Title: Only Darkness Author: Ashlea Ensro Rating: R (mostly blood and gore, the odd obscenity, and rampant smoking) Category: XA Spoilers: Big one for FTF, smaller ones for The Beginning and Drive Keywords: CSM/Other, Scully/Other UST (slash) Archive: Anywhere, just let me know Disclaimer #1: None of the characters you recognize belong to me. Isis, McAlpine, Adam Levi, and the killer, however, are all mine. Agent Borisovskaya belongs to herself. :-) Disclaimer #2: I have never been to North Logan, Idaho. I have no idea how accurate my description is. No offense is intended towards anyone who actually lives there. Disclaimer #3: Smoking causes lung cancer and emphysema. Feedback and donations of Mr. Noodles salivated over at morleyphile@yahoo.com Thanks to Anna and Rachel, who not only beta-read this evil thing, but put up with my constant whining about how I was NEVER going to get it finished. Summary: A bizarre case brings Scully into contact with a woman from her past. Sequel to "karass". Notes: Before reading this, I would highly recommend reading the original "karass", and not just because I wrote it. That story can be found at: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dreamworld/7599/fic.html If you really want to forge ahead without reading it (although I can't imagine why...) you'll probably still be able to follow this one. So, in any event, here's a brief summary of what you've missed. @>--`--,---`--- ---`---,--`--<@ Isis, an aging MiB, (or rather, WiB), is sent on a mission by WMM shortly after Redux II to escort CSM into hiding in North Hatley. Because of the sensitive nature of the mission, she is under orders to kill herself as soon as it is completed. There's also the small matter of her psychic ability, which manifests itself in an ability to read the minds of anyone with whom she comes in direct physical contact, which makes her hazardous to the Consortium. CSM, of course, has other ideas. When they reach Canada, he offers her a chance to live in exchange for her service as an "informant" to Mulder and Scully. Concerned for the well-being of her 17-year-old daughter, whom she was forced to give up ten years ago, Isis agrees, and returns to DC. Meanwhile, heroin addicts on the streets of DC are dying of mysterious causes, one of the symptoms being the appearance of a greenish lump similar to the growth found at the back of Emily Sim's skull. While Mulder is away at a UFO conference (Patient X), Isis drops the odd hint to Scully about the Consortium's involvement in the deaths. The search for the truth finally leads both women to Amanda Darrow, a Consortium agent who has been randomly testing a new virus on heroin addicts through a needle exchange program. The morning after Darrow's arrest, she is found dead in her prison cell. All related evidence surrounding the case vanishes, and Isis is nowhere to be found. Betrayed, alone, and doubting her beliefs, Scully decides to tell Mulder nothing about the case when he returns from the conference. "Only Darkness" is set almost a year after the events of "karass", shortly after Drive. @>--`--,---`--- ---`---,--`--<@ "Only darkness can defeat the dark." -- Ursula K. LeGuin, _A Wizard of Earthsea_ CHAPTER I: MESENCHYME "And when you're done You cock your gun The blood will run Like ribbons through your hair..." -- Tom Waits, _The Black Rider_ Strange, that there is a word for it. There is a word for everything. This mass of blood, bone, hair, flesh that lies splattered over the walls and floor, shattered into a million pieces. It is so random, so chaotic, that it surprises me that the English language would come up with a name to describe it. I wonder how anything could describe this. Mesenchyme. In a developing fetus, there is no differentiation between bone, cartilage, blood, connective tissue. It all originates from the same source, the same origin. Mesenchyme. And now, this bone, this cartilage, this blood, this tissue, now, after spending seventy-six years existing as separate components of a human body, have reunited as one. It makes quite the mess on the floor. The destructive potential of an explosive device small enough to fit into my hand is not to be underestimated. There is little difference between a being in its mother's womb, on the verge of life, and this bloody, amorphous mass that awaits on the other end. The newest recruit whistles under his breath. "My God." I wonder if he knows who he sounds like. "Keep your voice down, and watch where you step." The police will be here in a few minutes - if we are effective, they will discover nothing. One suburban house bombed, no bodies recovered. "Why..." "That's not for you to ask." I am surprised at how snappish my voice comes out. "Bag it." "It?" I sigh. He can't be more than twenty-five, the little idiot. "Her." I acquiesce. It isn't important. He goes out to the unmarked van parked on the other side of the street. I take a few steps before the remains of the retired granny, trying to make out traces of a face, hands - something. Nothing. I feel the young man's presence behind me. "What is it? What are you looking for?" "A baby. Her baby." "I thought she was in her seventies." I shrug. "It's gone. The killer took it." "When are you going to tell me what's going on here?" I turn to glare at him. "When you grow up." I hear him mutter, "Bitch." Funny guy. "Bag it." He gets down on his knees; the gloves snap on. Right now, I'll bet he's wishing he had three hands - the third to hold his nose. Nothing smells worse than a freshly exploded corpse. Except maybe a rotting one. But cleaning up those aren't in our job description. Usually. "C'mon. You're not going to tell me what a seventy-six-year-old woman was doing with a baby?" "A fetus, actually." "You people are fucking sadistic." I don't respond. He'll learn. If they don't kill him first, he'll become as fucking sadistic as the rest of them. Maybe if he plays his cards right, he too can supervise inept little bastards on their first cleanup operations. Maybe. "Hey, Isis?" He pronounces it Issis. I'll bet he read it off his assignment sheet. "You know who killed her?" I light up a Morley. "No." I inhale deeply. "But I will." *** The buzzer jerks me from sleep - throwing on a housecoat, I answer the door. He pulls me into the hallway, his lips on mine before I can speak, the smoke-laden breath in my throat - silence. I close my eyes, drawing him closer. There is something hard and cold under his overcoat - and it is not because he's happy to see me. "Jesus..." I break free of his embrace, edging back into my apartment. "I hope you don't greet all of your employees like that." This triggers a rare, almost unguarded laugh. He reaches into his pocket - before he can pull out the pack of Morleys, I put my hand on his arm. "I hate to break this to you, but they passed a no-smoking bylaw last week. Something about fire regulations." He follows me inside. "You should move." "You don't pay me enough. Scotch?" Another laugh. "At nine in the morning?" "You only live once." I pour us each a glass. "In my case that doesn't quite apply." I raise an eyebrow, but say nothing. Sipping the drink, I sit down at the kitchen table. "So...to what do I owe the honour of this visit?" His hand twitches, wanting a cigarette. "Business, I'm afraid. And unpleasant business at that." "Worse than cleaning up dead grannies?" "How did you know?" I offer an exaggerated sigh. "Your horizontally gifted colleague has seen fit to have me train our new recruit." "I'll have a talk with him." "I'd worry he'd have you shot again." "You're one of our best. That sort of work is below you." "Jealous?" I shrug. "The kid's okay. A bit green, but he seems committed. Asks too many questions, though." He takes a swig of scotch. "Kill him." "Oh, but then I'd have to clean up the exploded grannies myself. So..." I lean over and take his hand in mine. "Let me guess. You want me to find the murderer." "I wish you wouldn't do that." "Catch your killers for you?" "No..." He tries to tug his hand away, then gives up. "Never mind." "You don't know who it is, but you suspect Mafia-Man does." A crooked smile. "Mafia-Man?" "Would you hate me if I told you that despite all his efforts to have me killed, I preferred my former employer to this one?" "Don't complain to me until you have the pleasure of dealing with Strughold." "Zen you must take avay vat he holds most valuable...zat vith vich he cannot live vithout." I grin. "Yeah, I heard." "If that was supposed to be German, it was abominable. If it was Yiddish, it was merely awful." "Poor Scully." He stares at me questioningly, but says nothing. I reach over to snatch the gun from underneath his overcoat. "Who's this for?" "Protection." "From what?" "From who." Another twitch. "I want to know who killed those women. And I want to know why." "I'm a thug, not a detective." "I was thinking you could use some help." I watch him, grasping his meaning immediately. "Oh, no. Not after everything they've been through lately." "There isn't another option." I shake my head. "No - it's...can't you send someone else?" "I wasn't aware that I was giving you a choice." He sighs - suddenly old, weary. "I'm not sure that there's anyone else to send without arousing suspicion." "Doesn't your...colleague...want this stopped?" He pours himself another scotch. "Certainly, but there have been complications." Complications. The killer is one of our own. "Please. Don't do this." Ice blue eyes bear down on me. "You know my feelings on the subject, I am sure. There is no other way." We watch each other in silence. Finally, he finishes his drink and stands up, holding the gun out towards me in a gesture of surrender. "I'll have the case transferred to Domestic Terrorism." Domestic Terrorism. Is that what they are working on now? I almost feel sorry for the poor bastards. "How do exploding pregnant grannies fall under Domestic Terrorism? It sounds like an X-File to me." His voice is cold, but pervaded by a dry humour as he says, "Perhaps they were bomb couriers for a right wing militia." I go to him, leaving the gun on the table. "John..." He looks surprised - so rarely does anyone call him by name. "I'll be in touch." *** The light in the main hallway of my apartment has blown out, leaving the dirty walls and carpet swathed in shadows. The view outside my door is oddly surreal, a grainy, black-and-white movie devoid of any sign of human life. I close the door, wander back inside where there is light, colour. Comparatively so. It seems that I am an informant again. I suppose I should not complain, if it spares me from cleaning up granny-guts and dealing with little MiBs-in- training. But I am too old for this, too tired, and today is not a good day to die. I reach for my trench coat, put it on, stand up, sit down. Shudder on the living room couch for a moment, trying to summon the energy to leave the apartment. Lift my sunglasses, turn them over in my hand experimentally. Welcome back, Isis you old bitch, because this is the life for you. Whether you like it or not. I put the sunglasses back down and take the gun instead. All in all, it should prove more useful. And I bid farewell to this dark and dreary afterlife, to the safe and mundane that has kept me breathing for the year that has elapsed since I last looked into the face of death. The game is beginning again, and I have no choice but to play. So it goes. CHAPTER II: MY OWN PRIVATE IDAHO "And to the one you thought was on your side She can't understand She truly believes the lie..." -- Tori Amos, _Space Dog_ There was a different sense of light outside of the basement, one to which Dana Scully had yet to become accustomed, despite having spent a good month at her new position. It was more than the constant movement of bodies shuffling between desks, more than the sound of voices answering phones or people barking in each other's faces - it was the light that bothered her. She traced her fingers in an abstract pattern over the surface of her desk, closing her eyes in a vain attempt to block out the swell of white noise. She had no personal momentos on her new desk, not even a picture of her family. She kept the photograph of Emily in her apartment, and a portrait of her parents and siblings in her wallet. Mulder had that picture of Samantha on his desk, but she was always too worried about something getting lost, or accidentally knocked to the ground with a careless movement of somebody's arm. Scully missed the dark solitude of the basement office. She missed it more than she missed the work itself. "Hey Scully." Mulder's voice, grating in its false perkiness, broke her out of her reverie. "Rise and shine, we've got ourselves a brand spankin' new case." She looked up at the file he waved in his hands. "Tell me it doesn't involve dung shipments." Her partner laughed. "Oh, this one is *much* better." He opened the file to reveal the first picture, a collection of bone fragments and splattered flesh that could conceivably have once belonged to a human body. "The victim is Viola Targrosse, aged sixty-one. She lived alone in North Logan, Idaho." "We're going *back* to Idaho?" Scully's tone was less than impressed. "I promise this one doesn't involve fecal matter." He did not sound very confident. Scully was staring intently at the photograph. "How did she die?" "It appears to be an explosion of some sort." "And we're being brought on the case because of a terrorism angle?" "It seems that her son may have had some involvement with a local militia group. But he's disappeared." "Of course." Scully closed the file. "When do we leave?" Mulder flashed her a too-wide smile. "Bright and early tomorrow morning." A pause, then in a slightly more moderated tone, "You don't look excited." "Are you?" He sighed heavily, the burden of the past month evident in his eyes. "It's an open and shut case. We'll get in there, get out, and make Kersh happy. And then maybe-" Scully glanced up as he broke off. "And then maybe what?" Mulder swallowed, looked away. "Never mind." He tugged the file from her outstretched hand and tucked it under his arm. "Pack light, Scully. We shouldn't be gone for long." *** Watching the ocean of clouds beneath the airplane, Scully already felt a thousand miles away from any sense of reality. Her fingers twisted the gold cross around her neck absentmindedly as she pressed her face to the glass. His voice drifted to her from somewhere in the fog, calling her name. She jerked back to alertness. "Mulder?" "There's something going on here, Scully." He was reading over the file again, only once glancing towards her. She saw his pen brush quickly over the margin of the report. SOMEONE WAS WATCHING US AT THE AIRPORT. Scully rubbed at her temples. "Mulder..." "I know how this sounds." "No...I..." It was too late to search for appropriate words. "You're searching for something that isn't there. This is a legitimate case, given to us by our legitimate superior..." "Then why have us followed. She was watching us, Scully, I swear..." "She?" He turned his attention back to the file. "There's something we're not seeing here." The clouds outside the window suddenly seemed more interesting. "Mulder?" "Yeah." "Have you ever asked yourself why we keep doing this?" "Doing what?" "Playing into their hands. Playing the game." "I ask myself that every day." A long pause. More clouds swam beneath them. One looked like a man's drawn and lined face. One looked like a dragon. "How do you answer?" "I don't." The pilot announced that they were half-an-hour from Idaho. Scully closed her eyes, opened them again. Returned her stare to the window, to the sky. This time the clouds looked like clouds. *** I arrive in Idaho on a later flight than Mulder and Scully. I saw the way he was watching me at the airport - I do not want to reveal my involvement with the case. Not yet, anyway. Once again, the organization has underestimated the man's paranoia. It may be useful to us one day, but now it is merely irritating. A needless complication. I would prefer to deal with Scully alone, but Mulder is along for the ride, it seems. I am aware that she told him nothing about the Darrow case; I would know even without the surveillance. And I am aware that she told him nothing of me. And even if she had, he is unaware of the grudges I bear against him. But it is still tonight, and they do not know how close I am. How close they are. Alone in the motel room, I open a bottle of red wine, holding my cigarette between my teeth. A silent toast for one: to secrets and lies. To informing. To Idaho, and the smell of cattle shit along the highway. To the knock on the door that breaks my solitude. I don't know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't *him*. Here in the middle of nowhere, dressed in his black suit despite the heat, looking more than a little out of place. I realize with a start that I don't even know his name. "You might as well come in." I move aside to let him through the door. "Were you following me?" The young man actually blushes. "I am under orders." "Of course." I take a long drag of my cigarette. "They know I'm here." "Who do you work for?" "Has it occurred to you that it isn't any of your business?" Silence. "Listen, son, I've-" "Adam." "What?" "My name's Adam, not son. Adam Levi. You didn't know that, did you?" "And my name is Isis, not Issis." He's a cocky little bastard. "I've been in the game much longer than you have. I know how to play." "Why are you important?" "Why do you ask?" "Perhaps I'm trying to learn the rules of the game." Interesting. He's a sharper kid than I thought. "Wine?" He shrugs, then nods. I tip the bottle into one of the complimentary glasses supplied by the motel. "So," I feel my lips curl into a smile. "Who do you work for, Mr. Levi?" An innocent blink. "Why, the organization, of course." "That's good to hear." "And you?" "The same." "That's what I thought." Silence. If I could somehow make physical contact, I would know everything, understand everything. Who he is. What he wants. Why he is here, all the way from Washington, and on whose orders. I could reach out with a flickering touch and he would never know. But...I do not. Because a part of me likes not knowing. At least for tonight, I can imagine what it is like to be without this curse. To converse in a way that approaches normality. Sooner or later I must know, of course, but... Not tonight. The cheap glasses clink together. He grins over at me. "Welcome to Idaho," I say. *** "What do you mean the body was cremated?" Mulder fixed Sheriff Casson with his best deadpan stare, while Scully put her hands on her hips and frowned. "Sheriff, as I am sure you're aware, this is a federal investigation." Scully's tone was cold, professional. "The house hasn't been demolished yet." "Great," Scully fought to stay calm. They were standing in the middle of a cornfield in the blazing heat of the afternoon while this man calmly informed them that the victim's body had been disposed of early that morning. "Sorry." A pause, as no one forgave him. "The house is this way." It had not been much of a house before the explosion, and it was much less of one now. A bare, burnt-out shell, shattered glass hanging like icicles from the skeleton of the wall, it stood menacingly dark against the brightness of the cornfield, surrounded by a line of yellow police tape. The door had been blown off its hinges and the black opening was welcoming mouth. Scully followed her partner inside, wincing at the shattered family portrait still hanging crooked on the wall. "Any news on the son's whereabouts?" she heard Mulder ask. "He's been out of town for two weeks," Casson's voice floated over the shadows. "You think he might be involved?" She wondered if Mulder could see her trademark eye-roll in the darkness. "Do you have any other suspects?" Casson coughed. "To be honest, Agent Scully, we're completely baffled by this." He swung his flashlight around to illuminate a dark stain on the wall. "We think this is where she died." "You think?" Mulder laughed awkwardly to take the edge off his sarcasm. "The explosion happened two nights ago. It woke the neighbors, but no one witnessed anyone entering or exiting the house." "And the son's been out of town for two weeks?" Scully asked. "Uh...yes." Casson shifted from one foot to another. "So you don't have any suspects," Mulder was examining the bloodstain on the floor. "Not...as of..." Casson broke off. "You know, they told me this was your specialty." "Mulder, can I talk to you for a moment?" Her eyes went to Casson, who obediently stepped into the next room. She lowered her voice to murmur, "What are we doing here?" "What we always do." He shrugged, returning his attention to the bloodstain. "We have no body, no suspect, no real evidence." Scully grinned. "Just like old times." She fumbled with her latex gloves. "So, what do we do?" "The motel's booked for two more days, at least." "I don't see the point in staying here." Mulder was quiet for a moment. "Neither do I, Scully," he tried to smile, "But maybe we can get a feel for what Kersh is thinking. What we're dealing with now..." She nodded. "Two more days." He sighed deeply. "Two more days." Neither of them spoke on the drive back to the motel. *** The desert was blisteringly hot. Moonlight illuminated the dunes in violet and blue, the wind lifting clouds of sand, millions of sparkling crystals, tossing them across the hills without thought, without intention. The sand stung at her eyes as she staggered, barefoot, and her steps made no mark upon the purple earth. She had been here before; she knew this place. Knew this dream. As if by rote she knelt in the sand as it blew away, revealing a tiny white coffin. She lifted the lid, slowly. The dead child's eyes opened. "Emily..." she whispered, her voice echoing over the desert. Thin fingers reached for the cross around her neck, but it was gone, blown over the dunes in the swirling wind. She could see its glitter as the breeze snatched it away, and she needed to find it, to grab hold of it, but Emily still lay in the coffin, eyes wide open in the befuddled innocence of youth. She did not go. She couldn't. And a shadow fell over the desert, and a black-gloved hand snatched the glimmer of gold, and she looked up, though she knew she could not bear what she would find. The woman whose name she did not know regarded her in silence. Scully woke up with a sharp cry. The air conditioning in the motel room must have been broken, because it was making a strange thumping noise and the room was hot. Heat...Scully's mind worked quickly...it was hot, and that was why she had dreamt of the desert. She repositioned the pillow under her head, glancing briefly at the digital clock on the night stand. Sat up again. It was too hot to sleep. Pulling on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, she padded outside into the hall. Waking Mulder was out of the question - he was no doubt in the grip of his own troubled dreams, and she would leave him to them. It was four in the morning, after all. The highway outside the motel shimmered with a pale luminescence, a gleaming blade slicing the flat earth in half. Her eyes followed it, tracing the lightning paths of headlight beams. Not a single light shone from any window in the dark buildings that dotted the landscape. It was Scully and the midnight truckers, the only ones mad enough to be awake, awake enough to be mad. The footsteps behind her were so quiet she did not hear them. It was the scent of cigarette smoke that alerted her to the presence of another. "There are no chance meetings, no coincidences," the husky voice did not seem incongruous with the solitude before dawn. "Everything happens for a reason. Wouldn't you agree, Dana?" She shuddered almost imperceptibly at the sound of a match being struck. "You never struck me as a fatalist." Her own tone was low, barely a whisper. "People change. When circumstances demand they do so." A pause. The shadow crept closer. "I'm here as a favour, Agent Scully." Scully swallowed hard. "A favour to whom?" "You need me. Otherwise you'll go nowhere on this case." "Perhaps I would prefer that to-" A slight smile. "To what? Viola Targrosse was not the first woman to die like this." "I'm not surprised." "No...you've never been one to underestimate us. It's been a well-kept secret until now. This has been going on for months." "Why are you telling me this?" "Because I know something else. Something that will surprise you." Scully turned towards the shadow. "And what is that?" "Viola Targrosse was pregnant. So were the others." The bright glare of a passing truck flashed across the shadow's features, turning them a deathly white. Unmoved, Scully continued to stare. "Are you making a confession?" "We had nothing to do with the murders." "We?" "I was hoping for a warmer welcome than this." "You're out of luck." "That's unfortunate." The orange ember of the shadow's cigarette bobbed once, then was tossed carelessly to the ground. "Well, good evening, in that case. I hope Assistant Director Kersh is...understanding...in this matter." The figure started to walk away. "Wait." Scully felt a heat flush her face, and her hands were suddenly cold, trembling. She tried out the word tentatively - she had been so afraid before. "Isis." Slowly, her erstwhile informant turned towards her, dark eyes shining against a background of stars. "Dana." Scully drew a quick intake of breath, then said, "Welcome back." Isis nodded somberly. "That's a start," she said. And disappeared into the night. CHAPTER III: UN FIL DI FUMO "Un bel di, vedremo levarsi un fil di fumo sull'estremo confin del mare E poi la nave appare..." -- Puccini, _Madama Butterfly_ I hear steps behind me, but I do not turn around until we are well out of the reach of both sight and sound from Dana Scully. When I do turn, my gun is drawn. "Who sent you?" Levi backs away slightly. "I already told you." "If that's true, you shouldn't be so damn careless. It'll get you killed someday." "You've kept things from me." Satisfied that he is too inept to be on any sort of assassination mission, I begin walking again. "That shouldn't come as a shock." "It's not just the killer, is it?" The smoker was right; I should just shoot the little bastard. "What are you talking about?" "You're here for a different purpose. *They* are here for a different purpose." "They?" "Mulder and Scully." I light a cigarette. I remember at some point resolving to quit, but the tedium of the past few months has given me little else with which to occupy my hands. "What about them?" "Why?" "Adam..." He glances up as I say his name. "You're not making any sense." "Why are you helping them find the killer?" "What makes you think I would do something like that?" "That *is* what you're doing, isn't it? Why we're here?" "I know why I'm here. I'm not exactly sure why you're here." "The woman who was killed, Viola Targrosse...why not just dispose of her body like the others? Invent a cover story, handle the matter internally?" "They've taught you well." "I thought it was policy." I blow out a puff of smoke. "Policy just changed." Levi's round blue eyes narrow only slightly. "Because of him?" "Please, Mr. Levi. Be more specific." "The man who smokes the cigarettes." Under other circumstances I might have laughed. "You think he changed our policy?" Levi keeps walking, his gaze picking out the shape of every shadow. "No," he says slowly, "I think he's working against policy." "I wouldn't make such accusations if I were you." "I've heard rumours." "You shouldn't listen to them." I toss the cigarette into the field, stop, grind at it with the heel of my boot. "Mr. Levi?" "Yes?" "He...and I...are in a better position to know the policy, or to change it, as the case may be, than you are. Don't forget that." Another furtive glance. "I'll keep it in mind." He may not have much knowledge of the chain of command, but he has the language down pat, the means of stating one thing while saying another. They learn fast these days. It took me years to master Consortium-speak. We walk in silence for awhile. The motel is not far away, and it is a pleasant evening for walking. "Levi...that's a Jewish name, isn't it?" He looks puzzled. "My family was never very religious." I smile slightly. "You're lucky. You know who the Levites were? One of the tribes of Israel..." "I think I read something about it, somewhere." His voice sounds very young, very small in the darkness. "One of their duties was to mop up the blood of animals after ceremonial sacrifices." "Your point?" "I was making conversation." "Is that all you think I'm good for? Mopping up blood after the organization's sacrifices?" "That's what you're doing, isn't it?" "And what are you doing, then?" I light a new cigarette. "I wish I knew." And we walk back to the motel. *** She was still shaking when she reached the motel. Scully passed by Mulder's room, glancing at the crack under the door, glowing faintly from an inner light. Her breath a slow exhale of relief, she rapped on the door frame quietly. "Yeah?" His voice sounded muffled. "Mulder, it's me." A pause, then the door swung open. "I didn't think you were up." His hair was tousled, but he was still dressed in the same clothes he had been wearing that day, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. She saw his laptop, a square blue glow in the dim light of the motel room. Following her glance, he said, "I was doing some background research on Viola Targrosse's son. I don't think he's involved." "I don't think so either." He motioned for her to sit down. She slumped bonelessly on the bed, transfixed by the computer screen. "You're probably right," His words stunned her. "We're wasting our time here." "No...I..." Scully looked around the room, but no object existed which would offer her any support. She folded her hands in her lap, then reconsidering, readjusted the chain around her neck. "I came here to tell you the opposite. I think we should stay longer." He appeared as startled by her statement as she had been by his. "What did you find out?" "Nothing...not really. But...I have a feeling." A quirk of a smile. "A hunch, Scully?" "You could say that." She paused, her next words deliberate. "You haven't checked to see if there were any other similar cases in recent months, have you?" "That was one of the first things I did. There are no records of any previous incidents." "Oh." "Why?" "I was...uh..." She looked away. "Just wondering." "What's wrong, Scully?" Her gaze swung towards him. "Mulder, there's something I never told you." "Wh-" His voice was cut off by the ring of his cell phone. "Dammit." He picked it up. "Mulder." She watched him as he listened for a few seconds. He mouthed the word, "Kersh," at her. Scully winced inwardly. They were going to be taken off the case. They could not gain a half-step in front of the faceless men that controlled their lives before the enemy took two. It was the way things had always been - although this time she wondered if they would have the freedom to push ahead regardless. If they would have the drive to persevere this time. Somehow, she doubted it. He hung up. "He wanted to know if we've named any suspects yet." Scully blinked up at him. "And?" "That was all." "He's not taking us off the case?" "Why should he? It's just the jerk-off assignment he loves to give to us. Now...what were you going to tell me before?" Dark eyes in a haunted and lined face sifted through her memory. "Just...nothing..." She trailed off. "Try to get some sleep, okay?" He smiled and nodded, and he did not press it any farther. *** Scully blinked, shading her eyes from the sunlight streaming through the window as she awoke, the blinds too translucent to keep the morning from seeping into her room. Groaning, she forced herself to stand, staggering gracelessly towards the bathroom. The sink was rusted around the drain, the mirror cracked at one corner. She had stood in a hundred bathrooms of a hundred motel rooms across the country, staring into a face that only grew progressively wearier. This one was no different. Always the threat of the unexplained, the shadow lurking behind the shower curtain, the knocking against the frosted glass of the window. Six years of working with Mulder could have brought out the primal bogeyman fear in anyone. But then there were those cases where the bogeyman seemed like a breath of fresh air. When the threat that lurked behind every step had a human face, dressed in the business suit of the most mundane of men, whispering soft words that betrayed a higher purpose. A more subtle, elusive danger. She had come to Idaho expecting the bogeyman. She was not prepared for this. Not now. Not after everything that had happened; she could not stand more mind games, more heartbreak. They did not even have the flimsy shield of the X-Files to wield. She wondered, absently, how much Kersh knew. Whether he was Their lapdog too. He was cruel enough to be, certainly. Scully wished she knew, one way or the other. Half an hour later, Mulder was at her door. *** The drive out to the crime scene was only ten minutes, but it was a painful ten minutes, with Mulder steering with one hand and rotating the dial with the other, trying desperately to find a station that wasn't playing country music. Apparently, he trusted Scully with his life, but not with finding a decent radio station. She smiled a little at this, watching the blur of yellow cornfields rush past them. Casson met them outside the house, his squarish face twisted in an unreadable expression. "Is something wrong?" Scully asked as she approached. "You could say that." He glanced towards the house. "I just got a call. Ted Targrosse is dead." "The victim's son?" Mulder asked. "It was a stroke, apparently, although he did seem a bit young for it." Casson shrugged. "Guess you don't have any other leads?" "Not as of yet." Mulder put his hand on Scully's arm, guiding her inside the shell of the house. "How do we get rid of that guy?" he whispered. She smirked. "It's his jurisdiction..." She couldn't take her eyes away from the bloodstain on the wall. "The son wasn't exactly a suspect." Mulder nodded. "He was all we had." She swallowed. Wondered if she should take the risk. "He was a diversion," she said in a low voice. The comment caught Mulder's attention immediately. "Is there something you're not telling me?" She was quiet for a moment. "His name was brought up as a pretense. To have this case transferred to Domestic Terrorism." Scully felt her partner's hand on her shoulder, turning her slightly to force her to look up at him. "Transferred from where?" he asked, although he already knew the answer. "The X-Files Division." By the expression on his face, she knew she did not need to elaborate, but she did so, if only to convince herself. "There is no official cause of death, no motives, no suspects, not even a body." "I know..." He glanced briefly at the charred wall. "I thought so too, but I didn't think you would be the one to bring it up. The question is why." She shook her head. "The question is by who." A faint amusement sparkled in his eyes. "You've been working with me too long, Agent Scully." "We shouldn't talk here." She glanced around. This must be how Mulder felt most of the time, she thought. "And if I hear *one* 'secret squirrel' comment from you..." "What do you know?" Scully shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Not here." His tone was softer, graver. "What do you know?" he repeated. "That we're being watched." "By who?" A pause. Their gaze met again, and then she looked away. "Ah, shit." "We have a choice, Mulder. We go back to Kersh and tell him that there's no leads, that the case is closed - it might even have been a gas explosion - and we let it lie. And that might be the best thing to do. Or...we follow it, and take whatever comes." He laughed. "You should know the answer to that by now." "Then we walk out of here and act as though nothing happened. As if we know nothing. We'll get some samples and send them to McAlpine in the lab, and let Casson finish up his investigation." "And then we track your lead." "Who says I have a lead?" Another pause. Scully shrugged. Knelt down to pick up a piece of charred wood in her gloved hand. Pretended as if nothing was going on. *** "They're smart," Levi comments. I resist the urge to reach for another cigarette. "Not smart enough, it seems." "You've given them a lot, haven't you?" I reply with silence. It isn't any of his business. "You want a cigarette?" I ask finally. "I don't smoke." For the first time I allow myself to smile. "That's good, Mr. Levi. Adam." "Huh?" "It's a nasty habit. Causes lung cancer, you know." He squints. "Is that it?" "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." "Is that why you're being so careless?" "I'm far from careless." He thinks he understands it all, the little fool. He thinks he knows me, when with each passing moment I realize how little anyone knows about anyone else. I exclude myself from that count, of course. I know far too much. About everything. "You're dying," he says softly. "We're all dying, Adam," I reply, then, "Yes." "Of cancer?" "Something far more deadly." I think of the photograph of my daughter tucked in my wallet - somehow I can feel the weight of it, dragging me into the grass. "It wouldn't be anything you would have heard of. It's something rather unique to my condition." I cock my head in his direction. "They told you, didn't they? About what I am." "Of course." I nod. "You've been careful not to make physical contact with me. I noticed that." "I'm not sure I understand." "I've seen it before, in other cases. It's what happens when you bear the burden of everyone else's memories. Sooner or later, the pressure is too much to stand. And then it kills you. Except in my case, it's sooner rather than later." "I'm sorry to hear that." The tone of his voice is flat. False. I suppose I shouldn't care, really. "Does *he* know?" A pause, when I don't respond. "Your lover...the Cancerman." "I was unaware that it was general knowledge." Not that they don't know, all those faceless grey men. Of course they know - they are in the business of knowing these things. I could never assume that they would be unaware of a colleague's vulnerabilities. Though I am surprised that Levi knows - he seems too low on the food chain for that. "No," I say finally, "He doesn't know." I wish the boy wouldn't gape like that - he looks like an idiot. "You probably shouldn't call him that either." "But you're not sick, are you?" Should I be touched? "Not yet." "How do you know?" "Levi?" "Yeah." "Do you know what happens to people who ask too many questions?" He shuts up fast. Good. I knew he was a smart boy. "What now?" He can't resist asking another question, it seems. "I believe it's time I paid our agents a visit," I reply, "Both of them." CHAPTER IV: OF CABBAGES AND KINGS "'The time has come,' the Walrus said, 'To talk of many things: Of shoes - and ships - and sealing-wax Of cabbages - and kings...'" -- Lewis Carroll, _Through the Looking Glass_ "So, Scully?" The corn was waist-high, butter yellow beneath the midday sun. A fierce wind bent the stalks in a violent burst, echoing over the flat land, making their low voices nearly impossible to hear. "She first came to me almost a year ago." "You never told me." "I tried...I did...but," She blocked out the sun with one hand, holding the burning light at bay. "There were more important concerns. And at the time, I don't know if you would have believed me." She nearly outpaced him as she walked, unable to be still even for a moment. "You've kept things from me as well, at times." "You were protecting me." "In a way." Scully glanced up at him. "The case was closed, Mulder. All the evidence disappeared the morning of Darrow's death." "It would have been enough to take the bastards down..." he whispered. "I'm not sure. I think...it might have." He said nothing for awhile. "Do you believe her this time?" "It's more complex than that." "Explain it to me." "What she's doing...what she has done..." Scully fumbled for words. "She's working for Them, or one of their factions, anyway. She said she wanted to prevent needless death." "But not exposure." "That wasn't what she told me, originally. But...that's what I assume." "Unless it's just another head game." "I've often wondered that." "Was she responsible for giving this case to us?" "I'm not sure. I don't know if she has that sort of power. I got the impression she was taking orders from someone." Scully laughed nervously. "I'm reading a great deal into this; I barely knew her." They walked for a few more seconds, and then Mulder stopped. "You know I trust you..." "I hope so." "I will trust you on this...but tell me one thing first." She blinked, her silence asking him to continue. "Why do you believe her this time?" She didn't need to think long. "Viola Targrosse was pregnant." No need for elaboration, no question as to how Scully knew, how such a thing could ever be. Mulder's response was a whispered, "Anna Fugazi." "Mulder, if this is the same project that created Emily..." He nodded. She had no reason to trust this person, and there was no logic in following her. But the name of Emily was a key to something deeper, something horrible and irresistible. And Scully would never be able to live with herself if she turned away now. Mulder had a sinking suspicion that They knew it as well, and that They had no qualms about using it against her. It was entirely likely that this whole exercise was intentional - that forcing them on this search was yet another heartless game. And he knew as well as she did - neither of them had any choice but to play along. *** I wonder if they know how they seem to others, walking like that with their heads bowed, deep in conversation. I'm sure they must - rumours fly in the Bureau as much as they do in our organization. But I doubt they realize how vulnerable they make each other. Or perhaps they do realize it, and both have lost so much that they cease to care. I ponder which scenario is more disturbing, and then I approach. Scully freezes, suddenly tense, alert, while Mulder unconsciously reaches for his gun. His hand stops in mid-air, evaluating the level of threat. I raise both of my hands slowly. Mockingly. Mulder looks from Scully's face to mine, then nods slowly. I lower my hands, reach into my pocket for a cigarette. "Agents Scully, Mulder..." I have not rehearsed this; I am in as much suspense as they. "What do you want?" he asks. And I could kill him, really, as I swore to do five years ago - he does not know how precarious his position has become. My own weapon is not out of reach, and he could be dead before he drew his next breath. But I only smile grimly, because circumstances have changed, as they always do. And revenge is superfluous at this point. It would only cause further complications. "It's not a matter of what I want, Agent Mulder. It's what you want. What I can give you." His voice a deep growl in his throat, he says, "And what is that?" "Ask your partner," I toss back, "She's already figured it out." Scully watches me closely, but says nothing. Finally, I reach in my coat for a folded computer printout, take one step forward and hand it to her. Her eyes scan it, then return to me. "What is this?" "A list of names. You'll find Viola Targrosse's about halfway down." Mulder leans over her shoulder. "Who are these people?" "The killer's victims. Or intended victims, as the case may be. The first ten are dead already." "Killed in the same way?" Scully asks. "Yes." "Then why were there no records?" Mulder steps back a little, eyeing me suspiciously. "I think you know why." "And the others?" "Still alive. If the killer is working from the same list we are, they will all be dead within the week." The next question I had anticipated from Mulder comes from Scully instead. "Why are they being murdered?" I can't look at either of their faces - I look at the sun, at the brilliant yellow of the cornfield. "If I knew, I wouldn't be here." "They were part of an experiment, weren't they? Your organization's experiments..." "We aren't responsible for the murders." Mulder meets my gaze. "Then who is?" Several answers occur to me, but I decide on the most truthful. "I don't know. That's why I'm coming to you." "You people need us to solve murders for you now?" I shrug. "You have the resources. I have the information. I believe, in this case, we are working towards a common purpose." Mulder remains deadpan, refusing to break the stare. "Somehow that doesn't exactly reassure me." I gesture to the printout in Scully's hand. "You refuse to work from that information, and more women will die. It's your duty to uphold the law, is it not?" "If it were, we could have you arrested," Scully retorts. I take a final puff on my cigarette. "And that would be a grave mistake on your part." I smile. "Do your job, agents. And I will do mine." I scan the blur of names on the paper. "You are probably too late to save the next one," I tell them, "I would try to track down number 12. Nancy Primeau." I turn, ignoring their calls as I head towards the road. There is a screech of tires as the black sedan pulls up, with Levi at the wheel. I take a final glance back and slip into the passenger seat. Just before I slam the door, I hear Mulder's voice, and grin with my first small triumph of this particular match. "Well, Scully," he says, "I guess we're going to Seattle." I close the door and turn to Levi. "Step on it," I tell him. And we pull away in a cloud of smoke. *** It was raining on the ashes of a burnt-out shell of a house as the silver Taurus pulled up on the curb. Mulder parked the car, remaining in the driver's seat for a moment as the rain fell over charred wood and shattered glass. "Your friend was right." His voice was a monotone murmur. "We're too late. We should have gone after the twelfth woman." Scully nodded silently and stepped out of the car. She was met by a young blond woman, dressed in a black suit, who flashed her FBI badge before Scully could even reach into her pocket. "Is this the residence of Alison Brown?" Scully asked. "It was." She reached out her hand to shake Scully's. "No one informed our office that the DC branch was involved." "We're following a lead. Agent-" She squinted at the badge, then craned her neck upwards to meet the other woman's cool grey eyes. "Borisovskaya...are you aware that there have been ten other bombings involving elderly women in the past month?" The younger agent raised an eyebrow, but did not look terribly surprised. "And you are investigating the other deaths?" Scully felt her partner's presence behind her. "May we have a look inside?" She shrugged. "You won't find much." "We'd like to examine the body, if that's possible," Scully said. "I'm afraid it's not." Borisovskaya cast a glance towards the scorched remains of the house. "Why not?" Scully's voice was edged with an instant suspicion. "Because there isn't one. We've been sifting through the ashes since six this morning, but there was no trace of Mrs. Brown or of anyone else." "Then it's possible that she's alive," Mulder said, "She wasn't in the building when the bomb went off." "It's a possibility," Borisovskaya admitted, "But her neighbors haven't seen her leave the house in days. All the lights were on, and there were signs of movement inside just before the explosion." Mulder wandered back towards the car, his eyes memorizing the details of the crime scene. Scully nodded dumbly, watching as one of the agents removed a charred, half-knitted sweater from the ruins. Alison Brown had not escaped the explosion. Alison Brown was dead. And the killer had gone to great lengths to ensure that no one would ever find out why. "Thanks for your help," Scully muttered. Borisovskaya turned back towards the crime scene, watching as the silver Taurus on the curb drove away. She pushed aside the broken remains of the door and stepped inside the Brown house. There was an eerie stillness inside the building, the walls turned varying shades of black and charcoal grey, the floor littered with shards of glass. Alison Brown herself lay still, a knitting needle not far from her outstretched hand. She had died minutes before the explosion. Like the other victims, there was no outward sign of her pregnancy. Borisovskaya sighed. It was always tragic when innocent civilians died due to some bureaucratic screw-up in the Project. She was positive that someone's inefficiency was behind this death, and behind the others. Things would be different when she was in a higher position - she knew she could run the organization much better than it was currently running. But that day was a long way away. So she opened her cell phone and dialed the number she now knew by heart. A low, smoky voice responded on the other end. "Agent Borisovskaya?" Her voice was steady, calm. "They're gone. Clean-up procedures can now proceed." "Thank you." A click. She hung up. The other agents were waiting outside. *** Neither of them spoke for a long time. Mulder's eyes were fixed on the road, Scully's on the blur of grey buildings, magically transformed into a dappled Impressionist painting through the slashes of rain. "We couldn't have saved her," Scully said finally, in answer to her partner's unspoken thoughts. "No," he said, "That's exactly the thing. We couldn't...and the killer works fast, apparently. We'll be too late to save Nancy Primeau." "We could call her. Warn her." "We could," Mulder's tone was not confident. "But I'm sure by now she knows she's in danger." "That's what I don't understand. The women must know they're part of an experiment. If what Isis said was true..." "You think they gave their consent?" He shrugged. "I want to look into their backgrounds." "Mulder...we..." The rain outside was suddenly more threatening than her partner's grim face. "We have to get to her." He swallowed. "She's already dead." He paused for a moment, and both of them understood. He did not need to say the words, but he did, regardless. "Because of us." "Then what do we do?" Scully was trying hard not to think of Alison Brown's cinder house. She tried not to think that before they would be able to reach it, another woman's home would be in flames, that the blood and ash would be on their hands. Tried not to think of how the murderers who created Emily were still operating with impunity, tossing their victims aside without a second thought. She waited for a response from Mulder, but none came. "Do we try to find the next woman?" "No." His voice was abrupt. "No, we don't. We're going to find Nancy Primeau." "According to Isis, we'll be too late. And she was right the last time." "I know." Mulder's hands tightened ever so slightly on the wheel. "We won't make it in time to save her. But if we play this right, we'll make it there before anyone can dispose of the body. And maybe then we'll have some evidence to go on." She noticed that the car accelerated as he spoke. She closed her eyes against the sudden burst of velocity, finding herself praying. Not for the woman's mortal life - that was out of their hands now. And not for her soul, either. Only that she would die quickly and painlessly, before she knew the full horror of the vast project in which she had somehow become involved. *** I follow them alone, black-gloved hands on the wheel, out of sight, but barely. Levi took a plane in - his employer called him in on the cleanup operation. His employer. Not mine. Strange, how I make these assumptions. The highway seems to drag on forever, an endless monotony of concrete, fields, and telephone wires. Sometimes there are mountains, grey ghosts on the horizon topped with white snow. I realize I have never seen mountains like these - they make the Laurentians look like mole hills. I will never see them up close. It is the small injustices in life which bring me to tears. My head is pounding, the pain intensified by the rain. Pain is a constant now - sometimes it blends into the background but now, with only the highway to keep me occupied, it takes centre stage. Every bright shard of agony is a whispered phrase. I will never see Europe. I will never see my daughter grow up. So it goes. I am lonely, for whatever reason. Even Levi would be company right now. I would probably be ready to strangle him if he were here, but at least it would be better than this. I light a cigarette, one hand loosely draped over the wheel, the smoke choking in the claustrophobic space. Quitting is redundant. The weight of a thousand lifetimes will kill me long before lung cancer will. Besides, it reminds me of *him*. I bear his burdens too. I wonder if he's realized it yet. I hope he has not. And I am driving, smiling faces on billboards leering out at me, because this is all that remains. Human beings are dying, and I can still prevent it. This is all that remains. This is what I keep telling myself. All I have left is my role in the revelation of The Truth, and that is enough to keep the nails driven through my temples at bay, for the moment. Because this highway stretches to infinity, and I cannot drive forever. I am evidence now, a means to an end, and I will play that role until it overwhelms me. I remember now that phone call, five years ago, the clipped British accent informing me of my husband's death. A false and quiet sympathy. His blood on Mulder's hands, and no one willing to take any action. If Mulder and Scully notice me, trailing them along the highway, they make no move to confront me. They have almost arrived, and I will meet them at the crime scene. The time has come to talk of many things. I almost lose control of the car as another wave of pain sweeps over me. Everything dies. It's only a matter of time. CHAPTER V: HORSES AND DOGS "It's the same with men As with horses and dogs Nothing wants to die." -- Tom Waits, _The Fall of Troy_ The thin young man at the crime scene looked questionable. Guilty. Scully had thought for a moment that Agent Borisovskaya was hiding something, that there was something she was holding back. She had ignored those misgivings. But there was no doubt about this one. She could tell from the way he watched her, hands shaking almost imperceptibly. Apprehensive. She tossed a casual glance in Mulder's direction to determine if he was picking up on the same nervous energy, but her partner's face was unreadable. The words were too similar. No body found. Not even trace evidence. It was too convenient. No killer, not even a professional, could be that thorough. It was night, and Scully shivered with the slight wind, her trench coat offering little warmth. The local law enforcement had delayed the excavation of the ruined house until the morning. Only this young man was left to keep watch over the hulking ghost. He would not let them in. Would not let them disrupt the scene of a crime. Had not heard a word about the FBI's involvement. Under other circumstances, Scully might have considered him pigheaded. He seemed too uncomfortable, however, his voice halting and uncertain. And so when the footsteps approached and the flame of a lighter illuminated a woman's haunted features, Scully was not at all surprised. "Let them through, Mr. Levi." The man, Levi, looked towards Isis. "But-" He fumbled for a last vestige of illusion. "Procedures..." "Procedures have been changed. You may go." The young man's eyes darkened. "Changed by whom?" "You would be well advised to leave before these two agents are able to remember both your face and your name. Go." He might not have been good at containing government secrets, but the man named Levi was certainly good at following orders. Isis did not even wait until he had turned to go before she approached Mulder and Scully. "This way," she said, tugging open the door. With a look back at Levi, Scully followed. Mulder hesitated for a moment, then drew his gun and slipped inside the doorway. "She's still here, isn't she?" Mulder said. Isis' silence was enough of an affirmation. "So was the other one," Scully added. "That is beside the point," Isis replied. Three beams of light tilted towards a body of an elderly woman, charred beyond recognition and slumped against the wall. "You have less than an hour before word gets out that you are here. I suggest you collect whatever evidence you can and leave immediately." As Isis began to walk away, Mulder grabbed her arm. "Wait." "I don't have time for this." "Why are you helping us?" Scully paused, staring at them for a moment. Isis' face captivated her. She had never seen so much hatred in the older woman's eyes. "I am not helping you, Agent Mulder," Isis said coldly, "I am balancing out a score." "Is that what you're doing?" Scully asked. A pause. "Contrary to what you may believe, Agent Scully, I was not responsible for the murder of Amanda Darrow, nor did I take part in the subsequent destruction of all evidence relating to the case. Do I make myself clear?" "I know who you work for," Scully's voice was a low growl. "Do you?" "It's the same agenda, isn't it? We do your work for you...solve your 'problems'..." Scully spat out the last word as if it were a bitter taste. "And then you leave us with nothing." For a long time, Isis said nothing. Then Scully felt a black-gloved hand curl around her wrist, taloned fingers drawing her close so that the whispered voice was more smoke than sound. "That man, Levi..." Isis hissed, "He works for people who would have you dead without a second thought. When he goes back to his employers and finds I have intervened on your behalves, my life is over. The truth is *that* important - do you understand?" "Why?" Isis pulled away abruptly. Scully's skin throbbed with a sudden chill at the absence of the older woman's grip. "Because I have nothing to lose," she replied. She took a few steps towards the door. "You would be well advised to be clear of this building within the hour." A new touch, heavier, but gentler, settled on Scully's shoulder. Mulder. She had almost forgotten he was there. He called her name softly. "Over here." She followed. She no longer knew why. *** He is waiting for me outside, his face a twisted scowl of anger and confusion. I keep my own face expressionless, regarding him coolly as I climb into the passenger seat of the car. "What in god's name are you doing, Isis?" He slips in beside me, turning the key in the ignition. "What anyone does." I leave it at that. "Following orders? Whose game are you playing, anyway? You're going to get us both killed." I shrug. "What does it matter, Adam? I'm already dead." He drives. A raccoon, darting across the street, barely misses the hurtling death of the black sedan. He doesn't seem to notice. "And me?" A pause. "You're going to kill me, aren't you?" "Sooner or later." I throw a glance in his direction. "Everything dies, Adam. Didn't anyone ever tell you that?" "I'm not gonna die," he mutters, sounding for all the world like an impudent child. And damn, I wish that were true. It's his stubbornness that makes me like him, and that same quality has sealed his fate. When it comes down to it, he's too soft to play the game, a snarling pup among wild dogs. He found out too much, too early, and I just hope I'm not the one who will have to kill him. I have that feeling, though. Maybe I'm more psychic than I ever suspected. "You know," I say, "It's better to be killed by someone you know. Better than being knocked off by some anonymous assassin." "Are you speaking from experience?" "Partially." Silence. "Don't think that I won't feel badly about it," I say finally. "That doesn't particularly reassure me," he says. "Most people die without anyone to mourn them - did you know that?" He raises an eyebrow. Lowers it. He keeps driving. "Where are they going next?" "Mulder will try to prevent the death of the next victim, and he'll be too late. Scully will go back to DC to bring evidence to the crime lab." "Oh." It is starting to rain now, light patters against the windshield. Grunting, Levi flicks the wipers on, and they streak concentric half-circles over the glass. "Why do you do it?" he asks. "I'm sure they told you." "No, they..." He hesitates. "Not that. Not why you help Mulder and Scully - you can't help who you work for. Why do you stay in the game?" "I'm sure they told you that too." He shakes his head. The boy has a problem communicating - perhaps that is why he's doomed. "You don't have much time left. All they can do is kill you. And-" "...And I'm already dead," I finish. "You know..." Another flick of the wipers - it only makes the visibility worse, but he insists on keeping them on. A matter of principle, I suppose. "I've often asked myself that same question." "Your answer?" I close my eyes. The rain gives me a headache. "I don't know." Levi gives up on the wipers as the rain picks up - we are both dead in this car, so we will drive blind. "I don't want to die," he says. "Of course not," I reply. *** "You realize this will take a day or two, right?" Scully made a sudden realization. Agent McAlpine - whose first name was Robert, she had discovered - was far too happy to see her. Considering the fate of his predecessors at the FBI labs, he shouldn't have been so eager. Maybe he just wanted to chase aliens. She almost rolled her eyes at the thought. "Agent Scully?" She shook her head. Stared at him. "Sorry, I don't know where my mind is these days." He grinned. "I get like that sometimes." He glanced again at the tissue samples under the microscope. "So where did these come from?" "A crime scene just outside of Seattle. Is there anything out of the ordinary about them?" "Other than the fact that the victim must have been burnt to a crisp, it doesn't look like it. But like I said, it might take a few days to run all the tests." He glanced up at her, brushing dark hair out of his eyes. "Why - is there something I should be looking for?" Scully paused for a moment, then said, "No - nothing in particular. I'd appreciate it if you let me know the moment you find anything..." She searched for the word, and didn't find it. "Paranormal?" McAlpine suggested. "Unusual," Scully said. A quiet laugh. "I'll see what I can do." She nodded somberly. "Thank you." He met her gaze. His lips moved, and she sensed that he wanted to ask her what was wrong. As if knowing that there was no way she could have answered him, he turned back to the microscope. She wanted to look at it as well - it was something solid, cold, scientific. Real. But she had other work to do. Reality would have to wait. She let herself out of the lab. *** We grab lunch at a truck stop just off the highway. We are incongruous here among the crowd, dressed in black suits and sunglasses, and we receive more than a few stares. Oblivious, Levi sits down to attack his hamburger. I light up a cigarette and scan the room, more out of instinct than anything else. No one here will remember us for more than an hour or so. The wet, miserable travelers have other concerns on their mind. But I am on edge today, and my glance lingers on anyone who looks in our direction. "Would you please not blow that in my face?" Levi asks. "Sorry." I shift my chair around, but the smoke seems to drift towards him no matter what I do. "Did Scully fly back to DC?" "As far as I know." "And the next victim?" "New York, I believe. If Mulder's fast he'll get there before the body disappears." "You won't interfere with this one?" Another flicker of interest from a teenager sitting at the next table. She smiles shyly at Levi. Does she find him attractive? "Keep your voice down," I tell him, "They have enough evidence from Primeau's body. Anything more could expose us." "So you think they can find the killer?" "I believe so, yes." "Then what do we do?" What do I do? That is the more pressing question. All Levi needs to do is die, unfortunately. "Assuming Scully discovers our killer, Mulder has evidence linking the organization to the murders. That must be disposed of as quickly as possible as soon as our killer is safely found." "The list of victims." Levi catches on fast. "We'll need to get it back and destroy it." "He wouldn't have thought to copy it?" "He won't have the chance." Levi nods. "So...we follow Mulder, then." I'm still thinking. "No, you follow Mulder and get whatever evidence he has. I will go back to DC and find out whatever Scully discovers." "And the killer?" "As soon as we know who it is, we can call in our people to handle the situation. I would prefer to keep the FBI out of it." It is a good plan - by the book. I've been doing this for a long time. And only one more question remains. I wish Levi wouldn't ask it. But he does. "And after that?" Yes, after that? What then? "I'll have to kill you," I say as casually as possible. He shakes his head slowly. "I'm sorry, Levi...Adam. I do like you. But you know the rules of the game as well as I do." "I can be of use to you." "Yes, but you're more of a danger." I remove my sunglasses to meet his eyes. "Adam, you joined the organization knowing the risks. That you could be called upon at any time." "Why should I die for this?" "Sometimes it's better not to ask." He glares. "They put the hit on you, once. I heard about that." "I'm still here." "How did you survive?" I smile faintly. "It's a long story. You don't have that much time." I stand up. "Go to Mulder and make sure whatever evidence he has does not fall into the wrong hands. And after that, I would advise you to make your peace with the world. It's all you can do." He swallows hard. "Isis?" "Yeah." "I just want to know one thing." "Yes?" "Why?" "Consider it a long-term investment. One life, now, for five billion lives fourteen years from now." "That isn't good enough," he says, "That's the line they all give, but I don't think they believe it themselves." "Then I hope that you can find an answer you can live with," I tell him. It's only when I'm halfway out the door that I realize the irony of that last statement. CHAPTER VI: KILLERS IN HIGH PLACES "Can't run no more with the lawless crowd while the killers in high places say their prayers out loud But they've summoned up a thundercloud and they're going to hear from me." -- Leonard Cohen, _Anthem_ The phone rang at one in the morning. Scully groaned, fumbled for the source of the offending sound. She finally found the receiver and fought back the urge to slam it back down. "Yeah?" "Agent Scully? I'm sorry to wake you up, but I thought you would want to know what we found right away..." She blinked, now completely awake. "Who is this?" A stunned pause. "It's McAlpine." "What did you find?" "I think you'd better come down to the lab as soon as possible," was his only response. An hour and a half later, she was staring at a fuzzy, blurry something through a microscope. McAlpine was talking, but his voice was equally fuzzy. "What am I looking at?" she asked, feeling foolish. But it *was* two-thirty in the morning. He stopped, smiled apologetically. "First of all, the victim died of cyanide poisoning." "Cyanide?" "Yeah...but that isn't the most exciting part." Scully nodded for him to continue. "If I remember correctly, the records indicated that the victim was sixty-four years old..." "Something like that..." Her voice was still slurred from sleep. "But these tests indicate that Nancy Primeau was eight months pregnant." She was too exhausted to even feign surprise. "Is that paranormal enough for you, Agent McAlpine?" "You knew? But...I don't see how it's possible..." "Are you positive?" "I would be absolutely certain if we had found traces of the actual fetus." "No...no..." She shook her head. "The killer would have gone to great lengths to make sure you couldn't." "That was going to be the next bit of information I had for you, but you ruined the suspense. We recovered a partial fingerprint and some hair fibers." "Did you run it through the crime database?" "No matches yet." "Damn." Scully looked back through the lens. "Anything else?" "It seems like she was undergoing some sort of hormonal therapy. Which still wouldn't explain how she was able to conceive, but it might be a start. I'm sure with further tests we might determine more." "That won't be necessary." McAlpine looked shocked. "Don't you want to know?" "Yes. But..." She sighed heavily. "What I want more is to find whoever did this to her, and bring those individuals to justice. If you pursue their methods further, they might-" "Kill me?" McAlpine turned the microscope off. "That was what you were going to tell me? How do you know all of this, Agent Scully?" "Let's just say I have my ways." She attempted a weak smile. "What's important is that another woman does not die this way. I want you to run what you have through the database of federal employees." His eyes widened. "Really?" "Just a guess." She turned to leave. "Let me know what you find." He was still standing there, motionless. "You'll be the first to know," he muttered. *** Assistant Director Kersh looked up as the door opened. He caught a glimpse of the tall figure in the doorway, then dropped his gaze to the pile of 302s on his desk. He had been working late, and there was only one person who it would be at this hour. "What do you want?" His visitor lit a cigarette and sat down on the couch by the wall. Kersh had once been under the impression that the smoker had been an unofficial component of the X-Files Division, but he had changed that assumption to decide that the man simply belonged to whatever division Mulder and Scully were assigned to. Why? He had no idea. He supposed the man was a top official of some sort who had taken an unusual interest in the two agents. Kersh himself had no interest in them, but the smoker seemed to find them important, for whatever reason. Regardless, he was not fond of having the smoker skulk around his office. For one, he had quit smoking twenty years ago, and he had resented having to install an ashtray in his otherwise pristine working environment. For another, everything about the man seemed to bother him. Kersh had received his fair share of condescension during his early years at the Bureau, but it was nothing like what he had to undergo with this person. Of course, in this case the condescension wasn't personal - it seemed directed at everyone, as far as he could tell. But nothing could excuse the late-night visits, the cryptic remarks, the absurd orders. It only made the presence of Mulder and Scully in his division even more annoying. Which, of course, was exactly what the man intended. "I thought we might talk." The visitor took a drag of his cigarette and leaned back on the leather couch. "At this hour?" "Agents McAlpine and Scully have discovered evidence that may identify the killer in the Primeau case." Kersh muttered, "Good for them." The smoker leaned forward. "I don't think you understand, Mr. Kersh. The killer is a federal employee. CIA, it appears." Kersh was tired. He wished the man would cut to the chase. "Do you want me to take Mulder and Scully off the case?" The smoker looked surprised. "When they are doing so well?" He stood up. Kersh tried not to make his relief too evident. "Quite the contrary. I think you should congratulate them on a job well done." Kersh tried, unsuccessfully, to stare him down. "I'll be sure to do that," he said. His visitor extinguished the cigarette in the ashtray by the door, then lit another. "Have a good night, Mr. Kersh." The Assistant Director did not respond. One day he would have to put that bastard in his place. But not today. *** Mulder had been driving for ten minutes when he noticed that the indicator was almost on empty. Shit. Goddamn rental cars. He didn't have time to stop. Another woman was about to die, and now the sons-of-bitches would probably have every trace of her life and death buried somewhere no one would find it. Every minute made a difference. Then again, it wouldn't do her any good if he ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere. He filled up at a gas station, then went in to pay and buy a package of sunflower seeds. When he returned, there was a man sitting in the passenger seat of his car. "I'm sure you could find something more expensive to steal," Mulder said, reaching for his gun. "Don't touch your weapon," the man hissed, "Get in the car and drive." "I know you. You were at Primeau's house...your name is Levi." "Adam." The younger man extended his hand. "Drive. You don't have much time." Mulder stared for a moment longer, then reluctantly jammed the key into the ignition. "What do you want, Adam?" "What anyone wants," Levi replied. They pulled out of the gas station and back onto the highway. At least the rain had cleared up a little. Levi settled into the seat, looking significantly calmer. He was staring out the window now, his forehead pressed against the glass. "And what's that?" Mulder asked. Levi turned to him, eyes wide and red-rimmed. He looked desperate, a man who had not slept in days. His thin hand, pale in the gathering darkness, trembled a little. "I want to live," he said. *** The shadow was waiting for her in the parking lot. She walked alongside it for awhile before it spoke. "The name," Isis said. "No." The gloved hand gripped Scully's wrist with a sudden violence, whirling her around. "This is no time to play games, Dana. I need to know the name, and I need it now." "I'm sure you have your ways to find out." "I don't have the luxury of time." "Sorry to hear that." The fingers tightened, drawing her closer. "I have to leave within the hour." "For where?" "New York City. Where he is." "She." "Who is it?" "I can't tell you that." "You don't know what you're dealing with." Isis snarled. "At least I know who I'm dealing with." "You don't know that either." "Why should I help you, Isis? I know what you'll do." "Do you?" Scully strained to meet Isis' eyes, but the older woman wouldn't allow it, tilting her head just slightly upwards to avoid Scully's glare. "You'll kill her, just like you killed Darrow. You've used us, and you've been using us all along." Isis slammed her against the wall of the parking garage, not hard, but pinning her forcefully against the concrete. She was prepared for a blow, a gun shoved against her head, anything but the satin brush of Isis' lips against hers. She could collapse into this embrace, sink into the velvet darkness, but she fought hard. She could not succumb, not again. The kiss was soft, intoxicating, but it was the kiss of an enemy. When Isis spoke, her voice was husky. "Does that surprise you, Dana?" "Fuck you." "Give me her name, Dana. Give it to me and let me finish this." "Let go of me." Isis released her. "Name." "I'm going with you." "You can't." "Watch me." "Tell me the killer's name." "I'll tell you on the way there." Isis took a step backwards, a smile threatening to shatter her impassive mask. "You're good, Agent Scully. It's a pity you're on the wrong side. Shall we take your car or mine?" Scully grinned triumphantly. "Whichever you prefer," she said sweetly, "Although you're not smoking in my car." "Then there isn't much of a choice, in that case," Isis replied. *** Mulder's eyes scanned the road signs, the blaring lights of the city. Driving in New York was for lunatics, he decided. "You have exactly fifteen minutes to explain yourself," he said to Levi. "I can do it in less," the young man replied, "Isis is trying to kill me." "Why?" "I know too much." "About what?" "About her, and the son-of-a-bitch she works for." "And how did you come about this knowledge?" Levi shrugged. "I've got good instincts." "Obviously not good enough." He sped up slightly. "What makes you think I can help you?" "Agent Mulder, you must know how important you are by now." "Important to who?" His blue eyes widened, then Levi mimed the gesture of smoking a cigarette. "Oh, for chrissake..." "I'm sure you're also aware that there is a great deal of infighting among our organization. Her former employer was killed as a result of one of these...differences of opinion." "And our killer...he's murdering these women because of infighting?" "I don't know that. If she knows who the killer is, she didn't tell me. All I know is that Isis and the smoker want the guy dead before you can find out anything else about him or the women he killed." "It has to do with Emily, doesn't it?" "All of the women were carrying genetically altered children. An extension of a project of which I am sure you have some knowledge." "For what purpose?" "I don't know that either. But if these women had survived, they would have given birth to...more Emilys, you could say." "In that case, why kill them? If the killer knows about the project-" "Then he's one of us," Levi finished. "Yes. We've known that since the beginning. Isis doesn't care about saving these people. She just wants to make sure that word doesn't get out about elderly women giving birth to clone children." Mulder nodded. He had assumed as much. Isis did not seem to be the sort of person who placed a great deal of value on human life. "And where do you fit in?" "I was assigned to make sure no evidence of this case ever saw the light of day. Those were my orders. When I found out that Isis had involved the FBI, I followed her to find out why." He coughed, turning back towards the window. "I found out a great deal more than that." "Now she wants you dead." "Yes." "Why should I trust you?" "I can testify. You get me into the Witness Protection Program, I help you bring them down. Isn't that what you want?" He didn't answer. Couldn't. He shifted his eyes back and forth from the road to the frightened young man sitting beside him. "The killer is here in New York," he said finally, "I need to stop him." "Of course you do," Levi said. "You're going to help me. If we see this man, you'll know who he is." "I might." Levi's voice was hesitant. Mulder stared at him for a moment, then turned his gaze to the thousand lights flashing past them. "Okay," he said, "Okay." This might work out after all. "And after that, maybe we can make a deal." *** Scully makes no attempt to disguise her distaste as I keep one hand on the wheel and smoke a cigarette with the other. She rolls down her window to clear the air. "Don't look at me like that," I say, "I was planning to visit my daughter today, not drive like a maniac to stop a killer." "Your daughter..." Her bitterness is evident enough. I can't say I blame her. "It's possible that your partner has already engaged the killer." I change the subject - I have to. "We may be too late in any case." "Just drive." Scully looks tired. I noticed it in the darkness of the parking garage, but I notice it more now. She has had more than enough. It was never fair to drag her into this, to force her to grieve for Emily again and again. I try to tell myself that we had no choice. And we didn't, not really. "The killer's CIA," Scully says finally, "Her name is Denise Falker." "I know her," I reply. "One of yours?" I flick ashes out the window. "Not 'one of mine', Agent Scully." I wonder how much power she attributes to me. "She's loosely connected with the project at Transgen, however." "Emily." "And others, yes." Scully's fingers clench into a fist, white-knuckled, she tries to restrain herself. "I was never involved with that particular project, Dana. Not even marginally." "You've lied to me before." "I'm not lying to you about this." I sigh. "Please, put it aside. There are lives to be saved." "The killings are part of the project?" "I don't know. As I said, I am not connected with the project. We are a large organization. It doesn't make any sense for them to be killing their own test subjects, however." "Test subjects?" I'm surprised she hasn't tried to hit me yet. "Those women are victims." "Yes," I keep driving, oblivious. "They are that too." For awhile, neither of us say anything. Then I ask, "Do you know anything else?" "None of them were killed in the explosions. They were poisoned first - cyanide." This seems odd - wrong, somehow. Why would Falker have poisoned the victims? Wouldn't cutting out their fetuses and blowing them up be sufficient? It occurs to me for the first time that Falker must be mad, and I wonder why I didn't realize it before. Of course the pressures of that sort of work would affect anyone, after awhile, and the screening process is often not as rigorous as it should be. It would explain everything - the brutal nature of the killings, the systematic turn against the organization. At last the pieces are starting to fall together. "Have you told Mulder yet?" "I was about to call him when-" "Call him now." She nods. Dials the number. I hear the vague static of a mechanical voice. "Funny," she says, "His cell phone must be turned off." There is a faint tremor in her tone. I press harder on the gas pedal in response. And I remind myself that we may already be too late. CHAPTER VII: NOBODY DONE NO HARM "She says no no no no harm will come your way She says bring it on down, bring on the wave She says nobody done no harm Grace of God and raise your arms She says, face it and it's a place to stay." -- The Sisters Of Mercy, _Flood II_ "Hold out your hands," Mulder said. Not understanding until it was too late, Levi obeyed, only to hear the snap of one handcuff around his wrist and the other around the steering wheel. He cursed under his breath, and Mulder smiled grimly. "Wait right here." "Do you always treat your witnesses like this?" Levi asked. "Only when I trust them as much as I trust you. Stay." "I'm not going anywhere," Levi grumbled. Mulder slipped out of the car and walked towards the building. It was still intact, and that was a good sign. Like the other women, Stella Garrison lived alone, in an ugly tenement building in the Bronx. No one gave him a second glance as he made his way up the stairs, wincing at a slippery patch of vomit on the floor. It was a horrible place for an old woman to live...for anyone, really. The hallway outside her apartment was silent. He knocked on the door. There was no response. "Mrs. Garrison?" he called. Still nothing. He felt for his gun. Abruptly, the door swung open. He had a brief glimpse of a young woman, standing over a limp body that was almost certainly that of Stella Garrison, and even more certainly quite dead. He never had a chance to draw before the living woman was almost on top of him. He caught a sketch of a face - short cropped hair, troubled green eyes - before something solid and heavy hit his head, and then- Black. He had been too late, anyway. *** We park across the street from the residence of Stella Garrison. The sun is setting, and it stands out against the sky, a dark blot among other grey, dilapidated forms. My eyes instantly spot the Taurus parked in front of the building. "Is that Mulder's car?" I ask. "Probably." I squint to make out the shadowy form. "There's someone in it." "Mulder?" "Too short...it's someone else. You go around the back of the building. It looks like we might still be in time." She nods and disappears into the growing darkness. I approach the front of the apartment, stopping at the rental car. As I expected. I am impressed that he made it this far. "Unlock the door, Levi." He shakes his head. I draw my gun. "Unlock it, or I'll unlock it for you." He hesitates, then reaches over to unlock it with the hand that is not chained to the steering wheel. I open the door, then slam him against the seat, pinning his free hand to the side of the car and jamming the gun against the underside of his chin with the other. "If it brings you any comfort, you probably won't suffer very much," I whisper. "Don't." His voice is pitiful. "I'm very sorry. I do like you, Adam, but you know too much." He swallows hard. "You're touching me," he says quietly, "You must know." I had not been concentrating. And he is right - the rush of sounds and images and feelings is instantaneous, although I am so accustomed to it that I barely notice. The life of this dead man is only another burden I will carry, his terror contributing to the pounding, searing pain in my skull. "I played the violin," he says, "I have a girlfriend back in Baltimore. That's where I'm from. You can tell, can't you? All that?" "Yes," I reply. "And I work for the smoker. You can tell that too." My grip on him loosens, just a little. "Yes," I repeat. "And now you're not sure if you want to kill me after all." He is pleading, and it is pathetic, yes, but it is working. It is the click of high heeled shoes that is the deciding factor. "Put the gun down, Isis." I am struck by the authority in Scully's voice. I always knew she had it in her. "I'm putting it away," I tell her. I back away from Levi slowly, hearing him let out an exhale of relief. "Who is he?" "A colleague of mine. Who I will not kill, for the time being." I glance at Scully, then back at Levi. Levi shakes his trapped hand. "Can you get me out of here?" Before Scully can comment, I blow a hole in the steering wheel. Levi yelps, then tugs his hand free, muttering something under his breath that suspiciously sounds like, "Bitch." "You were supposed to get the back of the building," I say to Scully. "I didn't trust you." I don't have time for this. "Trust me." "You were about to kill this man." "It wouldn't be the first time. Look, you take him, and go around to the back of the building. I'll meet you at the apartment." This time she agrees. I wonder if she's this stubborn with her partner. As I walk to the front of the tenement building, I have to keep reminding myself of how hard this is for her. How I must sympathize. She lost a daughter to this same project. She has seen the height of human cruelty, and the experiments at Transgen Pharmaceuticals bother even the smoking man, to a point. Of all the human sacrifices the organization must make, this is the most jarring. Innocent children, innocent women...only a monster could be unmoved. Death is a merciful action to these test subjects. To these victims. And I realize in that moment what Falker was trying to do. She is not mad, nor is she contributing to some secretive goal of some faction of the organization. All she is doing is trying to ensure that another Emily Sim is not made to suffer. That is the reason for the killings. For the cyanide. She doesn't want to expose us - she just wants to stop the project. And I can understand that. If Scully and Mulder stop her, they will be doing the bidding of the most sadistic men in the Consortium. My pace quickens to a run before I reach the open door Garrison's apartment. *** The first thing Scully saw as she burst through the door was Mulder's motionless form, lying a few feet away from the dead body of Stella Garrison. She swung her gun up to meet the gun of Denise Falker. "This is, I believe, a stand-off," Falker said. She looked deceptively young and fresh-faced - only her eyes reflected a core of anguish. A quick gaze in Levi's direction told him to remain still. "It's over, Falker," Scully replied. "There are others. It will never be over. You can kill me, but you'll accomplish nothing." "What did you do to Mulder?" Falker shrugged. "He'll live. I don't mean you or he any harm. I believe you are both in a unique position to understand my actions." "Drop your weapon, and explain them to me." "I'm afraid I can't do that. You might kill me. Or he might. I still have work to do. I would prefer not to die." "Work?" Scully's finger tightened on the trigger. "Killing innocent women and children?" "No one is innocent, Agent Scully. Haven't you figured that out yet?" "You're under arrest." "That's a death sentence and you know it. I'd rather you killed me yourself." Falker sighed. "I don't see how there's any other way this can end, now." "Let it go, Falker." Falker closed her eyes, then opened them slowly. "Only darkness can defeat the dark," she said. Scully caught the glimpse of a movement through the open doorway before Falker seemed to notice. Isis. Relief flooded her system, though she could not understand why. She saw the older woman about to open her mouth, to speak- - but at that moment Falker swung her gun around and a deafening shot echoed through the tiny apartment. And Adam Levi crumpled soundlessly to the ground at Isis' feet. Scully didn't have time to think - she fired twice, would have fired again if she had not heard the gun clatter to the ground from Falker's hand. The killer was dead before she hit the floor. Scully closed her eyes, then opened them, looking up to meet Isis' dark gaze. Neither woman spoke. Scully went to Mulder first, feeling for a pulse. He groaned and stirred, blinking up at her. "Scully?" "What happened, Mulder?" He looked around at the three bodies. The blood on the floor was not a pool - it was a lake. "Why don't you tell me?" He sat up dizzily, leaning on Scully for support. "Are they all dead?" he asked. "I don't know." She looked over at Isis. The older woman knelt on the ground, cradling Levi's bloody body in her arms. Scully approached quietly, not entirely sure what she was seeing. "You were going to kill him," she said softly, "Why?" She could have sworn she saw a mist in Isis' eyes. "He was doomed from the beginning. It doesn't help though...knowing that..." She smoothed hair back from the still face. "It's what we all live with, every day." Closing her eyes, she kissed Levi's forehead, then lowered him back to the floor and stood up. "It's our life, Agent Scully. I don't think you'll ever fully comprehend the burdens we carry." Mulder was examining Garrison's corpse. "She didn't get around to removing the fetus, Scully." He directed a sharp glance towards Isis. "We can prove everything." Scully put a hand on Mulder's shoulder. "Not this time," she said, "Let them take care of it. There will be other chances." Reluctantly, he allowed her to lead her out of the apartment. Isis closed the door behind them. Halfway down the hallway, she thought of going back. Sensing this, Mulder stopped. "I want you to understand," Scully said quietly, "I want to see them brought to justice as much as you do. You know that. But...I can't face what's behind that door. Not yet." Mulder said nothing. Finally, he forced a small smile and lay his hand on her arm. "Come on, Scully," he said, "Let's go home." CHAPTER VIII: HOW THE LIGHT GETS IN "Ring the bells that still can ring Forget your perfect offering There is a crack in everything That's how the light gets in." -- Leonard Cohen, _Anthem_ They had almost reached DC when Mulder spoke the thought that had been haunting him since they had left New York. "Scully, we still have enough to nail those bastards." She had been staring out the window, but now she blinked over at him, as if startled out of a dream. "I know this is a bad time," he added. "No...it's..." She nodded. "You're right. There's the forensic evidence from Seattle, and the list of victims. We could still reach them, Mulder. And...we should." "Yeah." He reached for the computer printout Isis had given them. It wasn't in his pocket. He was positive he had put it in the pocket of his trench coat, but he searched every pocket just to be sure. No luck. It was gone. "Levi must have taken it. He was with me all the way from the airport...he had a million opportunities." "Levi is dead." "Then your friend Isis has it. Which is as good as us delivering it back to Cancerman himself." "Cancerman?" "Didn't she tell you?" Mulder laughed bitterly. "That's who she picked up her smoking habit from, it seems." He didn't see Scully's fist collide with the dashboard, but he might have predicted it. "Damn!" "Levi told me." "Do you believe him?" Mulder didn't answer. "Mulder, she helped us. We would never have solved this case without her. She risked her *life*." "I think the question you need to ask yourself, Scully," His voice was even, defeated. "Is why." It was the last thing he said until they reached DC. *** Scully had only been called into the principal's office once during grade school, for smoking in the girls' washroom. The feeling of dread, the stern look of disapproval and disappointment on his face when he informed her that he had a duty to call her parents, was enough to dissuade her from ever wanting to repeat the experience. She remembered it still - the little flip-flop of her stomach as she awaited the judgment of another. She had that same feeling as she and Mulder walked into Kersh's office. She wondered if the faint smell of smoke that clung to the room was her imagination, or a sign of Kersh's allegiances. She supposed it didn't matter. Kersh might just be a smoker, although she doubted it. "Sir?" "Sit down, Agents." His voice was hard, cold, but not accusatory. There was an uncomfortable silence as they both took their seats. "I was told that the lead suspect in the bombing case is dead," Kersh began. "It's officially closed," Mulder replied, "We have evidence in the labs, however, that will prove definitively that Denise Falker killed at least one of those women." Scully was taken aback at the sight of an expression that deceptively resembled astonishment cross Kersh's face. "You haven't heard?" "With all due respect sir, we have been pursuing a case-" Scully started. "Heard what?" Mulder said at the same time. "There was a fire at the lab. Whatever evidence you had there is not there any longer." Scully felt something jump and twist inside of her, a spell of dizziness that left her clinging to the arms of her chair. Remembering her own words the previous day, she whispered, "McAlpine.." Kersh stared at her. "The fire happened at four o' clock this morning," he said, "There was no one in the lab at the time." Scully gave a weak smile. The thought that another innocent had died for their quest would have been one blow more than she could handle. "Is there anything else, sir?" she asked. Kersh took a deep breath before speaking again. "Yes," he said. Mulder nodded for him to continue. "Good work, Agents," he said, as if every word pained him more greatly than either of them would ever know. It was only when they were outside the office and well out of hearing distance did they look at each other and burst into laughter. *** It was under her door when she returned home, a plain paper envelope. Raising an eyebrow, Scully closed the door, locked it, and carefully tore the envelope open. Two pieces of paper fell out. The first she recognized instantly. It was the computer printout, the list of the names of women involved in the project. It was splattered with blood - Levi's, she realized with a start - and there was a ragged hole in the middle, through the names of the last victims. She folded it carefully. It was the last piece of evidence they had. In itself, not enough to expose the Consortium, but perhaps one day... She lifted the other piece of paper to the light. Agent Scully, I hope this letter finds you well. It is an unfortunate situation when the spoils of war disappear from under your feet. I assume, however, that you will make the best of it. As you might have guessed, our mutual friends do not look fondly on the events of the past few days. As a result, you and I may not be able to meet for awhile. Perhaps when we do, we might converse further regarding the significance of what has recently taken place. Until then, take care, I. Scully considered crumpling it up, then decided against it. Maybe it too might be useful one day. She slipped both papers back into the envelope. *** I seem to always come back here, one way or another. He was expecting me, I think, a thought that is confirmed when he draws me into his arms and covers my lips with his own. It has been a long time - too long. There is much he wants to tell me - and much he would prefer to *not* tell me, but I receive it all, regardless. Letting go, he lights a cigarette. "Are you trying to quit?" he asks, bemused. "Life is short," I reply. "So I've been told." A pause. "Levi is dead." It is not a question. "Was he really working for you?" He nods. "Why?" He refuses to respond. "You had me followed. Do you not trust me?" "I don't trust anyone." His voice is light, its smoothness masking a darker purpose. "You know your value, I'm sure." I reach for his hand, but he pulls away before I can touch him. "You know my secrets, Isis. More than anyone else has ever known. The very fact that I still allow you to live is proof of my trust." He falls silent, stands, approaches me. And for a moment his impassive mask cracks. Beneath it he is worried. Vulnerable. "I've seen it happen to others...others like you. Every secret you know is a burden. And it's killing you." His hand closes around my shoulder, pulling me towards him. "I'm right, aren't I?" "Yes." The inward wince of grief, of guilt, is unfamiliar. It is not something to which I am accustomed, not from him. We collapse at the same time into the softness of the unmade bed, lie staring at each other. His arm is draped over me, but he is at a distance, still unable to surrender completely, to let me know everything. Weakness does not become him. When he speaks again, his voice is hoarse. "How long?" I shake my head. "I don't know." He seems uncomfortable with the idea. "I...I can't stay. I can't be with you...be there for you." "I don't expect it." He takes a final drag of his cigarette before putting it out. "As long as you understand." "I understand," I tell him. More silence. "We've played right into their hands." "The Falker case." "She was trying to stop it. Scully killed her...and we gave your colleague exactly what he wanted." A shrug. "It works in our favour as well. You don't want to be on his bad side." "It's wrong." His hand brushes my cheek. "I know," he says, "I know, but it's necessary. For now." Sharp blue eyes hold my gaze still. "Let it drop." I acquiesce. This time he is less cautious, folding me into his arms, cocooning me in a tangle of sheets and limbs. It is strange that a man of secrets would find comfort in the one woman from whom secrets cannot be kept. Strange, but appropriate, somehow. "Isis?" A soft plea. I slip my hand into his. "For...whatever time you have left...I can make no promises, but..." "You don't have to say it," I reply, "I already know." He shakes his head. "How do you live with it?" I lean over to kiss him. "Because it's the only alternative to dying." A faint smile. I close my eyes and settle into his arms. It is not perfect - it has never been - but it is only another night. "Then let's not waste any more time talking about it," he says. And tonight, that is enough. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Why does Isis hate Mulder so much? Will CSM save her before it's too late? Will the airing of "Two Fathers" completely screw up Ashlea's carefully plotted backstory? Find out in "Lady Midnight". More answers than Full Disclosure...coming soon!