by Jennifer Lyon
Jenni10647@aol.com
 

Date: 20 May 1995
Rated:  NC-17
Disclaimer: The characters of the X-Files, and all rights thereto,
belong to FOX, 1013 Productions, and Chris Carter.

PLEASE READ: A long - but necessary Author's Note
 First, I want to say upfront, and for the record, (in light
of recent events) - that this story is meant in NO WAY to
downplay the deadly seriousness of bombs and their effects. In
fact that very seriousness is vital to the story.  However, if you
are at all sensitive on the subject, I strongly suggest that you skip
this story.  You are hereby WARNED - so do not flame me if
you ignore it.
 Second: as well as containing some violence, this story
contains adult sexual activity in detail.
This is important to the story - but is only a small part of it.
 Third: This story will be disturbing! It is meant to be. So
again, you are warned in advance.
 And finally: The episode "One Breath" brings Mulder
within the squeeze of a finger from stepping over the edge, but
allows Scully, and his love for her, to bring him back.  The
question I address here is: what happens when it is Scully who is
driven past her limits; when it is Scully who is ready to cross the
line...
 
 

Office of the Assistant Director
FBI Headquarters
 
 "Agent Mulder! I'm saying this a friend. Watch your
back, this is just the beginning." With that warning, Assistant
Director Skinner was finished.
 Ever so slowly, Fox Mulder bent his head in
acknowledgment, his ice-cold hazel eyes never wavering.  Then,
turning, he followed his partner out the door.
 Silently, side-by-side, they stalked down the long
hallways, other agents and Bureau personnel sliding out of their
way, giving the two set, grim faces quick, uneasy glances.  No
one wanted to get in their way, one look into Mulder's glittering
eyes was more than enough.  Scully followed her partner by less
than a step, her jaw as gritted as his, her shorter stride faster, but
no less determined.
 They claimed the elevator, but half-way down to their
basement office, Mulder pressed the button for the ground level
floor, not needing to get verbal agreement from Scully that it was
time to take a walk outside in the fresh air, away from
eavesdroppers, human and electronic.
     - - - - -

 When they reached the sun-lit, carefully landscaped
grounds of FBI headquarters, they headed up onto the grass,
stopping under a large oak tree.  For a moment they both stared
up at the huge, long building, then met each other's eyes.
 "Mulder..." Scully began, but she broke off after saying
his name.  She was furious, frightened, frustrated.  It wasn't even
that this was the worst of their cases.  Donnie Pfaster had
terrified her, Tooms had damaged her disbelief, her own, barely-
remembered abduction had destroyed her illusions.  It was simply
that this case was the last straw.  The knowledge that Pink
Pharmaceuticals had deliberately infected people with the deadly
disease, and that the government had deliberately covered it up,
that she and Mulder had been used and endangered... it was one
insult more than she could bear.
 Mulder saw the emotions reflected in her bright blue
eyes, a mirror image of his own frustrated rage.  A part of him
instinctively wanted to reach out and comfort her, another part
took its own comfort in her reaction.  At least, he wasn't facing
this alone.  Then shaking aside that thought as too selfish, he
frowned, his brow crinkling.
 "We have nothing, Scully. Nothing."  His tone was
bitter, each word edged like a knife, and yet his voice was soft,
nearly a whisper.  "They won again."
 "No."  Scully said, feeling a rush of determination - or
simple Scully stubbornness - as her mother would call it.  "This
not finished.  I won't let it be finished."
 Mulder stared down at her, a look of surprise stealing
over his stone-carved features.  She let the edges of her mouth
curve up in a smile, though it did not come close to touching her
focused blue eyes.  "I didn't tell you everything, Mulder, in
Skinner's office.  Once I saw the report on the 'Robert Torrence,'
I knew we were finished - officially."  Her jaw thrust forward.
 "What is it Scully?" he asked, hoping against hope that
she had something, anything, they could use as leverage to
expose the truth.
 She saw the glimmer of hope in his face, and felt her
stomach turn over again, nausea rising in her throat, just as it had
done on the phone so few minutes ago.  "There were more
deaths, Mulder."  At the fear that sparked in his hazel eyes, she
hastened to add, "Just among the people held in quarantine.
Paul's son...and the boy on the bus."
 "What!" Mulder exclaimed.  "But that's not possible!
The mother, yes, she got infected caring for the other escaped
convict, but the little boy - there was no way.  His father wasn't
showing symptoms yet, and it's been too long, the mother died
two days ago.  Surely they didn't let her near him!  Besides, I saw
the boy on the bus walk away without being infected.  You said
the sores had to burst in order to spread the disease.  It didn't
happen, I was there!"  He ran out of words, his throat
constricting as he took in the set, composed look on her face -
the far too composed look.  "Scully," he questioned, fear now
curling through his belly.  "How did you find this out?"
 She flashed a grin that was more of a grimace.  "An
anonymous phone tip, which I was able to verify.  The funeral for
Paul's entire family is being held tomorrow, I talked with his
mother-in-law.  And then with the mother of the boy you
'rescued' from the bus.  They won't tell her more than that he is
dead.  She was nearly hysterical."
 "They infected them - killed them.  The boy on the bus
was old enough - he heard too much.  But for God’s sake why
the little one?  He was too young to know anything."  Even as he
posed the question he was mentally answering himself.  To clean
up loose ends.  All dead, nice and tidy - except for two FBI
agents whom no one would believe.
 Scully didn't bother answering the question that she
knew was rhetorical.  Instead, she threw back a question of her
own.  "What do we do now, Mulder?"
 Mulder frowned.  He knew what he *wanted* to do,
several things in fact.  One was to find the nearest TV station and
report the truth, no matter the consequences to his career - or
what was left of it.  The next was to go find someone he could
consider responsible and beat them to a pulp.  The third was to
blow Pink Pharmaceuticals sky-high.  But none of those options
would win Scully over... He stared into her eyes as they met his
with fierce determination... or would they?  Finally, he decided,
perhaps this was the time to see what *she* wanted to do.
 "What do you want to do, Scully?"
      - - - - - -

 Mulder rubbed the towel vigorously over his wet hair as
he stepped out of Scully's bathroom, dressed in his pants and
unbuttoned white shirt.  Yawning, he peered around the darkened
living room, eye finally alighting on the still figure standing by the
window.  He could see the tension in her stance, almost feel the
emotions radiating from her.  They'd been up all night, talking,
debating, arguing.  And by these early morning hours, all they
had been left with were two options: either accept defeat and
move on, or take the kind of action that neither had ever
considered possible before.  Until now.
 Walking up behind his partner, he announced himself
quietly.
 "Thanks for the use of the shower, Scully."
 "Sure," she replied absently, her eyes fixed on the quiet,
pre-dawn street.
 "You okay?" he asked gently, dropping the towel over a
chair and placing his hands on her shoulders.
 She leaned back slightly and sighed, "No."  She laid one
of her hands over his and turned to face him.  "But I'll manage."
 "We can stop right here and right now," he told her.
 She shook her head.  "We've been through this a
thousand times.  I can't."  She pulled her hand free and walked
into the room.  "Sometimes, Mulder, I get scared just being in
this room.  I see Barry coming for me, his fist slamming down on
my face... or Tooms in the bathroom.  And the way I felt in that
prison when I knew I could be infected..." she shivered and
hugged herself, then pivoted back to face him.  "No more,
Mulder.  I won't be the victim anymore.  If you want out, that's
okay.  But..."
 "NO!" He shouted, then paused and lowered his voice.
"Don't even think about it.  If we do this, we do it together.  Or
better yet, you leave it to me."
 Scully walked back over to him and stood up on her
tiptoes to glare straight into his face.  Her voice was very calm,
utterly resolute.  "Don't even THINK about going off without
me."  He nodded silently in response  - THAT tone was not to be
argued with.  And considering what had happened the last time
he went off without her, he figured she did have a point.  He
wished he could keep her safe, but knew that he couldn't.  So he
was left with keeping her with him.  Together they had a far
better chance at succeeding at anything, even something like this.
Like this...
 Under the soft light of the table lamp, he could see the
fatigue in her blue eyes, their heavy lids  underlined by thick dark
shadows.  "Why don't you get some sleep" he urged.  "You won't
be good to anyone, including yourself, if you’re asleep on your
feet."
 She began to protest, running her hand through her hair,
only to find herself just barely stifling a yawn.  His face was
adamant, and though she was certain she could not sleep, maybe
resting for a while was not such a bad idea.
 "I'll even tuck you in," he offered, with a lop-sided grin.
 "Okay," she said, the exhuastion suddenly hitting her as
she led the way into the bedroom.  Climbing into bed, she settled
down, watching him as he pulled the covers up to her chin.
 "What are you going to do?" she asked.  "You should
sleep too."
 "I'll grab a nap later.  You know me, Scully.  I never
sleep much anyway.  And I want to make a couple of phone calls,
see what I can dig up on Pink Pharmaceuticals.  As the saying
goes...'Know thine enemy.'"
     - - - - -

 <It was coming for her, the face inhuman, arms
stretching out at impossible lengths to grab at her.  Her feet felt
like they were mired in cement.  She couldn't get free, she
couldn't...> "Mulder!!!!"
 "Scully, it's okay.  Dana!"  Scully's eyes blinked open to
see Mulder's face hovering over hers.  She took a deep breath
and settled back against the pillows, feeling her sweat drip down
the back of her neck and between her breasts.
 "Easy, it was just a dream," he reassured her, gently
sweeping the hair off her cheeks.
 She nodded, taking another couple gulps of air before
she spoke.  "What time is it?"
 "Nearly noon.  If you feel up to it, I have a few things
I'd like to show you."  He eyed her with some concern.
 "Yeah, just let me take a quick shower, okay."  She said,
sliding up to a sitting position.
 "Sure," he got off the bed and stood up.  "I'll be in the
living room if you need me."
 "I can take a shower without help, Mulder," she
grumbled.
 He laughed, winking at her.  "I could scrub your back.
Hey!" he ducked as she threw a pillow at him.
 "Get lost, Mulder."
 "Okay, okay," he tossed the pillow back and left the
room.
 She sat still for a moment, then got to her not-so-steady
feet and padded into the bathroom.
  - - - - -

 The shower did help, and she felt immensely better as
she entered the living room, dressed in a comfortable pair of jeans
and a loose blue sweater.  Mulder was bent over her computer,
typing away vigorously.
 "What have you got?" she asked, leaning over his
shoulder.
 "The Lone-Gunmen had a surprising amount of
information on PinkPharm," he replied.  "And they were able to
hack a good bit more."
 "Why would they be interested in a pharmaceutical
company? I thought their forte was the government." Scully
asked with interest.
 "It is.  But they branch out, especially when there are
strong government ties."
 "Well, that would make some sense.  There's no doubt
PinkPharm was getting a lot of cooperation from both the
National Guard and the prison authorities."
 "Not to mention our mysterious smoking friend,"
Mulder added with sarcasm.  "And according to the LG,
PinkPharm has been the beneficiary of a very large number of
government grants.  From what I've read so far, in fact, it looks
like about 90 some percent of their funding is government,
though it comes from a mix of sources, DOE, NIH, NIAID,
CDC, and more notably the DOD."
 "Alphabet soup," Scully commented wryly. "What kind
of work do they do?"
 "Mostly 'anti-virals' supposedly, drugs and vaccine
production.  They also seem to be into enzyme studies, and have
an ongoing project to develop new medicines from tribal sources,
especially from rare plants."
 "The project Robert Torrence was working on." Scully
interrupted.  Mulder nodded.
 "Still, the work that had the LG keeping a file on them
has apparently to do with research into animal viruses, like the
highly virulent avian influenza viruses, bluetongue, and one
called...umm...enc-ceph-alo-myo-card-itis..." He frowned.  "Well,
the whatever it is, is supposed to be closely related to Foot and
Mouth Disease virus, which is illegal to bring into the U.S."
 Scully nodded.  "FMD is endemic in some parts of the
third world, and is extremely deadly for cattle and sheep.
Apparently, a single viral particle is enough to kill a cow."
 Mulder grimaced.  "Nice stuff.  Anyway, there's no
proof for this, and a lot of places in the country are working on
the same diseases, but the LG think that PinkPharm's research
may be less targeted to finding cures and more towards biological
warfare."
 He leaned back to look at Scully.  Her face was grim.
"Its pretty thin, Mulder," she replied, wishing hope-against-hope
that they were wrong.  "Those viruses are deadly for their host
species, but almost all are non-infectious - or at least non-
symptomatic - in humans.  The avian flu may devastate chicken
farms, but it wouldn't do a thing to you or me."
 "Yes," Mulder agreed.  "But destroying the food base of
the enemy is an old battle tactic.  And maybe they could engineer
something that WAS infectious for humans."
 Scully frowned, the technology really wasn't that far
along yet.  At least she didn't think it was,  but her mind kept
throwing up images of school children being injected with an
alien substance, and the sound of her now-dead ex-classmate
saying, "By definition, this is extraterrestrial."
 Seeing the conflict on her face, Mulder threw in his last
card.  "Whatever they are doing, Scully, they're not making
money in the marketplace.  In fact, they haven't taken a product
even as far as the FDA in over twenty years."  He grinned.
"Remind me not to buy their stock."
 Scully pursed her lips, and walked over to sit on edge of
the couch.  "I like this less and less."
 "Me, too."  Mulder got up and stretched, then began to
pace the room.  "The bottom line is, whatever the details, they
are up to no good."  Scully accepted that without comment, then
jolted at the sudden sound of the telephone.
 "Must be Byars," Mulder said.  "He was going to try to
get me a list of their grant applications."  He went over to the
computer and clicked on "receive."
 "Good, here we go, you'd better look at this, Scully.  It's
not exactly my field."
 She took the proffered chair and studied the screen.
Mulder got up and paced back and forth, walking over to peer
impatiently over her shoulder every so often, then resuming his
endless circles.  He was on the far end of one, when Scully called
out his name.
 "Mulder, come look at this!"
 "What is it?"  He raced over behind her.
 "Does that name look familiar?" she asked, using the
mouse to center the pointer.
 "Dr. Alan Berube...Scully!" Mulder's voice rose in
excitement, as they looked into each other's eyes.
 "It makes sense, Scully.  PinkPharm must be their
primary work facility.  For all of it:  the experiments with alien
DNA, biological warfare, everything!  If we could get in there..."
 "And do what, Mulder?  Get evidence out?  How long
do you think they'd let us live, even if we managed it?  They
killed my friend - and her entire family - because I gave her the
Erlenmeyer flask, not to mention all those people at the prison,
including their own scientist."
 "But with proof, Scully, we could expose them!"
Mulder was insistent, ecstatic.
 "I wish I could be sure of that, Mulder," she replied
sadly.  "But it's more likely that we would end up dead.  And
even far more likely that they would use other people to get to
us.  I traded evidence for you once, what if they take my Mom,
or my sister.  Or your mother.  You may not be close, but would
you let them kill her?"
 Mulder paused, his expression turning grim.  "No, I
mean....No." He shook his head.  "We'd just have to be quick.
Once everything is public knowledge, they wouldn't be able to
get away with something like that."
 Scully just looked directly at him, silent and still.
 "Scully, it's our job to expose the truth, not destroy it.
I've dedicated my life - everything - to exposing these people.  To
just destroy all the evidence, after I've worked so hard, risked so
much. Scully..."  His eyes turned liquid.  "It COULD work!"
 She remained silent.
 "Scully..."
 "Mulder," she spoke softly.  "If you are ready to take a
chance on it, then okay, I'm with you.  But think about it.  Even if
we get some evidence, and expose a piece of it,  they will simply
pack up the rest and move it -make it conveniently disappear -
then start up all over again.  In the meantime, they will fight us,
use our reputation against us, threaten our loved ones.  Even if
some people believe us, others won't.  And what kind of price do
we pay for it?  Every time we've played by the rules - tried to get
evidence against them - we lose - and people die.  I think it is
time to stop playing by the rules that they ignore, and hit them
where it hurts."
 Mulder opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again,
clamping his jaw tight.  He walked over the window and stared
out at the busy, mid-day city street, at all the innocent people
rushing along on simple errands.  He could *taste* the proof that
would vindicate him, validate the years he had spent searching,
make up for all he had sacrificed from his life in its pursuit.  But
he also knew instinctively the truth of Scully's words.
Somewhere along the course of the last two years, he had lost his
innocence, the ability to believe that justice could be found in a
court of law or in the public eye. Perhaps it had been when he
almost lost Scully, more probably it had been earlier, at the loss
of the both the X-Files and his faith in himself.  Even though he
had recovered them all, he was not the same man he had been
before.
 Scully felt his turmoil deeply as she watched him stare
out the window, much as she had done the night before, as
though somehow there would be an answer out there.  She
wished there was something she could say to help him, but this
was a decision he had to make for himself.  She knew she'd
respect the decision, whichever way it went.  Above all else, he
was her partner, and that loyalty ran deep - deeper even than she
wanted to admit to herself.
 The long seconds stretched into minutes before he
turned back towards her, his face shuttered, eyes cold.  But his
lips stretched upwards into a smile as he spoke.
 "Let's kick some butt, Scully."
     - - - - -
 

Beaver's Cove Bar & Grill
somewhere in Virginia
 

 Keiran Sinclair brushed his hand through his graying
hair, and leaned casually back against the bar.  He was a short,
but broad-shouldered man, who bore a resemblance to a beer
barrel.  His formerly curly black hair was streaked with gray, and
the weight of too many years, and far too many beers, was slowly
encroaching on his middle.  Still, he was in excellent shape and he
knew it.  His 'profession' demanded vigilance, and he was the
best.  Even if no one in his family would admit to it, or him.
Well, except for one very special little lady - the one he was
presently waiting for.
 Ever so slowly his eyes wandered around the dimmed
bar, watching the rough men, and weary-eyed women mix and
wander, drink and play.  This was not a place he wanted to bring
the one good thing in his life - but she had been adamant.  And
like the rest of the women in his family - she could not be denied
once she got an idea into her stubborn, red-haired head.
 "Uncle Key," he turned in surprise to see his favorite
niece watching him with amusement.  How on earth had she
managed to sneak up on him like that.  "Robin!" he said with
rueful laughter, reaching out to hug her.  She grinned and
reached up to hug him back.  Then he stepped back and studied
her for a moment.
 Her fiery hair was bound up in knot at the nape of her
skull, and her usually stylish clothes had been replaced by jeans, a
long blue tee-shirt, and heavy dark-plaid loggers' jacket.  She
looked like she was ready for a camping trip, but her eyes were
wary and cold.  He felt his stomach sink, that was a look he'd
prayed never to see on her lovely face.
 "Dana, It's always good to see you, you know that, but
what's with all the mystery?" he questioned seriously.
 There was a sudden shift in movement behind her, and
Key instinctively pulled Dana aside to confront the stranger
towering over her from behind.
 "No, Uncle Key!" Dana protested, grabbing tight to his
arm and holding him back.  "It's okay.  This is my *partner.*"
Key caught the emphasis on that word, and all its attendant
meanings.  "Partner" said in that way meant more than a working
relationship, more than a friendship - though not necessarily the
obvious conclusion that could come to mind about a man and
woman.  Key paused and exchanged judging stares with the much
taller man.
 He saw a thirtyish man wearing jeans, a loose black tee-
shirt and a black leather jacket. Black hair swept back from a far-
too-handsome face, a few dark strands falling over a high
forehead, cheekbones arching from a strong jaw and generous
mouth.  His niece's partner was easily over six-feet tall, slender -
even thin - but in the way a runner or gymnast was thin - what
was there was muscle and bone.  The expression in the dark eyes
was intelligent and penetrating - those eyes could read a man's
soul.  Not too bad, all in all, and at least there was a hint of
humor in the lines around the mouth and eyes, though they were
now taught and grim.
 "Keiran Sinclair," Key offered carefully, "but everyone
calls me Key."  He held out his hand, and waited for the other
man's response.
 Mulder threw the briefest of glances over to Scully, and
she nodded barely perceptibly.  Accepting her recommendation,
he carefully shook the older man's hand, feeling some surprise at
the strength of the man's grip.  "Fox Mulder," he replied, then he
grinned.  "But everyone calls me Mulder."
 Key grinned back.  "Your parents didn't like you much,
did they?"  He felt more than saw the sudden stiffening in both
his companions in response to his joke.  Uh oh, he thought, he'd
touched a very raw nerve.  Mulder's jaw tightened, and Key felt
himself recoil slightly at the coldness in that expression.  He drew
a sigh of relief when all Mulder said was a noncommittal "Not
much."
 Seizing the chance to redirect the conversation, Scully
broke in.  "Why don't we sit down?"
 Mulder and Key both nodded, and they walked silently
over to an empty table in the corner.
 Once they were seated, they ordered and received drinks
from a breasty waitress with a heavy mane of platinum blonde
hair, and long eyelashes, who fluttered them at Mulder every time
he glanced in her direction, much to his companions' amusement.
 "Very funny," he whispered between sips of beer.  Key
and Scully laughed for a moment, then the conversation quickly
became serious.
 "Uncle Key - I wish I could say that this is a social call,
but we need your help."
 He sighed, he knew that had been coming, and it
worried him because he knew his niece.  She was self-sufficient
to a fault, and besides she was a federal agent.  FBI agents simply
didn't go looking for help from an aged mercenary, even if he was
her uncle, unless something was VERY wrong.
 The quick glance she exchanged with her taciturn
partner just added to that impression.  "Okay, Robin, spill it," he
urged.
 "Robin?" Mulder had to interrupt.
 Scully almost blushed.  "Just an old nickname," she
dismissed it, turning back to her uncle.  "We need..." This was
NOT going to be easy.  Finally she just blurted it out.  "We need
to get hold of a bomb - or the makings of a bomb - with
instructions - that is not traceable.  One with enough power to
burn a three-story building to the ground."
 "What?" Key exclaimed, holding his voice down, and
letting his face express his shock.
 "I know it sounds...Well, it is... I need you to trust me
on this.  It is important." She exchanged another enigmatic glance
with her partner.  "You don't want - or need - to know anymore
than that."
 "Robin..." Key studied her for a moment.  "Do you
know what you’re asking?"
 "Yes," she replied.  "And believe me, I wouldn't ask if
there were any other alternative.  I don't want you involved, but
you were the only person I felt we could trust enough to do this
for us.  It needs to be untraceable, and high quality.  With a timer
we can set for a few hours, and still trust the thing to go off on
time."
 "Bombs are not playthings," he began, but one look into
her eyes and he stopped.  This grim, determined woman knew
exactly what a bomb was, and exactly what she was doing.  It
was hard for him to accept that the little girl he had bounced on
his lap - the few occasions he'd been allowed into family
gatherings - had grown up.  Grown up into a very strong,
resolute woman.
 He let his gaze wander from her face to her partner's
shadowed countenance.  Those glittering hazel eyes were cold,
but just as certain.  Key felt fear begin to stir in his belly.  This
was serious, far more serious than he even wanted to know.
 He turned back to Scully.  "I don't want to know what is
going on, do I?" he asked.  She simply shook her head.
 "And I suppose that if I don't help you, you'll simply find
another source?"  This time she nodded.
 "And there's no way I'm going to talk you out of this, is
there?" Again the silent nod of her head.
 He sighed and leaned back into his chair.  He knew he
was going to regret this.  No, he already regretted it.
 "Robin, are you really sure this is necessary?" he asked
once more.  This time she knew he was giving in, and there was a
faint trace of a smile on her red lips as she nodded her head yet
again.
 Key picked up his beer, downed the entire glass in a few
gulps, then wiped his mouth, and gave in gracefully.  "Where can
I reach you."
 "At this number," Mulder's soft, rich voice came as a
surprise as he leaned across the table and handed Key a slip of
paper.  Key glanced at it, then stuck it in his pocket.  "Okay, this
will take a day or two.  I'll call with the meeting place as soon as
everything is ready."
 They nodded.  He frowned, then added one last
stipulation.  "No ‘real’ names from now on.  I'm owl, Dana can
still be Robin, Mulder..." he studied the other man for a moment,
then grinned.  "Raven."
 Standing up, he gave them one more anxious glance.  "I
hope you know what your doing," he mumbled, then he turned
and walked away.
     - - - - - -

 Mulder and Scully were both silent as they walked out
of the bar, and got onto the back of the motorcycle they had
rented.  It had been Mulder's idea, and she hadn't liked it at first.
But she had come to appreciate the advantages.  First, it seemed
to give them some additional freedom of movement; second, who
would expect a pair of uptight feds to be riding one of these
monstrosities; and third, it was very unlikely a bug could hear
anything while they were riding it.
 "Are you sure we can trust him," Mulder's whispered in
her ear, his arms tight around her as he steered the bike onto the
road.
 She leaned back against him, and turned her head to
bury her face against the side of his neck.  It was the only way he
could hear her reply.  "As much as I trust anyone.  He's family,
and for the Scully's and Sinclairs, that means a lot.  Besides," he
could almost feel her smile against his skin.  "I am his favorite
niece."
 "Still, this is asking a lot." he leaned his head down
closer to hers, breathing in the fragrance of her hair.
 "I know," she sighed gently.  "But he has access to the
stuff we need, and we can count on it to be good.  Even I don't
know much of his past, he was always appearing and
disappearing, and we heard rumors of him in Africa, and the
middle east - I never knew how much was truth."
 "Probably about a third of it at most," Mulder grinned
into the wind.  It was fun to find out that his partner's perfect
family had its black sheep after all.
 "Probably," she answered, nestling in closer.  She was
so tired, this week had been a nightmare. First the prison and the
disease, the stultifying fear that she was infected, and the rush of
relief when she found out she was not.  Then the horror of the
deaths and their frustration at failing to bring justice to bear on
them.  She had made a promise to a dying man, one she was
going to keep - if in a different way than he had hoped.  Still, she
felt a little like she was sleep walking though this - especially
after the long hours she and Mulder had spent weighing option,
arguing consequences, coming up against the same brick wall
each and every time.  Now they were committed...committed to
committing a crime.
 She almost started laughing at that thought as she
twisted back around and leaned the back of her head against his
chest, letting the wind bite at her eyes and tear at her hair, as they
rode at near breakneck speed down the darkened highway.  They
were federal agents - and they were about to bomb a building.
Were they doing the 'right' thing? Probably not.  Did she care?
Yes and no.
 Somehow this had gone beyond cases and
investigations, law and order, and had moved into an outright
war.  No longer would she be a victim anymore.  No one was
going to use her, control her, experiment on her, hurt her, again.
Not without repercussions.  And repercussion number one was
coming up.  Wrapping her hands over Mulder's arms, she let
herself enjoy the freedom of riding the cycle, the wind tearing the
laughter out of her mouth.
 Mulder guided the bike with expert hands.  He loved
driving any motorized vehicle, and this was proving to be far
more fun than a car.  He supposed he probably had a death wish
or something, but this was wonderful!  He felt like he was flying,
and he allowed himself to just sit back and enjoy it for a few short
miles, before his mind drifted back to problems weighing on him.
He kept wanting to take Scully and dump her somewhere safe,
lock her up if he had to, in order to keep her out of this.  For
himself, despite his initial misgivings, it had begun to feel like a
natural progression.  Perhaps, he was giving into the darkness as
Melissa had put it, but he saw it more as fighting fire with fire.
 He shivered slightly at that analogy - he did not like fire,
and was not too fond of this bomb idea either.  But it was a neat
solution.  Destroy the place the disease had been leaked from,
eliminate the main test site for the alien DNA technology, end the
'game' in one swift move.  It was a Scully-kind of idea - but he
still didn't like her being in the middle of it.  Taking chances with
his life and career were one thing - he wasn't sure he valued either
- but she was different.  She was everything to him.  If only...
 He drew a deep breath, and shook his head slightly.  No
way would she ever let him do it without her.  She'd find a way
to come after him, and despite the warmth she'd showed him the
last time he'd pulled a stunt like that, he'd seen the anger and
determination in her eyes.  She'd told him once, quietly, to
NEVER do that to her again, and he had taken the warning to
heart.  She MEANT it.  And there was a part of him that exulted
at that knowledge.  He wanted, needed her by his side so badly
that he ached inside when she wasn't with him.  And there was
another set of questions without answers...what was their
relationship and what did he want it to be?
 Seeing the lights of their motel up ahead, he eased back
on the gas and clamped down on his emotions.  Like it or not -
the die was cast.
      - - - - -

 The wheels squealed as Mulder yanked at the wheel,
forcing the old Ford van off the old paved country road and onto
the graveled driveway.  His hands gripped the wheel hard, as they
took a pair of sharp turns, finally arriving in sight of a cabin.
Made of logs and shingles, the small squat structure leaned
slightly to one side, an uneven coat of red paint streaked across
the front.  Two windows with dingy glass panes were facing the
small semi-circle of gravel in front, a thin column of smoke
emanated from a small pipe on the roof.
 Mulder turned off the engine and glanced towards
Scully who was already opening her door and leaping out.
Pocketing the keys, he followed her lead, slamming his door and
moving around the front of the truck to stand by her side.  Falling
naturally into step in the manner of two people long accustomed
to walking together, they deliberately, but cautiously approached
the door.
 <KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK>  Mulder struck the door
with one fist, the other resting on his hip close to his holstered
weapon.  On the opposite side of the doorway, Scully was tensed
and ready for trouble.
 Mulder pulled back as the door swung open, relaxing
only when the familiar face of Scully's uncle peeked out.  Scully
stepped around and flashed a quick smile at her relative, receiving
a similar stressed grin in return.
 "Come in," Key said, letting Mulder take the door from
him and backing into the interior of the cabin.  Scully followed
him in with Mulder close behind.  The two agents paused as the
door slid shut behind them,  allowing time for their eyes to adjust
to the relative gloom.  There was light, emanating from the
windows and a pair of old-fashioned kerosene lamps, but it was
soft and scattered, leaving large pockets of darkness in the room.
 A large, hulking black wood stove dominated one
corner, sitting catty-corner to a peeling, white-painted steel sink
and small buzzing refrigerator.  A rickety iron stove was beside
the fridge, close to a small card table and folding chair.  Across
the room, a loft bed stretched out from the wall, leaving space for
a small wooden desk underneath.  The center of the room
contained an over-stuffed, orange and yellow patterned sofa and
two easy chairs, one of brown leather and the other matching the
sofa.  A long, rectangular piece of plywood, propped off the floor
by bricks ran along the front of the couch.  The walls were
covered with maps and papers, and bits and pieces of machinery
were lying in piles along the walls and scattered across the floor.
 At a wave of Key's hand, Scully and Mulder silently
walked over to the couch and sat down, facing the stranger
seated in the leather chair.  Key took the last chair, letting them
study each other for a moment before giving terse introductions.
Mulder and Scully both saw a large, bulky man dressed in the
ever-present blue jeans and a thick flannel plaid shirt.  His hair
was pitch black and long, drawn back from his heavy-featured
dark-skinned face into a thick braid.  His eyes were black, and
alert, darting from one of their faces to other as he returned their
scrutiny, his nose was large and flaring, his hands surprisingly
slender.
 "Crow," Key said, "this is Robin and Raven."  The two
agents nodded their heads politely, receiving no more than a
flicker in response.  'Crow' was still watching them intently.  He
openly let his eyes sweep up and down Scully's small, feminine
figure, a slight sparkle of pleasure lightening his expression as he
admired her beauty.  Even in the jeans, pull-over, and heavy
jacket, she was lovely, her hair glowing a deep burnished copper
in the dim light.
 Abandoning her with some regret, he eyed her partner
with less enjoyment, noting the athletic grace of the man's slender
body, the firmness of the jaw, the direct and piercing eyes.  Crow
met Mulder's gaze and held it, neither man willing to give an inch
in the battle of wills, until Scully got impatient and spoke out.
 "K...Owl," she only barely remembered to use his cover
name, frowning as she stumbled into it.  This got a dark look
from Crow, the unspoken thought "amateur" written large upon
his face.  Thrusting her jaw forward, Scully continued.  "Do you
have what we need?"
 "Crow does," Key replied.  "But first, there is a question
of payment."
 Expecting this, Mulder asked calmly, "How much?"
 "Five thousand for the materials, another five for
instruction."  This was the first time Crow had spoken, his voice
was as heavy as the rest of him, strong and rumbling.
 "Fine," Mulder replied.  They had expected this would
be expensive, but they had just enough, with a little left-over for
emergencies.  He had already been setting money aside over the
last two years,  cannibalizing both an inheritance from his
grandfather and a couple of stock-investments.  Scully had added
in some money of her own, breaking a couple of long-held bonds
and depleting a savings account.  He exchanged a confirming
glance with her, just to be sure she was ready for this, but he
need not have bothered.  She was set and determined.
 "Good," Key said.  "Do you need to go for the money,
or..."
 "It's in the van," Scully said.  "I'll get it."  She rose to
her feet and left the room.  In minutes she was back, carrying a
large briefcase.  Unlocking it carefully, she set it on the table in
front of Crow.  He eyed it, then slammed the top shut and put it
on the floor by his chair, nodding at Key, who stood up.
 "I'm out of this now." He paused and looked directly at
Scully.  "Walk out with me, Robin?"
 She rose immediately, smiling.  "I'll just be a few
minutes."  Mulder met her eyes, agreeing without words.
 Mulder and Crow watched each other warily for a
moment, then Crow stood up and gestured for Mulder to join
him at the table.  "Let's get started...Raven," he said, his deep
voice tinged with sarcasm.  Following the just slightly shorter
man towards the small table, Mulder grimaced, wondering why
he always got stuck with embarrassing nicknames.
 As both sat down at the table, drawing their chairs up
close, Crow was thoughtfully admitting to himself that this
couple's chosen Name-birds were certainly more appropriate than
most he had encountered.  The woman was as bright as the
Robin, her fiery hair and temper matching the bird.  And this
"Raven" was as dark and sleek as his namesake; his eyes aware
and intelligent, he moved with a grace that was inborn and
natural, though it was obvious he had had some kind of training.
Good, Crow thought.  Now if only the man would prove to be
even half as intelligent as he looks.
 It wasn’t that Crow really cared who they were or what
they planned to do with the hardware he was providing.  As long
he had his money and was safely back on his people’s
reservation, he was not concerned with happened in the white
world.  He’d done his time in the army, still had the scars,
physical  and mental,  from Vietnam.  Let them blow each other
up, he thought bitterly, it made no difference to him.
  By the time Scully had rejoined them, Crow had put on
a pair of surgical rubber gloves and unpacked a large, metal
suitcase, laying a serious of objects out on the table top.  As she
sat down, he handed them both a pair of gloves, and began to
identify each as to function, pointing out the salient features
clearly, but rapidly.  Scully occasionally interrupted to ask him to
repeat something, or explain it in more detail, while Mulder
simply watched and listened, absorbing everything.  When Crow
was finished with his instructions, he quickly demonstrated
assembly once, then took the device apart, and eyed the still silent
Mulder.  "Now you do it," he challenged, arching a thick black
eyebrow at the other man.
 Mulder nodded, then reached out and perfectly
mimicked the other man's motions, albeit a little slower.  His
brow creased in concentration, he set the assembled bomb on the
table and leaned back in his chair.  "Okay."
 Crow's face ran through a gamut of emotions - surprise
followed by suspicion, mixed with dawning respect.  "You've
done this before," he accused.
 Mulder and Scully grinned at each, then Scully inclined
her head at her partner.  "Photographic memory, he's like a
walking video camera.  His nickname ought to be 'parrot.'"
 "Haha," Mulder grimaced at her, then shrugged.  "I just
remember things."
 "Useful," Crow grunted, reaching over to disassemble
the complex.  "Your turn," he told Scully.  She frowned, trying
her best to ignore Mulder's smug look, and focused on repeating
the instructions.  Unfortunately, she found that both men had
made it look easier than it was, and she had to repeat it several
times before she was able to put things together with any speed.
After about a dozen tries,  she felt like she could do it safely
enough, and was delighted to see a quick flash of approval on
Crow's dark features.
 "Any questions?" he asked.  Mulder had a couple, and
they were quickly dispensed with.  Packing the components back
in the suitcase, Crow placed it on the table in front of Mulder.
Without another word, he strode over to pick the money and left
the cabin, letting the door slam shut behind him.
 Mulder and Scully stared after him for a moment, then
turned back to eye the large metal suitcase.  For a brief moment,
neither wanted to be the one to claim it, then Mulder grabbed for
the handle.  Sliding it towards him, he rose to his feet.
 Looking down into Scully's grave up-turned face, he
asked calmly. "Ready?"
 She met his eyes and took a deep breath, then got to her
feet. "Ready."

     - - - - -
 

Lakeside Motel
Rm 18

  The silver-colored suitcase sat in the corner of the
motel room, peeking out from under the dark raincoat casually
draped over it.  Mulder could feel its presence as he sat down on
the edge of the large single bed, rubbing the small of his back.
Scully was in the bathroom, her coat, suit jacket and low-heeled
pumps already abandoned on top of the small table by the door.
 It had been a long couple of days.  Before dawn the
previous morning, they had secreted the motorcycle in the woods
close to this motel, then had driven several long hours to the
airport in Albany. Dropping the van anonymously into an
automated parking lot and leaving the suitcase in a public locker,
they paid for a pair of tickets with cash and flew to Baltimore
under assumed names.  Next, using the restrooms as a dressing
room, they changed from the casual clothing into their FBI-
standard suits and returned to Albany under their own names.
Arriving in late afternoon, they recovered the suitcase from the
locker, rented a blue Ford Taurus and drove back to the small
town in upstate New York that housed and fed Pink
Pharmaceuticals.
 The time since their ‘public’ arrival had been spent
establishing their 'cover.'  Playing the very familiar role of federal
agents, they had poked and prodded at Pink Pharmaceuticals,
trying to force their way onto company property, questioning
everyone in town they came in contact with about the company,
basically making a loud public display of their interest in it.  In
effect, they were hiding in plain sight, doing just what Skinner,
the Bureau, and the enemy might expect them to do.
 Mulder let himself flop backwards onto the bed,
undoing the knot of his tie and yanking the brightly patterned silk
off his neck.  He tossed it towards the bedside table, not
bothering to retrieve it when it landed on the floor.  The rooms
they had taken in the small roadside motel were not fancy, but at
least they appeared clean.  Having grown accustomed to being
constantly together, they hadn't bothered with much of a pretense
towards using the second room, it was simply another part of the
cover.
 Scully walked out of the bathroom barefoot, her white
shirt loose over her skirt, brushing at her hair.  She paused at the
foot of the bed and stood quietly, watching Mulder as he lay
sprawled out on the bed, his eyes closed, chest rising and falling
rhythmically.  She smiled tenderly, then walked around to the
side of the bed.  Placing the brush on the bedside table, she
climbed up onto the mattress and stretched out beside Mulder.
 She rested her chin in her right hand, using her elbow to
support her head, laying on her side.  After studying him for a
moment, she slowly reached out and teased the dark locks of hair
on his forehead with her free hand, then traced his cheekbones
and jaw with light fingertips.  His eyes remained closed, but his
hand abruptly seized hers and brought it to his lips.  He kissed her
knuckles softly, then let his eyes drift open.
 "Scully," he breathed, meeting her eyes.  She gave him
her warmest smile, red lips drawing back over white teeth, long
dimples curving up into her cheeks.
 "Hi," she answered, surprising herself with how shy she
sounded.  This was her partner, her best friend, she knew him
almost better than she knew herself, even though they were not
lovers.  The FBI frowned on sexual relationships between
working partners, and she had religiously toed the line until now.
But as he slowly returned her smile with his wide-eyed endearing
grin, she felt a familiar rush of warmth flood her body. Though
she had spent three long years denying that need, she knew full
well that she had wanted him almost from the first moment they
had met.
 Things were different now, she thought with satisfaction
- they were no longer playing by those rules. As a sparkle lit up
her bright blue eyes, she leaned down over him, letting her hair
fall over his until their faces were only a couple inches apart.  She
paused, watching as his lips parted and his face took on a
questioning look.
 "Scully?" he whispered.
 "Shhh," she replied, finally bending her mouth down to
cover his.  With a growl deep in his throat, he returned the kiss
passionately, their lips clinging to each other, then parting in
mutual accord to let their tongues reach out for each other.  That
contact was electric, sending a shock wave of desire through her
body.  She felt his shudder match her own, and his hands reach
around to pull her down and over so that she was laying on top
of him, her legs intertwined with his, her hips pressed into his
belly.
 Fighting, teasing his tongue with hers, submitting to his
long strokes across her teeth, then thrusting her tongue deep into
his mouth, she savored each taste of him, not holding anything
back.  He responded in kind, threading his hands through her
hair, pinioning her head above his.
 Finally, they stopped and separated to draw in deep
gulps of air, Scully burying her face into his neck, drawing in the
masculine scent of his body with each breath.  He let his head fall
back, his eyes unfocused and heavy-lidded.  After a few moments
of holding each other, he reached down to tilt her head upwards.
 "Scully...are you sure?"  His voice was thick with
emotion, but tentative in tone.
 She leaned down to give him a fleeting kiss before she
answered.  "I won't play by their rules anymore.  I'm tired of
pretending, of being what they expect me to be:  Dana Scully, the
perfect professional who lives by the book and does what she is
told."  Her eyes turned cold and angry, her lips thinned as she
continued.  "And I refuse to pretend anymore that I don't want
you, when I do - and I know that you want me."  Her look was
almost challenging, daring him to deny his feelings or hers.
 He studied her for a second, not even considering the
option of denying those emotions.  He knew what life felt like
without her, a living hell he never wanted to experience again.
So this wasn't really a question for him, he loved her more than
life itself - more than anything, even the obsession that was still
much the focus of his life.  Without her he had nothing.
However, it was extremely difficult for him to vocalize those
feelings, so he quickly settled for action instead of words.
Closing his hand around the back of her head, he caught her in
another passionate kiss.
 Years of denied need exploded in them both, and they
grasped at each other with desperate hands.  Scully didn’t bother
even trying to unbutton his shirt, she ripped it open, then yanked
the thin fabric down his arms. He refused to lose one second of
his exploration of her body, leaving the shirt bundled under him,
caught in his elbows.  Far more interested in the chance to touch
and taste the skin of his chest and belly, she abandoned it also,
pressing her palms flat against his lungs, letting her fingers probe
at his nipples.
 He groaned, arching his back as she began to trace his
ribs with her tongue, nibbling and biting at the flesh, her hands
working around her mouth, making his breath come in short
gasps.  One hand digging into her hair, the other ran up and down
her back, then curved around a buttock, then down to her thighs.
She squirmed against him as that hand forced its way under her
skirt and between her thighs, caressing the smooth flesh in long,
slow strokes.
 Spreading her legs wide around his, she gave him full
access to her, moaning softly as he teased her, coming closer,
closer to the center of her desire, but always pulling away.
Finally, refusing to wait a second longer, all restrictions thrown
to the wind, she reached down and closed her hand around his
wrist, pushing his probing fingers up against the damp lace
covering her, sighing in frustration at the thin barrier between
them.
 But he was more than ready to give her what she
needed, his own need raging nearly out of control.  With one
sharp twist of his wrist, he slipped his fingers under the fabric and
ripped it away.  A cry broke loose from her lips as he moved
swiftly to dig a finger up into her, her hips grinding down against
him, seeking more, deeper contact.  As that sound grazed at his
control, the hand holding her hair dragged her face up towards
his, pulling her down into another brutal kiss.
 Squirming against the hand that was inside her, teasing
her, possessing her, she met each kiss with equal passion, biting
at his lips, his tongue, his jaw, his nose forcing a cry of mixed
pain and pleasure from  his lips.  Her hands drifted downwards to
force his pants open and yank them down off his hips, freeing his
engorged member to pulse hotly against her belly.  A smile of
triumph upturning her lips against his skin, she closed her hands
around him, one stroking his length, the other reaching below to
tighten on the swollen glands.  Beneath her, he bucked upwards,
his cry swallowed into her mouth.
 Then, suddenly, his hands moved, gripping her upper
arms fiercely, as he threw her off him to the side, levering himself
up and over her.  She could feel the bruises developing on her
arms, but didn’t mind.  Releasing a slow growl she arched her
hips towards him, trying to lock her legs around his waist.  He
held her down for a moment, then let go of her arms and reached
for her shirt, ripping it open.  She stretched her hands up over her
head and let him strip it off her, followed by her bra.  Then she
entangled her hands in his hair and shoved his mouth down to her
breasts.
 He explored the sweet, scented flesh willingly,
delighting in the taste of her, the feel of her.  He laved each
nipple with his tongue, then bit the hard points with his teeth,
then moved to lick the sweat from the deep crevice in between.
She sighed, her head falling backwards, her eyes closing, as he
kissed even further downwards, leaving one hand on her right
breast, using the other to undo her skirt.  Once that was tossed
aside, he propped himself up on his elbows, staring at her naked
body with darkened eyes.  She reached for him, wanting more
contact, but he grasped her wrists and pushed them down under
her back.
 Using one hand to hold both of hers, he let his other
drift into the soft tangle of copper-colored curls at the apex of
her legs.  He teased and pulled at the hair, then dipped his hand
down further, following the caresses with his tongue.  "Please..."
she murmured, "Please, yes..." as he began to suck on the soft,
honeyed flesh.  Using his fingers to open her, he thrust his tongue
into her, then wrapped his arms around her bottom, holding her
in place as her body began to shudder and twist, thrusting against
each probe of his tongue until she convulsed and lay still.
 Releasing her, he moved up the length of her body, then
gathered her up into his arms, pressing gentler kisses onto her
mouth and cheeks.  Her eyes closed, she reached out to hold him
even closer, moaning as the cramped muscles in her arms
complained.  He drew her sounds into his mouth, tenderly tracing
her lips with his tongue.  But she was not ready to slow down,
and grasping his shoulders, she tried to push him over.  He
resisted, continuing to rain kisses on her face, but she was
determined.  Pulling up one leg, she carefully, but firmly kneed
him in the groin.  He laughed and gave in, rolling over onto his
back, giving her a wounded look, which only made her laugh as
she pounced on him.  Sitting over his thighs, she bent down to
take him into mouth, soothing him with the magic of her lips and
tongue.  "Daaaana," he murmured, in a  hoarse growl, reaching
down to dig his fingers into her hair.
 She enjoyed the heat of him pulsing in her mouth for a
moment, then pulled back to strip his pants, shoes, and socks
from his body.  Then she moved over him with cat-like grace,
pressing kisses and bites onto his legs, abdomen and chest.  He
whispered her name again, then reached out to pull her mouth
back to his. They kissed, then she positioned herself over him and
drove herself down over his rigid shaft, taking him deep within
her.
 Feeling her come down around him, then begin to move
up and down along his length almost put him over the edge.  He
cried out, head falling backwards against the mattress, his hands
reaching out to take hold of her hips.  She wound her fingers
around his waist, balancing herself as she rode him, her hair
floating around her head in a soft red cloud, her lips parted, her
eyes shuttered.
 He went with her motions, thrusting his hips against
hers, running his hands up and down her sides.  She leaned down
to meet his eyes, closing her hands around his and guiding them
to her breasts.  Her fingers digging into his wrists, she rubbed
herself against his palms and fingertips, purring.  He watched her
with amazed, but desiring eyes, ignoring the discomfort of her
grip on the sensitive skin of his forearms.  Then he bent upwards
to claim a kiss, pulling his hands free of hers and twining them
into her hair.  He dragged her down on top of him, causing both
to fall to the mattress with a soft thud.
 She responded with a mixture of a groan and a giggle,
kissing him hungrily, even as their lower bodies continued to
thrust against each other.  He felt his control finally slipping out
of his grasp, and in nearly mindless hunger, he threw her over
onto her back, then drove himself even more deeply into her.
She arched upwards, wrapping her legs around his back, gouging
her nails into his back.
 Both lost in a whirlwind of sensation, they tumbled into
simultaneous climax, her convulsions forcing his final release, the
hot flood of his orgasm adding to hers.  One last shudder through
them both, then they collapsed in exhaustion, still entwined, her
legs locking him inside her.
 They remained in that position for a while, then he
stirred and began to kiss her gently.  She sighed and released him,
unable to resist a small murmur of disappointment as he withdrew
from her.  In response, he gathered her up in his arms, stroking
her hair, caressing her back, kissing her neck.  "Mulder...." she
whispered against his ear contentedly.
 He stopped for a moment, then placed a hand under her
chin and tilted her face towards his so that their eyes locked
together.  His voice was tender, but firm - sincere and loving.
"My name is Fox."
 "I thought you hated that," she replied, stroking his
cheek with her fingers.
 "I do, from anyone but you.  Only you, I want only
you..."  He never got a chance to finish the sentence, her mouth
claiming his in a kiss that grew and deepened.  And any thought
of continuing the conversation was soon lost, as they made love
again, this time slowly, gently, easily rocking each other into the
depths of ecstasy and fulfillment.
     - - - - -
 
 <BUZZZZZZ>  The sound of the alarm jolted Mulder
up out of sleep.  Instantly awake, he reached for the clock,
slamming the top of it hard.  It sputtered, then silenced.  Leaning
back against the pillow with a sigh, he watched Scully as she
stirred, then opened her eyes.
 "It's time," he told her gently.  She nodded and sat up,
letting the sheets fall from her with unconcern.  She stretched,
yawning, then slipped out of bed and reached for the pile of
clothes on top of her suitcase.
 Mulder followed her lead, turning on a small flashlight
to give them some light to work by, but not enough to attract
attention in the unlikely event someone was up and around at 2
am.
 Drawing the heavy black sweater over her head, Scully
couldn't help wishing for a shower, but then the memories
flooded her, and she hugged herself for a moment, her smile
unnoticeable in the shadows.  She liked having the feel and smell
of their love-making still on her skin.  It seemed appropriate that
she would be walking into danger with him, while her thighs were
still sticky with his semen, his saliva still mixed with the sweat
coating her body.  It sealed them together, bonded them against
the enemy as they went to war.  For that was how she had come
to see this - a battle to win, a war to fight.
 Behind her, Mulder was all business.  Quickly finishing
dressing, donning gloves, he walked around her to pick up the
heavy metal suitcase.  She followed suit, pulling on a pair of
surgical gloves before covering them with the dark leather ones.
 "Ready?" she asked, turning to look up at him.
 He nodded, then paused.  Stepping up close to her he
leaned down and brushed her mouth with his.
 "Now I am."
     - - - - -

 The woods were quiet, the sound of their breathing as
loud as the breeze that rustled in the leaves. They stepped
carefully through the darkness, small flashlights throwing thin
beams of light onto the tree roots and stones, ferns and moss.
Finding the cycle exactly where they had left it, Mulder quickly
stowed the suitcase in the compartment under the seat, while
Scully retrieved the bag of weaponry they had concealed nearby,
obscured by a heavy rock and a pile of fallen leaves.  Hefting it
over her shoulder, she returned to her partner's side, again feeling
the spark of mixed amazement and pride towards him.
 When he had left her in a hotel room in Baltimore,
telling her to stay there, she had been partially annoyed and
partially amused.  Typical Mulder to give her that look - the
boyish grin, mischief sparkling in his bright eyes - and then
disappear.  And that expression had been even more pronounced
when he arrived two hours later, just as she was about to start
searching for him, only to silence her righteous indignation by
dumping a bag full of firepower on the bed.  Handguns she had
expected, she knew they could be bought off a street corner in
any large American city, and most small ones.  The shock was the
pair of submachine guns, large, black and heavy, along with a
shining pile of bullets.  Scully grinned to herself at the memory,
then thrust it away to concentrate on feeling her way over the
rough forest floor.
 Even in the dark of the night, she could feel his eyes on
her as she silently handed him the bag.  Resting it against the
cycle, he withdrew the handguns, checked the clips, then handed
one to her.  She holstered it on the small of her back, while he
mimicked her motions, placing his on his hip.  He handed her a
second clip, pocketed his own, then closed the bag and gave it
back to her.  Then he mounted the bike and sat back, waiting for
her to take her seat in front of him.
 Once she was seated, the heavy sack clasped tight in her
arms, he gunned the cycle to a start and slowly drove it through
the bumps and jolts of the forest, edging them out onto the empty
country road hardly soon enough for either of them.  But once
they were on the pavement, they were gliding easily, Mulder
steering the big machine with deft hands, Scully leaning back into
his embrace.  They had talked over this part of it a million times,
changing strategies, searching for an easier way, finally settling
on the most direct route.  A simple, frontal assault.  Break in,
shoot anything that moves, plant the bomb and get out fast.  Of
course, both were aware that nothing was ever as easy as it
sounded in theory - and neither was certain they could REALLY
do it.
 The low, long building came into sight around a bend in
the road, its gates locked and closed, the windows black and
empty.  Mulder aimed the cycle for the gate, and yelling into the
wind to Scully to hold on, he drove straight for it.
 <SLAM> the front of the cycle hit the metal gate,
causing the latch to screech and break.  The cycle slid onto its
side, causing Mulder and Scully's knees to scrape against the
concrete.  But they had hit the gate at about 50 miles per hour,
and the impact tore the mesh of the gate free, sending it crashing
inwards.  Mulder just barely managed to hold the cycle from
falling over, and they spun wildly into the abandoned parking lot.
 Skidding to a halt not far from the front doors, he held
the bike upright just long enough to let her off, then he leapt off,
and let it fall to its side on the ground.  He reached under the seat
and drew out the suitcase, even as Scully drew out the two
machine guns.  They each shouldered one, Scully holding hers
ready to use, pointed forward as they raced towards the building.
As they got within a few feet of the doorstep, Mulder slipped to
the side as Scully began to fire..
 <BANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANG...BANG>
The sound of the machine gun bursts mixed with the shattering of
glass, as the bullets broke a wide hole in the huge panes leading
into the front lobby.  Edging through the jagged opening, Scully
went first, Mulder coming through almost backwards, eyeing the
parking lot behind them.  The alarms were already sounding, and
they exchanged a quick glance, setting their mental clocks.  Five
minutes to the center lab, two to set the bomb, five to get out,
and twenty to get far enough away.  All assuming everything
went as planned.
 "FREEZE!" a high-pitched male voice screamed as a
figure broke through into the lobby from the corridor to the right.
 <BANGBANGBANG> Scully pivoted as Mulder leapt
instinctively out of the way, his left hand holding the suitcase in a
death grip, his right bringing the muzzle of the submachine gun
into bear.  But Scully was firing even as she turned, and the
shadowy figure went down with a gurgle.  Cold as ice, Scully
stepped over to poke at him with her foot.  Then she turned
towards Mulder and angled her head towards the other inner
door.  "Go!" she urged.
 Mulder responded by moving for door, feeling her
behind him, covering his back.  His heart was pumping, blood
racing, his breath came in gulps.  He felt almost lightheaded with
the adrenaline, every sensation focused and intense, yet distant.
He could see every shadow clearly, hear every sound, his
movements felt like they were in slow motion.  He'd been in
dangerous situation before, but almost always he'd been reactive
now he - they - were proactive.  They were making things
happen.  Somehow that made all the difference; he felt like he
was riding a whirlwind.  It was all he could to keep from laughing
aloud.
 Watching every step her partner took, carefully studying
the corridor ahead and behind them, Scully ran along behind him,
her footsteps light on the tiled floor.  She had never felt more
focused, more in control, in her life.  A distant part of her mind
wondered why she was so calm, her metabolism seemed to be
slowed down, not speeded up.  Her heart was slow, her breathing
measured, her mind clear and serene.  Every second, every
motion seemed as though it was etched in crystal, clear and
shining, her senses totally alert.
 Footsteps and a door creaking up ahead.  Mulder
immediately dodged to his right, his back slamming up against the
wall to the left as Scully mirrored him, her back hitting the wall
to the right so that they were facing each other.  Shots rang out,
bullets buzzing into the air they had been standing in, one coming
within inches of Scully's arm as she turned.
 Both agents fired their weapons in the direction those
shots had come from, advancing inch by inch as they fired.
Mulder ducked as a bullet hit the wall by his shoulder, coming
down flat on the floor, the suitcase clanking as it hit the floor, the
machine gun jolting in his grip as he squeezed the trigger.
 Bright flashes of fire lit up the hallway, illuminating a
pair of men edged into a doorway several feet down the hall.
One screamed as he was hit, and tumbled to the floor.  The other
hid then darted out with a screech, only to collapse beside his
companion in another burst from Scully.
 Then silence.  It had only taken maybe 30-40 seconds,
but the firefight had seemed like an eternity to them both.
 "Are you all right," she whispered, offering him her
hand.  He took it gratefully, scrambling to his feet.
 "Yeah," he replied tersely, grabbing at the suitcase.
Falling in step together, they circuited the two bodies and
continued down the hall until they came up to a heavy double
door with a security lock.  Simultaneously, they both backed up
against the opposing wall and blasted it.  Scully's gun threw a
volley, then sputtered and died out, but it was enough.  Handing
her the suitcase, Mulder leapt for the barrier, kicking out at the
door jamb with his foot.
 <THUD> It swung open, and he was through it a
second later, Scully immediately behind.  Tossing the heavy
weapon to her, he took the suitcase and laid it out on the nearest
countertop.  Scully watched him for a moment, then abandoning
her empty weapon for his, she raced back for the door to keep
watch.
 With a clamouring heart, but carefully still fingers,
Mulder opened the case and pulled out the components, finishing
with the innocuous package of explosives.  He studied the small
brown object for a millisecond, amazed that something so little
could pack so much power.  Then his eyes hit on the small figure
of his partner, standing tense and alert in the doorway, and a
smile broke out on his face, even if it didn't touch his watchful
eyes.
 With deft fingers, he assembled the bomb, checking each
step twice, his movements sure and quick, though his emotions
were tumbling.  He had practiced this over and over in the hotel
room - but doing it for real was a different.  This wasn't an
exercise - this was deadly reality.  If he made a mistake...
 No, it was done.  And everything looked just as it
should.  Checking his watch, he set the timer for thirty minutes,
his heart skipping a beat as the device clicked into gear, small red
numbers flashing up on the digital readout.  Casting around the
room for a hiding place, his eyes focused on a big yellow cabinet
with a large fluorescent radioactivity sticker on the front.  Picking
up the softly clicking device and cradling it in his arms, he walked
slowly, but purposefully over and placed it inside.  Once the door
was shut, he was moving at full speed towards the door.
 As he came up behind her, Scully suddenly leapt
backwards, colliding with him.  They both slipped to the floor,
Mulder underneath.  More gunshots rang out, causing them both
to fight for their feet.  Just at the very moment they were
standing again, a pair of dark-blue clad guards burst around into
the room, guns at the ready.  Another fire-war broke out, each
person diving for cover or the floor.  Mulder cried out as he felt a
bullet graze his left arm, but his right was steady as he returned
fire with his handgun, hitting the other man square in the
forehead.
 Her opponent distracted by the death of the other guard,
Scully lifted the heavy machine gun and brought it down on his
gun arm, then up towards his face.  She connected with his nose
with all of her strength, and bone shattered and cracked.  The
man cried out, blood flooding out of the wound, but Scully
wasn't finished.  Swinging the gun around again, she slammed it
into his diaphragm, causing him to fall to the floor.
 "Lets get out of here!" Mulder urged, grabbing her arm
to pull her out of the room.
 "Wait!" she replied.  "He's still alive."
 "Not for long," Mulder reminded her, but she shook her
head.  "He saw us, we can't take the chance."  But they both
paused for a moment, killing someone who was writhing on the
floor in pain was a lot different from shooting someone pointing a
gun - or shooting a gun - at you.  That you could justify if you
had time to think, and usually there wasn't time for more than
simple instinct.  But not this, this was deliberate - colder -
different.
 "I'll do it," Mulder offered grimly.
 "No!" Scully replied.  "I will."  They looked at each
other for a brief moment, each wanting to take the other's offer,
yet each determined to spare the other.  Finally, Mulder let out a
raspy laugh.  "Together, then."
 Scully nodded and drew her handgun.  Side-by-side they
lifted and pointed their weapons.
 "On the count of three...ONE, TWO, THREE..."
<BBAANNGG!>
     - - - - -

Pink Pharmaceuticals
Research and Development Laboratories

 They burst out of the building, Mulder leading, Scully a
few feet behind, his long legs eating up the ground at break-neck
speed.  By the time she caught up, he was already lifting the bike
off the ground.  As she neared, he revved the engine to life,
nearly screaming with frustration as it sputtered and died, burst
to life, then sputtered and died again.  Just as Scully climbed up
into his lap, it finally started and held.  Wrapping one hand
around her, hugging her close, he maneuvered the bike towards
the broken gate.
 Scully let the machine gun hang loose on her shoulder
and grabbed onto him, holding on for dear life as they careened
toward the gate.  "Scully!" his voice screamed in her ear, his eyes
never leaving the road.  Turning her head, she saw the guard
running towards them from the gate, and she reached for the
machine gun.
 Mulder drove straight for the blue-clad, bulky man, the
headlights illuminating the insignia on his jacket, pushing the bike
to its top speed.  Shots rang out towards them as he fired,
causing Mulder to swing the bike sideways.  As the bike tipped to
its side, angling around the man, Scully opened fire, the gun's
recoil pressing her back against Mulder, his body absorbing the
shock from hers.
 Then they were through the gate and out on the open
road.  A quick glance over his shoulder, confirmed for Scully that
her shots had been true, and she sank back against Mulder with a
mix of relief and disbelief, exhaustion and elation, rushing
through her mind.
 Mulder pushed the bike hard, angling off on side roads
in order to avoid incoming police cars.  The route was slower,
but safer, and the ride was quick.  Less than a mile from the
hotel, they dove into the woods, pushing their way through the
underbrush until they had to get off the bike and push it.
 Just as they had reached the lake-shore that was their
goal, the ground rumbled, a loud distant roar thundering into the
night.  Even through the dense tree-tops they could see the flare
of light in the distance, and they both froze.
 After the initial sudden blast, things were quieter at this
distance, and the sound of their heaving lungs soon dominated
the night.  Then, moving almost like robots performing
programmed tasks, they tipped the motorcycle into the lake,
watching the watery mud bubble around it as it sank.  The guns
were dumped next, the heavy metal sinking quickly into the thick
mire.  Then they walked around the water's edge for nearly a mile
until they hit a path leading up towards the motel.  Moving like
shadows, they slipped into the bathroom window of the room,
and began to strip.
 The gloves and clothes went into the bathtub for a good
soaking in bleach.  They used the sink to scrub at their bodies
with soap and hot water, the cleansing done more for
psychological than physical reasons.  Neither had spoken a word
yet, neither knew what to say.  Finally, after drying themselves
with the courtesy towels, they washed the bleach away, replacing
it with a flood of water.  Then clothes were then left to drain,
while they went back into the main room without a word.
 Both were still stark-naked, and hardly concerned with
that fact.  Mulder sat himself on the edge of the bed with a sigh,
burying his face in his hands, while Scully went to the window
and using the drapes as a shield, stared out at the far-distant blaze
that lit up the night sky.  Shivering slightly, she hugged herself,
her eyes focused out of the window, as the tears began to flow
silently down her cheeks.
 Mulder noticed only the shaking of her shoulders, but he
was behind her in an instant.  "Scully...?" he closed his hands
around her shoulders.  His touch on her bare skin broke the final
barrier, and she broke into loud, convulsing sobs, pressing herself
into his embrace.
 "Scully..." he murmured against her hair, tightening his
grip on her.  Leaning his cheek against the top of her head, he
closed his eyes, squeezing out a few salty tears of his own.  In the
end there wasn't triumph, or even any satisfaction.  He felt sick
and shaky inside, and he could feel the grief that wracked her
body as it convulsed against him.
 They stayed in their embrace for a long time, until her
sobs lessened into a quieter weeping.  He swung her up into his
arms and carried her to the bed they had abandoned barely two
hours ago - though it seemed like a lifetime ago.  Sweeping the
covers aside, he laid her down gently on the mattress, brushing
the hair off her face tenderly.  As she felt him move away, she
reached for him, grasping onto his arms.  "No," she pleaded.
"Fox...."
 "I'm here," he said, getting into bed beside her, and
pulling the covers up over them both.
 She curled up against his side, twining her arms around
him. As she pressed her mouth against his cheek, she whispered.
"Make love to me, Fox."
 "Shhh," he replied, rolling his head over so that they
were face to face.  Bending closer he licked at her still moist
cheeks, tasting her tears, then he claimed her mouth with the heat
of his.
     - - - - -

 Where the sprawling, three story building, with its pink-
painted walls and massive glass panes had stood nestled in
flowering bushes, green lawns, and rows of trees, there was now
a scene of utter destruction.  A leveled pile of embers still
smoldered, overlain with a sparkling sheen of shattered glass.
Here and there, a piece of foundation still stood upright, or bent
at odd angles.  Bits and pieces were strewn for yards, some
barely recognizable, others charred and melted into a shapeless
blobs.  Men were sorting through the wreckage, crawling over it
like ants on spilled ice cream, picking up and discarding
fragments, one or two shouts ringing out when something even
possibly human was found.
 Mulder and Scully were both grim as they drove up to
the shattered gate.  A local police officer stopped them,
motioning them to park the car off the side of the road in
response to their badges.  Mulder eased the car behind a police
cruiser and shut off the engine in silence.  They exited the car in
unison, and walked briskly back towards the gate, nodding at the
officer who let them through without question, his young face
bearing a look of shocked disbelief.
 They edged around the chalk-lined spot where the last
guard's body had fallen, Scully shivering slightly as the memory
flashed before her eyes.  "You okay, Scully?" Mulder whispered
in her ear.
 "Yeah, Mulder, I'm fine." Her voice was steady, but her
eyes were haunted.  As they both strode forward to look at the
devastation they had wrought the night before, he rested a hand
on the small of her back - a slight touch - but it was enough.
They both knew what had to be done - the role they had to play.
Whatever regrets haunted their hearts and souls, the deed was
done.
 "Sheriff," Mulder called out to the tall, cadaverous man
they had met briefly the previous day.  When he approached
them, his sigh of irritation was nearly audible, his gaunt features
tightening as he came up beside them.
 Knowing that it was vital to take control, Mulder
challenged the other man first, his voice as sharp as a knife's
edge. "Why weren't we called immediately?"
 "We've been a bit busy, Agent..."  The sheriff
deliberately managed to forget the FBI man's name, having no
desire to deal with the Feds.  They had given him a headache the
day before, which was quickly erupting into a migraine.  It was
bad enough that he'd lost a friend in this disaster, the idea of
turning control of the investigation over to these two suits made
him furious.
 "What happened here, Sheriff?" Scully's voice was cool
and soft.  The sheriff rubbed the back of his neck and eyed her
for a moment.  Dressed in a perfectly-tailored black suit, with a
silky white blouse peeking underneath, her small feet were in
low-heeled black pumps, her bright red hair was bound up in a
tight chignon on the back of her head.  Cool and professional -
and obvious determined to interfere.
 Though if this was a terrorist bombing, he thought, then
maybe he ought to dump it off on this woman and her GQ-model
of a partner.  Let them pick up this mess....but no.  Jimmy had
been on duty here last night, his body still lost somewhere in the
ruins, and the sheriff was not about to leave the capturing of his
friend's killers to anyone else.
 They were both waiting for an answer, staring at him
like he was some kind of backwoods idiot.  Straightening his
back, the sheriff spoke up briskly, not bothering to hide the
hostility in his voice.
 "Near as we can tell someone broke in here, armed with
machine guns, and blew up the place.  We only just got the fire
under control less than an hour ago, so we haven't had time to
pull much out of it yet." He turned to look at the destruction
behind him, and added, with a touch of sadness.  "And I doubt
there'll be much left to find."
 Then he spun back to the two agents, his eyes
narrowing.  "What do you two know about this? Does it have
anything to do with your investigation?  If you knew that this
might happen..."
 "How were we supposed to know that?" Mulder shot
out, then his face shuttered, and he continued in a flat voice.
"We were investigating possible health and safety violations,
relating to the deaths of three scientists associated with Pink
Pharmaceuticals over the past year.  The evidence we needed was
most likely in there," he inclined his head towards the demolished
building.  "Without it, our investigation is at a stand-still..." He
let his voice trail off, leaving the implications open.  Had the
bomb been set to destroy the evidence?
 "What kind of violations?" the sheriff started to ask,
when he was interrupted by a loud voice.
 "Agent Mulder, Agent Scully!"  Both looked over their
shoulders, their stomachs sinking at the sight of the familiar man
striding towards them, thick and heavy with a large bald spot on
the top of his head, trailed by three more men, all in dark suits
and sunglasses, all with "FBI" practically branded on their
foreheads.
 Mulder and Scully exchanged quick glances of surprise,
then Mulder stepped forward.  Spaulding!" he said, with apparent
heartiness.  "Didn't know you had been reassigned to this part of
the country!"
 Spaulding glared up at the taller agent.  "I haven't been
reassigned" he started to explain, then broke off, and began
again.  "Agent Mulder," he said formally, "Assistant Director
Skinner wishes to see you and Agent Scully in his office as soon
as possible.  He assigned us to escort you there immediately."
 "Did he indeed?" Mulder muttered under his breath,
brow crinkling in concentration.  Well, actually not too
surprising, he considered, though Skinner must be REALLY mad
to send out the goon squad.  Mulder couldn't help feeling a touch
of amusement, however, wondering how Skinner would react if
he knew the truth...
 Spaulding bristled at the mischievous smile that broke
out on 'Spooky' Mulder's face. Did the man ever take anything
seriously? But before he could say another word, Scully broke in,
stepping up beside her partner briskly, eyeing the balding agent
with obvious distaste.  "If you hadn't noticed, Spaulding, we're in
the middle of a situation here.  We can't go running off to
Washington every time the A.D. snaps his finger, and still be
expected to get our job done."
 "Maybe not, Agent Scully," Spaulding replied, eyeing
her with a mix of frustrated desire and irritation.  "But the
Assistant Director was quite ADAMANT that you return
immediately."
 "That was before the bombing" Mulder argued, in his
most reasonable voice.  "I'm sure that once you explain what
happened, he'll understand. As soon as we have the situation here
under control, we'll report in."  They didn't really want to
postpone the return to Washington, but there was no way they
were going to roll over and play dead for Skinner, and certainly
not for Spaulding.  Besides, it would look funny if they gave in
too easily.
  Spaulding felt his stomach turn over, he was definitely
getting an ulcer, and getting chewed out by an angry A.D. over
some unstated trouble caused by these two had not helped.  And
if that weren't enough the A.D. had forced him to come play
baby-sitter to this pair of renegade agents, wasting his time and
that of three of his men, as though they didn't have anything
better to do than play fetch.  Not to mention appearing  as fools
in front of the local law enforcement, a member of which was
watching this exchange with obvious amusement.
 Mulder and Scully stood their ground, gazing at him
calmly, refusing to move an inch.  Both had encountered 'balding'
Spaulding before, and neither had any liking or respect for him.
Mulder was quietly branding the man a fool, Scully was
remembering with extreme distaste a pass he had made at her at
an Academy party.  The memory made her queasy, and she
favored Spaulding with her very best look of icy disdain.
 That was the last straw as far as he was concerned.
Ignoring the chuckles from the sheriff, he puffed himself up and
told them with ringing authority.  "The Assistant Director
instructed me to escort you back, and I quote 'either willingly or
hand-cuffed and hog-tied' unquote.  And he doesn't care which."
For the first time since the previous afternoon's session in
Skinner's office, Spaulding found himself able to smile.  Watching
them with a smug expression in his small, pale blue eyes, he
asked them triumphantly.  "Which will it be?"
 Mulder found that too good an opening to pass up.
Baring his teeth in a brilliant smile, he leaned down towards
Scully.  "Hmmm, what do you think, Scully? Feel like a little
bondage?"
 Though her face remained serious, her eyes sparkled as
she glanced consideringly from Mulder to Spaulding, and back
again.  "Ahhh, maybe later, Mulder.  IF you're a very good boy."
Tapping his cheek with a fingertip, she turned and walked away.
 Mulder shrugged and followed her towards the car,
leaving a gaping-mouthed Spaulding standing beside an openly
chuckling sheriff.
     - - - - -

 "What the hell did you two think you were doing!?!?"
Assistant Director Skinner raged at the two agents standing
defiantly in front of his desk.
 "Our jobs, Sir," Scully replied blandly.
 "Your jobs? I have no recollection of assigning you to
go around investigating Pink Pharmaceuticals! In fact, I have a
distinct memory of telling you to leave this alone, Agent Mulder."
Skinner was furious. He gave them orders for good reason.
When on earth was Mulder ever going to start listening?  Skinner
sighed at himself for thought - Mulder might listen when hell
froze over - but probably not a moment sooner.
 "The evidence was there, if we'd had more time we
could have gotten it!" Mulder protested, his hazel eyes blazing
with characteristic fervor.
 "We were close," Scully seconded.  "I'm certain that a
couple of the employees were ready to talk..."
 "Enough!" Skinner yelled.  He took a deep breath,
instantly bringing himself under control.  In a soft, but biting
tone, he continued.  "I told you to let this go for good reason.
Instead you disobeyed my direct order, disappeared from your
present assignment without warning, and then got involved with
the bombing of a prestigious pharmaceutical company."
 "Prestigious?" Mulder's voice dripped with sarcasm.
"Isn't deadly a better word."
 "The case involving the prison epidemic is closed Agent
Mulder. Finished. Do I make myself clear!"
 Mulder's face slammed shut, his eyes blazing, his jaw
clamping tight.  "Un-der-stood," he enunciated.  Beside him,
Scully nodded, her face betraying no emotion.
 "Good," Skinner replied, "Now how about explaining to
me how Pink Pharmaceuticals got burnt to the ground less than a
day after you two arrive in town."
 "I'd like an answer to that also," came a voice from the
shadows behind them.  Mulder and Scully both turned, their
expressions remaining closed and grim.
 "Perhaps, YOU could tell US," Mulder attacked angrily.
 The figure leaning back in its chair, shrugged.  "I wasn't
there, Agent Mulder.  But somehow, you were..."
 "I certainly hope you don't think WE had anything to do
with that, Sir." Scully turned to Skinner, speaking with sing-song
sincerity.  Skinner frowned, he'd heard that tone from her once
before, and he knew she'd been lying though her teeth.  But
surely, they couldn't...
 But before he could finish the train of thought, Mulder
interrupted.  "Blowing up buildings is hardly our style," he said
bitingly.  "And we lost our last chance of getting evidence to
prove Pink Pharmaceuticals involvement in infecting those
convicts when the building was destroyed.  Rather convenient,
don't you think?"  He threw a burning glance at the shadowed
man, then turned back towards Skinner.
 The FBI Assistant Director was not happy to admit it,
but Mulder had a point. Frowning, he glared at the annoying
intruder still seated in the corner, wishing there was a way to get
rid of him for good.  Unfortunately, that was only likely to occur
when Mulder was gone too, and despite the younger man's ability
to cause immense trouble wherever he went, Skinner still liked
him, more than he wanted to admit.  But protecting him was
getting more and more difficult - especially when he had to be
protected from himself.
 Seeing the uncertainty on her superior's face, Scully
quickly volunteered, "If you'd like us to go back and investigate
it, Sir, we'd be glad to go immediately."
 "NO!" Skinner insisted.  "If I find either one of you
within thirty miles of the place, I'll have you transcribing bank
fraud surveillance tapes for the next three months!" That threat
got the expected grimaces, and he sat back with some slight
satisfaction.  Still, he was definitely feeling uneasy.  But there
was nothing more he could do except to try to get them occupied
on something less likely to cause trouble.  Reaching for the top
file on his desk, barely glancing at the case identification, he
handed it out to Mulder.
 "Here, this is your next assignment," he growled.  "Now
get moving!"
 "Yes, Sir!" Mulder took the file in one hand, executing a
mockery of a military salute with the other.
 Without another word, Mulder and Scully walked
together out the door, though not without giving it a good, loud
slam behind them.
     - - - - -

 They headed for the external grounds of FBI
headquarters by unspoken agreement.  Ending up below the same
oak tree they had stood under only a few short days before, they
stood for a moment in complete silence.  Then Scully angled her
head up at her partner and commented as though she were
talking about the weather, "Looks like he bought it."
 "Yeah," Mulder answered.  Conversation died, and they
stood together in an uneasy silence.
 Finally, Scully broke the spell.  "It all seems so unreal.
Like I dreamed it."
 "I know," Mulder replied.  "But it was real."  He stared
pensively up at the building.  "I just wonder if we accomplished
anything."
 Scully wanted to tell him that they had accomplished a
lot, but the words stuck in her throat and wouldn't come out.
Had they done more than become criminals themselves?
Suddenly she wasn't so sure.  Six men were dead, a building lay
in ruins, and what did they have to show for it?  The satisfaction
of revenge?  Yes, there was a certain cold comfort in knowing
they had succeeding in damaging the enemy, but how much, and
for how long?  Instead of triumph, they were left with empty
questions, no answers - in effect right back where they started.
 No, she told herself, not back where they had begun.
They had both learned a lot about themselves, about their own
capabilities, about their own internal darkness.  They had lost
what had remained of their innocence.  A tear found its way
down her cheek, and she brushed it away with the back of her
hand.
 Then she glanced up at Mulder's grimly-set, beautifully-
carved features, focused intently on the air between them and the
building, and felt a small rush of warmth.  At least they had each
other; they were committed utterly and without reservation, all
the barriers broken down.  She knew they would suffer for what
they had done, probably for the rest of their lives, that neither
would ever be the same again, but as long as he was with her, she
knew she could handle it.  As long as they were together, they
could handle anything.
 Reaching out to twine her fingers through his, feeling his
hand convulse around hers, gripping it tightly, she allowed herself
a faint smile.  "Come on, Mulder," she said.  "We've got work to
do."
 Side-by-side they walked back into the building, the
small manila file folder tucked haphazardly under Mulder's arm, a
grainy photo peeking out of the corner, exposing the battered and
bloody face of a teenage girl.
     - - - - -

  Skinner winced at the sound of the slamming door, then
advanced on the seated figure.  "I had better not find out that you
or your people were involved in that bombing..." he threatened.
 Standing up lazily, the other man smiled menacingly.
"Save the threats, Assistant Director.  We had nothing to do with
it."  He strode for the door, opened it, then paused and turned.
"The question remains, just how much did Mulder and Scully
have to do with it."  He turned and left.
 Skinner sat back down on his desk, reaching under his
wire-rimmed glasses to rub at his eyes in exhaustion.  "How
much indeed?"  His mind ran in circles, nauseau rising in his
throat, then he shut his thoughts down fiercely. It just wasn't
possible, he told himself firmly, not Mulder and Scully.
Dismissing his doubts, he reached for the next unsolved case on
his desk, opened the file and began to read.

The End.