Agent Doggett stood in the center of the room, the echo of his recent footfalls still fading around him. He stared at the blank walls and empty expanses with an expression of confusion and betrayal, almost unable to believe what he was seeing. What had it been, two, three weeks since he had last been here? And there hadn’t been a single box packed, not a thing to suggest that Mulder was intending to leave.
He knelt down, looking at the floor, and saw that the landlord had not yet had time to completely clean the apartment. There were still spots of dust here and there, evidence of a life that had once come and gone among these walls, a life of remarkable if unusual achievement. His eyes fell on the shallow scratches on the floor where a table once stood, the deep pitting where the couch and desk had sat for over a decade.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, shaking his head. His thoughts lit briefly on the impact to his investigation, the promise so recently made broken without a word of warning or explanation. But then he thought of Scully. Did she know? Could it be that Mulder had finally done the right thing and moved in with her? His hopes grasped that thin straw, even as his gut told him that there was something much larger and more confounding at work.
Turning without a further pause, his next destination clear, he walked out the door and closed it, knowing that with one look at those empty rooms, nothing would be the same again.
****
ONE MONTH EARLIER
It was like the rhythm of a heartbeat, constant and incessant, pulsing with each footfall to the core of his being. Each reaching step forward was a cleansing pressure and release that took him just that much farther away from all the headaches and the doubts, leaving him in a state of almost pristine awareness. The warm and humid air was like the steam of the sweat lodge, driving the poisons of body and spirit out of his being with every exhale. These were the only moments of silent reflection that he had, the only noise the rush of his own breath through nostril and thinly drawn mouth, eyes focused forward but seeing little other than the canvas of his own reflections.
He had no conception of how long he had been running, not now. He had seen the look of agitation in Scully’s eyes, the questioning gaze that signaled another of their unpleasant discussions on the future, and he supposed it started soon after. The need to feel the asphalt under his feet, the familiar strain in his muscles, the sweat down his back.
She was out at that shop again, he reasoned to himself, aware of the irony that once again his clarity of mind led him right back to the place he was trying to avoid. She would be talking to Angel, he knew, the woman that she had struck up a swift and deep friendship with, the one she refused to talk much about. The one that had talked Scully into buying the necklace and pendant that he now wore around his neck, against all better judgment. But she had asked him to do it for William, for their son, and so he had done it.
He wondered what they might be talking about today. Likely him. He knew that it was more than a little arrogant to think that he was the only thing Scully might have to talk about, but he knew he would rank near the top of the list. Why was he always going out, still living in his own apartment instead of finding a place for the three of them, or even moving in with her. Why hadn’t he found something new to do with his life, instead of pining after the X-Files and commenting on the doings of Agent Doggett. Why he couldn’t stop dwelling on the past, if he had said more than once that he was ready to settle down and be a father to his son. Round and round that same old track, just like every other day.
The symbolism of his current activity did not escape him.
Coming close to the starting blocks on the track, he slowed, then came to a stop, relishing the sudden fullness of every breath, the coolness of the sweat on his brow. He slowly walked towards the nearby railing, lifting a leg to stretch himself out a bit, and then looked towards the other runners, his eyes slits against the brightness. Most of the others were the same crowd, mostly overweight men trying to jog their way out of middle age. He vaguely thought of his own slow decline from an athletic figure, and wondered how many of the other men on the track had been abducted by aliens and tortured to death. Probably not many, he told himself.
He became aware of the faint and idle strumming of a guitar to one side, and turned to look at the stands. Sitting near the top row was a young man playing some vaguely familiar tune on an acoustic guitar, weaving in and out of something approaching improvisation. A couple others sat around him, listening while watching someone out on the track, and his curiosity led him to look in the same direction. He noticed a young woman running with a sleek but compelling grace, and he recognized her as someone he had seen from time to time in the past. As she grew nearer, he noticed the simple beauty of her softly Asian features, and found that he couldn’t blame the others for finding her worthy of notice. She flashed him a smile, and he returned it with one of his own, both pleased and slightly embarrassed that she had noticed his gaze.
Then he noticed the shadow that trailed behind her, and realized that he had been running around that track for quite a long time. That had been happening more and more, that lack of awareness of the passage of time. Part of it was the depth of his thoughts, he knew, but there was something more to it, something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He shook his head, cursing himself for being a fool and not thinking about the time, and then jogged towards the locker room.
Soon he was walking towards his locker, his thoughts vaguely turning towards the woman on the track, until his own reflection in the mirror on the wall caught his eye. He stopped, not quite noticing the detail that had demanded his attention, and then he saw what it was. Or rather, what it wasn’t, because for someone that had been running for what had to be more than two hours in the heat of a June day, there was only the slightest patch of sweat down the front of his shirt. Turning to look at his back, he saw the same thing.
Pulling his shirt over his head, he looked it over, and then stared at his reflection. It took him a moment to recognize himself, and even then, he wasn’t quite sure when he had regained the lean physique of his more youthful days. As much as he liked to ignore it or pretend it wasn’t so, he had returned from his short time in the grave with more than a few extra pounds.
He stepped back, looking closely at the cut of the muscles along his legs, the tightness in the thighs. The running had a lot to do with it, he knew, but something was telling him that there was more to it. Nothing that he could identify, and he knew that if he mentioned it to Scully, she would tell him that it was just the hours and hours of exercise. Actually, she would take it as an indirect comment on the state of their relationship, to be honest, but that was the last thing he wanted to dwell upon. Still unnerved by the sight of his own reflection, he shook his head and walked the rest of his way to his locker, tossing his shirt onto the wooden bench as he pulled it open. Something was definitely not right.
Whatever it was, it would just have to get in line.
****
About halfway up the stairs to Scully’s apartment, he heard the familiar voice and stopped, sighing as he peeked out of the window into the parking lot below. Sure enough, there was the familiar black pickup truck. The weight of the medal around his neck suddenly very noticeable, just as it always was in such moments, Mulder took the remaining stairs just a little more slowly so he could make out what was being said.
“...a place in Alexandria, she said, pretty nice for the kind of money they’re asking. It opened up, so Walter told her to go ahead and take it on a monthly basis for now. She seemed to like the idea of being that close to the city, but not too close, if you know what I mean.”
“I would imagine it’s a lot more convenient than Falls Church,” he heard Scully say, her voice just slightly muted, which told Mulder that she was holding William. Probably pacing the floor, since he wasn’t wailing or otherwise making his presence known.
“You know what they say...you can take the man out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the man. I might have to work in Washington, but that doesn’t mean I have to live there.”
“That made perfect sense,” Scully teased, and Mulder found himself moving just the slightest bit faster up the stairs.
Doggett chuckled. “Come on, Dana, you know what I mean. I had enough of the city life when I was in Brooklyn. If I had it my way, I would have taken an assignment back in Georgia.”
“Maybe you can request a transfer,” Mulder said, pushing the door open. He tossed his bag against the wall just inside the entrance, ignoring for the moment the disapproving glare from Scully. “These days, Agent Doggett, it might be considered a healthy choice.”
Scully was standing behind the couch, patting William lightly on the back. Doggett was close by, not too far from the doorway. He was looking at Mulder as though he wasn’t entirely sure if he was supposed to laugh or not. For that matter, Mulder wasn’t sure that Doggett would want to hear the answer.
“John was just telling me that Monica’s transfer was finally approved,” Scully said, the tone of her voice telling him that he was supposed to take the hint and change the subject.
“Amazing how these things seem to take longer when you make the request in order to investigate a deputy director,” Mulder said with a slight grin. “But I guess that’s a good thing.” He looked towards Doggett. “I bet you could use the help.”
“I’ll admit I don’t take to the X-Files quite as easily as some other might...Fox.” The corner of Doggett’s lips curled up slightly as he paused, and Mulder remembered again why he hated hearing the sound of his own first name. “But I think I’ve kept things moving all right. To be honest, though, it’s not like many assignments are coming my way right now, what with this mess over the investigation.”
“Finding it a little rough?” Mulder said, leaning against the couch, pushing the door closed on the way.
“Mulder,” Scully muttered from behind, and even though he registered the warning in her tone of voice, he set his gaze on Doggett and didn’t let go.
“I may not have the kind of experience you do in accusing government officials of engaging in conspiracies, Mulder,” Doggett said, his expression hardening, “but I think that this one is pretty cut and dry.”
“Oh, I’m sure it is. Is that why it’s three months later, and you still haven’t gotten the evidence you need?”
“Mulder,” Scully repeated, her delivery slightly less patient. William whined slightly at the sound, but he settled back in after Scully began pacing a bit more quickly.
Doggett smiled. Always a bad sign. “Well, Mulder, I could have sped things up a bit, but I didn’t feel like faking my own death or taking an all-expenses trip to Antarctica to get it done.” The smile disappeared. “Besides, I thought you were on board for all of this. Second thoughts?”
“Nope,” Mulder said, pursing his lips and shaking his head slowly. “Just wondering if you actually intend on following through.” He looked Doggett in the eye again. “Or maybe there’s something else you’re after?”
Doggett looked at him with the slightest hint of confusion, and then laughed in exasperation. “You know, I have no idea what the hell is going on with you lately, Mulder. The first few weeks after we got back from Georgia, when this whole thing went down, I practically had to hold you back. It was all you wanted to do, to get to the truth behind what happened that night. But now...I have to wonder, are you trying to tell me that you think I ought to give it up?”
Mulder sighed, running his hand over his face, suddenly very tired. “No, Agent Doggett, I’m not saying that at all. I’m just not so sure that there’s anything left to find, after all this time. By now, your friend Knowle Rohrer has probably covered his tracks.”
“Hey, enough about Knowle,” Doggett said, his tone rapidly becoming more harsh. “I seem to remember a few casefiles that had a lot to say about some of your informants over the years.”
Mulder was about to respond when Scully stepped into view, glaring at the two of them. “I have a yardstick in the kitchen, if it would help settle this a little more quietly.” She tilted her head slightly towards William, who was starting to doze off on her shoulder.
Mulder looked at the floor, as if examining the dirt on the end of his shoe. This was just the kind of thing he was trying to avoid, and somehow, once again, he was setting himself up for a night of grief. “I’m getting a bit tired. If Agent Doggett still wants to talk shop, I think I’ll come back later or something.”
He didn’t see Scully’s reaction, but he didn’t have to. It was reflected well enough in Doggett’s reflection. “I’m done, Mulder. You stick around. I just wanted to check on Dana while I was in the neighborhood. I’ve got to get back to the house myself. I’ve got a new door to put up, and then I wanted to touch base with Monica over her transfer.”
“Tell her I said hello,” Scully said, flashing Doggett a tentative smile. Doggett hesitated at the door for a moment, and at first Mulder thought that the man’s gaze was lingering on Scully. He was about to comment when he realized that Doggett was looking at him. Mulder knew instantly what had caught his attention, but he forced himself to act as thought he was unaware of Doggett’s actions.
“Yeah, I’ll do that,” Doggett said, his voice distracted. “Have a good night, all right?”
Mulder stood and walked towards the kitchen while Scully closed the door, pulling open the refrigerator and grabbing a container of orange juice. It felt mostly empty, and he shook it, frowning when he realized that she was almost out. Not wanting to have to be the one to finish it, he placed the container back on the shelf and pulled out the pitcher of iced tea.
Scully was just putting William down in the bassinet when he walked back into the living room. She brushed up against the mobile that her mother had brought over on the way up, and it squeaked slightly as it turned. Scully grimaced as William stirred, but then he settled back in, and she shared a relieved glance with Mulder as she quietly turned off the light by the door.
“Almost out of orange juice,” Mulder whispered as she walked over.
She grabbed the glass of iced tea from his hand, taking a long sip before passing it back to him. “You were supposed to pick some up from the store on the way.” She shot him a slightly annoyed look. “And what about that WD-40 from your apartment? That damned mobile makes more noise...”
“I know, I know,” Mulder muttered, rolling his eyes. “You know, you could have told your mother...”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Scully said with a knowing smile. “After not telling her I was pregnant right away? You tell her to take it back.”
“We could always send Agent Doggett,” Mulder replied with a smile. “Spread the joy.”
Scully walked into her bedroom, wiping the sweat from her forehead before grabbing the glass from him again. “What is it with you and John these days, anyway? I thought that you two had buried the hatchet by now. It’s like every time he stops by, you have to give him a hard time.”
Mulder slid onto the bed, resting on one elbow, looking up at her. “Maybe it was when he started calling you ‘Dana’.”
Scully smirked. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Come on, Scully,” Mulder said, his attempt at keeping things light slowly evaporating. “No one calls you Dana.”
“Mulder, everyone calls me Dana,” Scully said, looking at him with just as little patience. “You’re the only one who calls me Scully outside of work. And if they do, there’s always the implied ‘Agent’ in there somewhere.”
Mulder scowled. “That’s not true. Lots of people call you Scully.”
“Name one,” Scully said, emphasizing her point by gesturing with the glass of iced tea before taking another long sip.
Mulder was about to reply, when he realized that Scully was right. Now that he thought of it, he was the only one who always referred to her as Scully. For that matter, over the past several weeks, ever since William had been born, everyone had taken to referring to each other by their first names. Except for him, of course. Only Agent Doggett called him ‘Fox’, and then usually to get on his nerves.
“I still don’t like it,” Mulder muttered, turning to lie on his back. He eyed Scully over his head. “You know, it’s bad enough that I have to wear this damned thing, but with him coming over every other day, it’s like we’re never alone.”
Scully stopped in mid-gulp, and eyed him as though she were considering taking the rest of the iced tea and dumping it on his head. “Mulder, what are you expecting? You weren’t all that concerned about him coming by when William wasn't sleeping through the night. And it’s hard for you to complain about us never being alone when you’re always finding some excuse to not be here.” She stopped herself, but her expression said that she knew it was too late to take it back. More softly, she continued, “Are you seriously saying that you’re giving John a hard time because of the medal? I thought I explained that.”
Mulder chuckled, sitting up and turning to look at her. “Some woman gives you a medal that Agent Doggett just happened to pawn off after his son dies, tells you that you ought to buy it for our son, and you just take that at face value?”
Scully shook her head, thrusting the nearly empty glass into his hand as she headed for the living room. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you anything. I should never have told you what the inscription meant. Maybe then you might still be acting like an adult.”
Mulder stood, following her into the other room. “Maybe if you had set it aside for Will when he was older, and left it at that, I could have let it go. But why the hell do I have to wear it? Tell me that.”
Scully turned, thrusting a finger to the medal, pressing it into his chest. “Damn it, Mulder, if it’s that much of a problem for you, take the damned thing off. If you can’t just trust me, and do this much for me, then put it aside.”
Mulder laughed bitterly. “And you would let that go? Give me a break.”
William let out a cry, and Scully held back the curse that was plainly on her lips. “You know, Mulder, do what you want. You always do. Keep it on, take it off, go run in a circle a few more times, whatever.” William’s cries grew more plaintive, and she pulled him back onto her shoulder, bobbing up and down to calm him. “But whatever it is you do, Mulder, stop pretending that this is my problem. Be honest enough to admit that you’re the one who can’t deal with the fact that you’re not the center of the universe anymore.” Scully turned away from him, pacing the floor again, reaching out to turn on the light that she had just turned off.
Mulder stared at her for a moment, a thousand replies rushing to the forefront of his mind. He wanted to tell her how awkward and difficult it was for him now, dealing with her relationship to a new partner, another man with convictions so like her own. Dealing with the fact that he had no idea what to do with his life, now that he was discharged from the Bureau. Still unable to reconcile everything that had happened to him in the last year, trying to pretend that he could live a normal life after having been dead and buried for three months, his interred body restored and repaired in ways he couldn’t even begin to understand. Reaching for some sense of reality.
Instead, he walked to the door and silently slung his bag over his shoulder, closing the door behind him without another word.
****
Days passed, and it was still the same. Only the simplicity of the movement, sure and constant, clearing away the confusion and the anger. Nothing more than the habit of the exertion, the endless cycle. Not for the first time, it had been more than a day before he felt up to visiting Scully again. More to the point, he had tired of the effort required to actively avoid the temptation of falling into the familiar patterns. It was almost as if the coming and going, the dance of avoidance, was a crucial part of his life now.
Each and every he found himself pushing himself harder, just a little faster or a little longer, taking on the hard ground in the heat of the summer sun. June was winding down now, and the hazy humid days of the Washington summers were upon them in full force. Even if they said that it was a mild summer so far, he found that he could hardly tell the difference. Mild, it seemed, was a matter of perspective.
But every day, no matter how far he took himself, he found that his body was equal to the task, showing less and less strain and wear. It was as though he was barely challenging himself anymore, only searching out some new limit that he had yet to approach. It was unnerving, even frightening, but at the same time, it was exhilarating.
By his own reckoning, he had been keeping his current pace for just about an hour, simply enjoying the lack of effort and the way that it brought him to focus. If Scully had her secrets now, with her relationship with Angel and the needless mystery of the St. Christopher’s medal, then this was the one thing that he could keep to himself in return. A part of him acknowledged that he had always kept things from her, not the least of which had been his terminal illness, but somehow the sins of omission in his past never seemed to equal to the annoyance of her secrecy now.
He pushed those thoughts aside, seeking out the welcome blankness that had been so easy to achieve of late, looking for something to focus on other than the complications of his new life. As if on cue, there was a blur of motion, and the young woman that he had noticed several days before passed him from the right, grabbing his attention. This time she was much closer than she had been when he first saw her, and now he found himself admiring the tight fit of her running shorts, the shifting of the fabric stretched over her toned shoulders, the hint of movement just out of view with every pump of her arms. She seemed to slow to his pace, setting herself just ahead of him, the slightest sheen of sweat covering her dark honey of her skin.
“What an ass,” he murmured to himself, baldly enjoying the view, and almost as if she heard him, she sped up slightly.
Not quite wanting to end the moment, and finding himself oddly aroused at the prospect of a good chase, he slipped out of his steady pace and pressed himself forward, intentionally drawing closer until he was the same distance behind her as he had been a moment before. He maintained the relative position from that moment forward, stride for stride, focusing less on the effort than the reward of watching her move. To him, it seemed as if the rhythm of the footfalls was mated with her own. It went on for lap after lap, until he was no longer sure how long they had been running their mutual orbits, until he found himself unable to continue, his breath coming too hard and too shallow.
He staggered to a stop, grabbing onto the nearby railing as he forced himself to recover, looking past the now-uncommon sweat dripping from the bangs over his eyes. He looked towards the young woman, and just as he glanced in her direction, she looked over her shoulder and caught him in her gaze. She never stopped, running just as quickly as they had been a moment before, but he felt as though they were caught in time. He saw the playful glint in her striking brown eyes, the perfect smile set on that softly Asian face. And then, as if time had resumed, she was in the distance, rounding the curve towards the other side of the track.
He looked down at the ground, the brightness of the afternoon sun suddenly too much to bear, moving only to stretch before cramping could set in. He purposefully avoided looking for the young woman again, not wanting to face the thoughts that might pass through his mind at the sight of her. Slowly his eyes adjusted, and he looked up into the stands, suddenly wondering if anyone had seen what kind of unbelievable pace he had achieved.
There was someone watching from the top of the stands, behind the chain-link fence, but the sun was setting in that direction and he could not make out any features. The figure lingered for a moment, as if telling him that his observation was noted, and then the figure turned and walked away. He stared at the receding figure for a few moments, wondering at what it all might mean, when he realized that he was standing alone on the track. Biting the inside of his lower lip, he shook his head, and set out for the locker room.
It wasn’t until that night, when Mulder was lying awake in his bed, that he realized that the young woman had not even flinched at the pace that had finally pushed him to his limit.
****
The next day found Scully away from her apartment, and so Mulder came to the track early. There were a couple of the usual men around, but the young woman was nowhere to be found. Not quite sure if he was relieved or disappointed, he slid under the rail and began stretching, wondering if there was any way to make peace with Scully without dredging up every awkward moment of the last six months.
“Mind if I join you?”
Mulder heard the familiar voice and almost didn’t look up. If there was one person that he didn’t want to put a show on for, it was this one. “Agent Doggett,” he said finally, taking in the sight of Doggett in a worn USMC muscle shirt and the requisite FBI running shorts. “I had no idea you ran.”
“Not something I do often on a track, but I thought I might today,” Doggett replied, his face unreadable as he slipped under the rail and began stretching next to Mulder.
Mulder watched him for a moment, still not quite believing what he was seeing, and then went back to his own preparations with a shrug. “Slow day at the office?”
“You could say that,” Doggett answered, followed by a low grunt as he pulled one knee to his chest. “Things are coming together with the investigation, even if it’s starting to feel more and more like a one man show. At least Monica ought to be here in the next week or so.”
“I remember Scully saying something about that, last time we were there.” Mulder cursed himself inwardly at the reference. Now was not the time to start bringing up more of the same. But then, Doggett had already started with that, hadn’t he?
“I tried talking with Skinner yesterday,” Doggett said, as if Mulder had not said anything at all. “It’s almost like he’s been avoiding my phone calls. Can’t say I get a good feeling from that.”
“I thought Agent Reyes was the one with the feelings,” Mulder said, and then he relented, smiling to let Doggett off the hook. “Just kidding. If the investigation is really coming to a head, and you’re getting ready to start pushing for specific lines of inquiry, it’s not too hard to see why Skinner would be nervous. I mean, he did kill Krycek in the Bureau parking lot. One of the cameras had to have caught that, and since I imagine you will be using some of the footage from that might as evidence...”
“You think that’s it?” Doggett said, pausing in thought. “He’s worried that he might get sent up on murder charges? That’s crazy. As far as that goes, from what you and Skinner told me, he was staring at you down the barrel of a gun, and then offered to save hundreds of people if Skinner was willing to kill you first.”
“And you think that the truth is going to matter?” Mulder replied, his words full of sarcasm. “Even if you manage to get that far, most of your time is going to be wasted hashing out the circumstances and hidden agendas of every single person willing to take a piece of the action when you get shut down.” He changed his position to stretch out his other leg. “Or did you miss the files that mentioned how many times the X-Files were closed?” Mulder shook his head, and started walking down the track, preparing to begin with a light jog. But Doggett took him by the arm and stopped him, his eyes blazing with anger.
“What the hell is this, Mulder? Some kind of joke?”
Mulder looked down at the hand on his arm, and then sighed. “No, Agent Doggett, it’s not a joke. It’s just the way these things happen. Believe me, if anyone can pass on that little measure of wisdom, it’s me. Most of the time, we barely managed to get out alive, let alone back on the X-Files. So if it seems like my enthusiasm is a little worn, there’s a reason. My last ditch effort went up with that oil rig, and after taking the chance of setting you on your way, what do you do? Give them the perfect excuse. Do you think you could let go of my arm now?”
Doggett smirked, but he let go. “All I want to know is, how do you intend to play this? I would have bet everything on you leading the charge, if it wasn’t for your dismissal. Hell, Mulder, I figured you would love this kind of action. So what’s the story?”
Mulder laughed, throwing his arms over his head in frustration. “You don’t get it, Agent Doggett. Even if I were to get involved now, what would it look like? You just said it yourself. I was discharged from the Bureau, by the deputy director you have under investigation. Never mind that I pissed him off a couple days later when I used his name to sneak my way onto a crime scene, but then I ran rampant through the headquarters and happened to be present for that little murder we were just talking about.”
Mulder pressed a pointed finger into Doggett’s chest. “You drag me in on this, and all you’re doing is giving them another damned reason to put an end to your chances at finding answers.”
Doggett stared down at the finger poking him, and then raised an eyebrow. “What is this really about, Mulder? Because I think this is about something more than Skinner or your track record with Kersh. You’re making it a hell of a lot more personal. And stop that, before I break it.”
Mulder removed his finger, but countered Doggett’s glare with his own. “Of course it is. My son’s existence is wrapped up in all of this. I almost became one of those things, whatever they are. I already told you, I want to know the truth as much as you do.” He took a step back, and then walked towards the rail, leaning on the metal with a casual air. “Which makes me wonder. What’s your stake in this?”
“My stake?” Doggett said, smiling. “You mean, besides the X-Files?”
“You can’t tell me that’s your motivation.”
Doggett shook his head, his expression disbelieving. “You’re a piece of work, Mulder. What, you think this is all a game?”
Mulder shrugged. “Nope. But you’re going to have to do a lot better than that.”
“I get it,” Doggett said, a wide smile growing on his lips. “You don’t understand why it is I would feel some kind of loyalty or duty to your little cause. Why it’s just as personal for me as it is for you.”
“Bingo!” Mulder barked back, his fraying patience finally springing loose. “You always talk about how you’ve studied the X-Files since you were tossed down to our level, so you might remember what Scully and I have had to endure over the past nine years. My entire family was killed, Scully lost her sister and had just about every bizarre experiment possible conducted on her. The murders, the betrayals, the terminal illness, who knows how many other things that we haven’t even discovered...all I ever wanted to know, from the day I opened the X-Files, was to find out what happened to my sister. That’s all.” He laughed, a harsh and ugly sound. “Kind of appropriate that she turned out to be dead, don’t you think?”
Doggett tried to respond, but Mulder cut him off. “Any of that should have been enough. Finding out the truth about Samantha, knowing that I would be following her soon enough. I was ready for it to end, Agent Doggett. Do you understand that? Even with so many questions still out there, I was ready to let it end. I told Scully that she should find a life outside of the X-Files, a world where she didn’t have to keep paying the price for the truth that I wanted to find.
“And how did it end up? I was abducted and tortured for months, while Scully was pregnant with my child somehow. We still don’t know how that happened, but what are the chances that it was just some miracle from God, like Krycek said? After everything that’s happened, can you tell me that we’re not still counting the cost? Hell, I died, Agent Doggett! I was dead and buried. They found my cold and stiff body in a fucking field! I remember dying, and I remember waking up and wondering how the hell I was alive. I still don’t know how it happened, how it’s all supposed to make sense. Do you have any idea what that feels like?”
Doggett stared at Mulder for a moment, as if considering his words, and then sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
Mulder blinked, not quite sure how to respond to that. So he said the first thing that came to mind. “What?”
Doggett looked completely uncomfortable and unwilling to explain, but he shrugged. “It was right after this case in New York a while back, just before we found you. I was following a lead in your case, and when I wound up pissing off the local law enforcement, the sheriff shot me in the back with a shotgun at just beyond point blank.” His eyes seemed to lose focus. “You know, I still remember the feeling. It comes to me time to time, when I least expect it, you know? I actually saw my chest explode into the space in front of me. I didn’t even feel the pain until I was on the ground, and then only for that split second before I realized I was dead.”
Doggett saw that Mulder was still unsure of what to say, so he went on. “I don’t remember much after that. The next thing I know, I’m gasping for air, covering in some kind of...hell, I don’t know, mucus or something. Completely naked in some shallow impression in the dirt, underground. Turns out that soul-eater you saved, the one I was trying to get away from that town...it did something. Brought me back to life, I guess. Still not quite sold on that, but the fact that I’m standing here makes it hard to argue.”
Mulder finally turned away, looking towards the trees on the opposite side of the track. This was the last thing he was expecting to hear. As far as he was concerned, no matter how many times Scully might have tried to convince him otherwise, Doggett was just the kind of good ol’ boy that the Bureau, not to mention the men who conceived and ran the secret programs that he had labored to uncover, had always wanted to put on the X-Files. Someone with absolutely no reason to want to validate and prove that something more than the hard, cold theories of science were a part of the everyday world. Sure, Doggett had made his gestures, like letting him take a look at the theories that Doggett had uncovered during that case in New Jersey or the current investigation. But it had never occurred to him that there was something more.
Doggett seemed to realize that Mulder was unsure of how to respond, so he pressed forward. “It’s not just that, Mulder. In case you’ve forgotten, there was that business with Monica and that guy from New Orleans, that wandering evil spirit or whatever it was. I really don’t feel like getting into that, but you and I both know that there were reasons for that to be personal for me.
“Or how about the fact that my entire career was derailed when Kersh decided that he could get rid of some competition by putting me on a case that he apparently never thought would be solved. Did that thought ever cross your mind? If Kersh is guilty of the things I think he is, then he knew what happened to you. He knew the truth about you, and Scully, and your son. And given the fact that my own friend was in on the whole thing, it seems to me that an awful lot of people intentionally screwed me using you as a convenient excuse.”
Mulder nodded. “And now you want to get some answers.”
“You better believe I want some answers,” Doggett replied with a chuckle. “That’s why it’s personal for me, Mulder. Because for all that happened to you and Dana, they decided that I was the perfect puppet to keep an eye on it all. And like a fool, I let it happen. Because I didn’t want to believe that something like this could actually be happening.” He shook his head. “Hell, I don’t know if we’re talking aliens or super-soldiers or something else entirely. I figure we’ll find out along the way. If not everything, then at least something.”
“That’s a very optimistic point of view, Agent Doggett.” Mulder sighed, his eyes now on the men running around the track. “I guess maybe we have more in common than we thought.”
“Maybe we do,” Doggett said with a wry grin. “And yet I’m the one pushing to get the answers, while you keep giving me reasons not to.”
“You know, we’ve gone through this already today,” Mulder said, running a hand over his face, “and I really don’t feel-”
“What’s going on with you and Dana, anyway?”
Mulder looked past his fingers, completely thrown again. “What the hell does Scully have to do with anything? And can you stop calling her Dana?”
“I have no idea what Dana has to do with any of this, beyond the obvious,” Doggett said, not reacting to the scowl that Mulder was now gracing him with. “But I’m not blind, Mulder. I see the way you two act around each other, and even just as a friend, I have to wonder. She says that you seem to be avoiding her all the time. And here you are, arguing that you think this investigation is a bad idea.”
Mulder shook his head. “What goes on between me and Scully is our business. I realize that the two of you were partners, and that with everything going on with me being gone and everything being uncertain, you came to rely on each other. I know she respects you, and you feel the same way. At least I hope that’s all there is.”
Doggett wiped the sweat from his brow as he laughed. “You hope that’s all there is? Just how much of an ass are you?”
“There’s a scale?”
“I have nothing but the utmost respect for Agent Scully. I consider us to be friends. I also believe that we are all victims of some kind of conspiracy. I’m concerned for her safety, and the safety of her son. Your son. You seriously think there’s something more to it?”
The weight around his neck was a greater burden than it had ever been. “Maybe we have more in common than we thought.”
Doggett’s smile faded slightly, but he finally slapped his hands on the metal rail. “Tell you what, Mulder, if this is the way you want to play it, fine. Seems to me that for someone with a photographic memory, you have an awful lot of convenient gaps in your memory. Because I think there’s more than enough in our mutual histories to justify the effort. But for right now, all I want to know is, if I need your help to get answers, can I count on you or not?”
Mulder sighed, then forced himself to look Doggett straight in the eye. “I think this is a mistake, John. I really do. But I’ll do what I can.”
“That’s all I’m asking for,” Doggett said, his expression one of restrained satisfaction. “Listen, I’m not really in the mood for that run after all, so how about we talk about this once something gets moving?”
Mulder nodded, absently scanning the stands to keep his feelings from being too evident in the expression on his own face. “Yeah, that’s fine.” Just as he was about to state his intention to actually get some exercise, he noticed a figure standing by the chain-link fence again. He still couldn’t make out any details. “Agent Doggett...you bring someone with you?”
Doggett frowned, looking in the same direction as Mulder. “No. Why...something rubbing you wrong?”
“No, nothing to worry about,” Mulder said, looking back at Doggett with a smile. “I guess I’ll see you later at Scully’s?”
Doggett gave Mulder a barely tolerant look, and then climbed over the rail into the stands. “Probably.”
Mulder watched him go, not quite sure why he had agreed to help with the investigation when he had given Doggett plenty of good reasons why he shouldn’t. Maybe it was just the desire to see it through, to find out if there was something he ought to know about his son. Or was it himself that he was worried about? Whatever the reason, he still couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a mistake to go along with it.
Now, for better or worse, he was committed.
****
He stirred from a fitful and restless sleep by the knock on his apartment door. At first he was confused by the all-too-chipper voice of the talking heads of the morning program flashing across his television screen, and then he remembered that he had been watching “Plan 9” again. A quick glance at the VCR confirmed that the tape had run out long ago.
Stumbling to his feet, he paused near the door, waiting for another knock. For all he knew, it had been another strange dream. He had certainly been having enough of those lately. Or for that matter, it could have been Doggett again. The man was persistent, though to his credit, Doggett had left him and Scully alone for a couple weeks around the holiday. Maybe time and luck had run out.
Another pounding on the door, and Mulder let out a deep yawn as he shuffled up to the eyehole, absently shoving the end of his wrinkled shirt into his sweats. Seeing who it was, and that it definitely wasn’t Doggett, he cursed under his breath.
“I didn’t do it.”
“Mulder?” Assistant Director Skinner sounded, as usual, more than a little annoyed. Actually, it sounded like he was a bit impatient, which was no better. “What are you talking about?”
“Whatever it is you and Kersh are here to talk about, I didn’t do it.”
There was a pause, and then Skinner replied in a low voice. “We’re not here to accuse you of anything, Mulder. We need to talk. It’s about Agent Doggett.”
Mulder considered how many wonderfully different ways that could be interpreted and still mean trouble, but then he relented. “All right, hold on.” He ran a hand through his hair, hoping that he didn’t look like too much of a mess, and then unlocked the door.
Skinner looked as he always looked these days, officially caught between the rock and the hard place. Maybe there was a little bit more worry in his eyes, a touch of personal concern, and that made something in Mulder go to full alert. He looked to Kersh, who was also oddly nervous, and the feeling got worse.
“This is more than a social call, then,” Mulder guessed as Skinner walked past him. He flashed Kersh a half-hearted smirk. “Deputy Director.”
“Mulder,” Kersh rumbled, but even that token acknowledgment lacked the expected sarcastic undertones.
Mulder waved them towards the living room, more than aware of the feeling of the wood under his bare feet. Skinner eyed the scattered, empty bottles of beer on the floor by the couch and flashed Mulder a look of disapproval. If Kersh noticed them as well, he didn’t give any indication; he simply side-stepped the mess and took a seat next to Skinner. Mulder slumped into the chair by his desk, casually looking out the window for signs of an impending firing squad.
“We stopped by Scully’s place first, but she wasn’t home,” Skinner began, and Mulder heard the subtle question within the statement. But with Kersh sitting right there, Skinner didn’t press. “So after we talk, I think you should try to discuss this with her as soon as possible.”
“Discuss what?” Mulder asked, slightly confused. “I thought you said this had something to do with Agent Doggett.”
“Agent Doggett is leading an investigation into the FBI after the events of this past April,” Kersh said with the slightest impatience. “You know that as well as anyone here. And while there have been the usual bureaucratic roadblocks that come with any internal investigation...especially one conducted by someone outside of IA...it would appear that the actual process is set to start at the beginning of next week.”
“Right,” Mulder muttered, and then he shrugged. “Look, I know we have had our differences of opinion, and you don’t have much respect for me or my previous work, but if this is some kind of attempt to get me to not cooperate...”
“Nothing like that,” Skinner said, and then he sighed. “Well, not in the way you mean, anyway.”
That caught Mulder’s attention. “You want to explain that?”
“Mulder, you’re right about our...relationship,” Kersh replied, before Skinner could reply to Mulder’s question. “But things aren’t always as clear cut as they seem.” Kersh hesitating, choosing his words carefully. “When you and Agent Scully were originally assigned to me, I think it was clear that my task was to keep the two of you from discovering anything more regarding certain activities related to the X-Files.”
“Oh, I know who you were really working for,” Mulder said with a bitter laugh. “Too bad things went badly for them. Plans went up in smoke.”
“That is true,” Kersh said, his tone suggesting that he didn’t find Mulder’s sense of humor any more appropriate than he had in the past. “You were assigned back under AD Skinner, and my own career went into different paths. But what I think you may have missed, what you don’t seem to grasp, is that my job never ended.”
Mulder saw Skinner’s slight nod of agreement, and then it dawned on him. “The project never ended.”
“We knew that there were elements of the old projects still around, even after the men that ran them died,” Skinner explained. “It took the survivors a bit of time to develop the resources they needed to resume their work, but some of that work was already self-contained and, well, you might say subcontracted. It never stopped.”
Mulder smiled slightly. “The genetic experiments that Scully and Doggett uncovered, the ones that we were looking into just when the evidence was being destroyed.”
“It was more than a simple genetic experiment,” Kersh interjected. “I know that you probably thought that it had something to do with aliens or that nonsense, but the point of those experiments was something a bit bigger than that. It involved a virus.”
“I know about that virus, all too well,” Mulder replied, tapping his head. “It nearly killed Scully a few years ago, and it was a variation of that virus that nearly turned me into one of those things...whatever you want to believe they are.”
Kersh shook his head. “You know some of the story, Mulder. I’ll grant you that. But don’t let your predisposition to believe everything is about aliens and outer space get in the way of seeing the bigger picture.”
“You told me once about experiments that your father sanctioned, when he was part of the project,” Skinner said, trying to bring the conversation on track. “Experiments that went back to after the cold war, involving people like Victor Klemper and the Japanese doctors from Project 731.”
“My father and the others on the project knew about threats like the virus,” Mulder admitted, not quite sure that he wanted to be talking the subject in front of Kersh. “The experiments conducted after World War II were intended to genetically modify humans using what I believe was alien DNA to create some kind of hybrid that could withstand-” He stopped, suddenly remembering something Doggett had told him months before. “Super-soldiers. The experiments were meant to create super-soldiers.”
“I myself remember a number of reports filed by yourself and Agent Scully that told of various and seemingly contradictory genetic experiments being conducted on abducted women, experiments involving all manners of human reproduction,” Kersh reminded him.
“And the experiments that we stumbled upon last year, the ones that Scully had been involved in,” Mulder stammered. “Are you telling me that they were part of this program?”
“We all remember what happened with Emily,” Skinner said quietly, and Mulder nodded. “We knew that she was some kind of experiment, and that she was created using Scully’s...”
“Yeah, I know,” Mulder answered, not wanting to say more either. “So how does this have anything to do with the virus? I mean, if you’re trying to tell me that I was part of the experiment, then I know better than that. I was infected with the virus, and something was growing within me, just like had happened to Billy Miles. And we all know he turned into one of those things.”
Kersh shook his head. “No, you just think you saw the whole story. I remember your reports of what you found in Antarctica, Mulder. Scully had been infected with the virus, the one that the project had been trying to find a way to beat or destroy. You claimed that some new creature was created inside of her by the virus. But unless I’m mistaken, you also claimed that your previous experiences with the virus were different.”
Mulder nodded. “It would infect a person and take over their mind. It did that to a lot of people.” He glanced at Skinner. “In fact, while I know that this is not exactly what you want to hear, that business with the oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico back in March had something to do with that. It was the same kind of thing. The men were infected with the virus, under its control.”
“But they didn’t start growing aliens on the inside, did they?” Kersh pressed.
Mulder shook his head, and then stopped suddenly, going still. “You knew what was really happening. You knew, and you drummed me out of the Bureau, even knowing that it was all true.”
“Save it for later, Mulder,” Skinner said, his tone becoming impatient again. He looked at Kersh. “This is taking too long. If we’re going to do this, we need to make it fast, before someone realizes that we’re here.”
“The original virus, the one that everyone is trying to find a way to beat, there’s been a vaccine for it for the last three years,” Kersh explained carefully. “But think about that, and think about how a vaccine is created. Vaccines are weakened versions of a virus, carefully manipulated to stimulate the human immune system into finding a means to combat the virus when at full strength. It’s not much further down that same path to begin genetically altering the virus to create a new strain that can modify the body and allow it to fight off the original version.”
“That fits what you’ve discovered about the project and its experiments,” Skinner reminded Mulder. “You’ve said in the past that besides the vaccine, they were looking for ways to create hybrids using the viral DNA, so that they would be immune to the part of the virus that causes something to grow inside the body.”
Mulder nodded, slightly disbelieving. “Yeah. They said that if they couldn’t find a vaccine or a cure, they were willing to find a way to develop a genetic therapy that would allow them to survive, under the control of the virus.” Mulder suddenly remembered more of the details. “Some of the more advanced hybrids that we came across, like Cassandra Spender, had some kind of augmented healing ability. They couldn’t be killed unless they were stabbed in the back of the neck.” He tapped his own neck in the general area he was referring to. “That’s where these new things have those protective bumps.”
“Put the pieces together, Mulder,” Skinner said, his words urgent. “Everything was about finding a way to survive the virus. They thought they had a vaccine, but not enough. They thought they might find a way to survive, but under the control of virus, basically as slaves. But why stop there? If you are going to modify the virus to make a hybrid, then why not try to find a way to change it so that you can survive and remain free?”
It all came together for Mulder, and he let out a whistle. “Then the virus I was infected with, the one that was creating a new body for me...Billy Miles...Doggett’s friend...all of that really was to create a super-soldier.” He looked at Kersh. “I was made part of the experiment, but then I was cured. How? And what does this have to do with Scully or Agent Doggett?”
“The experiments were entering their final phase when all hell broke loose and most of the project was destroyed three years ago,” Kersh confirmed. “Before that, the results were mixed. Selected people were infected, and while they would develop a new form with the proper physical characteristics and an immunity to the original virus, some of the other desired results were not as successful.”
“The idea was to reform the body, but leave the mind susceptible to certain kinds of control,” Skinner explained. “The survivors of the first successful tests who remained on the project were placed in positions of authority in world government. The later experiments were fashioned to make sure that the results left those modified unable to resist following orders given by those original test subjects.”
“Like Billy Miles,” Mulder reasoned. “One day, seemingly normal, and the next...cold, inhuman. A killing machine.”
“Like sleeper agents from the cold war,” Kersh said with a rueful smile. “The project continued to refine the process using test subjects that had been used in the other experiments over the years. At the same time, the experiments within the reproductive sciences were trying to develop a method that would introduce the modifications at a primary genetic level.”
“Do you understand what he’s telling you, Mulder?” Skinner said, and the concern was plain on his face. “Those experiments that you and Agent Doggett uncovered, the ones related to his investigation, they were trying to find a way to create these super-soldiers at conception.”
“Because the only way to prevent the danger of mass infection, according to those running the project, would be to make the changes a basic part of the human genome,” Mulder said, shaking his head. “Scully discovered that we have genes that make us vulnerable to the virus as it is. That it’s already a part of us. So all it would take is a way to introduce something into the population that would use what was already there.” Mulder cursed under his breath. “So what, am I supposed to believe that my son is one of these things?”
“I don’t know,” Kersh admitted. “I only know what I need to know, Mulder. My task was to facilitate the entry of these people into various key positions.” He leaned forward, looking Mulder in the eye. “The fact is, you and Agent Scully were permitted to live your lives. That was the decision made after the project was nearly destroyed. As long as you were operating under that assumption, that all the experiments were over, then it was more convenient to let you believe it.”
“We never did find anything more after that,” Skinner reminded Mulder. “Just about everything that happened after those men were killed...it was minimal, at best. There was that one incident with the artifacts, but it never seemed to fit into the rest of what had happened.”
“The thing about people that secret authorities find troublesome,” Kersh mused, “is that they have to tread a very fine line between making them a martyr to a cause, and eliminating a threat. At one point, it was believed that your discoveries and investigations were annoying, but that your following in the fringe element was too strong. Kill you, and it’s proof to thousands of people with a lot of technical expertise and too much time on their hands that the conspiracies are real.” He chuckled. “They are, of course, but that’s not the point.”
“Then what is?” Mulder asked. “What changed?”
Kersh sighed. “When much of what you were looking to discover was destroyed, and the rest was still operating in secrecy, it was decided that it might be better to carefully and quietly deal with the threat that you represented. And so you were brought into the two primary phases of the project without your knowledge.” Kersh gestured towards Mulder as he sat back. “You were supposed to be pulled into the ongoing modification experiments, and then you would be used within the FBI to monitor the situation from the X-Files. Scully was to be introduced into the reproductive experiments.”
Mulder closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead in an attempt to lessen the tension of confusion. “And then I was abducted. How does that fit into the pattern?”
“That was unexpected,” Kersh admitted. “We’re still not sure what happened at that point, or who was taking our people, cutting them up, and dumping them in the middle of nowhere. But even the unexpected can be turned to one’s advantage. I was placed over AD Skinner to keep an eye on the X-Files, and Agent Doggett was assigned in your place.”
Mulder nodded. “We figured it was something like that. It’s a little too convenient that Doggett would just happen to be the one to be assigned, when his helpful friends turn out to be these super-soldiers. I guess Doggett was intended to be the new eye on any investigations into the project.” He shook his head again, still not quite believing what he was hearing. “This is all a nice little story, Deputy Director, but I have no reason to trust you. I still don’t even know why you’re telling me this.”
“We’ve all heard the potential drawbacks of the investigation,” Skinner said, shifting nervously in his seat. “I have my own worries, and your involvement would make this entire effort look like a personal vendetta. Never mind that it would be the final nail in Agent Doggett’s career.”
“And we’re all concerned for that,” Mulder quipped, rolling his eyes. “Get to the point.”
“The point is, Mulder, that they still have no idea why you were able to be cured of the modified virus,” Kersh said bluntly. “That is of great concern to them, because if there is a way to resist, then there is a weakness that has to be addressed.” Kersh pointed to Mulder again. “They’ve been watching you all this time. And if Agent Doggett uncovers anything truly substantial in his investigation, then quite simply, they have nothing to lose by moving up their timetable. And that means finding out how you managed to resist the effects of the virus...and I doubt they intend to get answers with anything less than vivisection.”
Mulder stood, his heads to his face. “You said that Scully was supposed to be part of the experiments, too. What about her? What about my son?”
“Frankly, they are watching them as well. They would like to be subtle in those observations. But make no mistake, if they need answers quickly...”
Mulder cursed, and then looked over at Skinner. “You buy this?”
“Mulder, you know that I have every reason to want to think this is a load of bullshit,” Skinner replied. “But the way I see it, every single one of us has something to lose if this investigation does forward. We’ve done this before, and when the evidence dries up, we know better than to push too hard. Agent Doggett isn’t going to do that, not if he thinks that he can do the right thing and root out some kind of illegal activity.”
“I know,” Mulder said, his voice full of weariness. “That’s the kind of man he is, though. No changing that.” He shook his head. “But you know something? The only reasons that we have, the only dangers that we can be sure of, it’s all the same now as it was before I heard this.” He looked at Kersh. “Because you can’t tell me that you have evidence for any of this. You even claim that you don’t have all the answers, just enough to level a threat at me, Scully, and our son.”
“I’m running a terrible risk coming here and telling you any of this,” Kersh reminded him.
“Or you’re making sure that all your bases are covered,” Mulder countered. He turned to Skinner. “For all I know, you could just be covering yourself for shooting Krycek. You’ve already told me how much that’s worrying you.”
“Mulder, listen to me,” Skinner said. “Agent Reyes has been transferred. She’s already moved, and as soon as she and Agent Doggett wrap up their case in Florida, they will begin the official investigation. If this is a real threat, if any of this is to be believed, then there is no time to look into this ourselves.” His voice became even more strained. “Damn it, Mulder, can you risk it? Your life, Scully’s life...William’s life?”
Mulder licked his lips, and eventually let out a sigh. “I’ll think about it, maybe talk with Scully about it. This isn’t something that I can just decide to do alone. If just the threat of results from this investigation is enough to set all of this into motion, then at the very least, I’m going to have to leave. Find someplace where they can’t find me easily. Maybe even move around a lot, until we know that things are safe or something comes to a head.”
“In which case I suggest you do it before the investigation begins,” Kersh cautioned. “Do it now, before they tighten their grip.”
Mulder laughed, a bitter and distrustful sound. “As far as I’m concerned, this is as much as you’re going to know about it, one way or another. I might leave, but anything else we do, you’re out of the loop. Understood?”
“I’m just here to warn you what Agent Doggett is going to begin,” Kersh said, rising to his feet. “The rest is none of my concern.” He looked down at Skinner. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to make my own preparations for this investigation. I suppose I’ll let myself out.” Kersh gave Mulder one last glare of disapproval, and then walked towards the door.
Mulder saw him out, and checked through the eyehole a few moments later to make sure that he had actually left. Then he turned to Skinner. “All right, be honest. You believe any of that?”
Skinner stood, walking to where Mulder was standing. “I honestly don’t know what to believe. But Mulder, we were trying to warn John off this case weeks ago. If there’s even the potential that any of this might come down...”
“Yeah, I know,” Mulder replied. He let out a frustrated breath. “Look, I need to think about this before talking it over with Scully. You said she was out?”
“She was when we stopped by,” Skinner confirmed. “Why...you don’t think...”
“No,” Mulder said, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. “She has a friend in Georgetown, some woman who runs an antique shop. They get together every few days.” Mulder walked into his bedroom to grab his watch, and then came back out after he checked the time. “How about you stop by her place in about three hours? I’m sure she wants to hear all about Agent Doggett’s case, and how Agent Reyes is doing. I’ll come by around the same time, and we’ll see where we go from there.”
“You’re serious about leaving?” Skinner asked at the door, when Mulder opened it for him.
Mulder leaned against the doorframe, and thought about how it would feel to leave Scully and William so soon. “I don’t know. I guess maybe the real question is, do I have a choice?”
****
He reveled in the here and now, trying to forget what he had been told, if only for a few moments of treasured time. In so many ways, it was like too much information, but wasn’t it all exactly what he had always wanted to know? Aliens or not, there were more leads strewn throughout that one conversation than he had gotten in a single year on the X-Files.
It gave him no solace, because nothing that he had done had forced all of it to the surface. No matter how much had been the legacy of his father’s plans, whichever man that happened to be, he had never quite been able to stay ahead of the curve. Or else he was a part of them, coldly manipulated or directed as needed or desired.
Doggett was the same way, the same kind of victim, but he had risen above it, taken it on as the ultimate challenge. Mulder couldn’t decide whether it was the man’s simple principles that had brought them all to this point, or some twist of fate that dictated that Doggett should be the one benefiting from everything that Mulder had done. Regardless, Doggett was now the agent of change.
Assumptions that he had made over the past several years haunted him, the daggers of hindsight cutting him to the core. He had always assumed that the truth was something that could be unearthed and placed into a perfect context, a puzzle that could be solved and put on display. Even having learned the fluidity of truth, he had still fallen into those traps of static thought. While he had been busily trying to solve the mysteries of the past and determine the course of the future from what he found, he had forgotten that he was already living in that future. The truth had changed.
Kersh was one such truth. Kersh had been a roadblock, a symbol of barriers between him and the final answer to all the hidden agendas behind Samantha’s abduction. But Kersh had been more than that, an active figure in a carefully cast role. And as much as he wanted to think that he could believe and understand how much a person might change over time, he still found it hard to accept.
Again and again the conversation run through his mind, unfettered by the convenient lapses in his photographic memory that Doggett had mentioned. He let it all play over and over as he ran, the pieces of the puzzle shifting and re-forming in the landscape of his thoughts. He added to that everything that he had learned from Agent Doggett and Scully from their work together, and everything that he had been told since working on the X-Files. He saw the contradictions, the evidence of lies and deceit.
That was the hardest part, he knew. What was the truth, and what was the disinformation, the lie that he was meant to incorporate into the tapestry that made it seem so right but be so wrong? He could no longer be sure, having heard so many different versions of the truth over so much time. And without context, the hints and innuendoes were sometimes less than useless.
But some of it did make sense, some of the pieces did fit together, and as he came around the bend in the track with the inhuman swiftness that he had come to expect, something very important came together in his mind. He stumbled at the realization, dropping to his knees and suppressing a cry as the hard asphalt tore into his flesh. He tumbled over several times, bruising his arms as he cradled them around his head, until he came to rest on his back. There he stayed, the crushing possibility lingering before him.
A lack of focus and direction, a growing disconnection from everyone around him, the gradual expansion of his physical prowess, all of it intersected with questions that he had forced himself not to ask. But now there could be no denying it. Something was happening, something that others had noticed. And now, he knew what they were thinking, and that they might be right.
And he knew that he would have to leave.
****
Scully stood with her legs leaning against the back of her couch. The look in her eyes was impossible to read, but Mulder knew from the stillness of her entire body that she understood exactly what was going to happen.
“You’re leaving,” she said, and it wasn’t even close to being a question. She looked up at him, waiting for him to reply.
“I think it might be best if I did,” Mulder agreed, and then he gestured towards Skinner. “Whoever infected me with that virus, and it really doesn’t matter, they are watching us. They want to know how I managed to resist the effects, how I survived. And if what Skinner says is true, then Doggett’s investigation puts certain plans in jeopardy.”
Scully waved off anything more, having heard enough. She turned to Skinner. “And you trust that Kersh is being straight with us?”
Skinner shrugged. “Dana, it’s hard to say what we can believe at this point. We know that your treatment for Mulder’s condition never should have worked. Krycek was around, and you know that anything he was involved in always seemed to end in a pile of unknowns. The bottom line is, they know Mulder was infected, they know he survived, and sooner or later, they are going to want to find out how.”
Scully looked over her shoulder, to where William slept peacefully in his bassinet. “What about my son. Our son, Mulder, are they going to try to take away our son?”
Mulder looked to Skinner, and his old director nodded ever so slightly in agreement with their plan. “I don’t think so,” Mulder said, carefully choosing his words to make sure he wasn’t saying too much, making it a lie. “You’ve told me time and again that every single test you have ever seen, as a doctor, appears to be normal. There is nothing to say that he is involved.”
“But if you stay, and if they come for you, there’s a chance that they would take the risk of taking us as well,” Scully finished for him. She let out a deep sigh, shaking her head. “I’d like to say I’m surprised, Mulder. I really would. But for a long time now, I’ve felt you drifting away. We all have. And I think it was just a matter of time before you found a reason to leave again.” She let out a half-hearted chuckle. “The most ironic thing is, you actually have a good reason to do it.”
Skinner seemed to feel the undercurrent in the room, and he cleared his throat. “I think I should give the two of you a moment alone.”
“No, no, it’s all right,” Scully assured him. “You should go back to the apartment with Mulder, help make the arrangements needed to do this quickly. You made it clear that once Doggett gets back from Florida, that’s when things will be the most dangerous for us.” She looked up at Mulder, and he saw a resolve there that had been absent for some time. “How long?”
“Doggett is still recovering from some injuries he suffered, but Agent Reyes is taking care of wrapping up the case while he’s recuperating,” Skinner explained. “We expect him back by the weekend.”
“So the investigation will start Monday sometime,” Scully said with a nod of her head towards Skinner. She turned back to Mulder. “Give me that long. Do what we have to do, Mulder. But give me that long.”
Mulder nodded, unsure of what else he could say. As if reading his indecision, Scully turned away from him and walked into the bedroom, closing the door. He strained to hear any sound that she might have made, any signal that she might need some measure of comfort, but then he realized that it might make things worse if he went to her.
“I think we should go now,” Skinner said, glancing at the door. “The baby’s out here, after all, and as long as we’re out here and she wants to be alone...”
“Yeah, I get it,” Mulder muttered. Looking back at the bedroom door, he waited until Skinner had opened the apartment door to follow.
****
Mulder placed the phone receiver back on its cradle, and then sighed, looking up at Skinner. His old friend was stacking another box of clothing against the wall. It occurred to him in that moment just how much Skinner had changed, how far he had come. It was good to know that he would be there to deal with the situation Doggett would find himself in, even if it turned out badly.
“Langly says that they can get all of the authorizations and reservations done on their end. They can make sure that nothing will be able to be traced back to me.”
Skinner leaned on one of the stacks of boxes he had already filled to capacity. “And they were willing to do this, without knowing all the details?”
“They remember enough to know that if I’m asking for this, there’s a damned good reason,” Mulder assured him. “Besides, I think Frohike might work that much harder if he knows that I won’t be around to get in the way of his crush for Scully.”
Skinner laughed, rolling his eyes, and looked over his shoulder towards the kitchen. “You got any of those beers left from last night?”
“Yeah, help yourself,” Mulder said, eyeing his fishtank. “What the hell am I going to do with the fish?”
Skinner returned to the room with two open bottles, handing one to Mulder. “Depends. From the impression I get, you don’t really know where you plan on going. I mean, if you had a place in mind, I would say that they could go with you. But it sounds like you might be wandering a bit, to get anyone who might follow you off the trail.”
“Yeah, seemed like the best thing to do,” Mulder said with a sigh. Then he smiled. “Maybe I should leave them for Agent Doggett. I think that would be the last thing left of mine that he hasn’t managed to inherit.”
Skinner gave Mulder a hard look of disapproval. “What is it with you and John, anyway? You act as if the man intentionally came after you to steal your identity. He’s a victim of all this, too, you know.”
Mulder tossed back the beer, relishing the coolness of the bitter draft as it poured down his throat. He sucked on his teeth for a moment, and then looked back at Skinner. “I think I envy him. He’s getting to do all of the things that I always used to do, the things I still want to do. He was there to help Scully through the hard times when I was gone, when she thought I was dead. When I was dead. And now he’ll be there, sitting in that office, helping her through the hard times again.” He paused, then remembered something that Doggett had said the last time they spoke. “Can I ask you a question?” Skinner nodded, but his expression was slightly worried. “Did Agent Doggett really die once, when he was looking for me?”
Skinner went still for a moment, and then nodded after taking another good chug from his bottle. “I remember that. It was right after Scully had some trouble with the pregnancy. Doggett had just come up empty on a lead in New York, and in frustration, he had decided to look into your activities just before you were abducted. Took him to Pennsylvania, and while he was there, he was shot. Some kind of Native Indian creature brought him back to life, or something to that effect. He had no idea how to report it, especially since there were some details that implicated Scully in signing false reports.”
“Yeah,” Mulder whispered, when Skinner finished. “Yeah, that’s what he told me. I just couldn’t believe it. That he would invest so much of himself in something that was clearly meant to destroy his career, to ruin him completely. It almost makes sense out of his choice to stay on the X-Files all this time.”
“He could have gotten himself off the X-Files, you know,” Skinner pointed out. “When you...well, when you came back...he had the option. All he had to do was turn his back on you. He could have had it all back, at least the possibility was there. But he refused to do it.”
Mulder shook his head. “I don’t get it. He doesn’t believe.” He looked at Skinner in exasperation. “Why would he do all of that, go so far, if he doesn’t believe in what we’ve stood for?”
Skinner smiled slightly. “Because even if he doesn’t want to believe in anything that you or Scully or even Monica believes in...he still believes in us. He knows what kind of people we are, and what kind of people they are. And John’s the kind of man that will back integrity every time.”
Mulder pondered that answer, and nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Skinner heard the slight hesitation, and then laughed. “You know, there was something interesting that John told me, about when he was trying to figure out what happened to him that time in Pennsylvania. Right after I convinced him not to file a report, not to even try...he said he looked up, and he thought he saw you standing there, watching him. Like your spirit was with him in that moment, some kind of communion.” Skinner shrugged. “He passed it off as some kind of trick his mind was playing on him, but who knows?”
That thought, that possibility, tossed around in Mulder’s mind for a few moments. He remembered a similar story that Scully had told him, how she had seen him in the exact same way, right before they had discovered his body. He had taken her story for granted, because as much as she didn’t like to talk about it, things like that had happened to her several times before. She had always been the one with the spiritual experiences, while his experiences had always been far more concrete, if equally elusive.
“Mulder,” Skinner said, catching his attention. “Are you worried that John is going to try to replace you in Scully’s life? Because I don’t see it, honestly.”
Mulder sighed, shaking his head. “I have no idea if I’m thinking that, to be honest. I don’t think he has any kind of intentions, but then again, I just don’t know if Scully is being totally honest with me.”
Skinner’s eyes went wide. “You don’t think that she’s been...”
“No, no,” Mulder said, waving it off. “Nothing like that.” He thought about mentioning the medal around his neck, and all of his fears and confusion surrounding it, but he decided against it. “I’m just running at the mouth, you know? It’s been one hell of a day.”
Skinner seemed to want to press, but then he just nodded. “I hear you.” He tossed back the rest of his beer, and then looked around the room. “What do you think, are we done for the night?”
Taking one last look at the fish, Mulder nodded. “For today. I think we can take care of the rest tomorrow, if you don’t mind stopping over.”
“I think you might be otherwise occupied,” Skinner said, and he pulled a folded sheet of paper from his shirt pocket. “I wasn’t sure when I should mention this, but I received a fax this afternoon, right before I left to meet with you and Scully.” He passed it to Mulder with a grim expression. “It’s addressed to you.”
“Using your fax number?” Mulder asked as he unfolded the page. It was written in bold handwriting, all capital letters and large enough to be clearly read despite the imperfections in the transmission. YOU HAVE QUESTIONS. FIND ANSWERS HERE. TOMORROW AT NOON. Mulder read the address. “It’s in Alexandria.”
“I checked the address,” Skinner said ominously. “It’s the same apartment complex Agent Reyes moved into. Different floor, but the same building.”
“And you gave her that information through the usual channels, from the usual sources,” Mulder said, and Skinner nodded in agreement. He looked at the source information for the fax. “No name, of course, and this number doesn’t have any kind of identifier. It’s not our local area code, though.”
“It could be from anyone,” Skinner said with a heavy sigh. “Given everything we heard this morning, though, I have to wonder if this is some kind of message from Kersh. He would know about needing to make arrangements for Monica, and he might also want to provide proof for what he claimed.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Mulder replied. He opened the desk drawer with a smile, and pulled out a small but worn tool kit, holding it up for Skinner to see. “Why don’t I take a look ahead of schedule?”
****
Mulder placed the cardboard box filled with assorted knick-knacks on the hallway floor, looking in either direction before pulling out his lock picking kit. It had been some time since he had used it, but some skills seemed to never fade with time. Before long he was carefully inserting the picks into the keyhole, probing this way and that with precise movements, searching for just the right combination.
Getting into the apartment building was easy enough. He had grabbed one of the small boxes filled with various childhood mementos that he had taken from his mother’s house after her apparent suicide. There was nothing of obvious value, which was exactly the point. He told the first person he came across at the front door that he was dropping off the last few items for Monica Reyes, and it was as simple as that. The young man with the guitar strapped over his back had let him in with little more than an amused grin.
A sudden movement of the door startled him, and he realized belatedly that the door had never been locked in the first place. Suddenly wary, he pushed the door open slightly, to make sure that he wasn’t in for some kind of ambush. Reaching down for his box, he tucked it under his shoulder and quickly stepped into the apartment, quietly closing the door behind him.
What moonlight there was let him see enough of the room to see that it was eclectic, if not downright bizarre. Various artifacts and paintings from a dozen cultures hung from the walls. Just at first glance, Mulder noticed African, Celtic, Asian, even South American Indian motifs, mixed together as if arranged by a small child on a sugar high.
There was a desk by the door with a number of papers held down by an intricately carved stone stacked on the opposite end from the door. He placed his box on the empty side of the desk and then bent down carefully to scan the papers for a name, or some indication of the apartment’s tenant. The low light made it difficult to read, so he stepped closer. The top page appeared to be an invoice of some sort, with the names of the vendor and customer hidden under the stone. He reached out, about to move the stone and look at the names, when a sudden movement by the windows caught his eye.
A second later, a light flashed on, blinding him momentarily, and as a reflex, he reached under his jacket for the gun he had concealed there. Even before he was able to focus, he had the unknown assailant dead to rights. But then he saw who it was, and his hand dropped ever so slightly, and he was suddenly very aware that his mouth was gaping open.
“I was wondering when you would get here,” the young Asian woman said, flashing him a knowing smile. She was wearing a very sheer and possibly undersized red silk halter top and matching shorts, and he resisted the urge to check if she was wearing much else. Her hair was down, spilling over her shoulders like waves of obsidian and gold. In one hand, she held a small tumbler glass of what appeared to be Scotch. Her other hand was on her hip.
“What the hell is this?” Mulder asked, raising the gun to eye level again. “Some kind of joke? Is that it?”
He stepped a few feet to one side so that his free hand could move the stone over the invoice, and then he looked down. He smirked when he saw the name. “Angel Rose.” Then it occurred to him, and his aim faltered again. “Wait a second...”
“Dana said you were paranoid,” Angel said with a grin, as she slumped into a soft, plush armchair by the window. “But if you wanted to set things straight before you left, then you could have knocked.”
Mulder shook his head. “Don’t even try that with me. You work for them, don’t you? Kersh and his bunch. What, did they tell you where I was running, tell you to catch my attention, see how far it would go?”
Angel frowned, her brow furrowing as she noticed the box on the desk. “Kersh? Who...oh, right. The Deputy Director. Dana said that her partner John was leading some investigation into him, and there were some implications that went along with that. But I don’t understand why you think I’m involved.”
Mulder smiled without humor, and then stepped towards Angel. “Get up.”
Angel raised an eyebrow, and straightened in her chair. “Look, I don’t know...”
“I said, get up!” Mulder grabbed her by the wrist with his free hand, and pulled her to her feet. The tumbler of Scotch went crashing into one corner of the room as he whirled her around, pressing her against the wall by the window. He felt her tense up as he pressed the gun into the small of her back, and he forced himself to ignore the feel of her flesh under the thin silken fabric.
“Is this really necessary?” she asked calmly, and her body relaxed as she spoke, as if nothing were out of the ordinary.
“Let’s find out,” Mulder pressed against her with his elbow as he roughly pushed her hair aside, exposing her neck. He was about to snap at her in triumph when he noticed that the skin was completely smooth. He immediately stepped back, confused and uncertain, and Angel turned slowly to face him, ignoring the gun still pressing lightly against her torso.
“Are we done with the rough play, or are you planning to make an even more interesting mistake?” she said, aware of his frequent glimpses below her neckline.
Mulder withdrew even farther, stepping backwards towards the door again, keeping his aim more or less steady the entire distance. He watched as she let out a slightly amused sniff, and then walked over to where the glass shards of the tumbler lay.
“I’m not some kind of alien replicant clone, Mulder,” she said as she picked up one of the more ragged pieces. “But just to make sure you don’t get the sudden urge to ram an ice pick through the back of my neck...” She slowly drew her thumb across the edge of the glass, and her rose red blood dripped down its surface. She looked up at him, no reaction to the pain in her expression. “Can we get on with it, then?”
Mulder swallowed, completely unsure of what to do next. This was the last thing he had expected. “OK. So you’re human, at least enough to pass the test. But you still haven’t explained why I’m supposed to be here. Who sent Skinner that message, and why?”
Angel gave him a wary look as she walked over to her bar. “You’re here because of some message, sent to someone else?” She grabbed a paper towel, folded it over a few times, and pressed it against her thumb. “I thought you might be here about some of the things Dana told you. She thought you might be leaving soon, and since there were some...issues regarding the pendant, she thought...”
“Wait a minute,” Mulder said, cutting her off with a wave of his gun. “Are you telling me that you have no idea who sent me this message?”
Angel smirked. “Oh, you’re the one who got the message now?”
“Through Skinner,” Mulder explained. Then he caught up with what Angel had been saying. “Hold on. Scully knew I was leaving, even before tonight?”
“You told her tonight? Interesting.” Angel grabbed another tumbler with her free hand, and then reached under the bar for the bottle of Scotch whiskey. “Well, she knew that you would be leaving soon. She’s been worried over it for a couple of months now, ever since she first started coming by my store on a regular basis.” She poured out some of the Scotch into her glass, and then walked back towards the armchair, leaving the bottle out on the counter. “But you said you got a message?”
“Yeah,” Mulder said. He reached into his back pocket with his free hand, and tossed it over to her. It landed squarely in her lap. “It came this afternoon. Said I should come here at noon tomorrow.”
“No wonder Scully’s annoyed with you so often,” Angel mused as she carefully unfolded the paper, her tumbler resting on the arm of the chair. “You always follow directions so well?” She looked up at him, her expression one of annoyance. “And would you put that away?”
Mulder realized that he was still holding her at gunpoint in her own apartment, and quickly complied with her request. “I guess I won’t be needing it.”
“Taking a chance, breaking and entering with a concealed weapon,” Angel said as she scanned the page. “I bet this Kersh would love to hear about you getting arrested, wouldn’t he?” She scowled as she finished reading the short message. “No information on the sender. That’s odd.”
“Recognize the number at all?” Mulder asked, taking a seat on a long couch, which matched the armchair. It was in the center of the room, opposite Angel.
“Not the number itself,” Angel answered with a shrug. “But that’s a New Jersey area code. Central eastern region.” She sighed, handing the page out to Mulder, who had to lean forward off the couch to retrieve it. “Well, Mulder, if you’ve come here looking for answers, then you might find some. Just not the ones you were expecting.”
Mulder started at her for a moment, remembering the day they had been running together, him chasing her at a pace that he had never seen before. “What are you?”
Angel laughed. “Oh, please, is that really what you want to know?” She shook her head. “Not even remotely important.” She took a sip from her glass, looked at him from over the rim with a slight, knowing smile. “Now, what you are...that’s a bit more critical at the moment, isn’t it?”
“Do you know what’s happening to me?” Mulder asked, his eyes pleading with her. “Is it what I think it is?”
Angel sighed, placing her glass back down on the arm of her chair. “I’m not sure what you’re thinking of, to be honest, but I can say that something is happening within you. Something that might have been there all along, perhaps, or some effect of how you came back from your experience. But from what Dana told me, that was a bit of an odd thing in itself. So who can say what it is? Only that you are changing, it seems, and that is something that is putting you at risk.”
Mulder nodded, even though he was disappointed. “That’s why I have to go. I have to get away, to keep them safe.”
“Is that really why you’re running away?” Angel asked, and her expression was very serious as she looked into his eyes. “Or is it just the excuse to do what you were feeling driven to do in the first place?”
Mulder scoffed. “What the hell is this, some kind of dime store therapy? Is this the kind of crap you’ve been feeding Scully all this time?”
“Actually, it’s the crap she’s been telling me,” Angel replied matter-of-factly.
Mulder was caught short by that, and he considered what that could mean. A rush of fear crept up his spine. “If she knew I was leaving...where does Agent Doggett and this fit into it?” He reached under his shirt, pulling out the St. Christopher’s medal. “She said you got this from him after his son died, when you lived in New York. She said you thought I should wear this until our son was old enough to wear it himself.”
“Is that all she said?” Angel asked, her expression still serious.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Mulder confirmed, anger rising in his eyes. “So what’s the damn secret behind all this?”
Angel sipped at her drink, obviously considering the best way to explain it. “Have you ever heard of the phenomenon of memories being read from objects?”
“Psychometry,” Mulder replied. “Something like telepathy, only the information comes from an object rather than someone’s mind, as if there is some sort of-” He stumbled over his words as he realized what she was saying.
Angel nodded meaningfully. “As it happens, sometimes the objects can be very helpful in and of themselves, in terms of how powerful the effect is.” She gestured towards the medal, which was still dangling from Mulder’s grasp. “In this case, John Doggett wore that medal, and then gave it to his son. Luke wore it for a couple years, before specific memories set in. After he was killed, John couldn’t bear to keep it...it brought back too many memories. So he gave it to me.”
Mulder looked down at the medal in wonder. “What’s imprinted on this, then?”
“You can’t feel it, can you?” Angel observed, though it was obvious from his question. But he realized at the same time that she said it as though she had been expecting that reaction, as if this were somehow something she knew would happen.
“No, nothing,” Mulder replied anyway. He let it go, the pressure of it on his chest suddenly much more noticeable than before. “But you said Scully was able to tell?”
Angel nodded. “The memory, as I said, is vague. Luke was still very young at the time he wore it. The memory imprinted on the medal is one of strong and unyielding paternal love for one’s son. All of the love and pride that John Doggett felt and expressed is reflected within it, and that is what Dana was able to experience.”
“And that’s why she didn’t tell me, when she realized that I wasn’t getting something from it myself,” Mulder said with a frown, and then he looked up at Angel. “Just tell me...is she planning on making some sort of life with him, when I’m gone? Is that what she had in mind?” Something else occurred to him, and his expression grew darker. “Or are you trying to make it easier for him to slide into her life, once I’m out of the picture?”
Angel rolled her eyes in exasperation. “What, it never occurred to you that she would want something of you to hold on to for William? Mulder, you have been wearing that necklace all this time, and now you are as much a part of it as John Doggett ever was. And there was never enough of him to make it specific in the first place.” She pointed at the medal, stabbing at the air. “When William wears that, long after you are gone, he’ll know that he had a father that loved him and cared for him. He’ll know that, even though you won’t be there to show him yourself.”
Mulder felt foolish, and he could feel himself blushing. How could he think that Scully would betray him, when he was the one leaving her? She had every right to make the choices that she had, and in the long run, she knew him well enough to realize that he would have a hard time accepting the truth.
“I still don’t understand how she could get something out of this, and I can’t,” Mulder said finally. “I mean, for all the time I’ve known her, she’s held on to a good bit of her disbelief. And from the way you said it, I got the impression that Agent Doggett was able to get something from it, too, and that’s what was too much for him.” Mulder sighed, shaking his head. “What, do you have to not believe to have the ability in some way?”
Angel shook her head. “It’s not them, Mulder.” She leaned forward, and once again, it was as if she was looking straight into his soul. “It’s you.”
“Me?” Mulder repeated, not quite sure what that was supposed to mean. “Why...because of what’s been happening lately?”
“No, not that,” Angel replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. She sighed, apparently not quite sure how to explain it. Again, he felt as though she was well aware of the answer, yet still needed to choose her words carefully. He wondered if there was something she thought she needed to hide.
“I guess I can answer that with another question,” Angel said finally. “In all the time you’ve been on the X-Files, Mulder, how many times have you personally experienced something spiritual in nature?”
Mulder was taken aback by the question, and he forced himself to review the past decade as thoroughly as possible, searching for the answer that he knew must be hidden within the question itself. “A couple times, I suppose,” he said finally. “About six years ago, I almost died. While I was being cared for by the Native tribesmen who found be in the desert, I thought I saw my father, another man who helped me once and died. But I was never sure if that was real, or in my head.”
“And what else?” Angel pressed. She seemed to be very interested in his answer. Or was it his conclusions, based on what he remembered?
Mulder could only think of one other time. “It was a few months before I was abducted,” he recalled, the memory suddenly vivid. “I was looking into a possible lead on my sister’s...on what happened after she was taken, back when we were kids. I saw something then...a little boy. He helped me find her diary.” His voice became strained as he said the rest. “And I saw her. In the woods, in a clearing...I saw her, and we embraced.” He cleared his throat, pushing away the sudden emotions. “That was it, I think.”
“So once or twice,” Angel replied, when he was done. “As far as your personal experiences with the spiritual are concerned, not much to speak of.”
“I’ve never really believed in that sort of thing,” Mulder admitted. “I know it can happen, but Scully is definitely more the one for faith and spirit. I’ve always been a bit more interested in the more...substantial aspects of the unexplained.”
“Exactly,” Angel said with a slight smile. “And that’s very likely the reason you get nothing from the medal, or anything else, for that matter. It’s there, but you simply cannot or do not allow yourself to experience it.”
“Except under extreme circumstances,” Mulder reasoned.
“Perhaps,” Angel mused, and once again he thought that she might have something more to say, some additional detail that might make more sense of it all. But if she did, she said nothing, and he felt as thought it would be wrong to press.
“So basically you gave this to Scully, so I would wear it and make the vague impressions of a father’s love for his son more personal,” Mulder said, summing it up more for himself than for her. “What did you get out of it?”
Angel sipped from her glass again, and he got the impression that she felt more at ease. “When someone finds an object that might mean something for them, then they can have it. All I ask is that they give something of equal value in return.”
Mulder considered that. “So Scully gave you something of hers, with some memory imprinted on it from her life?”
Angel nodded. “A collar that her sister used to wear. A sister’s love in exchange for a father’s love.”
“Makes sense, I guess,” Mulder replied with a shrug. Then he remembered something that she said, and he regarded her closely. “You said Agent Doggett gave you this after his son was murdered.” He tapped the medal resting on his chest. “So if you always deal in exchanges, one object or memory for another...what did you give to Agent Doggett?”
Angel’s expression darkened slightly, and she looked away, her gaze falling on the shadows across the room. “It was a bad time for him. A very dark and isolated existence. By the time he came to me with the medal...it wasn’t the time for bargains, Mulder, you understand?”
“You took the medal, but he never asked for anything in return,” Mulder said, and the implication was clear. He laughed at how obvious it was, and he stared at her, even if she wouldn’t return the gaze. “You owed him. You took away a memory of fatherhood that he couldn’t bear anymore. And now you’re repaying the debt, aren’t you? That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”
“You don’t understand quite as well as you think, Mulder,” Angel said bluntly, her eyes full of warning as she turned to regard him. “Yes, a part of this situation is the repayment of old balances, but some things run more deeply. There are larger balances to be considered.”
“Fine,” Mulder snapped. His eyes bore into her, his anger reaching out and forcing her attention. “But why the hell does it have to be Scully and our son? What, you think that you can pay the debt by giving him them as some kind of replacement?”
“Of course not,” Angel replied with a harsh laugh. “John is not that sort of man, to take advantage of a situation like this. You ought to know that.”
“Oh, please,” Mulder scoffed, rolling his eyes. He pointed out the window. “All I know is that he can never leave us alone. He always has to find some reason to be around her and William. I can see it in his eyes, Angel. He’s jealous, and he’s not even man enough to admit it.”
“Is that what you think? That he simply wants Scully, and perhaps even a son to replace Luke in the bargain?” Angel shook her head. “You really don’t get it, Mulder. You can’t see what is really happening.”
“I think I see it very plainly,” Mulder countered. “The way he keeps track of our relationship, the constant visits when I’m not there. And now you’re telling me that you owe him something. What else could it be?”
Angel launched to her feet, looming over him, and there was something behind her eyes that forced him to remain where he was, transfixed. “How could you be so blind? How could you fail to see why a man like John Doggett would take Scully and her son under his wing, to care for them as best as he can, even knowing that she will never think of him as anything more than a friend? Yes, Mulder, he does care for her, very deeply, but are you so much a fool and so lacking in basic self-esteem that you can’t see why he actually envies you?”
Mulder could only shrug, so she continued on. “Think about it for a second, Mulder. Think about what you just said to me a few minutes ago, about how you were able to embrace your sister after all those years without her. That must have allowed you to release so much of your grief and guilt, wouldn’t you agree? To know that even if she was gone from this world, even if you never would see her again, you had that moment of closure. You were able to let it all go, find some measure of peace.
“Tell me, Mulder...when is John Doggett going to see his son again?”
Mulder could only respond with stunned silence, so Angel continued, though her voice was less harsh, even forgiving. “The answer, my friend, is that he will only see his son in the next life. And so every single thing that he does, including the care he gives to Dana and your son, is like a testimony to that memory. He wants his life to mean something more than the failure to protect his family. And maybe, even if he doesn’t know it, he wants to understand what really happened...as far as his own demons make it possible.”
Mulder swallowed, and then whispered, “Believe too little, and you can be blind to what’s possible.”
“Believe too much,” Angel countered with a smile, “and you can be blind to what’s real.” Angel stood straight, as if suddenly aware that she was a little too close to Mulder in her current state of undress. “That’s what Dana has always tried to remind you, Mulder, during your time on the X-Files. Consider that it might also apply to your suspicions of Agent Doggett.”
She walked back over to the armchair, reaching for her drink, and saw that it had spilled on the floor. She sighed, and looked over her shoulder at Mulder. Given how heated their discussion had been just a moment ago, he was amazed to find that he was reacting to her stunning sensuality again. He found his only defense was to respond.
“And so what now?” he asked, looking away as she bent down to sop up the Scotch with a handtowel from the bar.
“As far as I know, you’re leaving,” Angel answered frankly, not turning to face him. “From what Dana’s told me, you have a few days at best to put things in order.”
“You mean with Scully and Agent Doggett,” Mulder replied, standing and walking slowly towards the door.
Angel stood and regarded him with a slight smile. “It’s a start, but before that, I think you need to settle our debt.”
Mulder stopped and looked at her with a puzzled expression. “What do I owe you?”
“Scully bargained for that pendant for her own reasons,” Angel said, tossing the towel onto the bar as she closed the distance between them. “But if you choose to leave it for William, then you also have a stake in this. I think it would be only fair if you were to give something in return.”
Mulder wasn’t sure that her logic made sense to him, since he still hadn’t decided whether or not he was going to go along with any of what Scully had planned, but he nodded his assent anyway. For a moment he considered giving her his lockpicks, but then again, how could he be sure that he wouldn’t need them. Wherever he was going.
“Uh...how about something in here?” He picked up the box that he had laid on her table. “I’m not entirely sure what’s in here...”
“Maybe that’s the perfect choice, then,” Angel mused as she took the offered box and started going through it. Mulder thought that she seemed almost distracted then, as if paying attention to more than one conversation. “Sometimes things have a way of getting themselves where they need to go.”
Mulder smiled slightly, not quite sure of what could he say in response to that. So when she didn’t say anything more, he started to leave.
“Mulder?”
He turned, only to find her holding an old, ratty baseball in one delicate hand. With a start, he recognized it. “That was in the box?”
Angel smirked, and he realized it was a foolish question. “You and your father. I get the feeling it was one of the few things between you that was happy, unspoiled.” She regarded it for a moment, and then tossed it to him with an easy motion. “Take that one with you.”
Mulder caught it, and then looked at it as though it were something unknown, wondering whether there was something there to detect. Then he looked back to Angel. “Why?”
“Because some memories are worth keeping, even for someone who claims to have an eidetic memory,” Angel replied. “And because you never know what you might find out there. You may need to remind yourself of better days. And remembering the good times with your father might help you remember the moments with your son.”
“I’m not planning to tell Dana about our conversation,” she said as he turned away. “I leave that up to you. But I think, at the very least, you should let her know where you stand.”
By the time he turned to answer, she was already gone, and it no longer mattered. He tucked the ball into his jacket pocket, and left in silence.
****
Mulder stood in the doorway to what had been his apartment for more than ten years. He thought of how many times he had found himself under watch here, or even under fire or drugged, and he had to wonder why this latest threat was the thing that had finally convinced him to abandon his home. But then he thought about it a little more, and he realized that this had been his home for as long as he had been on the X-Files. That time had passed now, and barring some utterly unexpected turn of events, it would never come again. Fitting, then, that this was no longer the place for him to be.
Checking his watch, he saw that it was just past noon. Scully had mentioned to him, in passing as they spoke over the phone, that she would be visiting with Angel for lunch. The timing struck him as too much of a coincidence, and if Angel had not known about the fax Skinner had received, then someone had wanted him to go to her apartment while she wasn’t home. He wondered what he was supposed to have found, what Angel might want to conceal. The message had mentioned finding answers. Perhaps he had, even if they weren’t the ones he had hoped for.
Skinner and the boys had been true to their word. All the arrangements were in place, and with the exception of a stack of luggage in one corner, most of his belongings were already in storage. He figured he could take those bags over to Scully’s place for a couple nights, so he could spend his final hours with his family. He felt a stirring at that thought, a longing, and he realized that with all of the stunning revelations that he had been granted over the past 24 hours, it was only now dawning on him that he was likely to miss his son’s childhood.
Odd, how he now found himself envying the time that Doggett might have had with Luke.
He was still staring at the empty rooms, lost in the currents of his own shifting perspective, when he heard the familiar sound of heels on the hallway floor. Knowing instinctively that it wasn’t Scully, knowing that sound as well as his own heartbeat after all these years, he turned to see who it might be. He couldn’t have been more surprised.
“Agent Harrison?”
The young blonde flashed him a beaming smile, obviously thrilled to be remembered. “Wow! Just moving out now?”
Mulder looked back into his apartment, and forced himself not to reply with any of the dozens of comments that came to mind. “Yeah, just getting to it.” Then something occurred to him. “If you didn’t think I was here...wait, forget that. You were looking for me?”
Harrison looked over her shoulder, and then nodded as she sighed. “I heard what happened, when Agent Scully had the baby down in Georgia. Weird, huh? And then Agent Doggett putting the Deputy Director under investigation over some kind of conspiracy? Doesn’t take long down there, does it?”
“No, guess not,” he replied. He smiled, trying not to laugh at her infectious excitement. “You wanted to talk to me, ask me something?”
“Oh, right,” Harrison said, her expression turning serious. “I know I was only on the X-Files for a few days, and it didn’t exactly go the way I hoped it would, but I guess somebody remembered that I was once working down there, because when they couldn’t get to you with Doggett away...”
“You still keep track of the X-Files?” Mulder asked, and then stopped her before she could answer. “Never mind. Someone was looking for me?”
“They sent a fax to the number in my department,” Harrison explained, and she pulled a few sheets of paper from her bag. “It’s addressed to you, but-”
“Let me see.” The first thing he checked was where the fax had originated. He recognized the number immediately; it was identical to the one sent to Skinner. As if there had been any doubt. Only this time, next to the number, it referred to the Clark Crowne Plaza. He read the front page quickly, because there was only one sentence: CAN YOU GUESS WHAT THEY FOUND?
“I thought that was a bit odd,” Harrison said as he flipped through the rest of the pages. “But then I saw the pictures, and then I thought about all those questions about what really had happened...”
Mulder stared at the satellite picture on the final page, and then looked up at Harrison. “Was this everything? No copies?”
“No copies,” Harrison confirmed. She grinned again. “I figured it would be something really out there, hush hush, if they were still sending it to you. I mean, with you being off the X-Files all this time.” She saw his reaction before he could mask it, and frowned. “Oh, sorry about that.”
“No, no, I just sometimes miss it, that’s all.” He checked the coordinates on the sides of the photo again, to be sure that he was actually looking at the same place that he remembered. But it was obviously the same place, judging by the enormous gaping hole in the ice. He checked the date of the photo as well, just to be sure that he had read it right.
“Antarctica again, and just a couple months ago,” Harrison whispered, as if voicing his thoughts. “What would they be looking for there?”
“I don’t know,” Mulder answered honestly. Then he looked back at his empty apartment.
“But I’m going to find out.”
****
It took a few trips to and from Scully’s apartment, but now all of the belongings that he intended to take with him were sitting in a somewhat orderly pile in the middle of her living room. He noticed the blanket on the couch, and wondered when she had started sleeping in the living room with the bassinet. For all he knew, that could have always been the situation. The fact that he couldn’t recall bothered him.
Scully was in the kitchen grabbing something to drink, after having walked from Angel’s store in the heat of the summer afternoon. William was sleeping peacefully, taking his afternoon nap without a worry in the world, and Mulder took a moment to stand and stare at his child’s contented face, as if taking a snapshot to remember him by. He was still standing there, a mixture of pain and wonder on his face, when Scully caught his attention, sliding her arm around his back to join him.
“Three months,” she whispered. “Almost four.”
“I know,” Mulder murmured. “I can’t believe it went by so quickly. Feels like a day or two at the most.”
“Actually, I was thinking that it took you almost four months to remember to pick up orange juice on the way over,” Scully replied, a rare smile on her lips. “You could have spent more of that time here, with us, you know.”
“I know,” he said, looking back at William. “I guess maybe I wasn’t quite sure what I needed to do, what I wanted.”
“And what do you want now?” Scully asked, passing him the half-empty glass.
He took it without looking. “To stay here, with you, with our son. I think I understand what it is I’m giving up, now that I’ve had some time to think about it.”
“Then why don’t you stay, Mulder?” She was almost pleading with him, in her own way. “So Kersh warned you that someone might be watching, that this investigation might turn ugly...didn’t we know that from the beginning? Why run now, when you never found it necessary to run before?” She looked at William. “Does it have something to do with him?”
“No,” Mulder said, knowing it might be a lie, but also knowing that she couldn’t be told anything that might suggest something was wrong with their son. “No, I’m the one they’re watching closely. If I stayed, especially if I were to stay here, I would be putting your lives in danger.” He remembered something Angel said, saw how it connected to his own circumstances. “I couldn’t live with myself if I failed to protect you by staying.”
“But if you’re gone, Mulder, and things go badly, what then? Who will protect us then?” Scully was regarding him seriously, and he knew what was on her mind. There was one clear answer, and she expected him to protest. But now he understood a little bit more than he had before.
“I think we can count on Agent Doggett...on John...to do what needs to be done,” Mulder admitted. She saw her relax a bit. “But for now, until this investigation is over, I think it would be best if you kept him at arm’s length. Even farther, if you can.”
Scully seemed confused. “Mulder, I thought you just said-”
“I did, and I meant it,” Mulder replied. “But so long as he’s running this investigation, there could be trouble. Skinner and I talked about this. He’s going to try to get John to shut it down, before it gets out of hand. I won’t be here, so his natural instinct will be to come find you.”
“And you just want me to turn him away,” Scully said, pulling away with an incredulous laugh. “You know he’s not going to accept that.”
“Yes, he will,” Mulder said with absolute assurance. “He’s a man of honor, Scully, and if you tell him to leave you alone, he will.”
“So just like that, cut him off from any support?” Scully shook her head. “Mulder, this is too much.”
“And Agent Reyes, too,” Mulder added. “I think she’ll stick with him through this. She wants to be on the X-Files, anyway, right?”
Scully nodded, and then sighed, giving Mulder a skeptical look. “And you’re positive that you’re not doing this just to get back at John somehow? You’re not just getting the last word in while he’s not around to shoot back?”
Mulder hesitated, thinking of everything that had happened recently, everything that he had been feeling in the wake of learning so much about the world he was now living in. Everything Kersh had said, and his personal worries over his physical condition, his private talk with Skinner and then Angel, all of the things that he had intentionally kept from Scully.
“No, that’s not it,” Mulder said. “Let me prove it to you.” He reached behind his neck and unclasped the necklace, then carefully placed it in Scully’s hand.
“I know that Agent Doggett once wore this, and gave it to his son to wear. And I know you said that Angel had some kind of reason for suggesting you buy this and have me wear it, before giving it to William. I guess I wasn’t sure why that would be, if Doggett wasn’t supposed to know and make some kind of connection.”
“Mulder...”
“No, listen to me,” Mulder said firmly, cutting her protest off. “I’m trying to tell you that I’m not worried about that anymore. I have to go, and I think we both know that even if things go well with the investigation and everyone here comes out cleanly, I’ll still be a target. I may not be back for a long time, if ever.” He covered her hand, the one holding the medal, with his own. “I can’t be worried about what might happen. I can only tell you that I love you, and that I want what’s best for our son. Whatever that might be.”
Scully nodded, tears welling in her eyes, and he pulled her into his embrace, promising himself that he would never forget what it felt like to have her in his arms.
****
Agent Doggett stood in the center of the room, the echo of his recent footfalls still fading around him. He stared at the blank walls and empty expanses with an expression of confusion and betrayal, almost unable to believe what he was seeing. What had it been, two, three weeks since he had last been here? And there hadn’t been a single box packed, not a thing to suggest that Mulder was intending to leave.
He knelt down, looking at the floor, and saw that the landlord had not yet had time to completely clean the apartment. There were still spots of dust here and there, evidence of a life that had once come and gone among these walls, a life of remarkable if unusual achievement. His eyes fell on the shallow scratches on the floor where a table once stood, the deep pitting where the couch and desk had sat for over a decade.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, shaking his head. His thoughts lit briefly on the impact to his investigation, the promise so recently made broken without a word of warning or explanation. But then he thought of Scully. Did she know? Could it be that Mulder had finally done the right thing and moved in with her? His hopes grasped that thin straw, even as his gut told him that there was something much larger and more confounding at work.
Turning without a further pause, his next destination clear, he walked out the door and closed it, knowing that with one look at those empty rooms, nothing would be the same again.
****
“Here you go,” Byers said, passing Mulder the envelope from his jacket. “It’s winter down there this time of year, so you’re going to have to wait a while. But you ought to be able to check out that site within the next couple months.”
“Thanks again,” Mulder said, as he tossed the last bag into the trunk of his rental car. He looked over his shoulder to see if Scully was around, and then asked, “That other matter...you sure the three of you can handle it?”
“We’ll find a way,” Byers said with a sigh. “I’m sure that we’ll have to tread lightly to keep Scully out of the loop, but once we get something, we’ll let you know.”
“Remember, if it’s anything out of the ordinary, inform Agent Doggett,” Mulder replied, slamming the trunk closed. “Hopefully there’s nothing to be found, but we just don’t know enough about how all of this stuff fits together.” He held out his hand, and Byers returned the papers to him. “All of this stuff, this collection of theories on the paranormal, was sent to Scully by Agent Doggett before William was born, from the same hotel as the other two faxes. So we might have someone other than the usual suspects to deal with, and who knows how they’re connected?”
“I understand.” Byers looked over Mulder’s shoulder, and then he smiled slightly. “I ought to get back to the others. Frohike is trying that new treatment to help Langly, and you know how that went the last time...”
Mulder returned the smile, and then waved as his friend drove off. He felt rather than heard Scully beside him, William snuggled against her shoulder.
“Skinner called,” she said, not wasting any time. “John’s been to your apartment. He’s on the way over.”
“Then I better be going,” Mulder murmured, turning to look at her. To his surprise, there was no hint of a tearful farewell in her expression, nothing but the steel that he thought had been lacking since his return. He recalled that she had told him that she had been expecting this, that she had said as much to Angel weeks ago. Their last night had been her letting go.
He looked down at William, saw the recognition in his son’s eyes, and placed his finger against the tiny palm, enjoying the reflexive grasp of those delicate fingers, surprisingly strong. There was nothing of sadness in his eyes, either, nothing but the contentment of a baby in its mother’s arms. How old would his son be, the next time he saw him? He already grieved inwardly for those lost moments, the simple joys of a father. Reluctantly, he pulled his finger away, damning the world in which they had found themselves living.
“I’ll be in touch,” Mulder said, though they both knew that it was a promise he might find hard to keep.
“I’ll be here,” Scully replied, and she reached up to touch his cheek, tracing a finger down to his jawline. “I love you. Be safe.”
“I love you...both of you. Never forget that.” He kissed her gently, placing his hand against the small of William’s back, just to feel his warmth and life one more time.
And then he was gone.
****
TEN DAYS LATER
John Doggett looked down at the child sleeping in the bassinet, the peace and tranquility on the child’s face cast in low light by the twilight outside the window, and remembered a time so many years before when he had done the exact same thing. It would be hard to come here, to see William grow day after day, but he knew that he wouldn’t have it any other way. Dana Scully was a good woman, a good friend, and even if there were some issues between them at the moment, she deserved to have his support.
“He’s a beautiful boy, Dana,” he said softly, stepping away from the bassinet to where Scully was standing. “As far as I can tell, nothing’s any different than it was a week ago, or a week before that. Seems normal to me.”
“I know,” she said, her tone of voice betraying a hint of the worry in her expression. “I can’t really explain it, John. I mean, it could just be in my head...”
“No, don’t think like that,” Doggett admonished her as they walked into the kitchen. He placed his empty coffee cup on the counter, and leaned against it to face her. “A mother has instincts. You’ve got to go by that.”
“I suppose,” Scully murmured, still nursing the remnants of her own coffee. Then she smiled, giving him a wink. “Heard that Monica was a bit annoyed with your report about what happened.”
“A little, yeah,” Doggett replied with a sigh and a nod. “She made a bit of a stink after that McShane case a while back, when I left a few things out of the report in order to keep a low profile with Kersh. I lectured her a bit about how I had learned what would be accepted from our department, and then I go and pull this on her.”
“Why did you say all that, anyway?” Scully asked. “You still left a lot out. Including my involvement, which I appreciate. But why even make the charges? You must have known what it would sound like.”
“That was the general idea, to give them what they wanted to hear,” Doggett explained. “Too little, and they would know that we were hiding something. Too much, and everyone would be at risk.” He shrugged. “Now, we can work on the X-Files, and take care of the rest as we go.”
“Well, I know the position you must have been in, so I-” She stopped when she recognized the expression on his face. “What? Is something wrong?”
He didn’t answer at first, and then he looked her in the eye. “Did you really convince Mulder to leave? I mean, I know it’s not my business, but I never would have thought...”
“It was largely a mutual decision,” Scully replied, but then she shook her head. “That’s not the whole story, though. Mulder was here, but in a lot of ways, he never came back. As though he was someone else, just marking time until he could go and be that person. You know what I mean?”
“Maybe,” Doggett admitted. He looked back towards the bassinet in the living room. “But when we were looking for Mulder all that time, Dana, there were times that I thought I knew him. He was always running towards something, rushing off on some journey towards something he could only barely recognize.”
“I know,” Scully said softly, and then she looked towards William herself, feeling a slight chill up her spine despite the heat. “But if Mulder wasn’t really leaving to get away from Kersh or that project, I can’t help but wonder...where is he running to?”
Neither of them wanted to hazard a guess, and so they stood in silence, lost in their thoughts, until the darkness of night fell.
