By lee burwasser
lee46b@gateway.net or lburwasser@crs.loc.gov
 

Date: Mon, 29 Jan 2001 11:09:15 -0500
Rating -    PG for pregnancy and how it happens
                  mostly noromo-safe, but some bumps
                  Doggett-neutral
Category -  S
Spoilers -  Requiem, In/Out, earlier snippets
Summary  -  further adventures of Mulder Minus Mouth
Archive    - anywhere, with the usual provisos
Feedback   - sure
Disclaimer - Kersh and Doggett belong to CC;
     Skinner, Maggie & tLG ought by rights belong to M&W;
     CC probably claims Scully and Mulder by right of genesis,
     but the way he abuses them, custody should go to the Wongs.

AUTHOR's NOTEs: are long-ish -- sorry about that

I don't do WIP, but this time I made an exception, since
we're due for spoiled fish -- er, spoilers -- this coming
weekend.  I do know where this story's going.  Promise.

This story follows }It's Me{, but can be read separately.
Lines in }reverse braces{ are verbal descriptions of nonverbal
reactions.

A lawyer I'm not, just an InterNet surfer.  I know everything
goes much faster here than it ever would in real life.  If I
get something else ludicrously wrong, blame my ignorance of
legalese.

Regarding *t*h*e* *P*r*e*g*n*a*n*c*y*:  As we all know, Carter
and his stable ignore context, continuity and facts, but that's
all fanwriters have to work with.  Since Scully was not horrified
at the pregnancy, we must deduce that there was at least a
possibility of it happening the low-tech way.  This does not
preclude aliens or clones, or offcamera lovers either, but
complication for the sake of complication is a bad idea.  So for
this piece I'm keeping it simple.  And since I've restored
Scully's guts, spine and brains, she had the tests done as soon as
possible, quite likely before she was far enough along to show.
 
 

Quis Custodiet (1/?)
by Lee Burwasser  <lee46b@gateway.net>
 

DAY ONE

A man could get used to this, reflected Special Agent John Doggett,
stretching his legs.  Better not, though.

He had, in fact, no work-related reason to upgrade to first class
for the flight back, unless he was going to confess a hunch that
he might be needed when Agent Mulder got mischevious on the boring
flight.  He glanced across the aisle and forward a row as Agent
Scully got out of her seat for another trip to the rest room,
giving her partner a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder.

Partner.  She'd never called Doggett a temp to his face, but now
that her real partner was back, there was no disguising it.  He
studied Mulder, sitting up straight in the seat and watching
anxiously where Scully had disappeared from his sight.  Maybe,
with all the trips she'd have to make and the way he worried
each time, he wouldn't have a chance to get mischevious after
all.

He wore his own clothes.  Scully had mentioned in passing that
Skinner had brought Mulder's luggage back with him; simple
deduction filled in her laundering, repacking and storing it
against his return.  Very different from her treatment of the
temp: a temper to match her flaming hair.

No, that wasn't fair.  She'd been a good partner, mostly.  She
just flared up sometimes.  Like when he told her she wasn't
going to Oregon.  And when he mentioned her condition.  OK, he
was no profiler, but it was a transcontinental flight, and
there was plenty of time to pass.

Start with the obvious: a woman in law enforcement.  It's not
paranoia if they really are out to get you; there would always be
local cops and federal agents just waiting for her to fail.  It
would take time for her to come to trust a male colleague.  Seven
years, maybe.  (Too long to be partnered.  The Bureau knew what it
was doing when it shuffled personnel around.  Only who would you
shuffle into the basement?  My aching back.)

And let's not forget that first impressions are lasting.  Whenever
he tried to keep her from going in search of Mulder, he became
Kersh's fink in her eyes, the task force leader who'd searched in
D.C. for a man gone missing in Oregon, ignoring a mass kidnapping
to make a case for voluntary AWOL.  No, she wasn't going to forget
that he'd tried to make her doubt Mulder and Mulder's trust; a sin
against trust was deadly in her catechism.

So what about the other?  The way she'd gone on about consulting
specialists whose training and experience entitled them to a voice
in her decision?  OK, she was an MD and didn't like being
second-guessed by laymen.  There were still hormones in that
reaction, whether she admitted it or not.  And no matter how many
Assistant Directors and male doctors backed her up.

#
Cascade of pictures:

}other big cabins, lots of people{
}more cramped leg space{
}Herself{
#

The plane snaked down the Potomac River with its engines on
half-power, and Scully tried not to picture it ditching before it
ever reached National Airport.  Damn it, sheer physics said the
place was too small to land these big liners!  *Hail Mary, full
of grace . . .*

Whether by skilled piloting or Our Lady's intervention, the plane
made a safe landing and the three agents piled out to reclaim their
luggage and debate transport.  A somewhat hesitant "Agent Scully?"
brought their attention to what would have been a Poster Yuppie, if
his face hadn't matched the uncertainty of his voice.

"I'm Agent Scully," she said, showing her ID.  "These are Agents
Fox Mulder and John Doggett.  And you are?"

"I-I'm John Thompson, of Lippsett and Gregson.  Arnold Lippsett
told me to find a short redhead with a tall brunette, and tell
them that Curtis Danford says their case should be expedited.
Mr Lippsett is waiting to expedite."

"Have you a car here?" said Scully.

"Oh, yes."

"Good.  Wait one."  She got out her cellphone and hit the speed
dial.  After a moment, she said, "Sir?"  Then, "We're at National
Airport.  A Mr John Thompson, of Lippsett and Gregson, has offered
to take us to Mr Arnold Lippsett, who claims the acquaintence of
Mulder's family lawyer.  May we defer making our report until this
is taken care of?"  After a bit: "Thank you, sir."

She turned off the cell phone and put it away, giving Thompson a
look that a more experienced man would have read as: Someone's
expecting us, and knows where to start looking if we're overdue.
 Thompson clearly missed the nuances, but caught the menace; he
timidly waved the rumpled and sweaty agents toward the parking
lot.

A silent ride brought them to a stereotypic old-fashioned law
office, where an older man waved Mr Thompson back to whatever
he'd dropped to go fetch them.  This man did indeed turn out to
be Arnold Lippsett.

#
}polished wood{
}smell of leather{
}different man, tweeds{
#

Something about the office touched off Mulder's Continental
manners.  He carefully seated Scully in the chair directly across
from Lippsett's, and drew the one beside it closer to hers.
Doggett, left to his own devices, grabbed a chair and plunked it
and then himself down on Scully's other side.

Mr Lippsett said, "Curtis didn't mention Agent Doggett."

"He doesn't know him," said Scully.  "Agent Doggett was in the
search team that found Agent Mulder."  She wasn't about to mention
that she'd rather have him as a witness to this than debriefed
alone with Skinner and possibly Kersh.

"I see," said Lippsett.  Abandoning Doggett, he glanced briefly
at Mulder, then back to Scully, and said, "Curtis tells me that
Fox--"

"Mulder," Scully said politely, even if she did interrupt.

"Excuse me?"

"He prefers to be called 'Mulder.'  He makes exceptions for old
family connections and women old enough to be his mother."  Nor
was she going to mention the *other* exceptions.

"I see," said Lippsett again.  "--that Mulder is going to need
more protection than his durable power of attorney for health
care, which I understand you hold."

"Yes," said Scully.  "Until his condition improves, he's going
to need a guardian."

"Ah . . . you expect it to improve?"

"We have no way of knowing.  We have to plan on it being
permanent, while working to undo it."

"Yes.  Contingencies.  Yes, well . . .  Curtis tells me that you
intend to petition for guardianship."

"Of his person.  I'm a doctor, I can take care of him.  I'm not a
lawyer or an accountaint; I hope Mr Danford will be willing to
become guardian of the estate."

"Conservator," Lippsett corrected her.  "In Virginia, the guardian
is the one who looks after the person, the conservator looks after
the estate."

"Conservator.  Thank you."

Lippsett opened the folder on the desk in front of him and handed
Scully a letter from Curtis Danford on the letterhead of StMartin,
Danford and Fergusson.  It was a semiformal confirmation of a
phone conversation concerning one Fox William Mulder.

"Curtis sent the necessary information from his end, so we just
need your input and we can make a fair copy and file the
petition."  Lippsett waited until she finished the letter and
handed it back to him, then handed her a typewritten list, and
pushed a legal pad and pen across the desk.  "Mostly its
addresses and the like, so the court can find you."

"Thank you," said Scully again, and studied the list.  She began
writing her 'input' on the pad.  When she reached the 'three
relatives' requirement, she said, "I hope Mr Danford was able to
locate relatives.  I know that Mulder's parents are dead, and his
sister is missing and presumed dead."

"Yes," said Lippsett, "there are cousins in New England."

A bit later, she said, "Do you want to copy my copy of his durable
power of attorney, or wait for a copy of the original?"

"If it's a photocopy, that will do.  Shall I have my secretary copy
it now?"

"Yes, that would be good," said Scully.  She produced and carefully
unfolded the photocopy that had traveled with her so far.  Lippsett
called in his secretary, a Ms Bennett, and entrusted it to her.

Scully set down the pen and folded her hands on the legal pad.
Lippsett came alert, clearly realising they had come to the crux
of the issue.

Scully began, "Agent Mulder has lost the ability to communicate
his decisions, not his ability to make them.  He is
incapactitated, not incompetent."

"Perhaps if you would describe his incapacity . . .?"

"Global aphasia.  He cannot speak or understand speech, nor can
he read or write.  He can still communicate nonverbally, and he
has been under a speech therapist's care while in Oregon to
learn to do it better.  One of the first things I will do now
that we're home is find a local replacement."

"It sounds as though it would be very hard to ascertain his
decision-making ability."

Scully frowned.  "It is, but every indication is that his
intellect and understanding are unimpaired."

Lippsett frowned at the folder.  "Describe his incapacity as
precisely as you can.  Since the purpose of the hearing is to
ascertain just what his limits are, I think we can depend on
the judge going into the matter as necessary."

Scully looked at him doubtfully, but picked up the pen and
continued writing.  It took two sides of legal paper before
she glanced at the list again.  Native language was simple
enough, but: "Mode of communication is going to be
troublesome."

"You say he's been under a speech therapist's care?"

"Yes.  She recommended some local colleagues to check out."

"We may have to ask whoever you settle on to attend the
hearing."

"I'll remember that."  Scully finished the list, set down
the pen and passed the pad back to Lippsett.  The list she
put in her briefcase.  "What happens when this is filed?"

Lippsett put the pages Scully had written into the folder,
pulled out another page, closed the folder, called in his
secretary again and passed it to her.  The lone page he
passed to Scully.

"When Ms Bennett gets the final draft typed, and the
signatures are in place, we send it to the circuit court.
They set a hearing, and appoint a guardian ad litem to
do a preliminary investigation, serve notice, and
generally represent Mulder's interests.

"You serve Mulder with notice of the hearing, a copy of
your petition, and the order for the guardian ad litem.
There's a formula in there--" he tapped the lone page he
had given her-- "for some of the things the notice has to
say.  Somehow, you have to make him understand what it
means and how important it is.

"You also mail a copy of the notice and of the petition
to every person and every corporate entity mentioned in
the petition, at least seven days before the hearing.
When you've done all that, you file a statement of
compliance with the court.

"Meanwhile, the court has an independent evaluation
report made, and then we finally have the hearing."

The agents borrowed Lippsett's washroom while waiting
for the fair copy.  Still travel-worn, they were not
quite as rumpled as when they left the plane.

Scully signed the original of the petition and took
charge of her copy and Mulder's, asking Lippsett for a
colorful marker.  He gave her a bright blue one.
Calling Mulder's attention to what she was doing, she drew
a blue square on the upper right corner of his copy.  He
tapped the square and nodded.  She showed him where in her
briefcase she was putting it.

"I'll put it with the other important papers from his
apartment," she told Lippsett.  "That should tell him how
significant it is."

#

AD Skinner stared at the conference table in his office,
where DD Kersch was once more reading Scully's preliminary
report.  It was a relief to tell Kim "Send them in."  Through
the door came three decidedly travel-worn agents: Scully in the
lead; Mulder with his hand at the small of her back; Doggett
bringing up the rear.

Skinner heard his voice say, "Mulder," before he realised he had
spoken.  Scully moved aside and he put out his hand to the
returned agent.  A barely perceptable pause, and Mulder took his
hand.  "Good to have you back."  The hazel eyes were searching his
face.  For what?

He stepped back and waved them to the conference table.  They sat
on the side opposite Kersh, leaving the head of the table for him.
Polite pretence that Kersh hadn't deliberately usurped his turf.

He addressed Scully.  "You've got him.  And the rest of the . . .
captives?"

"All were returned," she said, "spread over a couple of acres of
forest.  Rescue dogs found them easily.  They had clearly been
mistreated during their captivity, but rest and food took care
of that."  She laid a hand on Mulder's arm where it rested on the
table and finished, "Only Mulder had additional . . . damage."

"Will he recover?"

"We don't know.  Niether Dr Reid nor Dr Vincent could find any
mention in the literature of Mulder's precise condition."

Kersh asked sourly, "Why am I not surprised?"

Scully locked eyes with him long enough to say, *Because you know
this is not the usual kidnapping, sir,* before turning back to
Skinner.  "Aphasia is caused by damage to the brain, usually from
a stroke, though a tumor can do it, or of course external trauma.
But no test, including CAT scan, MRI and PET scan, shows any damage
to Mulder's linguistic areas.  They metabolise normally, maintain
themselves normally, but they don't activate.  Dr Vincent likens it
to a metabolic padlock.  We have no data on which to make any
prediction.  We don't even know time of onset, closer than 'some
time during his captivity'."

"Might it be connected?" Skinner asked.

"If they did it intentionally, they know far more neurology than we
do, and they're a bunch of sadistic bastards," said Scully.
"Neither of which is exactly news."

"They?" said Kersh in a quelling voice.

Scully refused to be quelled.  "Until now, sir, we have not had
enough evidence to argue AWOL versus MIA.  But unless you are ready
to argue coincidence, or some magical power, by which Mulder not
only vanished along with the Bellefleurans but turned up again in
the same time and place, the only conclusion is that he was
kidnapped along with them, endured captivity with them, and is now
returned along with them.

"Now, the Bellefleurans have described the man we know as the
Bounty Hunter.  A couple of them describe him as twins.  The Bounty
Hunter has never worked for the Consortium, but they have on
occasion been allied, or at least horse-traded.  The Consortium's
technology is not that far ahead of ours, but we have no idea what
technology the Bounty Hunter or his team commands."

"Could it be hysterical?" was Kersh's surprising contribution.

"Like hysterical blindness?  Unlikely sir," said Scully.  "If that
were the case, the linguistic areas of the brain would activate
normally.  It certainly merits further study, but it's not a very
likely candidate."

Kersh nodded dismissively.  "What was it you accomplished with
. . .  Mr Lippsett, was it?"

"Mr Arnold Lippsett, yes, sir.  Mulder's lawyer, Mr Danford, told me
that he and his partners exchange occasional favors with Lippsett
and Greggson, expediting paperwork and filing and so on.  With the
information Mr Danford sent Mr Lippsett, we put together a
petition for guardianship to file with the circuit court."

"You think you're up to it?" asked Kersh, staring pointedly at her
swollen belly.

"Yes, sir, I do."

Good for Scully.  But that was enough harrassment.  Skinner asked,
"What else is immediately necessary for Mulder?"

"He needs to see a speech-language therapist to expand his nonverbal
communication.  His therapist in Oregon gave me some recommendations.
He will need a medical ID card, probably custom-designed, since most
aphasics are either stroke or brain-trauma survivors.  Whatever
therapist we settle on should be able to help there.  Aside from
that, we'll just have to wait upon events."

"All right.  You can start on that while Agent Doggett starts the
report.  You can add the medical material later."  He stood,
dismissing the agents, who filed out the door.

Kersh remained seated.  "And now I suppose you want Mulder's
benefits restored."

"Retroactively.  Unless you think you can refute Agent Scully's
interpretation of the evidence."

"How did Agent Scully keep up the rent on his apartment?"

"His lawyer allowed her access to his emergency fund."

"Hmp."  Kersh now stood.  "At least that finishes the alien
abduction nonsense."

"'Til next time."

"There will be no next time.  The Bureau will not get involved in
this nonsense again."  And Kersh strode out.  Skinner returned to
his desk and dug out the paperwork for restoring Mulder's leave
and health benefits.  They needed only the date and signitures.
 
 

[continued in part 2]

Quis Custodiet (2/?)
by Lee Burwasser  <lee46b@gateway.net>

disclaimed in part 1
 

(Day One continued)

Scully sighed and leaned against her apartment door to close it.
They had grabbed a quick shower and change (and bathroom break)
on the way from the Hoover building to Georgetown U, but she still
felt like last week's leftovers.  And she needed to pee again.

She opened her eyes, to the amaising sight of Mulder actually hanging
up his coat, in the closet.  He turned to her, coat hanger in hand;
she slid out of hers and handed it over with a smile of thanks before
breaking for the bathroom.  Damn pregnancy -- and gravity -- and
evolution.

Mulder waited for her in the living room and followed her into the
kitchen.  She held up a choice of tea bag and packet of chocolate.
He looked puzzled, enlightened, then sympathetic, and chose tea.  Yeah,
Mulder, she thought as she nuked their mugs in the microwave, I would
kill for coffee.  Damn pregnancy.

Ensconced on the couch with her own mug of tea (herbal, of course),
she looked back over their productive, if exhausting day.  Petition
filed -- get out Mulder's 'weak box' (it wasn't strong enough to be
called a strong box, he'd explained) and put his copy into it -- and
speech therapist chosen.  Carl Suomonen got along with Mulder, and had
a slot free for twice-weekly sessions.  Half of which Scully would also
be attending; tell Skinner tomarrow.  The order for Mulder's medical ID
card was in the works, though a custom-designed card would of course
take longer than a standard one to arrive.  She put her emptied mug on
the coffee table and grabbed the cordless phone.

Mulder put down his own mug and unceremoniously scooped her feet up and
onto the couch.  It felt too good to argue, except for her weapon
digging
into her back.  She pulled it out and tucked it under the cushions,
close to hand, giving Mulder time to  reclaim his former seat and pat his
thigh in invitation.  She settled her head in his lap and dialed.

"Lone Gunmen."

"It's me, Byers. Turn off the tape."

"Agent Scully!  You-- where are you?  Is he with you?"

She heard the click that meant she was on speakerphone.  "We're back
home.
Mulder's with me, and we'll have to talk about -- well, several things
--"

"No," said Frohike.  "You put your feet up if they aren't already.
We'll be over to check security and sweep for bugs, we'll talk after that.  You
two had dinner yet?"

"Not yet."  She had been dreading the need to get up and make something.

"We'll bring it.  We're on our way."  And the phone clicked off.

Scully stared at her cordless, reflecting why Frohikie's take-charge
didn't piss her off the way Doggett's did.  Besides knowing Frohike a lot
better.
He was demanding the Gunmen's place in the investigation, not denying hers.
Simple, really.

She made a long arm to replace the phone but couldn't quite reach.
Mulder made a longer arm and put it on the table.  They both settled back.

She would soon have to cut back to desk work in any case.  Now that
Mulder was back, she was willing to do it tomorrow, if Skinner asked.  Or take
family leave; as Kersh had so crudely indicated, looking after Mulder
was going to take some work.

She must have zoned out, for the fumbling noises at her door to startle
her so.  No doubt the Gunmen, testing the security by trying to pick the
lock, but she drew her weapon from under the cushion all the same.

At last the door gave a normal click and swung open.  Frohike looked
down the barrel of her SIG and nodded approval.  As she tucked the weapon
back under the cushions, he pushed the door further open to admit Byers and
the takeout cartons.

"Langly's checking out the back," said Byers as he carefully transferred
his load to the coffee table.

"Byers made the carryout clerk's day," Frohike said.  "He gave her his
patented bewildered-innocent smile --  Show them."

Byers mock-glared at him, then turned to Scully with his 'Perhaps you
can straighten me out?' look and said with a sort of timid determination,
"We're visiting a couple who are expecting.  Nothing fried, nothing
breaded, no fat meats."

"Whereupon," Frohike continued his narrative, "she got out a menu and
went into dietition mode.  What she finally recommended is a Caesar salad--"
setting a carry-out box in front of Scully -- "with a *light* sauce--"
putting the packet on top -- "camomile tea to settle the digestion--"
holding up a tea bag in each hand before depositing them next to the
rest-- "and a fruit cup for desert."  To Byers: "Where's the chill bag?"

"Here," said Byers, handing it to him.

Frohike took it and bowed to Scully.  "Might we borrow refrigerator
space?"

"Of course," she said, smiling broadly at the performance.

While Frohike was in the kitchen, Langly came in, reporting "All clear
out back.  As well as a house this old can be," and began to disassemble her
cordless in search of bugs.  Frohike came back in and took the back off
the TV, while Byers used some gizmo to sweep the walls.

"Your dinners will get cold!" Scully protested.

"Won't take long to do this room," said Byers.  "We've been sweeping
regularly.  We can put on some background music to disrupt anything in
the other rooms, sweep the rest of the apartment later."

Scully and Mulder watched the show, which indeed did not take long
enough to wear out its audience interest.  They settled down to dinner, and Scully
went over the basic story yet again.  She was getting downright glib,
she reflected.  Then she got to the aphasia.  The Gunmen's stunned silence
brought home to her that for the first time she was telling someone without a
professional mask.  These were not doctors or lawyers or cops, but
Mulder's friends.

They stared at him with a kind of horrified pity.  Well, that was
involving him in the conversation, though not the way Thorne or Suomonen
intended.  One of them, she couldn't tell which, said softly, "He'll go mad."

She unconsiously cleared her throat; when she had their attention she
continued, "The speech therapists, here and in Oregon, gave me the same
basic rules for talking to aphasics: one, they're not deaf; two, they're not
retarded."

Three heads nodded as one.

The next bit was harder to tell.  She just bulled through it.  "I've
filed a petition to be appointed his guardian, with his family lawyer as
conservitor of his estate."

"It's that bad?" said Frohike.

She nodded.  "He can't make out a check, or even ask 'How much?' and
understand the answer.  In an emergency, he can attract attention, but
can't tell what's wrong, or what help he needs."  Her voice wavered into
silence.

Mulder made that sound she could only describe as a distressed coo.  He
took her hand and slipped his free arm around her shoulders.

She looked up into his face and made a brave smile.  "Come to think of
it, I'd better put them away now."  She patted his knee with her free hand
and got up, saying, "Byers, you're closest, can you fetch my briefcase to
the coffee table?"

Mulder on her heels, she went into the bedroom and opened the closet
where she kept her own document box, and since his disappearance, Mulder's as
well. She picked up the closest, and Mulder got the other.

Back in the living room, they set down their burdens, and she opened
Mulder's box.  "The weak box," said Frohike.

She smiled and nodded.  "Not strong enough to be a strong box."  Both
were simply fireproof document boxes for things you want to keep at your
apartment: lease, renter's insurance and the like.  "I brought Mulder's here when
he was taken; I don't like leaving important documents in an empty place."

She fished both copies of the petition out of her briefcase and drew
Mulder's attention to the blue rectangle she'd drawn that morning.  "This one's
yours," she told him, handing it over.  He took it and rubbed the rectangle.
She opened both document boxes and set his in front of him, then started
folding her own copy as though for a business envelope.  He got the idea and
followed suit, putting his copy in his box and closing it.

Meanwhile, Byers had put out a hand to check her own action.  "We should
do checks on all the people mentioned in that.  In fact, everyone closely
involved with the case at all."

"Mm, you've got something there.  In fact, I'd like to keep an eye on
Drs Reid and Vincent; they were talking of doing papers on it, or maybe a
collaboration.  I didn't warn them off, because such a specialised paper
is bound to be low-profile, but it would still be a good idea . . .  OK."

She got out a pen and stenographer's notebook and started writing.
"Reid . . . and Vincent . . . might as well include Thorne . . . and Suomonen
here in DC . . .  never heard Gregson's first name . . .  Danford's partners
. . .  Now, the cousins."  She turned to the page in her copy of the
petition.  "Richard Mulder; Mrs Harry Rothenberg, nee Moll Kupier;
Leonard Kupier.  Anybody else?"  She flipped through her copy again.  "No.  I'll
send you the name of the guardian ad litem when I learn it."  She sighed.
"Now I just have to explain to him what it means, that there's going to be a
hearing . . ."

Everyone stared at the boxes.  This time she could tell it was Frohike
who said, "He'll go mad.  Or sheer frustration will drive him berserk."

Byers said, "Has either of the therapists come up with any suggestions?
Anything at all?"

"We've ordered a medical ID card for him.  And both Carl and Elaine
mentioned a library of pictures, people and places that he knows, I'll want to get
you three and whatever of your building you think safe.  We'll make icons of
things that come up frequently, like a teapot and a glass for iced tea
--"

"Icons!" Langly broke in.  "Animated icons!  Where's his laptop?"

"It was never replaced after the Bounty Hunter took it.  Mine's over
there."

"Do you have Paintbrush on it?"

"Something like.  I tried to use it to sketch crime scenes, but I do
better freehand."

Langly fetched her laptop to the table.  While it was booting up,
Frohike said, "I wonder if he can still recognise pip clusters on dice?  That's
not exactly verbal."

Langly snorted laughter.  "Most computer games aren't exactly verbal.  I
bet we can tweak them to be completely visual for him.  Here we go."  He
worked on the keyboard and touchpad, muttering under his breath and then
sneaking a shamefaced look at Scully.

"I didn't hear you," she assured him.  "And I bet I've heard worse."

At last Langly sat back and angled the laptop to give Mulder a view of
it. The rest got up to gather behind the two.  There was a crude figure in
robes and long hair behind a tall rectangle with a shorter one beside it.
Langly did something with the cursor that made the robed figure flash.  Mulder
looked from the flashing figure to Langly, who made a solemn face and
mimed banging with a gavel.  Mulder nodded.

Frohike muttered, "How to tell him a hearing and not a civil marriage?"

"My kung-fu is the best," said Langly.  He drew equally crude but
recognisable tables with stick figures behind them, each with a
colored geometric figure replacing the head.

When he put in a red triangle, Byers said, "Not red.  Or green."

"Right," said Langly, and avoided those colors thereafter.  "Now this,"
he said at last, "is you."  He made the figure with the orange square
flash and pointed at Mulder.

Scully tapped his shoulder and said, "Make the square blue."

"Right," said Langly again, and changed the still-flashing figure
accordingly.  "OK, *this* is you."  He pointed to the blue square and
to Mulder.

Mulder nodded and got his copy of the petition from the document box.
He rubbed the blue square that Scully had drawn in the corner.  The
rest gave him various victory signs.

Langly went on.  "And this," making the figure next to Mulder's flash,
"is Agent Scully."  The figure had a yellow triangle for a head.  Langly

pointed at the figure and at Scully.  Mulder nodded.

Langly rubbed his hands dramatically and said, "Now the action."  He
made still another figure at the base of the screen and moved it up into
the smaller rectangle beside the judge.  The figure to the other side of
Mulder's, with a black circle, moved out in front of the judge and the
new figure.

Langly stood, the better to loom over Frohike, and ask: "Where'd you get
those coconuts?"

When they'd gone through the coconuts and the sparrows, Langly sat down
and moved the black-circle figure back to its table.  Another figure
from the opposite table then moved to take its place.  Now Byers got to loom
over Frohike and do the bridge guardian routine.

When Byers sat down, Langly restored the figures to their places and
glanced at Mulder, who nodded and punched the blond's shoulder.  Then he
looked around, finally went over to Scully's desk and brought the desk
calendar back to show to Scully.  He riffled the sheets and gave her an
eloquently questioning look.

Scully spread her hands and tapped the judge figure.  Mulder nodded
again, shrugged resignation and put the calendar down.

Langly flung up his hands.  "Ya got it."  Byers clapped his own hands
together.  Scully clapped Langly's shoulders from behind and shook him
slightly, while Frohike punched his arm and said "Your kung-fu is sill
the best."

Scully said, "I didn't think theraputic software was going to be any use
to us.  I should have known you guys would come up with something."

"We're gonna beat this!" said Langly, giving Mulder the high-five.

Byers got up and stretched.  "I think we will.  But right now, we have
the rest of the apartment to sweep."

Scully started to stack the takeout cartons.  "No," said Frohike,
sternly pointing her to the couch.  "We'll find a dumpster for the cartons on
the way home."

Mulder seized the document boxes and returned them to the bedroom.  The
Gunmen finished sweeping the apartment, gathered the trash and departed
in triumph.
 

Scully saw them off and retrieved her SIG from the couch cushons.  She
collected towels and washcloth from the linen closet, a pair of Mulder's
pajamas and his shaving kit from the guest bedroom, handed the pile to
Mulder and pointed him at the bathroom.  She turned down the blankets,
turned on the bedside lamp and turned off the overhead, and went to
prepare her own room.

She kept an ear out, while she set out a robe as well as pajamas and put
her weapon in the nightstand drawer.  When she heard Mulder leave the
bathroom, she went over to the guest room to see him put his clothes on
the chair, climb into bed and hold the covers open in blatant
invitation.

"Braggart," laughed Scully; the laugh turned into a jaw-cracking yawn.
Mulder indeed subsided, as tired as she was.  Nonverbal inuendo, yet.
Smiling affectionately, she pulled the covers to his chin, smoothed his
hair, and went to claim her turn in the bathroom.

She was too tired for more than a quick shower, then to her own bed.
It had been a long day.
 

She woke to darkness, and Mulder's scream.

Grabbing her weapon and diving into her robe, she pushed the bedroom
door open and peered around.  She did not turn on any light, wanting to keep
her eyes dark-adapted.  The wordless scream came again, from the guest
room.  She hurried over, more concerned now for speed than silence; it
was almost certainly a nightmare, but she wasn't going to bet Mulder's life
or freedom on it.

No one in the guest room but Mulder, spread-eagled on the bed.  She put
her weapon in the pocket to her robe and bent over him.  "Mulder, it's
me. You're OK, Mulder.  I'm here."  She didn't want to startle him awake
until he was calmer.  "Mulder, it's a dream.  I'm here, Mulder."

Was he calming?  There were no more screams.  She risked running her
fingers lightly along his arm.  "I'm here, Mulder.  It's just a bad
dream. "Hush, you're all right.  You're with me."  He was gasping now,
whimpering softly.  She smoothed his hair.  "I'm here, Mulder.  It's me."

#
}cold!hurt!{
}help!cold!hurt!hurt!{
}cold!hurt!help!{
}warm-voice{
}help!warm-voice{
}warm-voice{
}warm-touch{
}help-warm-warm{
}warm-snug-safe-warm{
#

She couldn't tell if he was awake or not, but he turned toward her.  She
settled her awkward bulk on the bed and held him, murmuring reassurance.

He trembled in her arms, his gasping evening out into deep breathing,
shallowing to normal.  He buried his face against her.  She kept
talking, reasurring him with her voice and hands.  Slowly the trembling died
down.

Suddenly he freed a hand, fumbled with the bedclothes, and then he was
wrapping the bedspread around her.  He gave a sleepy whimper, holding
her as they both drifted into dreamless sleep.
 

[continued in part 3]
 

Quis Custodiet (4/?)
by Lee Burwasser  <lee46b@gateway.net>

disclaimed in part 1

ADDENDUM: Obviously, February and all future mytharc episodes
never happen.
 

DAY THREE

Scully and Doggett began their new tactics the next day.  He
brought in a box, from which he took a pair of small speakers,
a portable CD player, an AC adapter cord, and a CD in a jewel
box.  These he put together to create an ear-shattering noise.

When he tuned the volume down to a dull roar, she said, "I'll
bring in Wagner tomarrow."

"You said yourself there's no keeping up with the bugs."

"And Vivaldi isn't loud enough.  I know."

"How do we use our computers without waking the watchdogs?"

"We hope Langly's kung-fu is still the best."

"Huh?!?"

Scully got out a CD-ROM and handed it over.  "We hope he can
still encrypt better than they can decrypt."

Doggett put the CD-ROM into the drive and turned on the
power.  "I don't suppose you can tell me whether this is
PGP?"

"Only the Gunmen know for sure."

While the CD-ROM was installing, Doggett asked, "So what are
we doing today?"

"I first saw Spender in Chief Blevins's office, smoking a
cigarette.  He's been in Skinner's office too; I never asked
what hooks he had in, it was enough that Skinner fought them.
He was in Kersh's office the time of the Bermuda chase.
Fowley was his aide.  And I'm certain that he executed his
own son."

"So he's our center.  How do we track him?"

"Skinner discovered the link between Blevins and Rousch."
Now she got out and handed over a floppy disk.  "Work only
on this disk, save nothing to the hard drive.  See if you
can find a similar link with Kersh, while I cross-reference
every file cabinet in this office."

Doggett's computer screen read: "Cut power, then reboot."
He turned off the noisemaker and sat down to work.

Scully left him to it and rough-sorted the files into
Definitely Relevant, Questionably Relevant and Not Relevant.
Those last she entered into a quick-&-dirty authority list
to aid normal memories in finding them again, and returned
to their drawers.  Questionables went into a pile on her
desk.  The Definites she cross-referenced by Consortium
members, victims, allies, corporations and metabolic
oddities.

Three cabinets in, she snuck a look at the Gunmen's report
on recent acquaintences.  Nothing on Reid and Vincent, but
assurance that any publication by either of them would rouse
an electronic watchdog.  Nothing on Thorne.  Their estimates
of the Lippsett and Gregson people were much like Doggett's.
Carl Suominen's legal name, not surprisingly, was Kaarlo; he
hadn't changed it, just used the Anglicised form
professionally.  Danford not only lived in New Bedford, he
occasionally participated in the annual Moby Dick Marathon;
he was, however, more taken with Frederick Douglass than
Herman Melville.

Still putting off a return to the cabinets, she reconsidered
the Questionables and decided they were mostly Tangentials.
The Burmuda chase had nothing to do with the Consortium, but
the association of Spender and Kersh did.  She made a
cross-reference sheet on each Tangential, carefully citing
casefile number and date, and started a new folder to hold the
sheets.  The files themselves she relegated to Not Relevant,
authority-listed them and put them away.  The few remaining
Questionables she reclassified as Definites and
cross-referenced them with the rest.

Doggett's voice interrupted her.  "We need a reliable forensic
accountant."

"I'll send a request to supply."

Neither of them expected a knock on the door.

#

Jan Walesa wished someone had warned her to pack for an
expedition to find the place.  No matter, here she was at last.
She rapped sharply on the door.  An alto voice called, "It's
open!" and she walked into the cabinet-filled office.

At the large desk dominating the room was a petite redhead. A
medium-sized man sat at the other.  She crossed to the larger
desk, saying, "Dana Scully?  I'm Janet Walesa."  The redhead
raised her eyebrows, and Jan added, "No relation."

"I'm Dana Scully," said the redhead, "and this is John
Doggett."  She gestured at the man at the other desk.  "I'm
sorry, you must be very tired of that response.  Sit down."

Jan grinned and sat, "Yours was more subtle than cracks about
lechery."

The redhead rolled her eyes eloquently.  "What brings you
here, Ms Walesa?"

Jan watched closely as she said, "I've been appointed guardian
ad litem for Fox William Mulder," and set the petitioner's
copies of the Notice of Hearing and her appointment as
guardian ad litem on the desk.

Agent Scully's eyebrows crawled toward her hairline again as
she picked up the notices.  "That was fast work."

"No comment.  The hearing is in three weeks, and that *is*
fast work."

"Some of the people I have to notify either don't have fax or
I don't have their number.  Still, that should be long enough
even for Snail Mail.  Do I make a copy of these for Mulder?"

She was being quite cool and professional.  Jan said, "No,
I'll give him his copy when I . . . speak with him."

Now she was quite *intense* and professional.  "You realise
that he has only nonverbal channels of communication left?"

"Yes, I do.  I know this is not going to be an easy case."

Agent Scully took a bright blue marker from her desk.  "I
would like to mark Mulder's copies.  He needs a nonverbal
ikon to recognise them."

Jan put the papers on the desk and watched as the agent put
a blue diamond on the Notice of Hearing and an interlocking
pair on the notice of appointment.  She pulled the marked
papers to her side of the desk and put her hands flat on the
desktop, mirroring Agent Scully's.  "I understand that you've
been acting unofficially as Agent Mulder's guardian since he
disappeared."

"Excuse me?"

"His paycheck is now sent directly to his bank by electronic
funds transfer.  Both the Bureau and his bank accepted your
signiture in place of his."

"Eventually," she said wryly.

"They have a copy of the missing person report in the
file.  So do the post office, eventually accepting your
signiture to re-route his mail to your address, and his
phone company, eventually accepting it to temporarily but
indefinitely turn off his service.  What puzzles me is why
the drafts with which you have been paying his rent and
utilities are drawn on a bank in Boston, not his bank in
Washington."

"The emergency fund, Mr Danford calls it.  He arranged
for me to draw on it for maintaining Mulder's apartment."

"Why not use his account here?  Certainly his salary would
cover it."

She hesitated, then said in a flat voice, "I wasn't sure the
Bureau would continue to pay his salary."

"Surely an agent held hostage is on duty status."

"There were -- irregularities.  They're sorted out now."  In
a more normal voice, she went on, "If you say that's acting
as guardian, I'll have to take your word for it.  I'm no
lawyer."

"Accountant?"  Jan knew that most FBI agents were one or the
other.

"Forensic pathologist."

Jan looked down at the strong, delicate hands resting across
from hers on the desktop.  Surgeon's hands.  "What's the
medicalese for 'Follow the money,' Dr Scully?"

"'When you hear hoofbeats, look first for horses, not
zebras.'"

Jan nodded.  "All right.  Now, let me show you the horse:
The respondent -- that's Fox Mulder -- has a lot more money
than his lifestyle suggests.  The petitioner -- that's you
-- suggests herself for guardian, respondent's own attorney
for conservator.  The two have worked as a team before, as
a result of which the petitioner already has her hands on
some of the respondent's money.  The petitioner is pregnant
and single; the respondent's money must be a temptation."
She sat back.  "What does your zebra look like?"

Agent Scully said in a low, dangerous voice, "Partners watch
each others' backs."  Then, surprisingly, she quoted, "'It
doesn't make any difference what you thought of him, he was
your partner and you're supposed to do something about it.'"

"Bogart as Sam Spade, _the Maltese Falcon_," Jan
acknowledged.

"My partner trusts Mr Danford with his estate, and I have no
reason to distrust him.  If I took on conservatorship, I'd
just have to hire someone like Mr Danford to do the same
work, then oversee his reports.  It makes more sense to let
the lawyer do the lawyering while I look after Mulder."

Jan didn't try to be diplomatic or even subtle.  "Who's the
father?"

"Mulder."

"You can prove it?"

"I can do the tests in the courtroom, if the judge insists."

"You don't see any conflict of interest?"

"None."

"Please elaborate."

"There are two factors here: Mulder's wishes, and Mulder's
best interests.  We know what Mulder wishes in this case;
to support his child.  I would like to hear what kind of
case could be made that supporting his child is *not* in
his best interests."

"If his guardian and his conservator worked hand in hand
to inflate that support."

The redhead deliberately relaxed.  "As a conspiracy
theory, it has the virtue of simplicity.  And it's
physically possible; Mr Danford and I met to arrange the
paper work on the autopsy of Mulder's mother.  But why
should Danford turn against a client he's known since
he was a schoolboy -- and Danford wasn't much beyond one
himself?"

"Because the client is now effectively incommunicado."

The agent shook her head.  "Too many unjustified
assumptions.  Your horse hasn't a leg to stand on."

Jan debated continuing the confrontation, decided not to.
"My investigation is only just starting.  I may come to
agree with your zebra, or I may not.  Meanwhile, I am
required to meet with Fox Mulder, face to face.  Where
is he?"

Agent Scully picked up the phone.  "He's with the Gunmen.
They're taking him to speech therapy this afternoon, and
I'll pick him up there."

"Gunmen."

"The lone gunman, the grassy knoll . . ."

"Your mentors in conspiracy theory?"

"Mulder's no slouch, either.  The guys tend to be more
Byzantine, he's usually more, uhm, far out."  She dialed.
After a moment she said, "Scully.  I'm putting you on
speakerphone."

A voice came from the speaker.  "Agent Scully!  To what
do we owe the pleasure?"

"I have a Ms Janet Walesa with me.  She's been appointed
guardian ad litem, to look after Mulder's interests."

"And she wants to see him."

"She's required to see him," said Agent Scully.  Then: "Ms
Walesa, this is Mr Frohicke."

"Mr Frohike," Jan said, "you sound as though you object to
my meeting Mr Mulder."

"That's *Agent* Mulder," said the Frohike voice.

"Agent Mulder," Jan dutifully repeated.

"This is Byers," said a new voice.  "We realise that there
are procedures, but we're concerned with Mulder's interests,
too.  He may be legally helpless, but he is not friendless."

The Frohike voice chimed in, "We're not leaving him alone
with strangers."

"From what I've learned, I see no reason to be alone with
him today," said Jan.  "We can discuss future meetings when
we are no longer strangers."

The Frohike voice said, "We don't leave him alone with a lot
of people we know, either."

Jan shook her head, but kept her voice level.  "Vigilance is
a virtue, but don't let it escalate into paranoia."

"Ah.  And where would you draw the line?"

"I would say the difference is that vigilance makes
you eager to see what's there; paranoia predisposes
you to see what you think ought to be there."

"Tell you what," said the Byers voice.  "We're going to
dig them out for lunch soon, anyway --"

"Out of where?" said Agent Scully.

Frohike supplied, "'Doom: the Destiny'" in an announcer's voice,
then chortled.  "He's whipping Langly's ass."

Jan was surprised not to hear an indignant 'He is not!'

Instead, the Byers voice picked up again.  "There's a
diner on New York Avenue, near the Washington end of the
Baltimore-Washington Parkway."  He gave the address and
landmarks.  "We'll be there around twelve-thirty or one
o'clock.  You can meet Mulder, we can all size each other
up, and we'll take him on to his therapy session.  You
can come or not, and his therapist can decide whether to
let you in or throw you out."

"A date," said Jan.  Good thing she'd put Banner on the
running line this morning.  When she was sure Agent Scully
had turned off the speaker, she asked, "Is there an adult
in that menage?"

"They do cultivate eccentric manners, but they've known
Mulder longer than I have, and they've never betrayed him
or let him down."

Jan couldn't help but sing: "What, never?"

Scully did not sing the answer: "No.  Never.  Once he
thought they'd turned on him.  He knows now they were
trying to help him."

Again, Jan decided not to argue further.  Instead she rose
and closed the catch on her briefcase.

As she did so, Agent Scully said, "That's a good motto, Ms
Walesa."

"Oh?"

"'Don't let vigilance escalate into paranoia.'"

Jan gave her a confident grin and let her have the last word.
 

The diner turned out to be one of those confused places that
can't make up its mind whether to be a truck stop or a
mama-papa restaurant.  She looked around for four men sitting
at one table.  As she located a set of candidates, a bearded
man in a suit got up and approached her.

"Ms Walesa?  I'm John Byers."  She nodded, they shook hands,
and he escorted her back to the table and intoduced the
rest.  Langly was a hippie, Frohike a troll.  In that company,
Mulder in jeans and sweater looked supremely normal; Byers
sat her next to him.

In person, Mulder was lanky, brown-haired and long-nosed, with
intelligent eyes and an engaging grin.  He and Jan had a moment
to size each other up before the waitress dropped a menu in
front of Jan and vanished.  With advice from her hosts, Jan
chose her lunch and set down the menu to await another
visitation.

Meanwhile, she opened her briefcase and got out the marked
copies of the notices.  She intended to ask Byers about the
marks, but Mulder reached for them.  She let him have them,
watched as he fingered the marked corners, then looked up at
her with questioning eyes.

Frohike said, "Did Agent Scully make those marks?"

"Yes, she did.  What do they mean?"

The three didn't take their eyes off Mulder as Byers said,
"They mean those papers are connected to the one she gave him
day before yesterday."  Byers rapped the table to get Mulder's
attention, then mimed laying out a hand of cards.

Mulder set down the papers, got a folder from under his chair
and pulled out a set of pictures.  He spread them in front of
Jan.

There were faces -- the three men, Agent Scully, an older man
she hadn't met -- and building exteriors.  All were rough and
grainy, the human portraits off-balance.  Jan picked up the
photo of Agent Scully, put it on top of the papers and handed
the packet to Mulder.

He stared at the photo while fingering the marks again.  He
started to put them into the folder, then put the photo back on
top of the pile and put away only the papers.

With a glance at him for permission, Jan leafed through the
pile more slowly.  "Surveillance photos?" she asked.

"Yeah," said Langly.  "Stopgap while we get something better."

"This is the Hoover Building, isn't it?" she said.  "Big as
life and twice as ugly."

"Impossible," said Frohike.

"All right, *just* as ugly."

Byers said, "The therapist in Oregon told Scully, and she passed
it on to us.  Since his memory seems to be intact, he --or we--
can just point to the photo of what or who he wants to convey."

"And thanks to modern memory capacity," Langly picked up, "they
can be used as cues in animated scenarios.  Flash a picture and
an ikon, then use the ikon."

"Who is this?"

"AD Skinner," said Byers.  "Mulder's boss."

The only interior in the packet was grainier than all the rest.
Jan peered at it for several moments before it resolved.  "This
is the office.  Weird angle."

"Bug tucked in the fire sprinkler," said Frohike.

"Gotta be against fire regs."  She closed up the packet and
tapped it even, then passed it back to Mulder, who put it away
and set the folder back under his chair.  All returned to their
meals.

When she finished, Jan asked, "Can you draw pictures of rights?"

Langly stopped playing with the remains of his crust.  "Well,
silence is fairly simple: you can do the Chinese monkey--" he
put a hand briefly over his mouth "--or the zip or the button."
He made those gestures briefly.  "Advice--" he leaned his
mouth toward Byers's ear "--should be possible.  But how to
picture 'legal counsel' . . ."

The Miranda list, thought Jan.  Experience, paranoia, or
just a lifetime of watching television?

As they left the diner, Jan decided the three were still a
point against Dana Scully.  Yes, they were bright, and fond
of Mulder.  Fine for playmates, but to leave him in their
charge--!

#

Scully had had a productive afternoon.  In between file
cabinets, she'd made copies of the Notice of Hearing and a copy
of her petition that she'd brought to the office, faxed one of
each to Danford and snail mailed one of each to each of the
cousins.  She sent off a notice of compliance, carefully noting
that she had already given the respondent a copy of the petition
before this date, and that the guardian ad litem had agreed to
give him the notice of the hearing and the appointment of the
guardian.  She'd also managed to work through a surprising number
of the files; another day of cross-referencing should finish the
lot.

Her mind thus running back over the day, when she turned into
Suominen's office, she met Mulder's welcoming grin at full force.
It hammered into her anew:  He's back!  Up to his ass in
alligators, but he's back!

The scrape of the inner door reminded her of where they were.  She
stepped back and looked at Suominen, cursing her fair complection.
Her face must be as red as her hair.

"Don't worry," he said.  "It's normal, and there ain't nobody here
but just us chickens."

She nodded, groping for  composure.  "I . . .  He's back.  He --
he's really back."  She gripped Mulder's hand with both of hers and
took some deep breaths.  At last she felt she could trust her voice.
"What did you do today?"

"Ikons," he said.  "It's not the usual place for them, but Mulder is
good enough at this to skip around a bit, and your three friends have
been working up computer animation as a kind of elaborated charades.

"We started with yes/no, based on that magnetic clean/dirty sign they
used to put on dishwashers."  He showed her a page of sketches.  There
was a circle-and-slash, a check and X, a smiley face with another
curve on the forehead.  "The smiley/grouchy isn't distinct enough, but
abandoning the magnetic notion . . ."  He picked up a stick with a
smiley-face mounted on it, twirled it to show a yucky-face on the
other side.

"But the real success is the simplest: thumb up or thumb down,
according to how you place it."  It was a picture of a hand with the
thumb extended, glued or pasted onto a wide version of magnetic
mounting tape.

"Then we did coffee-tea-or-me.  No magnetics, just card stock."

At a nod from Suominen, Mulder shook out an envelope and began
turning the rectangles picture-side-up.  There was a recognisable
teapot, an old-style percolator, a cup with a wisp of steam, a
glass with ice cubes, not quite a dozen in all.  By combining
ikons, he could ask or she could offer fairly complex menus.

With what could only be called a nervous smirk, he set down the
last ikon in front of her.  It didn't seem to fit the series at
all: a log with a hand-saw halfway through it.  How did that --

"Decaf!"  She touched the coffee-percolator icon and mimed sleep,
head pillowed on hands, giving a little snore.

Mulder leaped to his feet, punching his fist toward the ceiling.
 
 

As she and Mulder packed up the ikons, Carl said, "Your friends
asked if he can visit again tomarrow.  Langly wants his revenge."
 

Once again, she swung by Mulder's place for fresh clothes on
the way home.  This time she went over his CD collection: Elvis
of course; Jimi Hendrix; the Brandenberg Concertos?  She hadn't
realised he cared for any classical music.  There was a
recording of the complete set at her place, but he wouldn't
recognise the cover.  Bring it along.

Rather than hunt in Mulder's apartment for a tape measure, she'd
brought hers to measure the dimensions of the fish tank and its
gear.  Mulder insisted that she also measure the gap between the
back of the tank and the wall, so she measured all the clearances
on all sides.  She recorded it all on a three-by-five card, neatly
labeled "Fish Tank."

They piled into the car and went home.
 

[continued in part 5]
 
 

Quis Custodiet (5/?)
by Lee Burwasser  <lee46b@gateway.net>

disclaimed in part 1

ADDENDUM:  Hubertus Strughold is a real person, one of
the Paper Clip scientists.
 

DAY FOUR

*You're committed now, Walter.*  Once Scully exchanged
information with Harrison, there was no climbing back
onto the fence.  *Get out of that funk and get some work
done.*

Kim unwittingly came to his rescue with, "Ms Janet Walesa
to see you, sir."

"Send her in."

Walesa turned out to be a woman about Dana Scully's age, or
perhaps a bit older.  Skinner waved her to a seat; en route
to it, she put a document on his desk.

"Mr Skinner, I'm Janet Walesa.  I've been appointed
guardian ad litem for Fox Mulder, to protect his interests
in the upcoming hearing."

Skinner ran his eyes over the document.  All in order.
"You've met him since his return?"

"Yes."

"Have you figured how to explain his rights to a man with
global aphasia?"

Walesa was unfazed.  "We may be forced to ask for a
continuation, but from what I've seen and heard, Mr Mulder
*needs* a guardian to take his affairs in hand as soon as
possible."

"*Agent* Mulder," said Skinner.  "He's still an agent of
the FBI."

"His three . . . uhm . . . odd friends were equally
insistent on that point."

So, she'd met the Lone Gunmen.  "No matter the likelihood
of his being medically discharged after the hearing, until
that hearing we will *not* take its outcome for granted."

"Yes, indeed," said Walesa.  With an air of 'let's get down
to it,' she asked, "How long have you been Agent Mulder's
supervisor?"

"His direct supervisor, half a dozen years.  Before that,
the unit was in the Violent Crimes and Major Offenders
section.  He reported to the late section chief, Scott
Blevens, who reported to me."

"So you know both Agent Mulder and his partner, Agent
Scully."

"Yes."

"Do you know that she is petitioning to be appointed his
guardian?"

"Yes."

"Do you approve?"

"Who else is there?  His parents are dead, his sister
missing and presumed dead.  His -- odd friends, as you
describe them -- are fine for day care but not for
guardianship."

"Have you more . . . more positive reasons?"

"She's guarded his back, patched his wounds and covered his
ass for seven years."

"Isn't that a long time to be partnered?"

"The X-files is odd in a lot of ways."

"Odd."

"It's where people send cases they can't make any sense of.
Some of them aren't even in our jurisdiction, but the agents
have to solve them just to figure where they do belong:
Forest Service, Environmental Protection, Center for Disease
Control . . .  Once we had to dig them out of a giant fungus
before it digested them."

"Digested?"

"Chemical burns all over their exposed skin."

Walesa winced and shivered, perhaps in sympathy.  "I am
informed that Agent Scully acted unofficially for Agent
Mulder since he went missing."

"He did not 'go missing,' Ms Walesa.  He was kidnaped."

"Kidnaped.  As I understand it, she arranged for direct
deposit of his paycheck, had his mail rerouted to her address,
temporarily discontinued his phone service, and paid his rent
and utilities on her own signature."

"That sounds right.  The sort of things necessary when someone
is going to be gone for a while."

"How did she get all these agencies to accept her signature
for these changes to Agent Mulder's affairs?"

"I can only speak knowledgeably of the bank, since I had to
sign off on the paperwork.  First off, there was the fact
that the FBI was on record as hunting for Agent Mulder.
Second, he had already arranged for Agent Scully to have
access to his safety deposit box on her own signature.  And
third, the changes were to maintain the established traffic,
so to speak, during a crisis.  It took a great deal of
negotiating, but in the face of the situation, and the clear
evidence of Agent Mulder's trust in Agent Scully, it was more
a matter of touching bases than serious persuasion."

"But the established traffic is *not* being maintained.  His
paychecks are still going in, but his rent and utilities
payments are no longer coming out.  Agent Scully is drawing
on funds in a bank in Boston, not Agent Mulder's account
here in DC."

"On that, you will have to ask Agent Scully."

"I did.  She said she was not confident that the Bureau
would continue to pay his salary, owing to 'irregularities'
now resolved."

Skinner was mightily tempted to sic Ms Walesa onto Kersh,
purely for the nuisance of it, but that would be
unprofessional.  Instead, he said, "We have never discussed
that."

"Does Agent Scully often have such doubts of the civil
service in general, or the Bureau in particular?"

"We've never discussed that, either."

"Would you judge her doubts in this case to be
well-founded?"

"Agent Scully's considered decisions are always founded
in reason."

Ms Walesa took a long breath.  "Mr Skinner:  As Fox
Mulder's guardian ad litem, I have no concern with his
relations with his employer, nor with his supervisor.  My
only concern is how his partner dealt with his finances
while he was missing; specifically, why she tapped his
emergency fund in Boston instead of his account in DC.
My only question for you is whether you regard her
concern over his continued paychecks to be a reasonable
one."

"That's two questions: whether I knew of -- no, three.
Whether I knew of her decision, whether I knew anything
about the reasons behind it, and whether I regarded them
as reasonable."

"I would of course like as complete and informative an
answer as possible."

"I knew she was tapping his emergency fund.  We did not
discuss why she decided to, but I have never known Agent
Scully to make unreasonable decisions."

Ms Walesa sat back.  "Mr Skinner," she said, "I have
lost count of the number of times I have dug up some
minor -- minuscule! -- factor, purely because someone
tried to keep it away from me.  If this is that kind of
minor point, even if it's embarrassing, your best move
is to tell me about it so I can note it and shelve it,
instead of making me get a subpoena and drag it out to
judge its importance for myself."

Temptation was back.  How often would he have to say No?
More to the point, how long could he resist?
"'Minuscule' is a good description.  So minuscule that I
doubt you can interest a judge in it."

"One way to find out."
 

#

At twelve o'clock, Agents Scully and Doggett entered a
diner not too far from the Washington Field Office.
The Muzak was not painfully loud, but would make it
difficult to sort out overheard conversations.  As the
headquarters agents scanned the booths, a man in one of
them met Scully's eye.  She drifted over, Doggett in
her wake.

"Agent Harrison?" she said softly.

"Agent Scully."

The two slipped into the booth and sat across from him.

Harrison said, "I hear you've had some run-ins with the
American Quisling."

"If you mean CGB Spender, that's a good description.  He
sells us out to the Colonists and wants a medal for
double-crossing them; he gives up his wife to be a guinea
pig, and expects sympathy; and his project will save
mankind, but the rest of us are all expendable."

"Yes, you have.  Does the name 'Strughold' mean anything
to you?"

"Space medicine," said Doggett.

Harrison shook his head.  "You're thinking of his cousin,
Hubertus, the Dachau experimenter.  No, this is Conrad
Strughold, the industrialist."

"Strughold Mining Company, West Virginia," said Scully.
"Mulder had a photo . . . The original was lost in the
fire . . ."

"Backed up, I hope," said Harrison.

"Yes, the Gunmen scanned it.  It showed Spender and several
other men, including Victor Klemper, another Paperclip
scientist.  We found Klemper, and he sent us to West Virginia.
One of the galleries was filled with files.  One was on me,
one on Samantha Mulder.  We barely made it out ahead of the
clean-up squad, and when we went back, the place was rubble."

"When was this?" asked Harrison.

"Five or six years ago."

He scowled at the table.  "And in all this time . . . I'm going
to have a talk with your boss."

Scully laid a hand on Harrison's.  "I don't know what hooks
Spender has on AD Skinner, but he's been fighting them.  And for
the past year, he's been under a death sentence; the man holding
the switch has no conscience and no loyalty."

"You make a convincing advocate, Agent Scully."

She chewed on her lip a moment, then asked, "Do you know if
Spender is still alive?  Still in power?"

"Why?" said Harrison bluntly.

"He's been reported dead before . . .  Spender has some sort of
obsession about Mulder.  He's passed up opportunities to kill
him, and he's claimed to have intervened to save him.  We have
no idea whether this is personal to Spender or if any of his
colleagues share it in any degree.  And now that Mulder is
incapacitated . . ."

"Oh," said Harrison more gently.  "All I can tell you is that I
have no word of him later than last summer."

Doggett broke in.  "You were telling us about Conrad Strughold."

"So I was.  The full story will have to wait, but briefly:
Conrad Strughold is an industrialist who made Germany too hot
for him.  Instead of South America, he ended up in northern
Africa.  Tunisia, to be exact.  What evidence I've been able
to dig up indicates that he is the head of the international
syndicate."
 

#

Byers growled, "Don't they teach kids to spell any more?"

"Of course not," said Frohike, waving the platter at his
friend's face.  "That would be regimentation."

Byers sniffed at the platter, grinned up at Frohike, and
began shutting down the computer.  "E-mailed illiteracy,"
he muttered.  "Do you suppose it's a conspiracy?"

"'Never attribute to malice what is adequately explained by
stupidity'." Frohike quoted, and led the way to the table
that was currently clear enough for eating.  "Can you
decrypt it?"

"I won't even try until I finish with the people who *can*
spell."

Frohike served Byers and himself, then set out to corral the
last of the company.  In the event, it was Mulder who first
caught the smell.  His hands stilled; Langly looked up and
said, "What--? Hm!"  Both followed Frohike to where Byers was
already digging in.

Over seconds, Frohike asked for the game scores.

"Just about neck and neck," said Langly.

"What have you done to the programming?"

"Distractions."  Langly got up and started to turn away; after
a sharp look at his partners, he took his plate with him.
Back at the terminal, he slaved in the conference monitor and
said "This is yesterday's quick-and-dirty."

On the big screen was an appaloosa centaur with Scully's head.

"Not too subtle," said Byers.

"Quick-and-dirty, like I said.  But there's a lot of footage
of cats online.  They move pretty, I guess."  A cougar
replaced the centaur.  "So there's no need for extensive mods.
Just a little suggestion."  The cougar's head changed ever so
slightly toward human.  "And only in repose; when the face is
in motion, it's all cat."

The cougar in turn was replaced by a typical videogame scene,
complete with corpse lying in the middle of it.  No, corpses
don't breathe: casualty in the middle.

Now the cougar leaped down into the scene, standing over the
casualty and staring at the viewer.  Momentarily, Scully
stared out of the cat's eyes.

The cougar bent her head to sniff the casualty, then jerked
to attention again.  Then she crouched, tail lashing, all
snarling cat.

Frohike looked at Mulder and tapped Byers on the arm.

#
}Herself{
}fierce!protect{
}take!charge{
}velvet!paw{
}safe-snug-safe{
#

Sensing that he'd lost his audience, Langly took his plate
back to the table, leaving the cat on the screen.
 

#

Dana Scully ran out of steam just over her threshold.  Good
thing they'd stopped to eat on the way home; she was ready
to melt into the floor, or any other surface.  Dimly, she
felt Mulder slip her coat off, heard his footsteps and the
opening door of the closet.

Suddenly he nudged her off-balance, guiding her in a sort
of semi-controlled fall to her couch.  Fine, she could melt
here.  Off came the shoes from her aching feet; oh, very
nice.  A bit of fumbling and off came the knee-highs.  What
was -- OOOhhhhh!

Warm, strong fingers pressed against the tendons of her
foot and ankle, up to the muscles of her calf.  Aaahhh.
Then the other foot.  MMMmmmmm.  Now the serious massage.
Oooohhhh.  Puddle on the couch, never move again.  (Til
you have to pee again.  Shut up! and let me enjoy this.)
Can you have an orgasm just from getting your feet rubbed?

Ahhh . . .  Oooo . . .  Mmmm . . .  Bring!Bring!Bring!

DAMN the telephone!

Somehow she fumbled the cordless to the general region of
her mouth.  "Scully."

"Agent Scully, this is Curtis Danford.  How are you and
Fox getting on?"

"He's cosseting me.  If you want to make a woman your
lifelong slave, rub her feet."

"I'm sorry, it sounds as though I interrupted something.
I'll make this as quick as I can."  Yet he paused a moment
before apparently changing the subject completely.
"Confidentiality is not always simple.  What my partner's
client tells me is not confidential; my duty is to my own
client's legitimate interests.  Yet, I would not trumpet
my partner's affairs up and down the coast."

"I understand that."

"Dare I enquire what dark secrets your brothers in arms
have dug up on us?"

"Your firm has been the Kupiers' family lawyers for some
generations," she said.  "You've been handling Mulder's
estate ever since he received a legacy from his
grandparents.  His Kupier cousins are actually cousins
once removed, his mother's cousins.  Mr Kupier is
Mr St Martin's client.  Mrs Harry Rothenberg, like
Mulder's mother, now goes mostly to her husband's
attorney, but hasn't entirely deserted Mr St Martin.

"The firm offices are in Boston proper; you commute in
from New Bedford.  You've taken part in the annual Moby
Dick Marathon, but you're more taken with Frederick
Douglass than Herman Melville."

Danford gave an exaggerated sigh.  "Well, I deny
everything, but I recognise the portraits."

"And your not-quite-confidential issue?"

"Forgive my bluntness, Dr Scully, but are you pregnant?"

"Yes, why?"

"Are you and Fox engaged, or handfasted, or whatever New Age
rigmarole they do these days?"  He pronounced it 'newage.'

"Nothing formal, no."

A soft sigh came over the line.  "I was hoping . . .  You may
know that it's easier for a wife or fiancee to secure
guardianship.  Especially if the petition is contested."

"I see."

"What I don't understand is how the word got up here so fast.
I understand that you sent your own notifications by
registered mail -- and believe me, I appreciate your keeping
me in touch by fax -- and in any case hardly include such
irrelevant matters as your physical condition, obvious though
it must be to anyone in your presence."

"It might of course be something quite innocent," said Scully.
"Janet Walesa, the guardian ad litem, might have phoned
someone up there in the course of her investigation.  Though
she didn't strike me as a casual gossip."

"I trust not.  I'm going to be blunt again, Agent Scully.  Is
the baby Fox's?"

"Yes."

"Can you prove it?  Have you the paperwork?"

"I had all the tests done.  She's human, healthy, Mulder's and
mine."

"Aren't the first and last of those a given?"

"With today's medical technology, a woman can carry a fetus
who is no genetic relation to her."  No point in explaining
why 'human' wasn't a given, either.
 

#

Byers picked up the phone.  "Lone Gunmen."

"It's Scully, Byers.  Turn off the tape."

"Wait one."  He turned on the speakerphone, without stopping
the tape.  "Go ahead."

"Guys, have you dug up anything else on Mulder's cousin
Kupier?"

"He's a ferocious little snob," said Frohike.

"The Kupiers are old money," Byers elaborated, "and the
Mulders are not."

"Nothing nouveau, you understand," said Langly in an
affected, campy voice.  "But not quite *quite*."

Byers continued, "To add insult to injury, the average
Mulder nowadays is better off than the average Kupier.
Leonard Kupier never spoke to his cousin after she
married Bill Mulder."

"So . . ." said Scully, "he doesn't know Mulder from
Adam."

"Probably not.  Why"

"Apparently, someone plans to contest my petition.
Someone with rapid and efficient communication to the
Washington area."

"We'll get on it."

"Thanks, guys."

#

Now he had the coffee brewed, Skinner debated spiking it.
*Thus negating the whole point.  What kind of candy-ass
am I turning into?*

When the knock came, he checked through the spy hole.
Harrison, sure enough, standing a good arm's length back
from the door.  He opened it and nodded the agent into
the room.  Not until he'd poured him a cup and refreshed
his own did he reflect that he'd expected him, as surely
as if he'd issued an invitation.  *I did.*

Harrison was not letting the hospitality soften him.  As
far as he was concerned, this was office coffee, offered
as common property to anyone on the squad.  "How long
were you planning on keeping her under your hat?"

"Until she asked."

"Until she somehow divined what was completely left out of
her training?  What were you thinking of?"

"I have some idea what Blevins was thinking of when he
assigned her to the X-files.  If I knew who decided to
start her right in teaching without even a year at a field
office, I'd ask him what he thought he was doing."

"Meanwhile, an agent nearly a decade in the Bureau has
never yet been the principal investigator in a normal
case."

"She's been doing a job on the X-files -- including a
few blows at the Consortium."

"Pinpricks!"

"Which is more than you or I have accomplished."

"And nothing to what we could have done working together."

"So write up a memo.  Be sure to include your personnel
requirements."  His cell phone chittered.  "Skinner," he
barked into it.

"It's me, sir.  I've run across something odd in regard to
my petition.  I'd like to take personal time tomorrow to
talk to a few people before I take Mulder to therapy."

"Problems?"  There was literally no one else who could take
proper care of Mulder.

"I don't yet know, sir.  I'm hoping to find something out
tomorrow.  I almost wish Gibson Praise hadn't done his
disappearaing act again, though I cert--  Oh, my God,
Gibson!  The other non-Bellefleuran!"

*What the hell?*  "What is it, Agent Scully?  What's going
on there?"

"They were trying to take Gibson, too!  Gibson and Mulder,
the only targets NOT from Bellefleur!  Telepathic tests!
And then jus' -- j-just d-d-dump them!"

Her voice was going strident, wavering out of control.
*Now what, boss-man?*  "Agent Scully are you --"

"But NOT Gibson!" she continued unheeding.  "Just M-Mulder!
Jus' d-dumped him!"

*Get her attention, first.*  "Dana Scully!  Where are you?
Your place?"

A choked-off noise, like a strangled sob.  "Yes, sir."

"I'm on my way."

He closed and pocketed the cell phone, glaring at Harrison.
The agent checked and reholstered his weapon, wordlessly
declaring himself in.

"You drive here?"

"Yes."

"Stay on my tail."

En route to Georgetown, Skinner did a little preventive work
to keep anybody else off Harrison's tail.  Most of his mind,
though, was on the situation awaiting him.  *Nobody can be
strong forever.*  But how to convince a vertically challenged
woman who'd shouldered, elbowed, and kicked her way into two
male-dominated professions through sheer brains and guts?

On the chance that the phone display was not what it seemed,
they flanked the door and drew their weapons before Skinner
knocked.  The door flung open, and he looked down the barrel
of a SIG.  Following the gun to the hands and up the arms,
he faced a too-pale but resolute Dana Scully.  A glance to
one side showed Mulder, standing well out of the door's
swing and equally out of Scully's line of sight.

Scully lowered her gun and said, "I'm sorry I worried you,
sir.  I was . . .  I - I'm . . . "

"I know, you're fine.  Bullshit."  Holstering his own gun,
Skinner walked into the apartment, giving Harrison clearance
to come in and shut the door.  Scully had patched herself up
again in the time it had taken to get over here, but it was
a makeshift job.  Besides her palor, there was enough tremor
in her hands to make her try twice at holstering her weapon.

"I-I am very sorry, sir, to have brought you here on a fool's
errand--"

"DAMN it, Scully!"  He gripped her shoulders and gave her a
shake.  "Will you stop playing Iron Man!  I am not one of the
hyenas.  Nor am I going to forget seven years of strength
because you're shell-shocked now."  The old-fashioned word
had more bite than the bloodless modern phrase.  "You've been
through hell, and now someone's trying to separate you again.
But you're not under fire just now, so cut yourself some
slack!"

Now he was close, he could see and feel signs of physical
shock as well: skin cold and sweaty as well as pale,
breathing shallow and rapid.  *Nobody's strength lasts
forever.*  He startled slightly as Mulder came up behind her
and wrapped her in an afghan, presumably from the couch.
Skinner gave him a grateful smile, but addressed Scully:
"Sit down before you keel over."

She sat.  Mulder tapped Skinner's shoulder, mimed pouring
from a coffee pot, and headed into the kitchen.  Harrison,
weapon also holstered now, stood at the end of the couch.
Scully pulled the afghan closer around her.

"Now, slowly," said Skinner, "tell me what hit you just
now."

She shivered again, and said in a flat voice, "The Bounty
Hunter tried to get Gibson, too.  He didn't have to test
the Bellefleurans' encephalographic anomalies; he and his
side caused them.  But Gibson has had his since birth, and
Mulder got his by accident, from that artifact.  They
wanted to test them both, but they only got Mulder.  And
whatever they were testing for, they put that metabolic
padlock on his brain.  And didn't bother to put him right
again -- just dumped him in the forest."

Her tears, he would bet, were as much rage as grief.
"They just left him that way!  Helpless, cut off --  This
is THE REST OF HIS LIFE!"

"But you said before that there's no brain damage.  Isn't
that still reason to hope?"

"Because we don't know anything about what they did to him?
Because we haven't a clue what caused the aphasia, only
that it's like nothing else we've ever seen before?"

Mulder, bringing in a tray with coffee, stopped and stared
at her tears in consternation.  Skinner took the tray from
his hands and set it on the coffee table, while Mulder sat
beside Scully and held her, making a sort of distressed
cooing noise.  She gave him a brave smile.  It was a tossup,
 Skinner decided, who was comforting whom.

"If you're right," he said, "we do know more than we did.
And when we find Gibson, he may be able to tell us more."

Scully spoke at a complete tangent.  "Decaf for the
duration."  Her hand, perhaps unconsciously, smoothed her
swollen belly.

Harrison took his cup, and with it, apparently, permission
to join the brainstorming.  "It works as deduction, but
where are we going to find evidence?"

"Maybe we'll ask Strughold," said Skinner.  "Or drag it
out of Krycek."

They drank in meditative silence.  Scully poured seconds.

Finally, Skinner said, "But that wasn't what you called for."

Scully took a moment to catch up.  "Oh.  No.  Mr Danford
called.  He was careful not to say anything explicitly, but
what he talked around was that someone in Boston intends to
contest my petition for Mulder's guardianship.  I deduce
that it's Leonard Kupier.  Mr Danford has no idea how he
learned about the petition so soon -- it's too soon for
snail mail to have brought him my notification -- or how
he learned that I'm pregnant."

"So you're going to talk to the people who know?"

"Mr Lippsett helped me write it up, and Ms Benson typed the
final draft.  Mr Thompson may or may not know officially,
but he brought us there, and could easily find out about
what.  All three of them saw me, and could pass THAT word
on as well."

"You expect them to admit it if they did?" said Harrison.
"None of them has any business 'passing the word'."

"I expect it to shake them up.  And of course Ms Walesa might
have phoned whoever it was in the course of her investigation.
Though I don't see her as a casual gossip."

"Nor I," said Skinner.  "I was tempted to sic her onto --
My God, Kersh!  He knows!"

"How would he even know Kupier exists?" asked Scully.  "Much
less how to get word to him."

"If Spender is alive, don't you think he knows?"

"Spender, yes.  But if he's not alive, we're left with the
question of how personal was his obsession with Mulder."

"And how personal is Kersh's obsession with Mulder."

After a bit, Skinner and Harrison left their hostess and her
not-yet-ward to find their beds.
 

#
}blood{
}bone splinters{
}torn{
}crushed{
}blood{
#

Scully was reaching for her gun when she realised that the
shadow next to her bed was whimpering.  Instead, she turned
on the lamp on the bedside table, to show her Mulder with
tears running down his face.  She reached out to him, and
he seized her hand avidly in both of his.

Now sobbing openly, he studied and stroked her hand,
rubbing it against his cheek.  Then he released it to
capture the other, stroking and studying it the same way.
She lifted the covers in invitation.  Mulder crawled in
beside her, and held her much as a child would hold a
teddy bear.

Nightmare: brilliant deduction.  But why hands?  Something
the Bounty Hunters did to him?  She put aside speculation
and concentrated on comfort and reassurance, murmuring and
stroking . . .  Both Thorne and Suominen emphasized the
importance of touch . . .  Hm, maybe that was it, fear of
losing touch . . .  Ask Suominen tomorrow . . .
 

[continued in part 6]
 

Quis Custodiet (6/?)
by Lee Burwasser  <lee46b@gateway.net>
 

DAY FIVE

No one at Lippsett and Gregson admitted to gossiping.  They
were inclined to be stuffy, but mollified by the explanation
that a thorough investigation has to touch all bases.  By
the time Scully was done with them, it was close enough to
lunchtime that she called to see when Janet Walesa would be
available.  A receptionist informed her that Ms Walesa was
walking Banner, and where to find them.

Banner turned out to be a pit bull.  Unlike most of the
other dogs on the green, he (or she) did not pull at the
leash, but walked sedately at Walesa's side.  Scully found
a strategic parking spot, and she and Mulder intercepted
the pair.

After greeting and handshakes, Walesa said, "This is
Banner."

Now they were closer, Scully could see that Banner was a
bitch.  She gave her a hand to sniff, and Mulder followed
suit.  Walesa nodded along the track, and the four continued
to stroll.

"Where did you get her?" asked Scully.

"A couple of my . . . business associates decided to give
Pit-Bull Walesa a pit bull puppy as a joke."

"Joke!?  They couldn't find a stuffed dog?"

"Just about what I told them.  But it took a long time to
find her another home.  Couldn't take her to a shelter,
she'd be put down.  And 'free to good home' doesn't work
with a pit-bull; you have to check out that it's not
someone who thinks it's 'manly' to have a 'fighting dog,'
and either neglects it or abuses it to make it 'fierce.'
Vicious dogs come from vicious owners."  Walesa visibly
dismounted from her hobby-horse.  "The long and the short
of it is, she grew on me."

"What did your neighbors say?"

"What you'd expect.  I used them for target practice."

Scully grinned wryly.  "Can they cite *one* time that Banner
misbehaved?  Do they know any other pit bull besides Banner?
Do they know anything at all about pit bulls?"

"Do they know that pit bulls are related to British 'nanny
dogs,' called that because they're so good with children?
Banner is a certified Schutzhund Two; that makes her
*less* dangerous than a dog with no training at all,
because she's confident.  She won't bite from fear."  Again,
Walesa checked herself.  "But you didn't come out here to
talk about Banner."

"No.  I was wondering whether you've talked to Mulder's
cousins yet."

"Not yet.  I'm hoping to finish the medical side next
week.  I've got an appointment to see Mr Suominen, after
Agent Mulder has been to a couple of sessions.  I want
to re-do the tests done out in Oregon as well, and I'm
in process of lining up a speech pathologist."

"And you want another amniocentesis."

"I can hardly insist, but it is relevant."

"Tell you what: I'll talk to my OB.  If and only if she
thinks it's safe, I'll ask her to do ONE more.  You can
bring along an observer.  We'll take the sample around
in person, so we can all swear to the chain of custody
and the results."

"Sounds good."  After a moment, she went on, "I don't
suppose you can see your way to sparing me the time and
unpleasantness of a subpoena?"

Scully grinned, "Pit-bull Walesa."  Then she sobered and
shook her head.  "I'm sorry.  There are aspects of the
kidnapping that I'm under direct orders not to discuss.
They . . . well . . . impinge on those irregularities that
I mentioned earlier."

"Mm.  Whose orders?"

"Deputy Director Kersh."

"Maybe I can persuade him to loosen up."

The humans took their leave.  The agents petted Banner
good-by and returned to their car.  On the way, Mulder
looked back at Walesa and then at Scully.  No telling if
he was comparing the two, or wondering if he should get
Scully another dog.
 

#

Ed Harrison came to Doggett's turf this time, a place
near the Hoover Building with much the same eavesdropper
discouragement as the one near the Memorial Building.
He waxed philosophical.  "Life was simpler in the Bad
Old Days: a dissident was a Commie and a Commie was a
traitor.  Ergo, they got what was coming to them.
Illegal taps, bag jobs, they deserved it all, because
we did it to them."

Doggett wondered what the other man was fishing for,
but played up.  "Spender's project to save as much of
mankind as he hasn't used up."

"And the Nazis, with their urmenschen and ubermenschen."

"Strughold?"

"Very likely, though we don't know as much about him
as Spender."

Was he going to propose something illegal?  He made a
gesture as though putting a lid on something and moving
it aside, and changed the subject.

"Congratulations on pulling out the numbers on Roush."

"That's what computers are for."

"Provided we give them the right data."  Yep, Harrison was
a born accountant.  "It begins to look as though Roush has
learned to cover its tracks.  We need to find the links
between Roush and the ephemeral Consortium plants, Lombard
and Prangen and the rest.  And check for links with Pinck."

"Hardly ephemeral.  It's older than Roush."

"And not the Consortium's creature.  I wager that the
connection has been severed, or else arranged for instant
separation at need."

"I should think Strughold has learned not to put his name on
companies, too."

"I've found a pretext for nosing around failed mines in West
Virginia.  It's very slow, and I'll have to go out and blow
the dust off hard-copy before I'm done --"

"Take backup," said Doggett.  "Take a SWAT team."

"I couldn't hide a SWAT team, but I'll certainly take more than
a single pair of agents."  Harrison hesitated, then went on at
a tangent.  "Speaking of backup . . .  What is there between
Skinner and Scully?"

"Damned if I know," said Doggett.  "He still feels guilty over
Mulder, and it's fairly clear he's protecting her in Mulder's
place, but I'll bet it goes farther back than the kidnapping."

"I thought at first she was his protege, but now I've seen
the three of them together, I wonder if they're a menage a
trois."

"Not yet, I don't think."

"Yet?"

"She won't admit it, but she knows Mulder's not going to
get well."

"Barring a miracle."

"And for all her 'he's not retarded,' he's about as much
companionship as the baby.  Only babies grow.  I think
she's making room for Skinner, but won't let herself
realise it."
 

#

At Suominen's office, Scully took Mulder's sports bag out
of the trunk and brought it in with her.

This session centered on an old-fashioned Identikit.  This
too was out of order, but it was familiar to an agent, at
least in its computerised form, and with Mulder's visual
memory the chances were he'd be good at it.

After practicing with the faces in front of him, Mulder
began building faces from memory.

Scully took advantage of his concentration to quietly tell
Suominen, "I suspect you of benign mendacity last session."

"How so?" said Suominen equally softly.

"The yes/no ikons.  The page of sketches.  You were giving
him an assured success.  It worked, too; he went on to
come up with the decaf ikon, and he'll be fondling that
memory for weeks to come."

Suominen smiled enigmatically, but whatever he might have
said was lost in Mulder's "done" rap on the table.  Scully
and Suominen came around to admire his picture of Skinner.

"He's going to kick your ass," said Scully in a
creditable copy of Skinner's expression and intonation, an
octave or so higher than her model.

Mulder grinned triumphantly and laid down the transparency
he'd been holding, a jar-head haircut.

Scully gasped at this younger Skinner.  Just as she'd been
struck anew with the realisation of Mulder's return, now
she realised Skinner's past with an intimacy it had never
had before.  AD Skinner, their compromised protector, had
grown out of a young, idealistic marine.

Caught by her silence, Mulder looked up at her.  Evidently
what he saw reassured him, for he smiled and sorted the
transparencies back into their boxes for the next effort.

Scully and Suominen went back to the other side of the
table.  Few enjoyed having people breathe down their necks,
especially while mastering a new skill.

"Oh," said Scully, "has anyone from Mulder's family called
you?"

"No," said Suominen.  "Ms Walesa and I have an appointment
for next week, when he's had a couple of sessions, and
that's all."
 

Toward the end of the session, Suominen booted up the
workstation and put in a CD-ROM.  "Don't ask me whether
this is programmed learning or a video game, because I
can never decide."

With Mulder occupied, he sat across a table from Scully
and looked inquiring.  She gave him a resigned and
somewhat wry grin, and told him about the nightmare, or
rather its aftermath, which was all she saw.  "It might
have been something they did to him," she concluded, "or
it might be a memory of one of our cases.  He got a broken
finger once during interrogation, and on another case a
victim lost both hands at the wrist.  But neither of those
are the sort of thing that normally sets off his
nightmares."

"Are nightmares normal for him, then?"

"Frequent, anyway.  Considering how you and Elaine both
emphasise the importance of touch, could a dream of hand
injury reflect fear of being starved of touch?"

"Could be," said Suominen.  "By it's nature, aphasia
makes psychoanalysis just about impossible.  If this can
wait until he's more proficient at computer graphics, or
learns Blissymbols . . .

"Does he, ah, react inappropriately to touch?  Get
aroused at what shouldn't be arousing?"

"If anything, the opposite.  Our first night home, he
held the covers open -- trust Mulder to make a nonverbal
innuendo! -- though we were both ready to crash and burn.
But since then, I've been in his bed and he in mine after
nightmares, and . . . nothing.  No sign of arousal at all.
It's almost a relief, one thing less to deal with, but is
it healthy?"

"Well, it could be that he doesn't find a pregnant woman
arousing, or considers pregnant women off-limits.  His
behavior might change after you deliver.

"Or, the effect of physical and mental trauma can go both
ways.  He can't do his old job, he can't live on his own
-- he can hardly help feeling that he's not the man he
used to be.  He might go from there to 'not a man,' or he
might set out to prove that he *is* still a man."  Suominen
frowned thoughtfully.  "At least you don't have the added
problems of stroke or traumatic brain injury.  If you had
to take care of his physical needs, there could be some
role problems."

Now it was Scully's turn to say, "Mm."

"I would say, wait if at all possible.  Wait until
you deliver, until he's more proficient at
computer-assisted communication, until his
post-stress symptoms are over.  If there's still
nightmares, or if impotence or lack of interest
persists, or if it changes to inappropriate
flirting, we'll deal with it then."
 

On the way out, they stopped outside the rest rooms.
Scully opened the sports bag she'd brought in and
ignored all session, and pulled out a running shoe.
She showed it to Mulder and raised an eyebrow.  He
grinned and reached for it.  She put the shoe back,
pulled out a shoe bag and passed the sports bag to
him.  The watching Suominen clapped his hands and
gave Mulder a thumbs-up.  He returned it, and the
partners vanished into their respective ikon-marked
doors.

Minutes later they came out again, Mulder dressed for
running and Scully in walking shoes.  They tossed both
bags into the trunk of the car, piled into the front
seat and headed off.

Not far from Scully's apartment was a green with a jogging
track.  Mulder jogged; Scully walked.  When he passed her
he turned around, dancing backward long enough to give her
a grin, then faced forward and picked up the lost speed.

After about half an hour, he slowed to a walk next to her.
They went once more around the track to cool off, then
went home.

#

"Mr Danford, an Agent Brown and an Agent Eccles to see
you."

Agents.  Curtis Danford drew a pen and legal pad toward
him and wrote their names and the time at the top.  "Send
them in."

FBI: the look hadn't changed since Hoover's day.  They
flashed their IDs at him and started to put them away,
when he held out his hand imperatively.

Of course they wouldn't let the IDs out of their
possession, but the one of whom he made the silent demand
placed it on the desk, leaning on the cover flap with one
hand.  Curtis checked the photo against the living face,
and copied the name (Eccles) and badge number onto the
legal pad.

"Thank you," he said, and turned to the other, who must by
elimination be Agent Brown.  He imitated his partner, and
Curtis got his data, too.  He drew a line under the names
and numbers and said, "Well, gentlemen.  What can I do for
you?"

"You've heard about Agent Mulder's disappearance?" asked
Eccles.

"The mass kidnapping.  They were returned recently, somewhat
the worse for wear."  He noted 'kidnap' on the left side of
the legal pad.

"You've got good sources."

"Fox's partner is an M.D."  He jotted 'MD' on the right
side.

Brown put in, "You understand that medical stuff?"

"The Web has pages aimed at patients and their families.
They keep the technicalities to a minimum."

"So do you, I hear," said Eccles.

"Excuse me?"

"Arranging for her to dip into Agent Mulder's emergency
fund."

Curtis shook his head.  "'Rumour painted with a thousand
tongues,'" he quoted.  Then, "I have no idea what Dr Scully
did in Virginia, but Fox made his emergency fund joint in
both their names several years ago.  She has every right to
make use of it."  'Joint fund' on the right side of the pad.

"That's not how she tells it," said Brown.

"Hardly surprising; she has no legal training beyond what she
got in the Academy.  And from what Fox has told me, she may
well have felt she had no *moral* right without at least
checking in with me."  'Moral right' on the right.

"Do you know she's knocked up?"

"Try that again in standard English," he said sternly.

"Pregnant."

"I've heard the story.  She confirmed it."  He jotted
'pregnant.'

"It doesn't bother you?" asked Eccles.

He stared at him with affronted dignity.  "My *dear* sir!
That is no more my concern than it is yours."

"Wouldn't you say it affects your client's interests?"

Curtis sighed and sat back.  "Is either of you a lawyer?"

"I never practiced," said Eccles.

"Then perhaps you've had no occasion to realise that the
effect of accurate DNA typing has been as profound in *every*
field that involves blood kinship as it has in forensics.  We
can ascertain paternity, and maternity too.  Maternity can
also be vital in an inheritance case, and of course hospital
mix-ups.  Which can happen.  Immigration: people want to bring
their families over, and officials sometimes suspect a scam.
Today we can *prove* who is and is not genetically related to
whom.

"Now: the only way this pregnancy can affect Fox's interests
is if he is the father, or if he is alleged to be the father.
And that can be proven conclusively."  'DNA testing' on the
left.

Brown changed the tack.  "You're OK with a pregnant woman
flying all over the country?"

"Pregnancy is neither a disease nor a disability.  Toward the
end it can be a temporary incapacity, but often is never more
than an inconvenience.  Not only can you *not* say, 'She's
pregnant, so she mustn't fly,' but she can sue you for trying."
'preg disabl' on the left.

"You get that sort of case?"

"Our clients tend to the conservative, but there's nothing
like a man trying to take control of a woman's estate to
make an instant convert to feminism."

"Not permanent, I'll bet."

"Sometimes.  Sometimes not."

"So is Agent Mulder the father?"

Curtis frowned at Eccles, the one with legal training.
"Perhaps, sir, you will tell your partner about
confidentiality.  It would be illegal and unethical for me
to gossip about my client's affairs."

"What are you doing now?"

"I am trying to instruct you in the law and legal ethics."

Brown cut in.  "Maybe you'd like to instruct a grand jury?"

Gloves off.  Curtis smiled.  "I am quite used to instructing
juries," he said.  "I flatter myself that I'm good at it."
He rose.  "But I must not keep you gentlemen from your
paperwork.  Relentless taskmaster, I know."

He saw them out of his office, gave a real smile to Abby,
and returned to his desk.  There he expanded his jottings
into something someone else could understand.  The notes on
the right-hand side of the pad he gave the heading 'specific
confirmation'; those on the left went below them, headed
'generalities.'  Then he phoned his senior partner.

"Curtis!" said David St Martin.  "What was that?"

"FBI."

"Hmp.  What did they want?"

"A clumsy fishing trip about Fox Mulder's partner."  He
smiled again as he had to the agents.  "I suspect that they
never did fully agree whether to concentrate on information
or intimidation."

"Mmm.   What now?"

"I'll leave my notes in the safe.  I'm cleaning up my desk
over this weekend and flying to Virginia Monday."
 

[ continued in part 7 ]
 

Quis Custodiet (7/?)
by Lee Burwasser  <lee46b@gateway.net>
 

WEEK TWO

(Monday)

After a quiet weekend, Scully decided to take up Skinner
on family leave.  She had thought to continue going to
work until she could no longer reach the steering wheel,
but her feet decreed differently, even with Mulder's
sybaritic foot rubs.  And she couldn't keep imposing on
her mother and the guys for day care.

While she was at it, she asked permission to see the
medical record of his encounter with the Bounty Hunter.
He agreed to take it to her and asked if she had the
report on the "clean-up" of the "toxic spill" in the
hospital.  Was he that eager to sic her onto the nearly
nonexistent biological data, or just hoped to keep her
quiet by giving her a bigger fix of puzzle?

Returning from the sedate exercise of a walk around the
block with Mulder, she found a message from Curtis
Danford.  He had just arrived at National Airport, and
had an appointment with Janet Walesa and Banner at noon.
After that, he would like to call at her place and talk
about something that probably needed attention.
 

###

"If I keep on having appointments here," said Jan, "I'll
have to train Banner to carry a dictaphone,"

"I've heard of training them to pull carts," said Danford.

Curtis Danford was spare, medium-tall, more salt than
pepper in his hair.  The Vietnam War generation.  He wore
well-tailored tweeds and stout, well-made shoes.  He seemed
unafraid of Banner.

"So," said Jan, "what brings you to Virginia?"

"First off, this."  He handed her a folded sheet of paper.

Jan unfolded it, seeing that there was longhand on both
sides.  Starting with the side that had been folded inward,
she saw "The attached" with "attached" lined out and
"reverse" neatly printed over it.

"[Date and time.]  The reverse is a photocopy of my notes
of a visit from Agents Brown and Eccles [full names and
badge numbers in parentheses] to my office in Boston, set
down immediately after the visit.  [signiture]  The above
signiture was made in our presence on [date] at [time].
[signiture] [signiture]"

Jan went over the notes, admiring how little specific
information Danford actually gave out.  Though the common
wisdom was that *nothing* you tell the FBI is innocuous,
he had kept it down mostly to what anyone could learn,
filling in with generalities.

She focused on the specific information that had been
bedeviling her: "Joint account?"

"I thought she was requesting assistance, not permission.
Never occurred to me that Fox might not have told her
about it, and it's too late to ask Fox."

Jan handed the paper back to him, but he waved her to keep
it.  "I've made another copy for Agent Scully."

"And the other reason?"

He took a pipe from his pocket, gazed at it and replaced it
unlit.  The pipe was well-seasoned; Jan wondered if he
was breaking himself, or didn't smoke in front of ladies.

"A seemingly innocuous question: how did word get to my
partner's client in Boston so fast?  Leading to a few more:
If he got it from the FBI, why did the Bureau hold off an
extra day before tackling me?  And why tell him at all?
Is he their stalking horse?  Does he know it?  And if so,
for what?"

"How did it get to you?"

"Faxed.  With a note that she was sending the rest of the
notifications by registered mail, and would I confirm that
I got mine OK."

"Can I expect communication from your partner's client?"

"Ah."  His hand went back into the pocket with the pipe,
but came out empty.  "I certainly hope wiser heads will
prevail."

"We can always hope."
 

###

Skinner brought the Bounty Hunter data to Scully over
his lunch hour.  After coffee (decaf) they got down to
business.

"How do we zap them with whatever you come up with?"
he asked.

"The army is working on non-lethals, but we should aim
at something that will go in a standard animal-control
dart.  Known technology, and a large pool of potential
instructors.  But first we have to work on taking
samples."

"You mentioned probes."

"Yes, but we also want to carry tongs, to pull cloth or
other material away from the corpse before it gets
completely dissolved.  Both design and material will
need thought, because we can expect to lose a bit off
the end each time we use them."

Something tickled the back of Skinner's head.  "The
fumes from the live one burned like hell," he said
slowly, "yet you and Doggett weren't even marked by
the dead one.  But there's bound to be some sort of
fumes if the thing's corroding into a puddle . . ."

"Yes," said Scully.  "There are definitely two
separate processes.  Autolysis doesn't release enough
volatiles to damage a person, but there must be enough
to show on delicate enough instruments.  A
chromatograph, like the ones for detecting toxic
vapor, mounted on a stand to keep it over the body
without touching it."

Then she said, "Oh," and looked contrite.  She stood,
pulled Skinner to his feet and placed them so Mulder
could see what they were doing.  She made a gun of her
hand, 'shot' Skinner, and clapped hands over her eyes,
miming pain.  Skinner mimed pushing her forcefully,
and she flung up her arms and mimed being flung to the
floor, where she used both hands to 'shoot' him
again.  "Stand still, now," she called.

Skinner stood instead of dropping.  Scully scrambled
to her feet, only slightly hampered by pregnancy, and
traced the trajectory of the bullet from her position
up under Skinner's chin and presumably out the back of
his head.  He felt her touch at his nape.  Then she
was turning Mulder so she could trace on his head the
position of the brain stem.

Mulder nodded, mimed a rifle, grabbed Scully and
pressed a finger to the back of her head.  He pushed
her away from him and posed for a moment ready for a
racing dive.

"Yes, he remembers," said Scully, clapping Mulder on
the back.  "The sharpshooters tried to get the Bounty
Hunter while he tried to trade me for Samantha.  The
Samantha clone."

Skinner was thinking about something else.  "All this
will make you more dangerous, and more of a target," he
said, "than desk work."

"I can still shoot, and so can Mulder, though we should
spend some time at the range soon.  And who'll watch the
watchmen?"

"There have to be at least three more reliable agents in
the Hoover Building."

Scully spread her hands, then smiled wryly.  "I've been
thinking about moving the fish over here," she confessed.
"Get everything vulnerable under one roof."

"Good idea; fewer predictable journies."

#

A knock at the door brought both of them to their feet,
weapons drawn.  Mulder went to the door, checked the spy
hole, and opened it.  As he did so, he moved out of
Scully's direct line of fire, but not Skinner's.

A carrying baritone said, "Hello, Fox," and Curtis Danford
stepped into the apartment.

At the sight of Scully's SIG, he stopped still until she
put it away, then turned to Mulder to shake hands.  After
a curious look at Skinner, he turned back to Scully and
said, "You're more vigilant than when I saw you last."

"I've got three to protect, now," she said, "and Mulder's
incapacity is no accident."  She gestured at Skinner.
"This is my boss, Assistant Director Walter Skinner.  Sir,
this is Curtis Danford, Mulder's attorney."

Danford stiffened, one might say bristled, at the
introduction.  He handed Skinner a folded sheet of paper,
another one to Scully.

They read both sides and looked at each other.  Both
looked at Danford, who said, "I am curious about why Fox
didn't tell you.  So is Ms Walesa."

"When did he do this?" she asked

"Nineteen ninety-five."

"Mm."  She nodded.  "He's improved since then at keeping
me in the loop."

Seeing that she had nothing more to say on that, Danford
turned a more challenging look on Skinner.

The AD was studying Danford.  "This is a dangerous
business, Mr Danford," he said.

"If it weren't, the Famous But Incompetent wouldn't be
trying to intimidate me.  Clearly it's more than making
arrangements to look after a disabled agent."

Scully slapped the paper down on the coffee table and
surged to her feet.  "If those bastards had any sense,
they'd let us alone!  Do they think I'm going to drag
Mulder on the trail of their damned conspiracy when he
can't even call for help?"

Skinner said slowly, "Didn't you say there are
ideographic or pictographic systems of nonverbal
graphic communication?"

Scully nodded.  "Mr Suominen mentioned C-ViC and the
Blissymbols."

"Which you are going to explore, one after another,
until you and Mulder can communicate complex and
concrete ideas as well as you did with words.  Even
if you have to be his interpreter for the rest of us,
he will eventually be able to discuss the cases."

"Yes.  It's going to take time, even once we settle
on a suitable system, but yes, eventually."

"So they don't dare leave him in your hands.  First
because they can't stand not controlling people;
second, because they don't dare let him develop full
communication; and third, because they want him in
some sense-deprived institution instead of living at
home and being as independent as he can be."

Scully was apalled.  Then she was enraged.  "Those
bastards!" she exploded.  "Yes, I bet you're right on
all three, whether Spender's alive or dead."

Danford studied his pipe again.  "Are these the
human experimenters that Fox was fighting?"  Into
the sounding silence that resulted, he asked Scully,
"Do you trust him?" with a nod toward Skinner.

"I trust his intentions.  I wouldn't expect him to
withstand torture, unless other lives were on the
line."

Danford nodded.  "Did Fox ever tell you what he did
with what he inherited from his father?"

"I know that his father worked with the Consortium,
at first willingly and then under duress.  When he
got up the nerve to confess to Mulder, the
Consortium murdered him."  She exchanged grim looks
with Mulder, then turned back to Danford.  "From
your question, I deduce that he dedicated his
father's money to fighting the Consortium,
specifically their human experiments."

Danford nodded.  "Good deduction."  He turned to
Skinner.  "I know these are dangerous men.  And
while I'm not a gun-toting peace officer, neither
am I a helpless weakling."

Skinner nodded in his turn.  "There's only one
explanation that makes sense of what's happened,"
he said.  "The Consortium learned about Scully's
petition from a mole in the Hoover Building.
Someone in Boston, or somewhere in New England,
knew that Mr Kupier could be used as a stalking
horse.  Someone, the same or another, feared you
enough to send in a pair of bullies.  As bad a
mistake as sending Scully in to debunk Mulder,
going on eight years ago.  "

"What will you do?"

"To start with, I'm going to play 'Bad Cop, Bad
Cop' with a pair of clumsy agents."
 
 

(Tuesday)

Jeeze, the things some people ask!  No, lady, nobody
teaches first aid for fish.  Spend as little time in
transit as you can, and keep the temperature as
constant as you can.  Shows her heart's in the right
place, anyway.  (Along with everything else: handsome
woman.)  And she bought a supply of food and a small
bowl for moving them.  Not all loss.
 

###

Scully set up an appointment with her OB.  She was
lucky to get a cancellation slot.

Then she called Walesa, and they spent an hour fitting
schedules together.  Walesa had arranged evaluation
and an observer, and was in the midst of setting up
imaging sessions.  PET scan, as expected, was a
scheduling nightmare in itself.

###

Skinner turned back to the summary sheets of the files
on Agents Brown and Eccles, and had Kim call the Boston
office and get him the SAC.

"I've been handed a written allegation that Agents Eccles
and Brown, presumably from the Boston office, attempted to
intimidate one Curtis Danford, a lawyer.  And did a rotten
job."

"Uhm, do you want to wait, sir, while I see if they're
in the office at present?"

"Do that, thank you."

In record time, the voice was back.  "I'm putting you on
speakerphone now, sir."  There was a click.

"Agents Brown and Eccles?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," came two out-of-synch voices.

"What the hell did you do at Danford's office?"

"He was ready for us, sir.  Insisted right at the start
on taking down our names and badge numbers."

"And knowing his wariness, you told him -- he has this
in quotation marks -- 'Perhaps you'd like to instruct the
grand jury.'  He didn't put down his response, but I
deduce that he loved the idea."

"He said he was used to it, and thought he did well."

"And you nailed down exactly one fact -- the joint
account -- that couldn't have been picked up by any
janitor at the Hoover Building."

"Sir, our assignment was to pick up anything on Agent
Mulder and his partner, but he doesn't have any
connections in New England any more.  And she never did.
Just that lawyer.  Who is a goddamned paranoid."

"Maybe he taught Mulder.  Did you by any chance check
him out *before* you strolled into his den?"

"Family lawyer, some pro bono work.  The usual legal
publications, plus a few papers on the Underground
Railroad in New Bedford and a couple on his family.
Whalers.  Belongs to that Boston human rights group,
Global Lawyers and Physicians."

"All right, you did some homework.  Get your report
out pronto, and send a copy to me.  AD Skinner, CID."

"Yes, sir."

Skinner hung up and noted the time.  He'd give Kersh
fifteen minutes to think up a pretext to call him,
then go in himself.

#

Walesa did not like being jerked around the Metropolitan
Area, but since Skinner was doing her a favor, the least
she could do was make the appointment on time.  And pick
up Agents Scully and Mulder along the way.  AD Skinner
was happy to add them to the mix.  DD Kersh was not.

"What is this all about?" he asked, scowling impartially
at all four of them.

Walesa set a folded sheet of paper on Kersh's desk and
said, "I'm hoping we won't need this, sir."  Wouldn't
hurt to start off polite.  "I have been appointed Agent
Mulder's guardian ad litem; it is my duty to protect
his interests.  Owing to his incapacity, I'm having
a hard time figuring out what his interests are.
However, since Agent Scully has petitioned to be
appointed his guardian, one factor will obviously be
the quality of decisions she makes in his behalf.  And
since she has acted for him unofficially since he was
kidnapped, we have in her past decisions the best
evidence for the quality we can expect of her future
ones.  But in order to ascertain the quality of those
past decisions, I need to know the circumstances under
which they were made."

"Why not ask Agent Scully?"

"I have.  She feels that those circumstances are so
entangled with what you have ordered her not to
discuss that she needs your permission to tell me."

Kersh glared at Scully.  "Very well, Agent Scully, tell
her."

"Thank you, sir," said Scully.  She continued, to
Walesa, "When Mulder and the Bellefleurans were
kidnapped, there was of course a manhunt for him.
It failed, as you know.  The captives were returned
when their kidnappers felt like returning them.  More
accurately, I should say that the Oregon end of the
manhunt failed.  There was also a hunt on the east
coast for evidence that Mulder had willfully gone
AWOL.  Enough suggestive evidence was brought in that
the Bureau froze his leave and health benefits.  This,
naturally, worried me.  Rather than draw on his
salary, which might also be frozen at any time, I
tapped his emergency fund in Boston."

"I see," said Walesa.  "You mentioned that the
irregularities were resolved?"

"Yes.  His return with the other captives rendered the
AWOL theory untenable, and his leave and benefits have
been restored retroactively."

"So all's well that ends well."  Walesa turned back to
face Kersh, picked up the folded paper from his desk
and returned it to her pocket.  "I'm happy we could
work this out amicably, sir."

Kersh stood abruptly.  "So am I.  Skinner can show you
out."

They all took the hint and left the office.

#

Walesa offered Scully and Mulder a lift home, which Scully
declined with thanks.  "We're going to take some exercise
on the Mall," she said.  Meanwhile, Mulder shook a frizbee
out of his leather jacket and handed it to Scully before
donning the jacket and engaging the bottom few inches of
the zipper.  She handed it back, and he tucked it away
under the leather.

Skinner checked his watch, turning the face toward Scully
and unobtrusively tapping the numeral three.  Scully nodded.

Sure enough, Skinner, Harrison and Doggett converged on
the Mall to find Scully and Mulder tossing the frizbee
back and forth.  Mulder had amaising control over the
thing, keeping its trajectory from touching down long
distances beyond Scully.  She had less accuracy, and as
the three men came up, Mulder levitated to catch it.
When he threw it back, it looped away from Scully and
passed close enough to Skinner for him to take two
sidesteps and grab it.

Scully smiled at him.  "Dance like a butterfly, sting like
a bee."

Skinner, who was indeed an amateur boxer, grinned wryly as
he handed the frisbee to her.  She handed it off to Mulder
and glanced inquiringly at the three.

"Confession and apology time," said Harrison.  "I thought
the evidence tampering would have a fairly quick fix.
That basically, you were screwing up on evidence security.
But the Mafia really have taken over City Hall.  The one
most effective measure, sending in a team big enough and
armed heavily enough to stand off a car-and-helcopter
ambush, couldn't be hidden from moles."

"Why do I get this feeling that you're about to suggest
something illegal?" asked Scully.

"Because we're both FBI, tarred with the same brush.  And
a lot of Hoover's illegal tactics were not *inherently*
illegal.  They would have been legal if he'd gotten
permission first."

"Wiretapping the Consortium is hardly practical.  Nor is
a mail cover.  Hacking their systems, maybe."  Skinner saw
her glance guiltily and Mulder and away again.  "In fact,
the only thing with any good chance of working is a bag
job, and that *is* inherently illegal."

"But not inherently immoral," said Harrison.  "Not
against a multinational that systematically abducts
and abuses American citizens, that has corrupted and
bought the American federal government and the American
military service --"

"I KNOW what the Consortium has done!" she cried.  "When
I signed up, I was assured that Hoover's abuses had been
reformed.  I was pretty green to have bought it, but I
live with the knowledge.  I will not live with becoming
a Hoover myself."

Doggett nodded.  "Camel's nose," he said.

"There are two significant differences between us and
Hoover," said Harrison.  "First, we are not trying to
silence dissenters; we're trying to stop physical abuse
of innocent civilians.  Second, we have none of Hoover's
immunity; if we get caught, we get thrown to the wolves
as 'rogue agents.'  No one will automatically take our
word against Joe Citizen's."

"Agent Scully," said Skinner, "suppose I broke into
Krycek's rooms and stole the trigger for the
nanomachines?  Could that be justified?"

"Yes.  Effectively, Krycek has you at gunpoint 24/7."

Skinner exchanged