that battered women's shelter 
-- the Brigham House?"

"Did she talk a lot about her work there?" Mulder wanted to 
know.

"Sure, that was her whole life.  She just wanted to help 
people."

"What about Melinda McKenn or Rachel Campenella?  Did you 
ever hear her mention them?" Scully asked.

Stacy's brow wrinkled in concentration.  "I don't think 
so...but the names sound familiar."  Her eyes grew large as she 
placed the dead women's names.  "Those are the two women who 
got stabbed to death.  Why would Kitty know them?"

"We don't know that she did."

"Oh, god.  But that's why you're here, isn't it?  You think 
Kitty knew something?  You think she might have been next?"

"No one thinks that," Scully said gently.

"What about Seth Ryerson?" Mulder asked.  "Did Kitty ever 
talk about him?"

"Who?"

"Senator Ryerson's son," answered Scully.  "We heard Kitty 
may have dated him back in high school."

"She did?  She never said a word to me."

Scully exchanged a meaningful look with Mulder.  If Kitty 
hadn't mentioned her association with the Ryerson family, it 
was unlikely she had ever mentioned a possible baby, either.  

She withdrew her card from her coat pocket and handed it to 
Stacy.  "If you do hear from Kitty, please let us know."

"You didn't tell me what you wanted to talk to her about," 
Stacy said as she studied the card.  "If I tell Kitty you 
were here, she is going to want to know what for."

"I think she'll know," Mulder said lightly.  "Thanks for your 
time.  We'll show ourselves out."

In the hall, Scully let out a long breath and looked up at 
him.  "Well?  What do you think?  She seemed like she was 
telling the truth to me."

Mulder was looking at the front door.  "To me, too.  But I do 
think something happened here to send Kitty running."

He lifted the "WELCOME" sign and underneath was a fat, fist-
sized dent.

~*~*~*~*

Life had kicked him in the gut a time or two; he was used to 
the stomach-punching blows.

But this time life aimed a little lower.

There he was, enjoying showing up that twerp Jeffrey Spender 
in front of a room full of colleagues, when Diana reappeared.  
"I think Agent Mulder is right," she said, getting his 
attention just as easily as she had some eight years earlier.  
"Looks like the boy sensed the shooter precognitively.  If 
you rewind the tape, you'll see it."

She looked exactly the same.  How was this possible? he 
wondered.  He was a completely different person now but she 
looked exactly the same.

Those seductive words -- I think Agent Mulder is right -- 
they had been a drug to him once.

She smiled at him, just a little, a secret acknowledgement of 
what they meant to each other, and Mulder had no words.  Like 
the boy on the tape, she could read his mind, and she had to 
know what he was thinking now: what the hell brought you back 
here?

He wondered if she was also remembering their last 
conversation, the one in her bedroom where she was packing 
with the lights off while their relationship crumbled at his 
feet.  "I can't believe you would just leave like this," he'd 
said, "that you would just take this assignment without even 
talking to me first."

"I did talk to you," she'd reminded him.  "You told me there 
was only room for one agent on the X-Files.  What else did 
you expect me to do, Fox, take up cocktail waitressing to pay 
the bills?"

"So this is punishment, then," he said, "because I failed to 
get approval for two X-Files agents."

"You didn't fail.  You never even tried."  She'd zipped the 
body bag around her expensive suits, and he had found himself 
hating those suits.  It's you she has to pay for, he'd 
thought bitterly.  

"Diana, we've been over this.  I barely got them to approve 
my assignment.  There's no way they were going to let two 
agents flush their careers down the toilet."

"Did you even ask them?" she'd demanded, her eyes pinning him 
in the semi-darkness, and he'd opened his mouth to lie but 
the words never came out.  Diana had conceded his defeat with 
a short nod of her head.  "I thought not."

"Why Europe?  Why four thousand miles away?"

"Because that's where the job is.  You have to go where the 
leads take you.  Isn't that what you've always said?"

She always found a way to use his own words against him; it 
was one of the things he hated about her.

"I worked as hard as you did for this," she'd said tightly, 
her back to him.  "I deserved it as much as you."

"And because I can't make you my partner, because I can't 
offer you a position on the X-Files, you're just going to 
walk away from everything.  Funny, I always thought you cared 
about me more than the X-Files."

She had turned then, and looked him straight in the face.  
"And I never made that same mistake about you."

Seeing her now, he could still remember that awful silence, 
with her perfume bearing down on them in the close room.  He 
wondered if she would still smell the same.

The meeting broke up and agents started filing into the hall.  
Mulder, close to the door, made it out first, but Diana soon 
found him down by the elevator.  "Agent Mulder, it's good to 
see you again," she said, with that same knowing smile.

"Uh, good to see you, too."  Mulder glanced at the glowing 
numbers to see if the elevator was on its way soon.  

Scully arrived before the elevator did.  "Mulder, Skinner 
asked if we could go interview Gibson Praise.  I gather he 
believes the mind-reading angle is worth pursuing."  Her tone 
implied that clearly she did not.  She looked from Diana to 
Mulder.  "I'm sorry, was I interrupting something?"

"No, no," Mulder said.  "Diana, this is my... this is Dana 
Scully.  Scully, this is Diana Fowley."

Diana smiled tightly at Scully and turned back to Mulder.  
"If you're going to see the boy, do you mind if I tag along?  
I'd like to see him myself."

"It's no trouble," Scully answered before Mulder could say 
anything.

And so they all stood there, waiting and watching the glowing 
countdown: five...four...three...two...

Boom, Mulder thought, and the doors slid open.

~*~*~

Diana's long legs would let her keep up with Mulder easily, 
but as they got out of the car, she fell into step beside 
Scully.  "So you work regularly with Agent Mulder now?" she 
asked.

"We've been partners for nearly five years," Scully replied.

"On the X-Files?"

Scully caught a hint of incredulity in the woman's tone.  "Is 
that surprising?"

"You were introduced at the meeting as a medical doctor, a 
pathologist.  I'm just surprised someone with your background 
would choose an assignment investigating the paranormal."

Mulder glanced back at them, probably wondering what was 
being said.  He reached the main door and held it open, 
waiting.

"I didn't choose it," Scully answered shortly.  She looked at 
Diana.  "You say your background is in terrorism?"

"More recently, yes, but originally my work was in 
parapsychology."

"The paranormal," said Scully, and Diana gave her another 
forced smile.  

They reached the door where Mulder stood.  Diana stopped 
behind Scully.  "After you," she said.


Gibson Praise reminded Scully a bit of her little brother 
Charlie at that age -- the same bowl haircut, the same round 
glasses.  Charlie had sat for hours in front of the TV 
watching cartoons, too.  Scully had always found them boring.  
The Roadrunner always won, and Tom never did eat that mouse.

Mulder was crouched down next to the boy, trying to get him 
to play a computerized chess game.  "Don't you want to see 
how fast you can beat it?"

"No."

"Maybe that's because you can't."  He turned off the TV and 
the room got very quiet. "I'm right, aren't I? You know what 
I'm talking about. You knew the moment I came in. That's how 
you win, isn't it ... how you know what your opponent is going 
to do? You get inside his head. You read his thoughts. That's 
how you knew that man was going to shoot you ... isn't it?"

Scully waited for the boy to break out laughing, but instead 
he said, "I know what's on your mind.  I know you're thinking 
about one of the girls you brought."

"Oh?" Mulder said. 

"And one of them is thinking about you."

Scully arched an eyebrow and looked at Diana, who looked 
impressed.  Suddenly Scully wasn't so amused by the game.

"Which one?" Diana wanted to know.

This is ridiculous, Scully thought, but she was holding her 
breath.  Gibson concentrated on Mulder's face.  "He doesn't 
want me to say."

Mulder laughed it off but seemed uncomfortable.  Scully gave 
Diana another appraising look.  I wasn't thinking about him, 
she thought.  And you barely know Mulder.

"The kid's going to need round-the-clock protection," Mulder 
said and then walked out into the hall.

Scully followed while Diana hung back in the doorway.  Scully 
had to call his name to get Mulder to slow down.  "What was 
that all about?" she asked when he had stopped.

"The kid's no chess master. Under controlled conditions, I 
could probably beat him."

"Mulder, he's recognized internationally as a prodigy. He's 
beaten Grand Masters."

"With the most unfair advantage. What he's doing amounts to a 
kind of parlor magic trick."

"Mulder, he was goofing on you. He was playing along. You're 
positing that this kid can read minds."

Mulder apparently had no reason to doubt Gibson's ability.  
The boy's words rang in her ears: "I know you're thinking 
about one of the girls you brought."

"We've seen a number of these cases before, Scully." 

Scully took a cleansing breath.  "Say that what you're 
suggesting were even possible, who'd want to kill a kid whose 
abilities would offer you the ultimate advantage... I mean in 
business, in war, in anything?"

Diana materialized by her shoulder as if from thin air.  
"Maybe somebody whose business is in keeping secrets," she 
offered.

"Well, let's test him. I think the kid will stand up. Let's 
run a brain scan and a psych evaluation on him. You know what 
to do, Diana."
He walked away then, leaving Scully feeling sucker-punched. 
"So, you two know each other?"
"It was a long time ago," Diana said, and walked off in the 
direction Mulder had gone.
~*~*~*~

Mulder caught up with Diana at the hospital, where Gibson was 
watching TV.  He glanced around but he did not see Scully 
anywhere.  "How's little Karnac doing?" he asked.

Diana smiled.  "Put a TV in front of him and he turns right 
into a normal kid.  He's the real deal, Fox.  We tested him 
with Zener cards, random numbers, a variety of ESP tasking.  
He's got the ability to not just focus on a thought, but a 
multitude of thoughts at once."

Through the glass, Mulder watched Gibson and wondered if the 
boy could hear him thinking now.

"That was a good catch on the videotape," Diana said.  "I was 
impressed."

"Oh, you would have caught it eventually."

"No, I've been too many years trying to get inside the head 
of too many Arab terrorists.  I'm out of practice at this 
stuff.  But you seem at the top of your game."

"That's all I do.  That's all I've been doing for the last 
five years.  Been my life, such as it is."

"Sometimes I hear about you... about the work you're doing.  
And I think how it might have been if I'd stayed."

Mulder looked her over.  "We'd all be blown up by some 
terrorist bomb, no doubt, eh?"

"I sense you could have used an ally, though -- someone who 
thinks like you, with some background."

"Oh, you mean Scully?"

Diana smiled without humor, and for the first time he noticed 
lines around her eyes.  Maybe time got to her after all.  
"She's not what I would call an open mind on the subject."

On any subject, Mulder thought with a rueful laugh.  Diana 
assured him she was on his side, and the next thing he knew, 
she was holding his hand.  He was surprised at how unfamiliar 
she felt.

"When we were together, I don't think I appreciated what a 
special kind of talent you are," Diana said.  "I've worked 
with a hundred agents in the past five yeas, and not one has 
had your drive, your passion."

She overlaid her other hand on top of his, her thumb grazing 
his wrist.  Mulder pulled away.  "Why did you come back, 
Diana?"

"My work in Europe wasn't satisfying me anymore.  I missed 
being back here, near the center of things.  You spend all 
your time overseas trying to protect America from the bad 
guys, and after a while, you start to forget what you're 
protecting."

"And the fact that your first case back is with me?"

"Pure coincidence."  She flashed him a dazzling smile and ran 
her hand along his arm.  "But a pleasant one.  We always did 
work well together, Fox.  You know we did."

"Yes," he whispered.

"And now that I'm back, we'll be seeing a lot more of each 
other."

"I have a partner, Diana."

"So you say."  Her expression was coy.  "I've seen your 
office, Fox.  There's still only one name on the door."

His cell phone rang, making him jump, and Diana pulled back 
as he withdrew the phone from his coat pocket.  He nearly 
sagged in relief at the sound of Scully's voice.  "Where are 
you?" he asked her.

She asked him to meet her at the office.  "I'm on my way," he 
said.

"Trouble in paradise?" Diana inquired.

"Scully says she has something to show us about the boy."

"Us?" Diana asked, looking skeptical.

Mulder held the door for her as he considered that, in fact, 
Scully hadn't mentioned Diana at all.  "I'm sure Scully wants 
to you be there.  You're part of this case."

Diana walked through the door.  "I just don't think she likes 
me."

"Don't worry about it," Mulder said mildly.  "Scully doesn't 
really like anybody."

"You mean anybody but you." 

~*~*~

As they drove to the hotel the next morning to meet Diana and 
Gibson, Scully considered the fact that Mulder had yet to 
mention he had worked with Diana, let alone been romantically 
involved with her.  His little chickadee, Frohike had said, 
but Scully couldn't imagine Diana cooing at anyone.  She 
seemed so... plastic.

Scully looked up from her lap and glanced at Mulder.  His 
face was passive, neutral, as though he were lost in thought.  
And this time she didn't have Gibson here to give her any 
clues.

"I wonder if his parents know," she said to Mulder, who swung 
his head around to look at her.

"Hmm?"

"Gibson.  I wonder if his parents know about his abilities.  
I'd guess they would have to, wouldn't they?  Especially if 
he's been this way since birth.  I imagine that as a small 
child, he wouldn't have known yet that he is unique.  He 
probably thought everyone could read minds.  Can you imagine 
when he started talking and his parents realized what they 
had?"

"Maybe that's why they spend all their time shipping him 
around the globe," Mulder allowed.  "So they don't have to 
deal with it."

"Diana mentioned you had seen others like him before."

Mulder shook his head.  "No, nothing like Gibson.  Some 
people with precognitive abilities, yes, but he blows 
everyone else out of the water."

"It sounds like you worked closely with her for some time."

"For a time."  He squinted out at the road.  "It was a long 
time ago."

"That's what she said."

He looked at her again, surprise on his face.  "You talked to 
Diana about me?"

"She's been more forthcoming than you have."

"There's nothing in my past history with Diana that I need to 
come forth about," Mulder shot back.

Scully pursed her lips.  "Forget I said anything then."

"What did she say?"

"Nothing of consequence."  Scully turned her face to the gray 
day out the window; it seemed to her that it had been gray 
forever.

Mulder gave a dark chuckle.  "Diana told me you didn't like 
her.  I brushed her off, but now I'm starting to think she 
might be onto something."

"I don't know her well enough not to like her."

"Well, it looks like you're going to get the chance, because 
she's planning on sticking around for a while."

"Doing what, exactly?"

Mulder gave an exaggerated shrug.  "What she used to do, I 
guess."

Right, Scully thought.  Great.

Because they both knew what -- and who -- Diana Fowley used 
to do.

As the hotel came into view up ahead, Scully noticed two 
police cars and an ambulance, all with their lights flashing.  
She sat forward in her seat for a better view.  "What's going 
on?" she asked, even though Mulder wouldn't have any better 
idea than she did.

"This is bad," he said grimly.  "Very bad."  He stopped the 
car and they both jogged toward the hotel.  

Skinner met them halfway, confirming there was bad news.  
"They killed a US Marshal and shot Agent Fowley."

Behind him, the paramedics carried Diana out on a stretcher.  
Scully looked on in horror as Mulder reached for Diana's 
hand.  He squeezed it briefly before the EMTs pushed him 
aside to load Diana into the ambulance.

"What about the boy?" Scully asked.  "Is he here?"

Skinner shook his head.


~*~*~


Much later, the sun went down outside Mulder's apartment as 
Scully talked with Skinner on the phone.  Mulder lay on his 
couch like a mummy, staring at the ceiling.  He had barely 
said ten words to her since they had arrived at his place.

Scully spoke in hushed tones, as though at a funeral.  
Skinner warned her the X-Files would likely be shut down and 
she and Mulder reassigned.  When she broke the news to 
Mulder, he seemed defeated.

"This was all strategized, every move.  I just couldn't see 
it.  It was all part of a plan."

Scully wondered if he had even registered the fact that they 
were probably going to be split up.  She remembered the last 
time this had had happened, how desperate he had been for 
reunion, both with her and the X-files.  Now he seemed 
resigned to letting them both slip away.

"Mulder, whatever you believe, this time they may have won."

Mulder nodded, as if to himself; he still hadn't looked at 
her.

"I'm sorry about Diana," she whispered, looking down at her 
hands.  

"You know when I first saw her, you know what I thought?  I 
thought -- it's been eight years since she helped me found 
the X-files, and what I have I done since then?  Nothing.  I 
have file cabinets stacked three deep and they're all full of 
garbage."

Scully winced.  She was in those files.  "That's not true," 
she said quietly.  "And you know it."

"Gibson, he was the real deal," Mulder said, as if she hadn't 
spoken.  "He was my chance to really get somewhere.  We were 
so close..."

"And we will be again.  Gibson is out there somewhere, 
Mulder, and we can find him."

"You said it yourself, Scully.  They're going to shut us 
down."

"But they can't stop us."  She gave him what she hoped was an 
encouraging smile.  He sat up with his feet on the floor and 
leaned forward, looking directly into her eyes.

"What I remember about last time is that they took the files 
away, and when that didn't work, they took you too."

Scully sat back, taken with the unexpected force of his 
words.  "That... that won't happen this time."

"Why not?" he said, gesticulating wildly.  "It worked last 
time, didn't it?  They got Diana, didn't they?  They just 
take and take and take..."  He closed his fists weakly and 
sagged backward on the couch.

His phone rang but he made no effort to answer it.  With a 
sigh, Scully reached for the receiver.  "Hello?"

"Agent Scully, I think you and Mulder better get down here 
right away," Skinner said.

"Sir?"

"There's been a fire."


Fire trucks ringed the building like shiny red tanks, the 
Hoover an ugly concrete fortress under siege.  Scully raced 
to keep up with Mulder, but when he wanted to, he could put 
distance between them with no effort at all.  They arrived 
breathless, and Skinner tried to stop Mulder from heading to 
the basement.

"Mulder," he said, reaching for him, but Mulder stalked right 
on past.  Skinner cast a helpless look at Scully, who hurried 
to the stairs after Mulder.  

Already she could smell the ash and smoke and water.  The 
stairs were slick beneath her feet.  She felt the cold, wet 
wall with her hand as she stumbled down the steps into the 
blackened basement.

Mulder stood among the ruins.

Scully covered her mouth briefly before venturing into the 
muck.  Water dripped from the ceiling.  All of Mulder's 
posters and clippings had burned to bits.  Their file 
cabinets had melted under the flames.  

She did a slow circle around the room, trying to absorb the 
damage for him, as Mulder just stood there, mute.  His hands 
clenched and unclenched, but he did not say a word.  She 
could not speak past the lump in her throat.

Their life together went up in smoke.

She walked to him and touched his bare arm.  He burned like 
the room.  She laid her head against his chest and heard the 
thundering of his heartbeat, all the anger he was holding 
inside with his rigid posture.

Mulder did not hug her back.

"That's it," he said finally, his voice hollow under her ear.  
"They've taken everything.  There is nothing left."

"Mulder..."

He pulled away from her and turned to walk upstairs.

"Mulder, wait.  Talk to me."  She scrambled after him, only 
to stop short at the bottom of the stairs when he did not 
even slow down.

"Go away, Scully. Get as far away from me as you possibly can 
while you still have the chance."

~*~*~

Scully did what she always did when her life went to hell -- 
she cleaned.  She put a bandana over her hair and shoved her 
hands inside rubber gloves.  When her eyes started to burn 
with tears, she told herself it was just the chemicals from 
the cleansers.

It was two in the morning.  She was utterly exhausted, so 
tired her bones ached, but she kept cleaning.  She mopped the 
kitchen.  She scrubbed the bathtub.  She rearranged her 
living room furniture.  Twice.  But she couldn't make all the 
pieces fit in a way that pleased her.

She had tried phoning Mulder's apartment six times, but the 
machine always answered.  She preferred to believe that he 
was out drowning his sorrows somewhere than that he didn't 
want to talk to her.

Scully gave her couch another shove, so hard it slid into her 
bookcase, knocking books and tapes to the floor.  She huffed 
angrily, kicked the couch for good measure, and bent over to 
start retrieving the mess.  She slapped each book on the 
shelf in turn, muttering at them, and then turned her 
attention to the basket of videotapes she had knocked loose 
from the bottom shelf.

"He doesn't want to talk, that's fine," she said.  "I don't 
care.  God, there  have been days I prayed he would shut up.  
He'll come around.  Tomorrow he'll call with some ridiculous 
plan and you'll have to be talking him down from the mountain 
top again."

Scully tossed her tapes in the basket one by one.  The 
rattling sound as they knocked against one another was rather 
heartening.  She picked up the second-to-last one, stretching 
to retrieve it from under the end table.

"Superstars of the Superbowl," she read from the cover.  
Mulder had given her this tape years ago and she had never 
once watched it.  Grown men giving themselves concussions 
over a piece of pigskin was not her idea of a good time. She 
could practically name the bones breaking with each 
collision.

She slid the tape out, noting that it wasn't even wrapped in 
plastic.  "I come back from the dead and he gives me a used 
tape," she said.  "Figures."

The tape also lacked a label.  This was odd.  There should 
have been a tacky gold sticker proclaiming it was the best 
Superbowl tape yet.  Maybe he gave her a porn tape by 
accident.

Or on purpose.  After all, they had been having sex back 
then.

Scully popped the tape in the VCR out of curiosity.  After a 
moment of fuzz the screen flickered and Mulder came into 
view.  He was younger then, and looking pretty scruffy.  He 
was walking along a street at night with a bag of takeout in 
his hand.

The camera followed him until he reached his apartment and 
went inside.

"What the hell is this?" Scully said.

A new image: Mulder on the basketball court alone.  He was 
missing nearly every shot.

"Who the hell filmed this?" Scully demanded of the TV.

The picture changed again.  It was Mulder sitting on Skyland 
Mountain, looking up at the stars.

"Oh," Scully said as her hand went to her mouth.

*this is how it was*

"Oh, Mulder."  She stroked his face on the screen.  "Me too."

With trembling fingers, she yanked the tape out and tugged 
the bandana from her hair.  She tripped over the couch in its 
wrong position but this time did not stop to curse at it.

She had the evidence and now she was going back to the scene 
of the crime.

And she wasn't leaving until he talked to her.

~*~*~*~

End chapter eleven.  Continued in chapter twelve.

Sorry for the wait.  It has been an utterly shitty month. 

Thanks as ever for reading!

Cheers, syn

Syn_tax6@yahoo.com