By Brandon D. Ray
publius@avalon.net
 

Date: Sun, 04 Oct 1998

DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT:  Anywhere and everywhere, so long as my name
stays on it and no money changes hands.

FEEDBACK:  Oh, hell yes....

Ephemeral: *FEEDBACK*publius@avalon.net

SPOILER WARNING:  Hrmm.  Thinking about it...Minor ones for Anasazi/The
Blessing Way/Paperclip...can't think of anything else
off-hand...apologies in advance if I've forgotten something.

RATING:  PG or PG-13, depending on your opinion of the "f" word.  No
hanky panky to upset Mrs. Grundy, but a fair number of PDA's.  Some
violence, but on the other hand any project more involved than a
schoolyard swing involves some potential loss of human life.  (
Paraphrased from RAH, "The Star Beast")

CONTENT WARNING:  ScullyAngst, both Bill, jr., and Dana.  Also,
not-too-graphic presentation of a patient in a psychiatric hospital who
has been mistreated.

CLASSIFICATION:  C,A; also M/S friendship; Crossover is with "Seven Days
in May" by Fletcher Knebel and Charles W. Bailey II.  This story stands
on its own, however; you don't have to have read the book to "get it".

The book was also made into a damned fine film, written by Rod Serling,
starring Kirk Douglas, Burt Lancaster and Fredric March; there was a
remake on HBO in the early 90s called "The Enemy Within", which wasn't
nearly as good, but which was watchable.  Oh, and if you DO happen to be
as much in love with this source material as I am, be ye warned that I
have taken some liberties with Knebel and Bailey's plot and characters.

DEDICATION:  To Nonie, for tireless beta reading.  To Tracy, who
patiently answered a number of silly questions concerning the MATS
system, and who in so doing unwittingly inspired a radical change (and
improvement) in the underlying plot.  And, of course, to Eleanor, my one
in five billion.

SUMMARY:  The second in an apparently continuing series as I attempt to
salvage Bill Scully, jr's poor, pathetic soul.  (The first was
"Insurmountable Opportunities", but you don't have to have read that
piece to enjoy this one.  Of course, you OUGHT to read IO, as it is
exceptionally cool.  It will show up on gossamer eventually, or you can
drop me a line and I'll email it to you.)  In THIS story, Bill makes
another visit to Washington, and gets caught up in another X-File -- but
this time the investigation may have profound consequences for the
future of the United States.

DISCLAIMER:  Nope, I don't own these characters or situations.  If I
were THAT smart, I'd be rich.  And, um, I guess I have to disclaim
ownership to the lyrics to "Heartbreak Hotel", as well as those to "This
One's For You".  God forbid someone would think *I* would write such,
um, stuff.  I feel so unclean...  ;)

I also need to acknowledge "A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes", written
by Mack David, Jerry Livingston and Al Hoffman.  That's one I DO wish
I'd written, but I didn't, and that goes a long way towards explaining
why I'm stuck in this lousy job trying to raise a family while making
too little money.

Finally, the poem Bill Scully quotes from in the coffee shop is
"Lucasta", by Richard Lovelace, and I don't have to disclaim anything in
this case since Lovelace has been dead for more than three centuries,
but I wanted to mention it anyway, just to prove that I'm eddicated.  ;)

Well, that's enough crap; let's get on with the good stuff...
 

SATURDAY

Bill Scully was tired, and his joints hurt.

<<I'm getting old,>> he thought.  <<MATS flights never used to bother me
like this.>>  But somehow spending six or eight hours jammed into a
C-141 with a couple hundred Marines who clearly didn't appreciate his
presence, wearing those little yellow foam-rubber plugs to protect his
ears from the roar of the jet engines, just wasn't as much FUN as it had
been when he was 25.  And the constant shaking, jarring and jouncing as
the huge military cargo plane plowed its way through the late afternoon
sky hadn't helped matters any.  For the hundredth time since receiving
his orders on Friday afternoon, Bill wondered why the Navy had refused
to pop for a regular airline ticket.

<<Oh, well,>> he reflected, also for the hundredth time.  <<Mine not to
reason why; mine but to do and die.>>

Now he was limping through Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport,
his duffel slung over his shoulder.  As he moved along the concourse, he
felt his muscles start to unkink, and his stride gradually became more
natural.

<<Wish I'd been able to get hold of Dana,>> he thought.  He'd tried
calling several times last night, and twice again that morning, but to
no avail.  He passed a rank of pay phones, and briefly considered trying
again now, but decided against it.  She'd just feel obligated to drive
out and pick him up, he reasoned.  Better just to jump on the Metro or
grab a taxi.

Twenty minutes later, Bill found himself standing outside his sister's
apartment, knocking for the third time.  <<Hell's bells,>> he thought.
It hadn't occurred to him that she still wouldn't be home.  She did do a
lot of traveling for her job -- maybe she was off somewhere on an
assignment.

Bill fished in his pocket and brought out his keyring.  The key to
Dana's apartment, which Fox Mulder had given to him two months before,
on Bill's last visit to Washington, glinted at him suggestively.  <<Dana
really wouldn't mind,>> he told himself, and he inserted the key in the
lock and let himself in.

The first thing he noticed as he stepped across the threshold was the
sound of the shower running; seconds later his nose informed him of
wonderful smells drifting in from the kitchen, and his stomach reminded
him of exactly how long it had been since breakfast.  So she was here
after all.  Bill was relieved; he'd felt vaguely guilty about letting
himself in.  It somehow reminded him of the time he had found and read
Dana's diary, back when she was 13 or 14.  He'd made the mistake of
trying to blackmail her with it, and she'd gone straight to their
father....

<<This isn't like that,>> he reassured himself, unconsciously rubbing
his buttocks at the memory of his father's ire, and wandering through
the apartment more or less at random.  <<We're both adults now, and I
wouldn't dream of invading her privacy.>>

Then he saw the dining table.

Rapidly, his eyes flicked over the arrangements:  Linen table cloth,
Waterford crystal, the antique china that used to sit in his mother's
display case when he was a boy, gleaming silverware that looked like it
might actually BE silver, two unlit candles....  <<Candlelight dinner,>>
he thought, feeling his face start to redden.  <<For two.  Dana's
expecting company -- and I'll just bet it's not me!>>  The only things
that didn't really fit into the equation were the two bottles of root
beer peeking out of the ice bucket.

<<Root beer?>>

At that moment, the sound of the shower stopped.  <<I think I need to be
elsewhere,>> Bill thought, and moved hurriedly back to the door.
Scooping up his duffel, he was reaching for the doorknob when he heard a
key in the lock.  Instinctively, he took a step back as the door swung
open.

It was Fox Mulder.

Mulder looked as startled as Bill felt.  The two men stood stock still,
staring at each other, for several seconds.  Then Mulder grinned his
patented irritating grin and stuck out his hand.

"Hi, Bill!" he said cheerfully.  "Fancy meeting you here.  Long time no
sea, as Lewis said to Clarke."

Numbly, Bill shook the FBI man's hand, and watched as Mulder shut the
door and moved past him into the apartment.

Mulder was dressed to the nines, Bill couldn't help noticing:  Dark
suit, snow white dress shirt, and his shoes looked as if they had been
spit-shined.  Bill hadn't seen their like since his Academy days.  The
only thing spoiling the effect was the necktie, which made Bill wish for
a volume control.

"I must say I didn't expect you to be here, Bill," Mulder continued,
walking into the kitchen.  Bill heard the refrigerator door open and
close, and then Mulder reappeared, a bottle of Rolling Rock in his
hand.  "Dana didn't mention that you were coming into town again," he
continued as he twisted off the bottle cap and sank down on the sofa.

"Uh, she didn't know I was coming," Bill replied.  "*I* didn't know I
was coming until yesterday afternoon."  His eyes shifted to the table
setting, and Mulder followed his gaze.

"Well, that would explain it," Mulder said lazily, and he looked back at
Bill, pinning him with his gaze like a butterfly on a display card.

Some seconds went by as Bill tried to think of something to say.
Several alternatives flashed through his mind, but none of them seemed
to be quite...appropriate.

"Mulder?"  Dana's voice drifted into the room from down the hallway.
"Mulder, I heard you come in."  Her voice was coming closer.  "I wonder
if you could do me a favor.  I forgot to get urk."  She stopped in
mid-sentence as she stepped into the living room and saw her brother
standing there.  She was dressed in a white terrycloth bathrobe which
didn't cover her nearly well enough for Bill's taste, under the
circumstances, and she had a towel wrapped around her still-wet hair.
She now stood stock still, her eyes shifting back and forth between her
partner and her brother.

"Hi, Scully!" Mulder was the first to recover.  "You should have told me
you were planning a menage a trois.  I'd have brought extra condoms."

Bill stared at Mulder in disbelief.  He hadn't actually said that, had
he?  But from the look of disgust on Dana's face -- which Bill found
infinitely reassuring -- it was clear that she had heard it, too.

"Not funny, Mulder," she said.  "Not even a little bit."  She glared at
the man on the couch.

"I'm sorry, Scully," Mulder said, putting on a face that made him look
alarmingly like a whipped puppy.  "Forgive me?"

Rather amazingly, the ploy worked.  Dana's face softened, and she said,
"It's okay."  She walked over to the sofa and ruffled Mulder's hair.
Then she seemed to remember that her brother was there and turned back
to face Bill.  With an artificial air of nonchalance, she said, "So.
Bill.  What brings you to...here?"  As if he lived in the neighborhood
and had just happened to drop by of a Saturday evening.

"Work," he said, desperately trying to find his way out of the
situation.  "I, uh, I have meetings at the Pentagon starting Monday, and
for some reason they saw fit to send me out on a MATS with a bunch of
jarheads."  The words seemed to tumble together in his mouth.  "I was
hoping..." His eyes flicked to that dinner table again, and once more he
felt his face growing red.  "Look," he said.  "It's pretty obvious I've
intruded.  I'll just get out of here, and find a room at HoJo's or
something.  I'll call you in the morning."  And he turned to leave.

"Wait, Bill."  Dana caught up with him in the hallway.  "Don't go; of
course you can stay here.  Mulder and I were just going to have dinner
and watch a movie; no big deal.  Come on inside."  <<If she offers to
set another place, I'm going to run,>> Bill thought.  <<My legs are
longer than hers; she'll never catch me.>>  But he let himself be led
back inside.

Mulder was still sprawled on the sofa; he now had his shoes off and his
feet up on the coffee table, and he was watching the scene between
brother and sister with great amusement evident on his face.  "Sure,
Bill," he agreed, affecting a down-home hick accent.  "Come on in and
set a spell."

Dana looked from one man to the other, and Bill thought he detected a
faint look of panic in her eyes.  <<This is a really bad idea,>> he
thought.  <<Even if the evening agenda is as innocent as she claims, I'm
still in the way.>>  He cleared his throat.  "Look, Dana...I really
don't think I should be here.  I --"

"Nonsense," she said, stepping forward and prying his duffel out of his
hands.  As she did so, he noticed with embarrassment that he had been
holding it in front of his body, as if to ward off a blow.  "You are
always more than welcome here; you know that."  She turned away firmly
and carried his duffel down the hallway towards the guest bedroom.

Bill followed after her.  "Look," he said quietly once they were alone
in the guest room.  "You don't have to do this.  I really can find
someplace else to stay, and I really don't want to interfere with..."
He waved his hands helplessly.  "Things."

She stood and looked at him for a moment, her face an expressionless
mask, and he knew he was in trouble.  Then she turned away and placed
his duffel in the corner next to the bureau and started turning down the
bedclothes.  "You are welcome to stay here," she said.  You are welcome
to go to a motel.  Whichever choice you make, it will make absolutely no
difference in what goes on in this apartment this evening."  She turned
to face him, the mask still in place.  "If you do decide to stay, you
are also welcome to join us for dinner."

Bill gulped, and closed his eyes, then forced them open again.  She'd
gotten a lot better at this than she had been at 14.  "I ate on the
plane," he lied.  "And...and I am very tired," he added truthfully.  "It
was a long, bumpy ride.  If it's all the same to you, I think I'll just
go to bed."

"That would be fine," she said calmly, and went to the door.  As she
pulled it open, Mulder's voice drifted down the hallway.

"Hey, Scully.  What movie do you want to watch tonight?  I was thinking
maybe DEEP THROAT, but I know you're partial to Johnny Wad."

Bill saw her shoulders tense slightly.  "I'll kill him," she muttered,
and walked on out the door, and into her own room.

Bill shut the door to his room and sagged against it wearily.  <<This is
not going to be a good week,>> he thought.  <<But at this point I think
leaving would be worse.>>  Sighing, he stood up, and crossed over to the
bed.  He really was exhausted.  He kicked off his shoes and quickly
stripped down to his shorts, then stretched out on the mattress and
pulled the covers up.  Despite the emotional turmoil he was in, and
despite the gnawing hunger in his belly, it was only a matter of a few
minutes before he was sound asleep.

#          #          #

TITLE:  Seven Days in November (2/8)
AUTHOR:  Brandon D. Ray
EMAIL ADDRESS:  publius@avalon.net

SUNDAY

Bill Scully awoke in the pre-dawn darkness, feeling remarkably rested
and refreshed.  Turning over in bed, he felt a familiar, friendly urge
rising in his loins; sleepily, he reached across the bed, trying to find
his wife.

She wasn't there.

Groggily, he sat up and looked around.  Right.  He wasn't in San Diego;
he was in Washington.  At Dana's.  He picked up the alarm clock and
squinted at its glowing face:  Five minutes after seven.  <<Be damned,>>
he thought.  <<I slept the clock around.  Haven't done that in a long
time.>>

He swung his feet around and stood up, then groped along the wall until
he found the light switch.  Blinking owlishly at the sudden
illumination, he looked around and spotted his duffel in the corner
where Dana had left it.

Dana.  <<Really screwed the pooch last night, didn't you, William,>> he
thought, climbing into a pair of sweat pants and pulling a t-shirt on
over his head.  Well, plenty of time to make it up to her; he'd be here
all week, after all.

Stepping out into the hallway, he saw that his sister's door was still
closed.  <<Probably had a late night,>> he thought, then winced at the
image that thought brought to mind.  <<Bad, Captain Scully!>> he
chastised himself.  <<Down!  Back!  Sit!  She may be your sister, but
she's also a grown woman, and she no longer needs your protection -- if
she ever did.>>

He had a sudden vivid recollection of a young man abruptly leaving the
Scully home, his shoulders hunched and his hands clutched protectively
about his private anatomy, while 16 year old Dana stood by and announced
sorrowfully that Reggie had "taken ill" and had to go home.  The memory
made Bill feel better, and he padded down the hall towards the living
room, thinking that he'd make breakfast as a sort of peace offering.

As he emerged from the hallway, he realized that the TV was still
playing, the volume turned low.  Frowning, he stepped around the sofa,
intending to turn it off -- and almost tripped over his sister's feet.

Bill raised his eyebrows and backed up carefully.  Dana was curled up on
the floor, sound asleep.  Fox Mulder was there, too, also asleep,
sprawled in a spread-eagle half on and half off the sofa.  They were
both still wearing their dress clothes from the night before, which was
at least some consolation, but Dana's head was lying on Mulder's --
well, "lap" was the polite term, Bill supposed.  The whole tableau
looked extremely...intimate.

His first impulse was to drag Mulder off the sofa and throw him out into
the hallway, but he suppressed it.  <<Not my business,>> he reminded
himself.  <<Remember how much trouble you got into last night.  Let's
not make it any worse.>>

He turned and went back down the hall to take a shower, deliberately
leaving the bathroom door open so the sound would carry.

Twenty five minutes later, he emerged, to the smell of cooking bacon.
His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn't had anything to eat,
aside from a few Fig Newtons on the plane, for nearly 24 hours.  He
ducked into the guest room, pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and
then followed the smells down the hall.

Dana was in the kitchen, working with a frying pan; Mulder was nowhere
to be seen.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Dana said, smiling.  The tight-lipped anger
of the night before seemed to be gone.  Good.

"Good morning," he replied.  "Mmm.  Smells good.  Been up long?"

"A while," she replied.

"Where's Mulder?"  Bill wanted to bite his tongue out of his head, but
the words were already out there, hanging almost visibly in the air
between them.  <<Maybe I should buy a muzzle,>> he thought in disgust.

Dana glanced at him, her face expressionless, and Bill steeled himself
for the explosion.  But all she said was, "He had to leave."

"Oh."  Bill cast about, trying to find something to say to that, but
came up empty.

"Bacon's ready," Dana said.

The meal passed in silence.  Dana sat watching him from across the
table, sipping at a cup of coffee and nibbling on a piece of toast,
while Bill had a somewhat more lavish breakfast.  Finally, he pushed
back his chair, leaned back and stretched.  "Good grub, Dana," he said,
invoking the ritual their parents had used at the end of every meal.

She didn't laugh at his witticism.  Instead:  "Thanks," she said.  Then
the bombshell:  "Do you think I'm ready to be a wife yet?"

Bill froze in mid-stretch, and stared at his sister.  "W-what --"

"It was a simple question," she said calmly.  "Do you think I'm ready to
be a wife?"

Bill continued to stare at her.  She sat on the other side of the table,
hands folded in her lap, a serene expression on her face.  "Why...why do
you ask?" he managed to stutter out.

"To see what you will say," she replied.  "I value your opinion."

She wasn't giving anything away.  Carefully, he searched her face,
looking for some clue, but there was nothing there.  He couldn't tell if
she was putting him on, or was utterly serious.

"You're joking," he said tentatively.

Silently, her face still expressionless, she started gathering up the
dirty dishes.

"Wrong answer, huh," he said.

Dana didn't respond, but carried the dirty dishes into the kitchen.
Bill had just decided to go after her when she came back out and sat
down across the table from him again.  He sat in silence, knowing that
she would talk to him again when she was ready.

"We need to have this out, Bill," she said at last.  "There are some
things you have to understand."  She seemed to think about that for a
moment, then amended her second statement.  "There are some things that
I NEED for you to understand."

Bill nodded, but didn't say anything.

"First and foremost," she went on, "who I spend my time with, and what I
do with them, is not your concern."  He started to agree with the flat
statement, but she cut him off.  "More specifically, whether or not I am
sleeping with Fox Mulder is none of your god damned business."  And she
sat back in her chair and watched him.

"I can accept that," he said at last, grudgingly.  "And...I'm sorry.  I
was...out of line last night."

But she apparently wasn't going to let him off that easily.  "Last
night," she said in measured tones, "you were a horse's ass.  Even
Mulder spotted it, and he's not the most sensitive person in the world.
You humiliated me, and I do not appreciate it."

"Mulder was --" he started to object, but she cut him off again.

"I have spoken to Mulder, and again, what we said on the matter, and
what we may or may not have done last night, is none of your business.
Right now, at this moment, this is about you and me."

Bill sat in silence for a moment; then he nodded reluctantly.  "I can
accept that, too," he said quietly.

"Good."  She looked him square in the eye, and he braced himself for
another barrage.  "Now the second thing you have to know," she said, "is
that I love you very much."  And again, she sat back and watched him,
waiting for a response.

"I...I love you, too, Dana," he replied at last.

She slowly exhaled, and Bill realized that he had been holding his
breath, as well.  "That's the first sensible thing you've said since you
got here," she said.

There was only one answer he could give to that, much as it galled him
to admit it.  "I believe you may be right," he said.

Dana actually smiled.  "Trust me on this one," she said, standing up
again.  She glanced at her watch.  "Now that that's settled, let me get
at the dishes.  If you're willing to dry while I wash, I think we can
get them done and still make 10:30 Mass.  Then, if you're up for it,
Mother has invited us to lunch."

Bill smiled in return, and stood up, and for a moment brother and sister
faced each other again over the breakfast table.  "Church, Dana?" he
asked.

"That's right," she said.  "I've been...thinking things over, the last
year or so.  I've found church to be very helpful."  And she turned and
led him into the kitchen, to face the dirty dishes.

#          #          #

The drive out to their mother's house was quiet, brother and sister each
lost in their own thoughts.  At first Bill found it restful, but shortly
he started to feel uncomfortable.

Church had been pleasant, but had failed to provide the distraction he
had been hoping for, and which past experience had led him to expect.
He had found it difficult to focus on the sermon, and twice he had
fumbled on responses which he had had committed to memory since he was a
boy.  Now he sat in the passenger seat of Dana's car, and despite his
implicit promise to her, he found himself brooding about her
relationship with her partner.

His gaze fell on his sister.  <<I wonder what she's thinking about?>>
The question came unbidden to his mind.  Her face seemed so calm and
serene, and under her breath she was humming a little tune which was
maddeningly familiar, but which he couldn't quite place.

He shook his head.  <<How can she be so happy?>> he wondered.  Not that
he begrudged her that happiness, but she'd been through so much in the
past few years -- and those were only the things he knew about.  He had
a strong suspicion that there had been other trials in her life, things
of which Bill had no knowledge.  But there she sat, humming to herself,
a faint smile on her lips as her imagination took her...somewhere.

<<Is THAT what's really bothering me?>> he wondered suddenly.  <<Is it
really just that she has private joys and sorrows which she hasn't
shared with me, and so I feel shut out?  Could it really be that I'm
that selfish?>>  He hadn't considered that possibility before, and now
he turned it over in his mind uneasily.  If Dana was happy with her
life, who was he to second guess her?  <<More specifically,>> he
thought, unconsciously echoing in his mind her words over breakfast,
<<if she is happy with her relationship with Mulder -- whatever that
relationship may consist of -- why is that  so upsetting to me?
Shouldn't I be HAPPY for her, if she has finally found a man who
fulfills her, the way Tara fulfills me?>>

At length, they arrived at their mother's home, and both Bill and Dana
turned outward again.  Lunch was served, and for an hour the three of
them sat together over fried chicken, mashed potatoes and hot homemade
bread.  There was one interruption which marred the occasion, however:
Part way through the main course, Dana's cell phone beeped.

With a sigh of annoyance, and a briefly murmured "excuse me", Dana took
the instrument from her jacket pocket, turned half away and punched a
button on the phone.  Bill tried not to listen, but found that he
couldn't help himself.

"Scully."  A brief pause.  "Oh, hi.  Look, this is not a good time --
What?"  She listened for a moment.  "Yes, those results should be back
by now, but can't it wait until morning?"  Another pause.  "No.  No, I
am not going to -- Mulder, I am having lunch with Bill and my mother;
we're about to have dessert."  Her face reddened, and she glanced at
Bill in apparent embarrassment.  "No, I will not tell him that."  Yet
another pause, longer than the others.  Finally, she said, "Are you
attempting to bribe a federal official?...Well, then you're going to
have to offer me something better than that."  A smile crept across her
face as she listened to the response.  "Chocolate."  Pause.  "Two boxes,
Mulder...No, TWO boxes.  And GOOD chocolate, not Hershey bars, like the
last time....Okay, I'll call you right back."  And she hit the
disconnect button on her phone.

Looking at Mrs. Scully, and then at Bill, Dana said, "I'm sorry; this
will just take a moment."  And she punched one of the speed dials on her
cell phone.  After a moment, she frowned.  "That's funny," she
muttered.  She hit disconnect, then tried the speed dial again.  She
shook her head.  "Weird."  Then she tried a different speed dial.

"Mulder, it's me," she said.  "Look, first of all, you still owe me
those chocolate bars, because I did try."  She listened for a moment.
"No, I wasn't able to get through....Yes, I do believe the tests must be
complete, but when I dialed the number all I got was a 'not in service'
recording....Yes, I know that it's unusual --"  She rolled her eyes in
exasperation, and shook her head.  "No, Mulder....No, I am NOT going to
drive down to Quantico just to satisfy your curiosity....No, not even
for FOUR boxes....No, I said 'no' and I meant 'no'."  Her lips quirked
into an almost-smile.  "No, there is NOT 'yes-yes' in my eyes....Mulder,
I have to go.  I'll see you in the morning."  And without waiting for a
reply she hit the disconnect button.

"Sorry about that," she said, and after a moment of embarrassed silence
-- at least, Bill was embarrassed -- they returned to their meal, and to
their conversation.

Bill was pleased at the opportunity to spend time with his mother, whom
he hadn't seen since her visit to San Diego the previous Christmas.
They traded stories, brought each other up to date, and Bill passed
around pictures of the new grandchild, and everything felt warm,
comforting and familiar.  After the meal, Dana announced that she was
tired, having had a short night, and went off to her old room to lie
down for awhile, leaving Bill and his mother alone.

"She's looking a lot better," Bill remarked as he helped his mother
gather up the dirty dishes and carry them into the kitchen.  Setting the
pile of plates down, he turned and leaned up against the counter while
she set about filling the sink with hot water.  "She seems to be making
a strong recovery."

Mrs. Scully nodded.  "The Scully women have always been fighters, Bill.
Remember your Grandma Scully?  She was a tough one."

"She certainly was."  Automatically, he stepped forward and took a
dishtowel off its hook, and prepared to start drying.  "I've
been...having some problems," he said, changing the subject.  "And I was
wondering if I could try to talk them out with you."

She glanced at him and smiled as she handed him the first of their
luncheon plates for drying.  "Of course, Bill.  What's a mother for?"

"Well, this one's kind of difficult," he said.  Not sure how to begin,
he concentrated on drying the plate she had handed him, and then put it
away in the cabinet and turned to take the next one from her, thinking
about it.  She seemed content to let him take his time.  Finally, he
said, "Actually, it's about Dana."

Mrs. Scully nodded.  "I thought it might be."

Bill raised his eyebrows, and gave a little chuckle.  "Telepathy,
Mother?"

She smiled back at him.  "Of course.  It's something they issue to new
mothers before they let us go home from the hospital.  Didn't Tara get
hers?"

"If she did, she didn't tell ME about it," he joked, and then turned
serious again.  "Mother, I don't know if it's quite right -- or fair --
to say that the problem is about Dana.  It's actually more about my
relationship with Dana."

She nodded again.  "I know.  I could tell from the way you two were
looking at each other over lunch."

"I just don't get it!" he burst out.  "I mean, I love her very much -- I
always have, and I always will.  But the last few years she's seemed to
pull away from me.  She's gotten strange, distant.  I don't understand
what's going on; I don't know what's happening in her life.  And that
scares me."  Bill was shocked at his own admission, but his mother
seemed to take it in stride.

"I've often thought that it must be very hard to be a man, and have a
younger sister," she mused.  "There are so many duties piled upon men,
and they often seem to conflict with one another.  Among the more
important duties is to look out for your younger siblings, especially
the girls.  Your father and I tended to stress that one to you and
Charlie, and we thought that we were doing the right thing at the time.
But times have changed; women are more independent now.  Times have
changed."  There was a note of sadness in her voice.

"Yes, I know about that," Bill replied.  "But that's only part of it.
Dana really has gotten strange, Mother.  Maybe you don't notice it as
much, because you're around her more often.  But from a distance, and
only seeing her a couple times a year, it really sticks out."

"Oh, I've noticed," Mrs. Scully said.  "Believe me, I've noticed.  But
you have to understand, Bill, that Dana has been through an awfully
lot.  More than the cancer scare, and more than losing Dad and Missy --
and certainly those things were hard on the entire family -- Dana has
been through some very difficult life experiences."

"It's because of her job!" Bill declared in an accusatory tone.  "It's
because of her job, and that guy she works with."  He couldn't bring
himself to utter Mulder's name.

"Fox Mulder is a decent, honorable man," his mother responded quietly.
"He really cares very deeply about your sister, Bill, I truly believe
that.  I also believe that he would do almost anything to protect her.
You haven't been around them very much when they're together, but I
have, and I've watched them.  There is a bond between them that is
practically unbreakable.  I know married couples who are less devoted to
each other -- and less intimate."  She looked at her son obliquely.
"But I suspect that this is another thing that is bothering you."

Bill shifted his weight uncomfortably.  "You really know how to cut to
the heart of the matter," he murmured.

She laughed.  "I wouldn't be much of a mother if I couldn't," she
remarked.

"Mother, are they sleeping together?"  He felt an agony in his chest,
and had a sudden intuition of what a heart attack must feel like.  This
was the question he had been leading up to, he suddenly realized.  This
is what he needed to know.  He knew it was a terrible invasion of his
sister's privacy, and that he was possibly asking his mother to betray a
very basic confidence.  But he had to know.  He had to.

She paused for a long minute, thinking it over while she washed out a
glass and handed it to him.  Finally, she said, "I don't know, Bill.  I
have wondered about that -- I wouldn't be human if I hadn't, even though
we both know that it is a private matter."  She looked at him directly,
and the love in her eyes took the sting out of her next sentence:  "May
I ask what you would do with the information if you found out that they
WERE sleeping together?"

"I don't know," he muttered miserably.  "I don't know.  I just know that
I need...something.  Some reassurance, some confidence that Dana is
okay.  That she is going to be okay."

"I think you can depend on that, Bill," Mrs. Scully said softly.  "Your
sister will always be okay."

And later that night, as Bill was falling asleep in Dana's guest
bedroom, he suddenly remembered where he'd heard the tune she'd been
humming in the car.  He hadn't heard it since he was a little boy, but
it had been so beautiful, and the words had seemed so true, that it had
burned itself into his brain.  He hadn't thought about that song in more
than thirty years, but he could still remember those words:

"A dream is a wish your heart makes, when it's fast asleep..."

#          #          #

TITLE:  Seven Days in November (3/8)
AUTHOR:  Brandon D. Ray
EMAIL ADDRESS:  publius@avalon.net

MONDAY

Bill Scully had never been to Dana's office before, and so of course he
got lost.  The J. Edgar Hoover Building seemed like a rabbit warren,
with phones ringing, people bustling back and forth and a confusing
welter of signs directing him to various departments and divisions.
Unfortunately, none of the signs said, "This way to the ghoulies and
ghosties and things that go bump in the night."

Finally, in desperation, he flagged somebody down.  Feeling
uncomfortable and out of place in his Class A uniform, he asked, "Excuse
me.  Could you please direct me to the office of Special Agent Dana
Scully?"

The man stopped and looked him up and down.  His lips quirked.  "Dana
Scully?  Mrs. Spooky?"  With amusement in his eyes, he turned and
pointed back along the hall, the way Bill had come.  "Down the end of
the hall, turn left, and take the first elevator you come to down to the
basement.  Then just follow the mysterious lights," he finished,
wiggling his fingers in the air.  "You can't miss it."  And he turned
and walked away, chortling at his own witticism.

Bill wanted to smash his face in but he suppressed the urge.  Moments
later, he stepped off the elevator into a basement hallway, and started
walking down it.  The third door on the left was standing open, and he
heard Dana's voice coming from inside.

"So what did Frohike want?" she was saying as Bill stepped across the
threshold.  She was seated at a desk with her back to the door.  Several
neat stacks of paper sat on the desk, as well as a computer console, a
multi-line telephone, and an open box of Lady Godiva chocolates.  As he
watched, Dana took a piece of candy from the box and popped it into her
mouth.

"What does Frohike ever want?" Mulder replied.  He was seated at another
desk, this one facing towards the entry way.  His eyes flickered as he
saw Bill in the doorway, and he added, "Your body, of course."

Dana sighed theatrically.  "When will he understand that I only have
eyes for you, Mulder?" she said, and popped another chocolate into her
mouth.

"Well, you have to admit it can be a bit of a burden, Scully," Mulder
said.  "You really wear me out sometimes.  I wouldn't mind having a
night off every now and then."  Dana snorted, and Mulder shifted his
gaze back to Bill again.  "Hi, Bill!" he added cheerily, and gave a
little wave.

Dana spun around in her swivel chair, and her eyes widened as she saw
her brother standing there.  "Bill," she said faintly.  "I wasn't
expecting..."  Her voice trailed off and she turned back to Mulder.  In
an accusatory tone, she said, "How long has he been standing there?"

Mulder's eyes were dancing.  "Long enough," he admitted.

She shook her head.  "Well just for that, you aren't going to get any of
my candy."  And she put the lid back on her box of chocolate and slid
the box into a desk drawer.  "And don't think for a minute that I don't
know exactly how many are left."

"Aw, Scully..."

Throughout this exchange, Bill had been standing stock still in the
doorway, his mind working furiously.  <<Now how in the hell am I
supposed to react to this?>> he wondered.  He was almost certain from
their tones that it was all a gag -- but this was a sensitive subject,
and he had a strong intuition that if his sister perceived him to be
invading her privacy again, she was going to rip his ears off and feed
them to him.

Now she was rising to her feet and turning to face him.  <<Think fast,
Bill,>> he thought.  <<You're about to be in the spotlight.>>

"Bill," she said, spots of color visible on her cheecks.  "I'm sorry."
She gestured towards Mulder with her head.  "My partner can be a real
jerk at times.  Sometimes I wonder why I put up with him."

"That's okay," Bill said, putting on what he hoped was a
self-deprecatory grin.  "I've known that he was a jerk for a long time.
After all, we were initiated at the same meeting."  Dana snorted again,
and Bill decided to quit while he was ahead.

"Speaking of meetings," he said, "my afternoon session has been
canceled.  Don't know why -- they certainly flew enough brass in to
attend it.  But apparently there's been some sort of snafu down at
Quantico, and now the whole Navy Department is in an uproar, and I'm at
loose ends.  So," he finished, "I thought I'd stop by and see if you
were free for lunch."

"Quantico?" Dana said, and glanced at Mulder.  "Well that explains it
then," she told her partner.  Turning back to her brother, she said,
"We've been trying to call Quantico all morning.  Yesterday we just got
a recorded message claiming that the number wasn't in service; today
we've been getting a military operator who can't seem to put us through
to any Bureau personnel."  She shrugged.  "But if there's been a problem
at the base, it may have affected the phone system."  Dana stood up and
turned back to Mulder.  "Anyway, I'm sure it will be fixed soon.  Would
you mind terribly if I went to lunch with Bill?  Since he happens to be
free?"

"Well..." Mulder gave his annoying, lazy grin.  "I'LL be okay, but
Frohike is going to be devastated.  He just called to invite us to
lunch, himself.  Philly cheese steaks with all the trimmings."  Mulder
made a lipsmacking sound.  "Mmm-mm.  He also said he has some new data
he wants to show us from the DoD message traffic analysis he's been
working on."

"Well, I guess he'll have to struggle along without me," Dana said,
picking up her purse and moving over to the coat tree.

Bill raised his eyebrows.  "The FBI monitors the DoD's comnet?" he asked
curiously.

Dana hesitated, glanced quickly at Mulder, then back at Bill, and
replied, "Sort of.  It's still in the experimental stages.  It's
a...counterespionage initiative, and we're really not supposed to be
talking about it."  She glared at Mulder, who just smiled and shrugged.
Slipping on her coat, Dana walked over to her brother.  "Shall we go?"

They had a long, leisurely lunch.  All of the tensions of the last two
days seemed to drain away as brother and sister chatted companionably
over soup and sandwiches.  The only thing bothering Bill was Mulder's
remark about the DoD traffic analysis.  Something about it didn't sound
quite kosher to him; on the other hand, he knew that the FBI did have
some counterintelligence responsibilities, and if it really WAS some
sort of classified project of that nature, he shouldn't be sticking his
nose into it at all.

Finally, he decided he would have to ask.  He took a sip of water,
cleared his throat, and said, "Dana?  What was Mulder talking about,
back in your office?  About the traffic analysis?  And who is Frohike?"

Dana looked at him for a moment while she chewed a bite of her sandwich,
and seemed to be considering what to say.  Finally, she swallowed, and
said, "Well, that's a complicated question.  I can see why you would be
concerned, but it really isn't something I'm free to talk about.  Mulder
shouldn't have mentioned it in your presence, either."

Bill studied her face for a moment.  He had had enough involvement with
classified matters, himself, that he knew there was validity in what she
was saying.  There had been times when he was privy to secrets which he
had not been free to share with anyone, not even his wife.  He didn't
think Dana's work normally involved national security issues, but he
didn't know for a fact that it didn't -- which left him with the choice
of either trusting his sister or not.  He nodded slowly.  "Okay," he
said at last.  "I guess that's fair enough.  You do understand my
concern, though?"

She nodded, and seemed to be relieved.  "Absolutely.  If I were in your
shoes, I'm sure I'd feel the same way."  She glanced at her watch.
"Heavens, look at the time; I've got to be getting back, or Mulder will
think I was hit by a truck."

They walked back to FBI Headquarters in silence.  It was mid-November,
and the first snow of the year had started to fall.  When they reached
the building, Dana turned to face him.  "Want to walk me inside?"

Bill shook his head.  "No; I think I'd just as soon take a walk on the
Mall.  It's been too long."

Dana nodded, and seemed to hesitate for a moment.  Then she said,
"Bill?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for not pressing me on that other matter.  I promise you,
everything really is...all right.  I just can't talk about it."

He nodded.  "I understand."

"You're a good brother," she said, and she raised up on her tiptoes to
give him a quick peck on his cheek, and was gone.

#          #          #

Bill Scully awoke to the sound of a ringing telephone.  Blearily, he sat
up and looked around.  Dana's sofa.  He had fallen asleep on Dana's
sofa.  Outside, night had fallen, and on the television a football game
was in progress.  <<That's right,>> he remembered.  He'd come back to
the apartment to find that she hadn't come home yet.  He'd puttered
around for awhile, then finally fixed himself something to eat and
stretched out on the sofa to watch Monday Night Football.

The phone rang again.  Bill shook his head to clear it, then leaned over
and grabbed the receiver.  "Hello?  This is Dana Scully's residence."

"Bill, this is Dana," his sister's voice said without preamble, and
immediately he snapped to full wakefulness.  Her voice sounded tense, on
edge.  "I need your help with something, and I need it now."

"Well...of, of course," he stuttered.  "What is it?"

"I can't explain it on the phone," she replied.  "Look, someone will be
by to pick you up in -- how long?"  The last two words were apparently
directed to someone else.  "In twenty minutes," she said.  "Look for a
blue Chevy.  In twenty minutes," she repeated.

"Twenty minutes," Bill said, confused.  "Dana, what's this all about?
What's going on?"

She paused.  Then:  "Bill, I CAN'T go into it on the phone.  It wouldn't
be...prudent.  I'll see you soon."  And she hung up.

<<Now what in the hell is THAT all about?>> he wondered, scratching his
head.  <<That has got to be one of the stranger phone calls....>>  He
glanced at his watch.  Twenty minutes.  He'd better get moving.

A short while later, having changed his clothes and bundled up against
the cold, he stepped out on the sidewalk in front of her apartment
building.  The blue Chevy she had mentioned was already waiting, its
engine idling.  Bill started to climb in the passenger side, but the
driver jerked his thumb over his shoulder.  Bill caught a quick glimpse
of glasses glinting in the street light, but otherwise the driver's face
was lost in shadows.

"Captain Scully," the man said, "I'm going to have to ask that you get
in back and lie down on the seat."  His tone was apologetic.  "It's for
your own protection."

<<In for a penny, in a for a pound,>> Bill thought, and followed the
man's instructions.  As he lay down and curled his legs up, he felt the
car start to move.

"If this were anybody but Dana, I'd think it was a practical joke," Bill
said, hoping to draw the driver into conversation.

"Believe me, Captain, this is no joke.  I wish it were," the man replied
grimly.  "We might not any of us be alive by morning."

"That's pretty melodramatic," Bill commented.

"That's the kind of world we live in, Captain Scully.  By the way, my
name's Frohike.  I'm a friend of Dana's."

"Yes, she's mentioned you," Bill replied.

"She has?"  The man's voice held a note of smug pleasure.

<<Jesus!>> Bill thought.  <<Has every man in this city got the hots for
Dana?>>  Aloud, he said, "Just in passing.  Look, can't you tell me what
this is all about?  I'm not used to all the cloak and dagger stuff."

There was a pause, then the man at the wheel said, "I think it would be
better to let Dana explain it to you.  We'll be there in a few more
minutes."

The rest of the trip passed in silence.  Finally, the car pulled to a
halt and the engine stopped.  Bill heard the driver's door open and
shut, and then his own door opened.  "You can get out, now, Captain
Scully," Frohike said.

Bill climbed out of the car and looked around.  They were in a rundown
part of town, a commercial district of warehouses and decrepit office
buildings.  Silently, Frohike led the way into one of the latter.  They
climbed a flight of stairs, and Frohike paused in front of an unmarked
door.  He gave three sharp knocks, paused, and then gave two more.
"Frohike," he said.  "I've got Captain Scully."

Fox Mulder opened the door, his Sig Sauer in his hand, pointing at the
floor.  Mulder glanced at Frohike, then at Bill; then he stepped into
the hallway and looked both ways before finally holstering his weapon
and leading them inside.

"Pretty tight security," Bill commented.

"We couldn't be sure you would be alone," Mulder said flatly as he shut
the door.

Bill took a moment to look around.  The room was actually fairly large,
but it was crammed full of computer terminals, sound and video equipment
and other electronic devices which Bill couldn't even begin to
classify.  At the far end of the room, Dana and two other men were bent
over a computer monitor.

At the sound of the door closing, Dana looked up, and then turned and
walked over to Bill.  Taking both of his hands, she went up on her toes
and kissed him on the cheek.  "Bill," she said.  "Thank you for coming.
I'm sorry about the way we did it, but it was...necessary."  Her voice
was strained and her manner distracted.  Searching her face, Bill
realized that she was afraid.  But of what?

"That's okay," he said, and glanced around the room again.  "This
doesn't look much like my conception of the FBI Crime Lab."

Dana smiled briefly, but then worry descended on her face again.  "It's
not," she said.  She gestured at a chair.  "Please, Bill, sit down."
She waited until he had complied, then took another chair and pulled it
over next to his and sat down.  Mulder walked up behind her and rested
his hands lightly on her shoulders, as if he were somehow giving her
energy by his touch.  She glanced up him, and briefly squeezed his right
hand with hers, then looked back at Bill.

"Where to begin," she said, half to herself.  "I suppose I should start
with introductions."  She gestured at the three strange men -- and as
Bill took his first really good look at them, he realized that "strange"
was a very apt word.  But Dana was still talking.  "You've already met
Frohike," she said.  "He was your driver."

Bill nodded, and his eyes provided a thumbnail sketch:  Short, stocky,
nebbishy-looking guy, wearing glasses and a receding hairline.  "Hi,"
Frohike said, almost shyly.  He extended his hand.  "Glad to know Dana's
brother."  Bill shook his hand, and Dana proceeded to introduce the
other two:  Langly, wearing jeans and a pornographic t-shirt, with
stringy blond hair hanging down past his shoulders, and Byers, a short,
fussy-looking man with reddish-brown hair, sporting a Van Dyke and
wearing a three piece suit.

Introductions completed, Dana leaned back in her chair and looked at
Bill for a moment.  Then she craned her neck to look up at Mulder again,
still standing behind her and gently massaging her shoulders.  "Where do
I begin?" she asked him.

Mulder smiled.  "Now you know how I feel sometimes, Special Agent
Scully," he said.  Then he quoted, "'Begin at the beginning and go on
till you come to the end.  Then stop.'"

Dana actually laughed.  "So are you the Red Queen tonight, Mulder?  I
would never have guessed."  She lowered her eyes to look at Bill again,
and her smile vanished.  She looked at him intently for a moment, then
sighed.

"I guess before we go any farther," she said, "we should make sure you
understand what you're getting yourself into, if you agree to help us."

"Of course I'm going --"

She held up her hand.  "Please, Bill; hear me out before you make any
promises."  His sister looked at him levelly, unshed tears in her eyes.
"Oh, God, Bill...if there were anybody else to ask -- anyone we could
trust."  She shook her head, and Mulder gave her shoulders an extra
squeeze.  Again she touched his hand with hers, and seemed to draw
comfort from it, and in that moment Bill did not resent the man nearly
so much.

Dana continued, "What you must understand is that if you agree to join
us, you will be walking into a...supremely dangerous situation.  You
will be putting not just your own life at risk, but  those of Tara and
the baby as well."

Bill felt his throat constrict.  "Dana," he said hoarsely.  "WHAT'S
GOING ON?"

"We'll get to the details in a bit," she said.  "I want to make sure you
understand, first, because five years ago *I* walked into this situation
unknowingly."  She looked up at Mulder again, and he looked down at her,
and there was an almost visible link between them as they locked eyes.
"And although I would not change a single moment, even if I could,
nevertheless it is not fair to do the same thing to you."  Mulder nodded
at her solemnly, and she dropped her gaze to Bill again.

"How can I understand the risk if you won't tell me any of the details?"
Bill asked.

Dana nodded.  "That's a fair question.  The answer is, you really cannot
-- you're being asked to buy a pig in a poke, and no one here will think
less of you if you decide to walk away."  She swallowed.  "We almost
didn't call you, Bill.  We've put you in tremendous danger simply by
bringing you to this room."  And she reached up and squeezed Mulder's
hand again.

Bill shook his head, tried to push it away.  "No," he said.  "This is
nuts.  It's a movie script.  Things like this don't happen in real
life."  He raised his arms in frustration.  "What am I saying?  I don't
even know what you're talking about!"

"Bill," she said, looking him in the eyes with love and sadness.  "I
have never been more serious in my life.  I know how this must sound; I
know it's melodramatic.  But this is my work; this is what I do, and you
have got to trust me when I tell you that we are all in terrible,
terrible danger.  And it is terribly unfair to ask this of you, but we
are doing it anyway, and you must decide, and you must decide now."

Bill felt a chill run down his spine.  She was serious.  She really was
serious.  She was staring at him, unblinking, and now the tears were
running down her cheeks, and there was only one answer he could give:
"Of course, Dana," he said.  "Of course I'll help."

Dana closed her eyes, and nodded.  She looked up at Mulder, still
standing over her, and he nodded slightly, as well.  She looked back at
Bill, and went on, "Okay.  Well at least that much is settled," she
said, and gave a shaky little laugh.  "I have one more question which
I...must ask you.  You will probably find it offensive.  It will
probably make you angry.  But I must ask it, and you must answer it, or
this can go no further."

Bill nodded slowly, and braced himself.

His sister looked him in the eye, and said, "Captain William Scully, are
you loyal to the United States?"

There was dead silence in the room.  Even Mulder's hands had stopped
moving on her shoulders.

Despite Dana's warning, Bill felt a surge of anger, but he forced it
back down.  Dana wouldn't be yanking his chain -- not about something
like this.  If she was asking this question, it was because she wanted
an answer, and that meant it deserved his full and sober consideration.

"I like to think that I am," he said at last.  "I've taken an oath to
that effect."

Dana looked into his face intently.  "And what, in your view, is the
foundation of that oath?" she asked softly.

That was an easy one.  "To defend the Constitution against all enemies,
foreign and domestic."

Dana looked relieved, and leaned back in her chair.  She tipped her head
back to look at Mulder, and smiled.  He smiled back.

"Told you," he said.  "Now you owe ME some chocolate."

"I take it I pass," Bill said diffidently, and Dana laughed and leaned
forward and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Yes," she said, her voice muffled against his shirt collar.  "You
pass."  And the tension seemed to go out of the room with an almost
audible "whoosh".  Dana leaned back in her chair with a smile, and
patted Mulder's hand once more.  "Now we can begin the briefing.
Frohike?  Why don't you start with the traffic analysis?"

The little man stepped forward and placed a black looseleaf binder on
Bill's lap.  Bill opened it, and saw that it was filled with computer
printouts.

Frohike said, "For the last year or so, I've been trying to track the
flow of communications within the DoD.  Not to monitor the content --
that would be impossible.  There is too much data.  But by tracking who
is talking to who, what routing they use, and the frequency and length
of the messages sent, we can begin to get some idea of how things work
inside an organization.  Given enough data, it is even possible to
create a model which will actually give us some notion of the subject's
future intended actions.  Clear so far?"

Bill nodded.  "I've had some information theory, and I did a tour with
the Sixth Fleet's threat team.  I don't claim to be an expert, though."

"That's good," said Frohike.  "So we can assume you understand the basic
theory.  Now, what I've specifically been trying to do is get a handle
on how the Pentagon manages its black ops teams."

"Black ops?" Bill asked.  "You mean like Special Forces and Navy SEALS?"

Frohike waved a hand in derision.  "Hell no," he said.  "Those guys are
Boy Scouts.  I'm talking about the REAL bad guys:  No-name units.
Hunter-killer squads.  B&E, extortion, assassination.  The whole nine
yards."

Bill was shocked.  He looked at Dana.  "He can't be serious," he
protested.  "Assassination squads?  In THIS country?"  He was offended
at the very thought of it.

Dana leaned forward with a look of infinite sadness and gently laid her
hand on his knee.  "Bill, it's true," she said softly.  "I've seen these
groups operate.  I've watched them kill, and on more than one occasion
Mulder and I have barely escaped with our own lives."  Again, there were
unshed tears in her eyes.  "Bill, I know it's hard to accept.  I know
it's not what we were brought up to believe, or to believe in.  But it
is true.  Our government has done, and continues to do, all the things
Frohike said, and more.  Bill --"  And here a special agony entered her
voice, and Bill was afraid for a moment that she was going to break down
entirely.  "Oh, Bill.  These men murdered Melissa!"

#          #          #

TITLE:  Seven Days in November (4/8)
AUTHOR:  Brandon D. Ray
EMAIL ADDRESS:  publius@avalon.net

MONDAY (cont.)

Bill closed his eyes and sat absolutely still.  He could feel the waves
of conflicting emotions surging through him:  Anger, fear, doubt,
guilt.  He knew that he stood on the brink of a precipice; it would take
only the slightest nudge to push him over the edge.  And he couldn't
allow that to happen; too many people depended on him.

Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes.  Dana was still staring at
him, her blue eyes boring into his and her cheeks once again streaked
with tears.  Fox Mulder had come around from behind her chair, and now
knelt beside her, his arms encircling her upper body as if to somehow
shield her from the emotional storm her own words had unleashed.

And everyone in the room was looking intently at Bill Scully.  Waiting.

He took another deep breath, and nodded.  "Okay," he said.  "Okay.
Let's...set that to one side for the moment."  He knew that they would
have to come back to this later, but now was not the time.  He looked at
Frohike; unconsciously, he slipped into his ship's commander persona.
"Show me what you've got," he said.

After the briefest of hesitations, Frohike nodded, and continued:  "As
you can see from the materials in the briefing book," he said, "even
disregarding the *content* of the message traffic, there was still a
tremendous amount of data.  I had to try a number of different
algorithms before I finally found one that seemed to work."  The blond
man in the pornographic t-shirt cleared his throat noisily, and Frohike
added, rather reluctantly, "Also, Langly made some minor
contributions."  The blond man snorted.

Frohike stepped over to one of the computers.  "Then, two months ago, we
made our real breakthrough."  He tapped a few keys, and a map of North
America appeared on the screen.  A few more keystrokes, and two red dots
appeared, one on the east coast, close to Washington, and the other in
the general vicinity of El Paso.

"These two sites," Frohike declared, "are the central nodes for the
official state terror apparatus of the United States government.  This
one," and a pudgy finger jabbed at the one on the east coast, "is
located at Quantico.  The other one," and the finger moved to the other
dot, "is a previously undisclosed installation known as 'Site Y'."

"'Site Y'?" Bill repeated.  "I'm not familiar with that one."

"Neither is anyone else," Frohike replied.  "Site Y has been a
closely-held secret, and does not appear on any of the rosters of
official U.S. government military installations -- it's not even on any
of the classified lists."

Bill shook his head.  He was beyond wondering how the little man could
possibly be privy to such information.  "Go on," he said.

Frohike tapped his keyboard, and a collection of red and blue lines
appeared on the map, radiating out from the two points Frohike had
already identified.  "These lines," he said, "represent the message
traffic to and from Site Y and the terror node at Quantico.  Blue lines
are outgoing messages, red lines are incoming.  The thickness of the
lines represents the volume of the message traffic, measured in
gigabytes per day.

"As you can see," he went on, "while both Site Y and Quantico have
regular, substantial contact with more than a dozen other installations
scattered around the United States and Canada, by far the heaviest
traffic is between the two nodes, themselves."  And Bill saw that this
was true.

Frohike continued, "But most interesting of all is what happens when we
chart message traffic versus time."  He punched his keyboard, and the
colored lines disappeared.  "This dynamic display begins on December 1st
of last year," he stated.  "It processes at a rate of about one week per
second."  He tapped another key, and the display came to life.

Red and blue lines sprang into existence, flickered, thickened.  A few
disappeared, only to be replaced by other, thicker lines.  After a few
seconds, Frohike said, "We're coming up on the end of January:  Watch!"
The screen exploded with color, and Bill sucked in his breath; it was
that dramatic.  The colored lines coruscated across the continent,
rippling and proliferating, finding new terminuses.  Finally, the
display stopped moving.  "And here we are," Frohike concluded.
"Yesterday afternoon, 1700 hours EST."

Bill stared at the screen for a pair of minutes, then he looked back at
Dana.  "Okay," he said.  "It's all very interesting, but I still don't
see where we're going."

"That's only the first half of the briefing," she replied.  "Byers?"

The fussy little man in the three piece suit stepped forward and took
Frohike's place at the keyboard.  He rapidly typed in a series of
commands, and the colored lines vanished from the screen, to be replaced
by symbols which Bill recognized as standard military unit designations.

"Frohike brought me his preliminary findings about six weeks ago," Byers
said.  "Obviously, it was in a more primitive form than the
demonstration you just saw, but Langly and I were able to tweak it a bit
in order to develop the analysis to the point where useful conclusions
could be drawn."  Frohike rolled his eyes at this allocation of credit,
but he remained silent.

"Meanwhile," Byers went on, "I got interested in personnel movements and
logistics."  He continued to tap the keyboard while he talked.
"Obviously, the data were harder to collect, but we were able to
intercept personnel manifests and the like, and so we had something to
work with."  He pointed at the screen.

The map was a confused welter of various colored lines crisscrossing the
continent.  Byers worked the keyboard, and said, "This display
represents movements of uniformed personnel in groups of fifty or more,
for the past six months.  As you can see, they're literally all over the
map."  His fingers flew across the keyboard.  "Now let's strip away
everything except the movements which pass through Site Y or Quantico,"
he continued, and the familiar double wagon wheel pattern of Frohike's
display reappeared on the screen.  "Then we add in known exercises and
alerts, with live fire exercises marked in purple and the rest in
yellow...and there you are."

Bill studied the screen, and as the patterns started to fall into place
he felt a chill race down his spine.  "My god," he whispered.  He
glanced at Dana, then back to the screen.  "What did you say the
timeframe is for this display?"

"Six months," Byers said flatly.  "May to November.  This year.  You're
a professional military man, Captain Scully; that's one reason we
brought you in on this.  I've already drawn my own conclusions; now you
tell me what YOU see."

Bill almost couldn't bring himself to say it, but the facts glowing on
the computer screen were damning.  In a last, desperate attempt at
denial, he said, "I assume the data you've presented are accurate."

Dana's voice echoed through the room.  "They're accurate.  Bet on it."

A sense of unreality swept over Bill, and he heard the words issuing
from his lips almost as if someone else were speaking them.  "This..."
His voice faltered, and he had to start over.  "This is an extended
rehearsal of an operational plan for the military occupation of the
United States."  He licked his lips.  "Holy Mary, Mother of Jesus, make
it not be so."

But it was so, and in his heart Bill Scully already knew it.

Byers said, "Unfortunately, Captain Scully, that isn't all; the
nightmare gets worse."  He switched off the computer and stood to face
Bill directly.

"We don't have graphics to show you for this part -- Frohike and I were
up all last night getting this much of it ready to show Mulder.  But
nineteen days ago we began to pick up an increased tempo in both
electronic communications and troop movements.  You yourself have
already seen direct evidence of this."

"I have?"

Byers nodded.  "Last night we spotted your name on a MATS manifest for a
C-141 which arrived at Washington National this past Saturday
afternoon."  Bill nodded in agreement, and Byers went on, "On that plane
with you were 197 officers and upper-echelon noncoms bound for duty at
Quantico with the 8th Marine Division."

Bill was puzzled.  "There is no 8th Marine Division," he objected.
Byers didn't say anything, and Bill's stomach started to hurt.  "You
mean --"

Byers nodded, and said, "In addition to the message traffic and the
personnel movements, ten days ago the Army's Logistics Corps started
activating its Reserve units and deploying them throughout the country.
The official reason being given for this is a supposed need to test the
military's ability to interface with FEMA in case of widespread natural
disaster or some other national emergency."  Byers paused, and smiled
without humor.  "And now we find that for the past 36 hours it has been
impossible to call Quantico.  Even Agent Scully -- Dana -- has been
unable to get through to the FBI facility there.  Langly?"

The blond man took over.  "We had Dana try placing her call from here,
using some of our special equipment," he said, his eyes glittering.
"Ostensibly, calls to Quantico are being answered by military operators
attached to a Marine Corps unit stationed at the base.  But I put a
traceroute on the FTS 2000 lines, and guess what I found?"

Bill shook his head.

Langly said, "The calls are being rerouted to a set of numbers in
Pentagon City -- an exchange which just happens to be reserved
exclusively for the Pentagon's high-security vox lines.  I didn't dare
check the line for monitoring devices, but you can pretty well assume
that they're there.  The only good news is that apparently my own kung
fu at this end was good enough to fox 'em, or we'd all be dead by now.
Literally."

Byers concluded, "I think we have to assume, based on the evidence in
hand, that they are preparing to execute this plan as we speak.  D-Day
may be only a week or two away; it may even be only a matter of days."

A heavy silence hung over the room in the wake of Byers' statement.
Finally, Bill slowly exhaled, and said, "Well."  He looked around the
room at Dana and the others.  "What do we do now?"

"That's the question of the day, isn't it?" Byers said.  He stood up and
stretched.  "I for one am in favor of getting some rest before trying to
work out a plan of action.  I don't know about the rest of you, but my
thought processes are rarely improved by sleep deprivation."

Bill looked at his watch, and was startled to find that it was almost
two a.m.  The evening had become so intense that he'd completely lost
his time sense.

"I agree," Dana said.  "We're all tired, and tired people make poor
decisions."  She stood up from her chair, and Mulder rose from his
kneeling position next to her.

Langly said to Dana, "I don't think it would be very smart for you or
Mulder -- or Captain Scully -- to go back home tonight.  We don't KNOW
that your phone was tapped, but we didn't have an opportunity to check
it, either."

Bill looked at his sister in surprise, and she nodded wearily.  "We --
Mulder and me -- we've been working in opposition to some very powerful
people, Bill," she said.  "Both Mulder and I have in the past found
monitoring devices in our apartments, on our phone lines -- even in our
office at work."

"Jesus," was all Bill could think of to say.

"What do you recommend, Langly," Mulder inquired.  "The YMCA?"

"I think I'd feel uncomfortable there," Dana said.

The lanky blond shrugged.  "Why not stay here?  It's not the Hilton, but
we've got plenty of blankets and pillows -- 18 hour days are pretty
common around here, especially when Doohickey here gets a wild hair up
his ass about something or other."

"I do not get hair up my ass," Frohike stated with wounded dignity.  "I
will admit to being a tenacious investigator, however."

Mulder nodded.  "I think that sounds best," he said.  "That way we have
mutual protection, too.  We can even take turns staying up, so someone
will always be on guard."

Byers shook his head.  "We're all beat, Mulder -- and besides, what
would be the point?  You know as well as I do that if they come for us
they'll come with overwhelming force."

"Guys, can we just get on with it?" Dana asked, leaning against a wall,
a look of utter exhaustion on her face.  "I'm about to fall asleep
standing up."

The next few minutes were occupied with distributing bedclothes and
moving furniture out of the way.  Finally, Bill was able to stretch out
and relax.  He hadn't realized how tired he was until Byers alluded to
the time.

He let his eyes flick around the room, looking at each of his
companions.  By unspoken agreement, they'd left the overhead light on,
as if by so doing they could somehow keep the demons at bay.

Byers, he saw, was already asleep, snoring softly and wrapped up in his
bedroll as if it were a cocoon.  Langly and Frohike were conducting a
whispered argument over who was going to sleep next to the radiator.
Mulder was laying on his back, hands clasped behind his head, staring at
the ceiling.  And Dana....

His eyes blurred as he looked at his sister.  Despite her evident
exhaustion, emotional as well as physical, she was still sitting up, her
back against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest, her forehead
resting on her knees; she looked utterly miserable.

He couldn't bear to see her like that.  His own heart ached for Tara; he
would give anything right now just to have her with him, and hold her
close.  His sister was also clearly suffering, but she was denying
herself the obvious solution, apparently out of deference to his own
feelings -- or perhaps just to avoid another scene when everyone was
already so dreadfully tired.

<<I am such an asshole,>> he thought.

Sighing, he rolled onto his hands and knees, and crawled over to where
Dana was sitting.  She didn't seem to hear him approach, and as he got
closer he saw that her shoulders were shaking.  Ever so gently, he
reached out and stroked her arm.

Her head jerked up with a start, and he saw her tear-stained features
shift from despair to joy to wary watchfulness all in an instant.
"Bill," she whispered, too low for anyone else to hear.

"Dana," he replied, equally quietly.  He looked at her face, looked into
her eyes, and saw a complex mixture of fear and sorrow and exhaustion.
<<This isn't right,>> he thought.  <<No one should have to face
something like this.  But since she does have to face it, at least she
shouldn't have to face it alone.>>

Bill was suddenly aware of Mulder's eyes on his back, watching every
move he made.  "Dana," Bill repeated, and swallowed.  This was turning
out to be harder than he had expected -- but it was the right thing to
do, and Bill was determined to do his duty, no matter how difficult or
embarrassing.  "Dana, I think...I think you should do...whatever you
need to do...to be comfortable."

She searched his face for a long moment, and although she still looked
exhausted and afraid, now he saw a light behind her eyes as well.  At
last she leaned forward and kissed his cheek.  "Thank you, Bill," she
whispered.  And she took her blanket and pillow and crept over to where
her partner lay, and Mulder opened his arms and tenderly gathered her
into a protective embrace, stroking her hair and whispering something to
her that evoked the first genuine smile that Bill had seen on her face
in hours.

And when Bill Scully finally dropped off to sleep, he dreamed of Tara.

#          #          #

TITLE:  Seven Days in November (5/8)
AUTHOR:  Brandon D. Ray
EMAIL ADDRESS:  publius@avalon.net

TUESDAY

Bill awoke to the sound of gunshots.  For a groggy half-second, he
wondered what the hell was going on; then the instincts ingrained by
half a lifetime of military service kicked in, and he jerked to
wakefulness.

As he rolled over onto his belly, he heard another fusillade coming from
the doorway behind him.  scrambling around to look in that direction, he
was briefly aware of Frohike, Byers and Langly, churning about
frantically on the far side of the room.  Then his eyes focused on the
source of the gunfire.

Dana was lying stretched out on her stomach next to the doorway, her Sig
Sauer extended in both hands and firing methodically at something in the
hallway.  As he watched, horrified, he heard the staccato ripping sound
of a machine pistol returning fire and chewing up the doorjamb and floor
right next to his sister's head.

Dana flinched, then fired again, and this time she was rewarded by a
scream of agony coming from the hallway.  Pausing to eject a spent clip
and ram home a new one, she yelled over her shoulder, "Mulder!  We have
to get out of here!  There are too many of them!"

Bill was suddenly aware of his sister's partner charging across the room
towards her.  Again there was the sound of an automatic weapon, and Dana
returned fire as Mulder was forced to dive for cover.

"Dammit, Mulder!" she cried again, desperation edging into her voice.
"Get the fuck out of here!"  And she fired again down the hallway.

Something had to be done, and quickly, but Dana and Mulder had the only
firearms.  Casting his gaze about the room, Bill's eyes fell upon a
nearby chair.  He rolled desperately to his left, bringing himself to
within arm's reach.  He grabbed onto one leg, and twisting around and
using all of his strength he came to a half-sitting position and heaved
the chair through the nearest window.

The glass was still falling as Bill scrambled to his feet.  "Come on!
This way!" he shouted, making a dash for the window.  Out of the corner
of his eye, he saw Mulder slither across the floor to Dana, and start
firing in the same direction she was.  He felt a pang of guilt that he
was running away, but all he had was his bare hands, and that was no
match for a machine pistol.

Disregarding the shards of glass still sticking up here and there, he
grasped the bottom frame of the window with both hands and vaulted
through it.  For just a moment he hung from the side of the building,
then let himself drop the eight or ten feet to the small parking lot
below.  He hit the ground and rolled, clearing the way for whoever might
come next.  There was a half-inch cover of new snow, and a frigid wind
was blowing, but he hardly noticed the cold.

He looked back up at the window just in time to see Frohike come
tumbling out.  The little man hit the ground with a dull thud, and lay
there, momentarily paralyzed by the fall.  Bill scrambled to his feet
and dragged Frohike away from the landing zone, just as Byers came
hurtling out, followed quickly by Langly.  Bill helped Frohike climb
back to his feet while the other two were brushing themselves off and
catching their breath.

More gunfire sounded from inside the building, and Bill heard someone
scream, a bloodcurdling sound.  He turned to the other three men, and
shouted, "You guys better make a run for it; I'm going back in!"

"Wait!" yelled Byers.

"No!  There's no time, and somebody has to preserve what we know.  Now
get going before it's too late for all of us!  I've got to try to help
Dana and Mulder!"  The other man hesitated, and Bill screamed, "Dammit,
Byers, she's my sister!  It's my privilege!  But if somebody doesn't get
away, it will all be for nothing!"

Byers bit his lip, then nodded reluctantly.  "Okay," he agreed, and the
others nodded, too.  "If  -- when you get clear, we'll try to be at
Lafayette Park in two hours!"

"Got it!"  The other three scattered, and Bill turned to head back
inside...just as his sister and Fox Mulder came tearing around the far
corner of the building.  Dana was slightly in front, and as he watched,
Mulder turned and fired back along the way they'd come.

Dana made a beeline for one of the cars in the parking lot, holding her
gun in one hand and groping in a pocket for her keys with the other.
Bill ran to meet her, and got there just as she pulled the driver's side
door open.  Bill reached around and unlocked the back passenger door as
she dropped into the driver's seat, yanking his hand clear just as she
slammed her door shut.

Bill dived into the back seat as she cranked the ignition, gunning the
car for all it was worth.  He managed to sit up in time to see Mulder,
who had fallen behind Dana as a result of covering the rear, slip in the
snow and fall, just as a man dressed all in black, including a black ski
mask, came running around the corner of the building.

The man saw Mulder fall, and skidded to a halt.  He raised his machine
pistol and took aim, and through the closed car windows Bill could
faintly hear Mulder yelling, "Scully!  Get out of here!  It's too late!"

"Like hell it is!" she snarled, and threw the car into gear and jammed
the gas pedal to the floor.  The tires spun for an instant on the new
fallen snow, then they found their purchase, and the car lurched
forward, rapidly picking up speed.

The man in black never had a chance.  The front of the car struck him
squarely, sending him flying through the air and crashing into the side
of the building.  Dana was already slamming on the brakes and Bill was
reaching across to throw open the right hand back passenger door.  Dana
screamed, "Mulder!  Now now now now now!" and Mulder was up and running
again and diving into the back seat next to Bill.

Dana floored the accelerator again, and the car fishtailed wildly as she
took the turn onto the street.  Mulder almost fell out, but Bill grabbed
hold of the other man's belt and hung on until Mulder could pull his
feet inside and slam the door.  Looking back through the rear window,
Bill saw three more men running after them, and realized what they were
doing just as two of them opened fire.

He ducked down on top of Mulder as the rear window exploded inward in a
cataract of shattered safety glass, and Bill breathed a brief prayer to
whichever saint was responsible for protecting gas tanks and automobile
tires as Dana powered the car through a sharp left at the first
intersection.  They bounced off a parked car, and for a moment Bill
thought Dana had lost control, but she managed to steer into the
incipient spin and then the car was rolling forward again.

At the next intersection they turned right, then left, and finally
Mulder, who by now was crouched on the back seat, gun in hand and
peering through the empty rear window, announced, "I think we lost
them."

Dana let up on the accelerator, and the car's speed dropped back below
the legal limit.  Turning around and settling down in his seat, Mulder
said, "Well that was fun.  Definitely an 'E' ticket."

Looking anxiously in the rearview mirror, Dana said, "Mulder, are you
okay?  You're not hurt, are you?"

"I'm fine, Scully," her partner replied.  "Although I think I just used
up two of my nine lives.  Bill's bleeding, though."

"Just some cuts," Bill said.  "Nothing serious; I took some glass on the
way through that window.  Let's not do this again anytime soon, okay?"

By now they were cruising through a fairly respectable-looking working
class neighborhood.  Dana said, "We've got to get rid of this car;
they'll have people out looking for it, and they may even put out
warrants on the police wire.  We wouldn't last ten minutes once they got
us in the local jail."  Putting actions to words, she pulled over to the
curb and switched off the engine.  She opened her door and got out, and
Bill and Mulder followed suit.

Dana went immediately to Mulder, pressed her forehead against his chest,
wrapped her arms around his waist and closed her eyes.  "Thank God," she
said.  "I thought I'd lost you."

"I was getting a little worried there for a minute, too," her partner
replied, giving her a gentle hug.  "But you saved me, Scully.  You
always do."

The embrace had gone on just long enough for Bill to start to feel
uncomfortable when they broke out of their clinch.  Dana turned to Bill
and said, "Let me see your hands."  He held them out and she looked them
over carefully, then sighed with relief.  "You're going to be okay.  We
need to find some bandages and some disinfectant, but you should be
fine."  She turned back to Mulder.  "So now what do we do?"

"I was just thinking about that," her partner replied.  "Do you know if
the Gunmen got clear?"

Dana shook her head, and looked at her brother.  "Bill?  Do you know?"

Bill was confused.  "Gunmen?"

"Frohike, Langly and Byers," she explained.

Bill wanted to ask why they were called that, but decided that this
wasn't the time for it.  "I think they got away," he said.  "They took
off running in three directions, and I didn't see anyone going after
them.  Byers said they'd meet us at Lafayette Park in two hours."  He
glanced at his watch.  "An hour and three quarters, now."

"That's our target, then," Mulder declared.  "First, though, we need to
find some winter clothes.  Not only is it fucking cold out, but we're
going to stick out like sore thumbs wandering around outside in shirt
sleeves in this weather."

"Three sore thumbs, Mulder?" Dana asked, smiling faintly.

"Better than three blind mice," he countered, laughing.  "Or three dead
mice."

She smiled and punched his upper arm, a glancing blow.  "The first thing
we need is some money," she said.  "We don't dare use our credit cards,
even if you guys have yours.  Everything but my car keys is still in my
purse, and somehow I don't feel like going back after it right now."

Bill nodded.  "I've got about twenty dollars," he said.

Mulder pulled out his wallet and riffled through the currency section.
Bill raised his eyebrows when he saw the denominations.  "Two hundred
and twenty seven dollars," Mulder announced.  That ought to keep us
going for awhile, as long as we don't insist on filet mignon."

"I don't know, Mulder," Dana said, deadpan.  "You promised me a good
time."

Bill noticed an elderly black man standing on the stoop of the
brownstone across the street, looking at them curiously.  He gestured
with his head.  "I think we better get moving," he said.

They turned and started to walk along the sidewalk, heading in the
general direction of the Mall.  Dana and Mulder walked side by side,
their arms brushing against each other every few steps; Bill walked a
couple of steps behind so that their party would not to take up the
entire sidewalk.

"Mulder," Dana said, shivering slightly.  "Where are we going to find
clothes?  It really is damned cold, and I don't think this is the sort
of neighborhood to have a Lord and Taylors."

"We'll find something, Scully," he replied.  He put his arm around her
shoulder.  "I'll keep you warm until then."

#          #          #

Lafayette Park was cold and windy, but that hadn't kept the protesters
away, Bill noted with disgust.  Not as many as would be expected in
better weather, but there were still half a dozen of them, marching in a
circle and carrying signs with slogans like "RESIGN!" and "THE OVAL
OFFICE IS NOT THE ORAL OFFICE!"

"I don't think those guys like the president very much."  Bill jumped at
the unexpected sound of Mulder's voice.

He turned to face Mulder, who was standing next to Dana in the windbreak
created by the statue of the French general for whom the park was
named.  "I'm not nuts about the guy, either," Bill admitted.  "But he IS
my commander in chief.  And this --" he waved his hand vaguely in the
direction of the demonstrators.  "This is embarrassing."

"Y'know," Mulder said, "just speculating, but it occurs to me that this
could be why the whole mess started."  None of them could bring
themselves to use the word "coup".

"What do you mean?" Bill asked.

"Well, look at it," his sister's partner replied.  "The president's
caught up in a sex scandal.  The VICE president looks like he might be
in trouble over the China campaign money scandal.  Maybe somebody just
decided that this would be a good time to do some housecleaning and
install new management."  He shrugged.  "Just speculation, like I said.
But it does answer the one question that's been bothering me:  Why now?
This could have happened anytime in the past fifty years; why did they
wait until now?"

"Where the hell are the Gunmen?" Dana asked irritably.  It had been a
long walk to Lafayette Park, and she had seemed to tolerate the cold
less well than the two men.  Even the secondhand coats they had picked
up at a Salvation Army store along the way hadn't seemed to make her
warmer.

"Take it easy, Scully," Mulder said softly.  "They'll be here when they
can."  He tried to put an arm around her shoulders, but she shrugged it
off and took a few steps away from him.

"I'm fine, Mulder; just leave me alone, okay?" she snapped.  "I'm cold
and I'm tired and I'm hungry and I'm worried about our friends and I'm
not in the mood.  Just...leave me alone."  She was also, Bill observed,
scared to death -- as were they all.

A look of pain and frustration came and went on Fox Mulder's face, so
quickly that Bill wasn't sure they had really been there at all.
"Sorry, Scully," the FBI man said.  "I'm worried about them, too."

Bill watched, an unwilling voyeur, as a complex series of emotions
flitted across his sister's face:  Fear, anger, fury, despair,
exhaustion...love?  Then her shoulders sagged, and she turned and walked
back to her partner.  "I'm NOT fine, Mulder" she said, laying her head
on his chest and accepting his embrace.  "I'm just so damned scared and
I don't know what we're gonna do.  Everything's going to hell, and I am
fucking TIRED of having to be strong all the time."  She sniffled loudly
and buried her face in his chest.

The two of them stood there silent and motionless for a moment.  Mulder
stroked her hair softly, then looked up and caught Bill's eye.  "Hey,
Scully," Mulder said, a slight smile on his lips.  "There's a guy over
there who looks like he's afraid the world is about to end; he also
looks like he's probably freezing his ass off.  Shall we invite him into
the hot tub?"

Dana looked up and studied her partner's face for a moment, then turned
partway and extended an arm towards her brother.

Hesitantly, Bill moved forward, and gingerly slipped his arms around his
sister's waist.  She closed her eyes and leaned up against him, and for
the moment, at least, seemed to be utterly content.

Bill looked up at Mulder, and he could see the wheels spinning behind
the FBI agent's eyes.  "Don't say it, Mulder," Bill growled.  "Not a
word.  This is strictly for Dana."

Mulder's eyes danced, and his lips quirked, but he nodded and didn't say
anything, and the three of them stood there for a few moments in an
awkward embrace.

"You know, this is scarcely decent for third parties."

Bill hastily released Dana and turned to see Langly smirking at him from
a few feet away.  Behind him, Byers was making a great show of studying
the detail work on the statue of Lafayette, while Frohike was looking at
the ground and frowning.

"Langly!  Byers!" Dana let go of Mulder and sped to the other three men,
giving each of them a hug in turn.  "Frohike," she added, planting a
gentle kiss on the nebbishy little man's cheek.  He blushed brick red,
but he also gave her a shit-eating grin.

"Hi, boys," Mulder said with a casual wave.  "Frohike, I'd kiss you,
too, but I haven't shaved this morning and I wouldn't want to give you
whisker burns."

"It's good to see you, too, Mulder," Byers replied.  "I didn't think you
were going to make it."

"It was tight for a little while," the FBI man admitted, "but we pulled
it off, and here we are."  He paused, then added, "Now what?"

"We've got some ideas," Langly said.  "Why don't we go find a cup of
coffee and see what we can hash out."

Ten minutes later they were sliding into a booth at a small coffee shop
on a side street a few blocks from the Mall, Dana and Mulder on one side
and Bill and Langly on the other.  Frohike and Byers grabbed chairs from
a nearby table and pulled them up to the end of the booth.  They waited
in silence while the waitress brought coffee, muffins and bagels; then
the discussion began.

"To begin with," said Langly, "the good news is that Frohike managed to
save the zip disk we had those demonstrations backed up on.  The bad
news, of course, is that we've lost all of our equipment, so we won't be
collecting anymore data."  He pushed his glasses back up on his nose.
"Our proposal is to log on to the Internet and do a data dump, and try
to get the word out that way.  It's the only thing we can think of that
seems to have any chance at all of succeeding."

Mulder frowned.  "It's not really much to hang our hats on, is it?" he
asked.  "I mean, sure, we can dump the stuff into
alt.conspiracy.wingnut, but who's going to listen?  It will get lost
among all the drivel.  I really don't see what that gains us."

Langly shrugged.  "What alternatives do we have?  You want to mount a
frontal assault on Quantico?  May I remind you that we almost got our
nuts munched this morning?  And that was against six bad guys -- there
are at least six THOUSAND out at Quantico, and that's only counting the
ones who have been brought in for the 'special operation'."

Bill spoke up.  "It's possible that there's another alternative.  I have
a friend, we went to the Academy together.  Now he's a colonel in the
Marine Corps, attached to the personal staff of the Chairman of the
Joint Chiefs."  He looked at Dana, and couldn't resist a little dig.
"You remember Jiggs Casey, don't you, Dana?  You had a crush on him your
senior year in high school."

Fox Mulder looked interested, but Dana gave Bill a freezing look, and
there was a glint of warning in her eye.  "I did NOT have a crush on
Cadet Casey," she declared.  "I merely found him to be an interesting
conversationalist."

Bill reflected that Dana's definition of "conversation" must be somewhat
broader than his own, but from the look that she was still giving him,
perhaps this wasn't the best possible time to be going into it.
"Anyway," he said to the others, "Jiggs is a real stand-up guy.  He's on
the inside; he can help us."

"'He's on the inside,'" Byers repeated slowly.  "That can be a two-edged
sword, of course."

Bill shook his head.  "Jiggs Casey is not like that," he said flatly.
"I've known the man for twenty years, and it is just not in his nature
to be involved in treason."

Mulder was shaking his head.  "I don't know," he said.  "I don't like
it.  It seems like a big risk to be taking.  We'd be putting it all on
the line to this one officer, and if your judgment turns out to be
wrong..."  He let the statement trail off.

Bill said, "I understand that.  But it's a risk we have to take, and I
am confident -- I am POSITIVE -- that Jiggs will be on our side, once
we've explained the situation."

Mulder thought about it for a minute, then looked at his partner.  "What
do you think, Dana?  You've met this guy."

"Mulder, that was twenty years ago."  She shook her head.  "I really
don't know what to say.  We're in a very precarious situation, and we
have to move carefully.  On the other hand, we don't have much time, and
we're going to have to trust someone, at some point. -- or we might just
as well all go home and wait for the tanks to come rolling down
Pennsylvania Avenue."  She shivered slightly.

They all sat silently for a moment, as Dana's last comment forced them
all to look directly at their fears.  Finally, Mulder stirred.  "Okay,"
he said.  "We'll give it a try.  Bill, go ahead and see what you can set
up with this Colonel Casey.  Be cautious, but as Dana said, we don't
have much time and we have even fewer options, so do the best you can."
His eyes flicked across Langly, Byers and Frohike.  "You guys go ahead
and follow up on Langly's idea.  It can't hurt, and it might help, just
getting the information out in front of SOMEBODY.  Bear in mind that if
Bill's idea works out we will at some point want to show it to Colonel
Casey, so for god's sake don't let anything happen to that disk.  In the
meantime, Scully and I will be making some phone calls; there are still
a few people who might be able to help us."  He looked at Dana, and she
nodded.  He glanced at his watch.  "Let's try to meet back in the park
in eight hours.  That's six p.m.  Any questions?"  He paused, and no one
answered.  "Okay, then.  Let's get moving."

Mulder left some money on the table and they filed out of the coffee
shop, Bill bringing up the rear.  As he approached the door, he noticed
a small rack of postcards standing by the cash register.  On impulse,
Bill stopped to look at them.

Most of the cards were standard pictures of monuments and public
buildings, and his eyes quickly passed over them.  Then his gaze fell on
a card featuring cherry blossoms in bloom.  Tara had always loved cherry
blossoms, and he really ought to --

<<Ought to what?>> he wondered.  <<Write to her?  What do I say?
"Having a wonderful time; sorry I won't be home for Christmas?"  How do
you tell the woman you love that you're sorry, but you will never see
her again, never again hold her in your arms?>>

His vision blurred as he thought about it.  They had had it all planned
out:  His Navy career, with ambitions for flag rank; their plans for
children; his eventual retirement and second career; grandchildren.  And
through it all, always, Tara by his side.  Now it was all ashes; it was
never going to happen.  For he knew in his heart that whether they
succeeded or failed, it was most unlikely that he -- or any of their
little band -- would survive the attempt.

How could he fit that onto a postcard?  He didn't dare call her on the
phone; it might help their pursuers.  Worse, it would draw attention to
Tara and the baby, and expose THEM to greater risk, and he was flatly
unwilling even to consider that.  He didn't even know if he would have
time to write a proper letter before the end came.  The few words he
could fit on this card might have to last Tara for a lifetime.

He glanced over at Dana and her partner, waiting for him by the door,
their heads bent together in intimate consultation.  As he watched, Dana
brushed a lock of Mulder's hair out of his eyes, and Mulder smiled at
her.

He was suddenly angry.  <<What right do THEY have to be together?>> he
thought.  <<What right do THEY have to be happy?>>  He wanted to scream
at them, to push them apart.  No one should be like, like THAT....

Immediately he felt ashamed.  He still did not completely understand
Dana's relationship with Fox Mulder, but it was clear that Mulder was
helping her find peace, just as Tara did for Bill.  If she and Mulder
were fortunate enough to get to spend their last days together, that was
at least some consolation in the face of the onrushing darkness.

<<There isn't nearly enough love in the world,>> Bill reflected
wistfully.

He sighed, and looked down at the postcard again.  While he'd been
thinking, he'd automatically written Tara's name on it; now he added the
address that he was already starting to think of as hers rather than
theirs.  <<Just a few lines,>> he thought sadly.  <<That's all I'll ever
have, now.  That's all I'll ever be able to give to her.>>  It seemed
hopelessly inadequate.

Then it came to him.  He nodded his head; it was right.  It would
explain everything.  Tara would be sad -- she would be heartbroken.  But
at least she would understand, and she would forgive him for stealing
all those years they had expected to have together.  Hastily, suddenly
afraid that even this might be taken from him, he scribbled on the card
for a few seconds, and it was done.  He gazed for a moment at his work,
and a single tear fell from his cheek and landed on the postcard,
slightly smearing the ink.  Bill smiled a melancholy smile; Tara would
have that much of him, at least.

<<Should I sign it?>> he wondered.  But it wasn't necessary; Tara would
know his handwriting, and the dozen or so words he had written would
tell her everything he could say, everything she would ever need.  She
was a strong woman, and he knew that she would be able to carry on.

He bought a stamp from the cashier, and paid for the card.  He
hesitated, and felt the fear wash over him.  What if they were waiting
outside?  What if he never even had the chance to mail the postcard, his
final epistle to his best beloved?  He couldn't stand even thinking
about that.

He caught the eye of the young woman behind the counter once again, and
asked, "Would you mind mailing this for me when you get a chance?  I'm
in a bit of a hurry."  And she agreed.

His mind finally at peace, Captain William Scully strode purposefully to
the door, and with his sister and her partner he went on out to fight
the future.  And in his mind the words he had written to his wife echoed
and re-echoed, and calmed his soul:

*I could not love thee, dear, so much, lov'd I not honour more.*

#          #          #

TITLE:  Seven Days in November (6/8)
AUTHOR:  Brandon D. Ray
EMAIL ADDRESS:  publius@avalon.net

WEDNESDAY

Bill Scully wearily climbed the hill leading to the carillon at
Arlington National Cemetery.  He had suggested this as their evening
rendezvous, but he was tired, and he was cold, and he wished he had
thought of someplace both flatter and warmer.

Dana was waiting for him when he reached the top of the hill, sitting on
a park bench and hugging herself against the cold.  The carillon sat
before her, a gift to the United States from the people of Denmark in
the aftermath of World War II.  For the thousandth time in his life,
Bill read the inscription carved into the marble, and he felt a shiver
run down his spine that was not entirely due to the cold and the wind:
"While these bells ring, rest safely.  Freedom lives."

With a groan of exhaustion, Bill eased himself down on the bench next to
Dana.  He, his sister and her partner had spent the previous night
huddled around a heating grate in order to preserve their limited funds,
then spent most of today tramping around downtown Washington looking for
some clue as to the whereabouts of Frohike, Langly and Byers, who had
failed to return to Lafayette Park the evening before.  Idly, Bill
wondered if any of the three were still alive, but he was almost too
tired to care.

Dana said, "You know, I haven't been up here in years.  I'd forgotten
how beautiful it is.  I've been here for, oh, half an hour or so, just
sitting and listening to the bells."  Her voice was dreamy and her eyes
were closed.

"You must be pretty cold if you've been here that long," Bill ventured.

She shrugged.  "It doesn't matter.  We won't be here much longer."
Suddenly, her eyes popped open, and she looked up at her brother.  "I'm
sorry, Bill.  I didn't mean to say that."

"Why not?" he asked quietly.  "It's what we've all been thinking."  A
vision of Tara's face flashed through his mind, but he quickly
suppressed it.

Making a conscious effort to distract himself, he studied his sister's
face for a moment.  She really had a remarkable face; Bill had always
thought so.  It had such character, and was so proudly and
completely...Dana.  He thought that if he were a woman he would wish for
a face like hers, and to hell with other female features.

She turned her head and caught him staring at her, and she arched an
eyebrow at him in question.  "What are you looking at?"

"Oh, nothing," he said.  "I was just thinking...There's a lot you
haven't told me, isn't there?  I mean, about your life
and...everything."

She sat quietly for a moment, considering it, and suddenly Bill wondered
if she thought he was snooping again.  He was about to apologize and
withdraw the question, when she said, "Yes.  Yes there is.  I wish I'd
been more open with you, as well as the rest of the family.  But that's
always been hard for me.  And now, well, there's so little time."

Bill nodded.  "I know.  I know those things.  But it isn't all your
fault, Dana, not by a longshot.  We weren't -- *I* wasn't very receptive
to some of the things you did try to tell me.  I could have listened
better."

"Yes, you could have," Dana agreed, but there was no accusation in her
voice.  She looked at him for a minute, her head cocked sideways; then
she put her arm around his neck and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
"But you're listening now." Her lips quirked.  "As Mulder would say,
you're learning to respect the journey."

"He's very important to you, isn't he?" Bill said hesitantly.  She
nodded solemnly.  "I knew that; I just wanted to say it.  And I wanted
to say that, that I've come to know him better recently, and that I was
wrong.  He's a good man.  Not that my opinion matters."

Dana smiled, and suddenly she had tears in her eyes.  In a small voice,
she said, "Your opinion has always mattered to me, Bill.  Thank you for
understanding."  And she hugged him tightly for a minute.

A few minutes later Fox Mulder arrived, but instead of coming over to
Bill and Dana, he leaned up against the monument, hands in his pockets,
obviously lost in thought.  After a moment or two, he started pacing in
slow circles around the carillon.  On his second pass, Dana wordlessly
got up from the bench and fell into step next to him.

"Hi, Bill."  Bill turned around to see Jiggs Casey standing a few feet
away.  Bill stood up and shook hands with his friend, and they both sat
down on the bench.

The two sat silently together for a few minutes, watching Mulder and
Dana walk around and around the carillon.  As they passed by for the
third time, Jiggs said, "Bill, are you sure about all this stuff?  Are
you really sure?  You don't think you could have been...misled?"

Bill sighed.  They had been over this ground twice the night before, at
their first meeting, and although he could understand why Jiggs would be
skeptical, it was still vexing.  "You didn't see those computer demos.
If you had --"

"If I had, maybe things would be different," Jiggs cut in.  "But I
didn't."  He stopped talking as the two FBI agents emerged from behind
the carillon, and waited until they had passed by again.  "I didn't see
it," he repeated.

"You didn't see it, so you don't believe it?"  Bill shook his head
quickly.  "I apologize; that was uncalled for.  If our positions were
reversed, I probably wouldn't believe you, either."

The Marine shook his head.  "I'm not saying I don't believe you, Bill.
But think about this for a minute.  All you really saw was a display on
a computer screen, and we both know how easy it would be to fake
something like that."  He moved a little closer and lowered his voice as
Dana and Mulder made another of their slow circuits.  "I did a little
checking this morning, based on what you told me last night.  There is
no record in JCS files of a Site Y, nor is there any record of unusual
troop movements involving Quantico.  The bottom line is, I think you've
been taken for a ride."

Bill shook his head violently.  "Dana wouldn't do that!"

"Maybe she's been fooled, too."  Another pause.  Then:  "Look, I did
some checking on her friend Mulder, too.  This guy's a complete nutcase;
nobody takes him seriously.  The FBI barely tolerates him -- they call
him 'Spooky Mulder', and he -- and Dana -- get sent off on all the wild
goose chases and snipe hunts.  And as for those other three names you
gave me -- those guys are even worse."

"But Dana --"

"Dana's got a good, solid head on her shoulders, and normally I would
take her word as gospel.  But she's also obviously head-over-heels in
love with this guy, and that means her judgment in the matter is
suspect."

"It's not like that."

Jiggs sighed in exasperation.  "Man, are you blind?  Look at them!"
Mulder and Dana had stopped their pacing, and now were standing together
in the carillon's windbreak, talking quietly and seriously.  As Bill and
Jiggs watched, Dana put out her hand and gently stroked Mulder's cheek.
Jiggs went on, "Bill, I'm not accusing you of lying or anything --
Christ knows I would never do that.  I'm not even really saying that I
don't believe you.  But even you must realize that you have presented
only circumstantial evidence.  And the fact that I have been unable to
confirm the key points just makes it harder."

"What about Dana's car?" Bill said.

Jiggs shrugged.  "It was found just where you said it would be, rear
window shot out and everything.  I checked with the FBI, told them I was
a friend of the family -- which is even true, now that I think about
it.  It seems that they are very worried about the whereabouts of
Special Agent Scully, and they're treating it as a kidnapping.  As for
Mulder, he's sufficiently erratic that apparently no one has realized
he's missing yet -- at least, not officially."

Jiggs went on, "There have also been no reports in the papers of a
shootout at that office building you mentioned.  I even drove over to
the place myself at lunchtime, but there's nothing there.  No indication
of a fight, and the room you mentioned doesn't look like anyone has been
in it for six months.  The only thing I found that was at all out of the
ordinary was this."  He fished in his pocket, and brought out a single
cartridge casing for a nine millimeter handgun.  "But it could have been
there in the grass for months, if not years."

Bill said, "So what you're saying is that you won't help me."

"I'm saying that I CAN'T help you, unless you can dig up some solid
evidence.  What do you expect me to do?  Drop into General Scott's
office tomorrow morning and say, 'Excuse me, sir, but are you aware of
any plans for a coup d'etat this week?'"  He shook his head.  "You bring
me evidence, Bill, and I'll act on it; you know that.  But without
evidence, my hands are tied."  He stood to go.  "I'm sorry."

"I understand."  Jiggs started to walk away, and suddenly Bill thought
of something else.  "Jiggs!"  The Marine stopped and turned around, a
questioning look on his face.  Bill rose to his feet and walked over to
face his friend.  "Promise me one thing," he said.  "If anything happens
to me...look after Tara.  Make sure she's okay."

Jiggs looked at him for a long moment, then nodded slowly.  "You can
depend on that, Bill.  No matter what."  And he turned and walked away.

"He didn't believe us."

Bill turned at the sound of Fox Mulder's voice, to see Dana and her
partner standing a few feet away.

"It's not that he didn't believe us," Bill said, returning to the park
bench to sit down again.  "It's that he CAN'T believe us.  It's all too
circumstantial, and there is no corroborating evidence."  He briefly
reviewed for the two FBI agents the substance of his conversation with
Jiggs, leaving out a few of the personal details.

Mulder nodded.   "So we're on our own.  Well, we're no worse off for
having tried."  He started pacing again, but instead of making circuits
of the carillon he walked back and forth in front of the bench.  Dana
stood quietly watching him.

"We've got to approach this from a different angle," Mulder said,
continuing to pace.  "We've got to figure out where that zip disk is,
and the most likely way to find it is to find the Gunmen."  Dana had
finally explained to Bill, earlier in the day, the meaning of this
term.  "But how?  We can't just knock on every door in Washington.  Yet
there's something there; I can feel it.  I just can't quite SEE it."  He
shook his head angrily.  "This is making me nuts --"

Abruptly, he stopped pacing, and stood with his back to Bill and Dana.
Dana said, "Mulder?  Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," he said slowly.  "Yeah, I think maybe it is."  He turned around
to face her.  "Scully, work this out with me.  Byers, Langly and Frohike
have been taken, check?"

"Well, yes, but Mulder, if the Consortium got them, you know as well as
I do --"

"Yeah, yeah," Mulder said, cutting her off with a wave of his hand.  "If
Cancerman and his pals got them, they're dead, and the disk has probably
been destroyed, and there's nothing we can do about it.  But let's think
about that a minute, shall we?  Let's work this problem as if it had a
solution.  Suppose this whole operation has nothing to do with the
Consortium at all?  Suppose it's just a bunch of generals who have a
hankering to have their mail delivered to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue?
THEY might be more reluctant to kill if they don't have to."

"But Mulder, the hit squad --"

"Sure, the hit squad.  But that was a surgical operation; a classic
piece of wetwork.  They knew where we were, and they knew that at least
some of us were armed, and so they took no chances.  But they can't have
a Krycek on every street corner; more than likely the Gunmen just ran
afoul of an APB or something, and were initially hauled in to the local
jail, and only later were turned over to the bad guys."

Dana shook her head.  "I still don't see what this is gaining us."

"So the next question," Mulder went on, ignoring her objection, "is
where they would have taken those three AFTER the cops or whoever turned
them over."  He paused and thought for a minute.  Then, very softly:
"And I think I know the answer to that."

"Mulder," Dana said, "you're not making any sense."

"Yes, I am," he said.  "Yes, I am!  Come on, Scully, work with me on
this.  Suppose YOU were running the coup.  D-Day is coming up, maybe
only a few more days, and you've got some people you want to make
disappear, but you don't want to kill them.  What would you do with
them?"

"Quantico?"

Mulder shook his head.  "Not likely.  There's too much going on there,
preparing for the big push.  You might not have anyone available to
watch them there.  THINK Scully.  Remember your counterespionage
training from the Academy.  What did the Soviets used to do with people
who were inconvenient but not worth the trouble of shooting?"

Suddenly her eyes widened.  "St. Elizabeth's!" she whispered.

"Bingo!"

Bill broke in.  "St. Elizabeth's?  I don't get it."

Mulder opened his mouth, but Dana cut him off.  "St. Elizabeth's is a
mental hospital, Bill."

"I know THAT.  But what's the connection with Langly and Byers and
Frohike?"

"Under the Soviet regime," his sister explained, "psych hospitals were
used as places to warehouse people who had become inconvenient, but who
they didn't want to kill for some reason.  It had a lot of virtues, from
their point of view:  They could pretend that the individual was 'ill'
rather than politically dangerous; they could even let his family and
friends visit him, and since these 'patients' were usually kept drugged
to the gills, it wasn't hard to believe that they really were sick.
And, of course, anyone with any savvy knew what was REALLY going on, and
so the deterrent effect was there, too, all the more effective because
it was almost subliminal."  She took a deep breath, and turned back to
her partner.  "But Mulder, do you really think the Gunmen are at St.
Elizabeth's?  Granted that it's an attractive notion, but --"

Mulder shook his head.  "I don't know for sure," he admitted.  "But I do
know that they'd pretty damned well better be, because it is just about
our last hope."  He started to tick points off on his fingers.  "If the
Consortium got them, they're dead.  Even if it isn't the Consortium, if
the plotters are more ruthless than I've surmised, or less squeamish,
then they're dead.  If they were taken to Quantico there is no fucking
way we will ever get them out; the place is just too well guarded, and
right now the base is probably under a maximum security alert because of
the pending operation.  They won't be left in a local lockup because of
the risk that the legal system might intervene and kick them loose.  The
only place they could conceivably be that we have any chance of getting
at them is St. Elizabeth's."

Dana nodded slowly.  "I think you're right, Mulder.  It all makes
sense.  It would be nice, though, if we could figure out some way to
verify that they're really there, BEFORE we go in with guns blazing."

"Yes, it would," Mulder agreed, "and I'm beginning to get a glimmer on
how that might work, too.  But right now it's just a glimmer, and I'm
also hungry.  My proposal is that we go find a cheap hotel room
somewhere so we can get in out of this damned weather and maybe get some
decent food and rest.  Then we can spend tomorrow planning and lining up
whatever gear and information we're going to need, including trying to
find a way to verify that they're there in the first place.  Then if all
goes well, we can raid St. Elizabeth's tomorrow night.  Come on; let's
go."

And Mulder led the other two away from the monument and down the hill,
just as the carillon started to ring the top of the hour.

*While these bells ring...*

#          #          #

TITLE:  Seven Days in November  (7/8)
AUTHOR:  Brandon D. Ray
EMAIL ADDRESS:  publius@avalon.net

THURSDAY

Stealing the ambulance turned out to be easier than Bill had expected.
They waited for sundown, then took the Metro to Georgetown University
Medical Center and loitered in the parking lot until an emergency
vehicle arrived.  Then, while the paramedics were inside unloading their
charge and giving report to the ER staff, they climbed into the
ambulance, Mulder hotwired the ignition, and off they went.

"The FBI Academy syllabus must be a fascinating read," Bill had
commented.

"Your tax dollars at work," Mulder had replied with a smirk.

Now the three of them sat in the cab of the ambulance, parked on a side
street three blocks from St. Elizabeth's.  A return trip to the
Salvation Army store had scored black slacks and white button-down
shirts for Mulder and Bill, which they hoped would pass for uniforms for
the few necessary minutes.  They had decided that Dana's existing
disheveled clothing would allow her to get by as a distraught relative.

<<Best of all,>> Bill thought, <<I've got a gun!>>

He hadn't asked Mulder where he got the weapon; he knew that it was
almost impossible to legally acquire a handgun in the District.  The FBI
man had disappeared for twenty minutes while Bill and Dana had been
picking up carryout Chinese, and returned with a .32 automatic and half
a box of ammunition.  "Best I could do on short notice," he'd said
quietly as he passed the weapon over to Bill.    "Don't say I never gave
you anything."

"Everybody ready?" Mulder asked, bringing Bill back to the present.
"Here we go!"  And he threw the ambulance into gear and pulled away from
the curb.

It took less than two minutes to drive the remaining distance, and then
Bill and Mulder were wheeling a gurney towards the main entrance of the
hospital, Dana trailing along behind and wringing a handkerchief in her
hands.  They entered the building, and Mulder led the way past an
elevator bank, past an emergency stairway, and up to the main reception
desk, where a bored-looking clerk was reading a paperback with a picture
of an exploding spaceship on the front.  At the sound of their approach,
he looked up.

"May I help you?"

Dana elbowed her way to the front.  "Yes.  My name is Dana Byers, and
I'm here to pick up my husband, John."

The clerk looked puzzled.  "Byers?"  His eyes flicked over Mulder, Bill
and the ambulance gurney before returning to Dana.  "I wasn't told to
expect a transfer tonight."

"I don't care what you were told," Dana said sharply.  "My husband is
here, and I've come to take him to Georgetown Medical Center.  Byers is
his name; John Fitzgerald Byers."  She turned to Mulder and Bill.
"Explain it to him," she said.

Mulder shrugged.  "It ain't up to us, lady," he said in a bored tone of
voice.

The clerk looked at Dana for a moment, then shrugged.  "Just a minute;
let me check."  His fingers flew over the computer keyboard.  Then he
was shaking his head.  "I'm sorry, Mrs. Byers, but there's nothing here
about a transfer tonight...and Dr. Van Ackerman has gone home for the
night."  He looked back up at Dana apologetically.  "I'm afraid you'll
have to wait until morning."

Dana's lips tightened.  "I am NOT going to wait until morning!" she
said, raising her voice.  "I am not leaving John in this, this awful
place one minute longer than necessary!  I don't know who this Dr. Van
Ackerman is, but I do know the law, and you cannot keep my husband here
against his wishes!"

The man looked annoyed, and shrugged.  "I wouldn't know about that,
ma'am," he said.  "I'm just doing my job.  If you have a problem with
it, you can take it up with the Patient Rep.  At eight a.m."

"This is outrageous!" Dana shouted, and she banged her left fist down on
the clerk's desk.

Time seemed to stop, and Bill drew in a sudden breath.  The clerk was
staring at her hand, and Bill could almost hear the wheels spinning in
the man's head.  <<Jesus!>> he thought.  <<We forgot to get her a
ring!>>

The clerk looked back up at Dana, and now his features were cool and
unreadable.  "Ma'am, could I please see some I.D.?"  Nobody said
anything, and after a moment, the clerk started to reach for the
telephone.

Mulder's Sig Sauer seemed to appear from nowhere, pointed directly at
the man's head.  "Will this do?" he asked.  The clerk's jaw dropped, and
Mulder went on,  "Keep your hands where I can see them at all times.
Now stand up and face the wall.  DO IT!!" he yelled, and the other man
jerked into action, obeying M