by Martha
marthalgm@yahoo.com
 

Date: Mon, 13 Aug 2001

The characters contained in this story are the creative
property of FOX Broadcasting and 1013 Productions and are
used without their permission.

Classific:  V
Rating:     R - for swearing
Spoilers:   DeadAlive & Three Words (US8)
Summary:    The Lone Gunmen are told the news of Mulder -
            missing scenes from DeadAlive and TINH.

~~~

Hope Abandoned / Hope Redeemed
by Martha
marthalgm@yahoo.com
 

Lone Gunmen Headquarters
11:15pm

As Doggett stepped out of the car, he knew - he *just* knew
- that this little excursion to the outskirts of DC had
taken a weird turn.  He did not imagine that motion
detectors and security cameras were the norm in this area of
dilapidated warehouses.  "She did tell me these guys were
odd," he whispered out loud and was then suddenly self-
conscious that perhaps microphones were also standard
equipment for them.

As he approached the door, he ignored the whirring sound of
the camera movement and pressed the buzzer.  After a brief
pause with no response, he buzzed them again.  After another
moment, he yelled out an `hello' just in case there were
voice detectors out of his range of sight.

Frohike heard the commotion coming from the front of the
offices and headed for the door to find out what was going
on.  He found Langly already at the front door, eyeing the
monitor but making no move to communicate with their visitor
or to let him in.  "Who's out there?"

"It's Agent Doggett."  Langly looked over his shoulder back
at Frohike.  "Did someone give him directions here?"

"Not me.  Maybe Byers."  Frohike noticed that Langly was
still not making a move to acknowledge their visitor.  "We
know Agent Doggett.  He doesn't bite, so open up."

"But he's FBI."

This struck Frohike as odd.  "Scully's FBI.  And so's
Mulder."

"And he was with the Marines."

"As was Skinner, and you've let him in."  Frohike took a few
more steps towards the door.  "What does any of this
matter?"

"But he used to be a cop."

"Langly . . ."

"A New York *City* cop, Frohike."

"Langly!"

"What are you doing?"  Byers had snuck up behind Frohike and
had observed the last half of the exchange between his
partners and noted Doggett's growing impatience on the other
side of the door.  "Would you let him in?" he scolded.

Langly was still on the whiny track.  "Oh, all right."

Doggett was surprised to be facing all three Lone Gunmen as
the door opened and wondered if this was standard procedure
with them and if it was why it took so long to gain
admittance.  He began thinking that perhaps there was some
sort of imaging device that he had passed through that
needed to be reviewed.  She did warn me, he reminded
himself.

He followed Byers' lead into the Gunmen's warehouse, his
eyes taking in a 180-degree view at the variety of equipment
and general upheaval that he had just entered.  Doggett
sharply turned around as he heard Frohike begin to reset all
the locks behind him.  "All hope abandon, ye who enter
here," he muttered under his breath.

Frohike overheard him.  "It may look like hell, but we call
it home."

Langly brought up the rear.  "Out slumming?"

"No, Langly.  It's . . ."  Doggett paused, unsure of how to
begin this conversation.

Byers prompted him.  "I take it that this is not a social
call?"

"Correct.  Agent Scully mentioned that she would need to
talk with you, but I convinced her that a phone call was
probably not appropriate at this time.  So I took it upon
myself to come on over."

"Not appropriate?"  Frohike looked his two partners and then
glared back at Doggett.  "Where's Scully?"

Uncertain as to how this trio would take the news and unable
to face them directly, Doggett began pacing beside one of
the work tables.  "We were in Montana.  We were checking out
some leads . . ."

"Just spit it out, man."  Langly was getting bored with the
drawn out sentences.  "What's with the dramatics?"

Doggett's pacing came to an abrupt stop, and he let the
punchline slip out.  "Mulder's dead."  He could feel their
eyes burning a hole in his chest, but he could not look up
at them.  He needed to start over from the beginning.  "We
found several of the people that were listed as missing from
that place . . . Bellefleur, Oregon.  We found them through
this group."

"Wait a fucking minute."  Frohike's voice reverberated among
the metal shelving surrounding them.  "What do you mean
`Mulder's dead'?"

Doggett's voice was soft in comparison.  "We found Mulder
last night.  Out in a middle of the woods while we were
questioning these people at this camp.  We came across his
body."

"It's not him."  Langly was not buying into this and his
insistence grew.  "It can't be him."

"Both Agent Scully and Assistant Director Skinner have ID'd
him.  We have a fingerprint match."  Doggett finally turned
to the three, hoping to make them understand.  "Guys, this
is no joke.  I hate to be the one that had to come out here
and tell you this, but it's him.  It *is* Fox Mulder."

Langly was still not believing any of this.  "Montana?  We
haven't gotten any reports from there in a few days.  Do you
think . . ."

"Frohike, are you all right?" Doggett interrupted, shaking
his head.  "You don't look so good."

Byers turned to look back at Frohike.  While he and Langly
had approached Doggett during the last few exchanges,
Frohike had not moved.  Byers noticed the sudden paleness in
his face and the glazing over of his eyes and rushed to his
side.  "Damn it, Frohike, don't you faint on us now."
Grabbing him by the arms, he pulled Frohike over towards the
couch.  "Sit over here, and put your head between your
knees.  Langly, go the kitchen and soak some of the dish
towels in cool water and bring them back here."  He looked
back up at Doggett and began to gently massage Frohike's
shoulders. "Tell us about Montana."

Frohike abruptly sat up and began another tirade.  "Christ,
he can fucking explain Montana later," he screamed at Byers
before turning his attention towards Doggett.  "Where the
hell is Scully?"

"Frohike, calm down or you're going to work yourself into
that heart attack you're always warning us about."

"Who gives a shit?" Frohike again raged at Byers and then
tried to move off of the couch to confront their visitor.
"Where is she?  Who's looking after her?"

"Right now, Assistant Director Skinner is driving her over
to her mother's."  Doggett sat down on the couch to reassure
the Gunman and to keep him still.  "Don't worry, Frohike.
She's not being left alone."

"How is Agent Scully right now, Agent Doggett?"  Byers was
hesitant in his delivery.

"About as you'd expect.  She's . . . she's got a lot of
grieving to do."  Unaware as to whether or not Scully had
informed this group of her pregnancy, he decided to leave it
at that.  He noticed that Langly had rejoined the group and
had handed off on the damp towels to Byers.  "When was the
last time any of you guys talked with her?"

Byers folded the towel into a square and placed it on the
back of Frohike's neck.  "It's probably been about two weeks
now.  We hadn't really had any news for her and, um, we know
that the two of you have other cases to work."

"Yeah.  So listen, I know you guys are gonna have a lot of
questions and I think that, to a certain extent, Skinner and
I can give you the answers.  But I know that Agent Scully is
going to want to have a talk with you guys about what's
happened the past couple of days, but I just don't think
that the next day or two would be good for that.  Give her
some time to get through this."

"We're not complete Neanderthals."  Frohike's speech level
was returning to what passed for normal.  "No matter what
Skinner tells you."

"The funeral . . ."  Doggett started to stand up at this
point, perhaps a bit too quickly.  He reminded himself that
he had had little sleep in the past few days and needed time
not only to rest but to digest exactly what had brought him
to this warehouse in the first place.  "The funeral is going
to be in North Carolina, towards the end of the week.  I'll
make sure that you get the details."

Byers wiped the dampness of his hand off on his trousers
before offering it in a handshake to their visitor.  "We
appreciate that, Agent Doggett.  And for coming by to tell
us."

 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

U S Naval Hospital
Annapolis, MD
Three months later

Frohike started in again with the questions after the
elevator doors closed.  "Tell me again why we're here?"

"Scully didn't say."  Byers eyed the lit floor numbers above
the door.  "She only said that she was at the hospital and
that we needed to get over here."

"She's just started her last trimester - she can't be in
labor already."  Frohike liked to believe that he would be
prepared for when Scully's time came, but he was growing
nervous with the uncertainty.

"No one said anything about Scully being in labor."  Byers
put a hand on his shoulder.  "Calm down, Frohike.  She
wouldn't drag us out here without a good reason."

"I don't understand.  Why Annapolis?  Why are we having to
go to some military hospital?"  There was no placating the
oldest Gunman.  "Scully never said anything before about
going to Annapolis."

"She'll tell us when we get upstairs."

"This doesn't feel right.  There's something about this that
just isn't right."

"Listen."  Byers knew that he was fighting a losing battle
in this one, but he tried to make his point.  "Scully called
us, right?  She got us passes to get us through the gates,
got us parking, and we've got our clearances to get right on
through."

Langly was picking up on Frohike's paranoia.  "Yeah, a
little too perfect, if you know what I mean."

"Well, we'll know in a minute," Byers sighed as the elevator
stopped and the doors opened.

They made a right-hand turn as directed and spotted Agent
Scully walking towards them.  The security desk downstairs
had said that they would notify her that the Gunmen were on
their way upstairs.  When the three got closer to her,
however, their concern for why they were called to the
hospital was replaced by their concern for Scully's tired
appearance.

Byers reached her first.  "Scully, when was the last time
you slept?"

"You look like you've been crying."  Langly still had a long
way to go in his lessons in tact, the other two noted.

Scully managed a tired smile for them.  "For once, no one
can blame this on my condition."

"Come on, Scully, what's wrong?"  Frohike was growing
impatient with not knowing the nature the summons.  "You
wouldn't drag us all the way over here for something
trivial.  Spill it."

Langly had one last smartass remark in his pocket.  "Yeah,
you've got Frohike all worried here."

Frohike could have been knocked over with a touch when
Scully reached for his hand and gently tugged on it.  He saw
tears swelling up in her eyes, probably for the tenth time
that day by the looks of it, he thought.  "Scully, what's
wrong?" he whispered.

She did not answer, only tugged at his hand once again and
with a slight shift of her head, indicated for him and the
others to follow.  Two, then three turns later, having never
let go of Frohike's hand, she finally stopped outside of a
door and turned back towards them.  "It's the most wonderful
thing, really," she finally spoke before giving the door a
push open.

The first person the Gunmen saw upon entering was Skinner,
who nodded at them and waved them in towards the middle of
the room.  It wasn't until the group got nearer to the
Assistant Director and away from all the machinery that were
blocking the beds that they could see the lone patient
occupying the room.

"Oh, dear lord," Frohike hoarsely whispered.

"Is that Mulder?"  Byers' voice duplicated Frohike's tone,
though at a higher pitch.

Skinner was unaware that the Gunmen had not been informed
about Mulder's `reappearance' and subsequent
hospitalization.  He turned to Scully.  "You didn't tell
them?"

"I didn't know how."  Her voice could barely be heard above
the humming noise coming from the equipment.

The Gunmen cautiously made their way to the bed, wanting to
get close enough to touch Mulder for themselves, to feel the
blood pulsing through his veins, but were collectively
afraid that the image in front of them would disappear in a
puff of smoke as if a joke were being played on them.  "Is
it really him?  Mulder?" Byers would finally ask.

"Yes."  Scully wanted to add more but was choking on her own
tears.

Langly finally found his voice.  "Is he in a coma?"

Skinner looked first to Scully to see if she would be able
to answer them before proceeding.  "He's come to for an hour
at a time.  Mainly he's just sleeping.  The doctors fully
expect him to return to being his old pain-in-the-ass self
in the next thirty-six hours."

"How?"  Byers turned to the Assistant Director, wanting to
ask more but the emotion of the moment overwhelmed him.

"It's a long story, and we've got plenty of time."  Skinner
headed towards the door and waved to the others to follow
suit.  "How about some coffee?"

Byers took another look back at Mulder before joining him at
the door.  "You buying?"

Langly stepped around one of the machines, then turned to
give a tug on Frohike's jacket before heading toward the
door.  "Come on.  He'll still be here when we get back."

"Mulder?  Stay put?  That'll be the day.  This guy can't
even stay buried."  As soon as those words left Frohike's
lips, he turned to see Scully staring straight at him and
was suddenly ashamed.  "I'm sorry, Scully.  I didn't mean
that."

She nodded in return.  "I know, I know."  She gathered
Frohike in her arms, or as much of him as her growing
pregnancy would allow, and hugged him.  "I'm sorry that I
didn't give you any warning about this.  Every time I tried
to think of the words - when I tried to pick up the phone to
call you - I just couldn't . . ."

"It's okay, Scully.  This was a . . . a good surprise."
Frohike could feel her begin to pull away.  "Just don't do
this to me again any time soon, all right?" he gently
teased.

She shooed him towards the door.  "Deal.  Now, go on;
they're waiting."

Frohike was still in a daze as he left the room and barely
noticed that the others were waiting for him just outside -
each and every one of them with a smile on their lips and
more than a few questions on the tip of their tongues.
Frohike shook his head at them all, dismissing their know-
it-all looks, and headed for the elevators.  "I need a
drink."

The rest called out in unison, "You buying?"
 

end