The Damascus Files - File Three Part 1/?

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Date: Friday, January 07, 2000

TITLE: The Damascus Files - File Three Part 1/?

AUTHOR: Katvictory

DISCLAIMERS: They all belong to Chris Carter
and Fox. I want nothing. Don't sue.

RATING: This chapter is PG-13, The only
problem here might be the language. The
series would still carry an R

SUMMARY: Chapter 1 - Scully's story begins.
Scully is forced to attend a get together
where she finds familiar faces meeting with
powerful strangers in this initial
post-colonization conference. The soirée
proves interesting and informative for
everyone as secrets are revealed, lies
uncovered, traitors exposed and punished,
lost friends found, and before the party ends
there is, of course -- the unmasking.

FILE THREE - The end draws near, and each
person must choose which part they wish to
play in this the final act. Each person
decides their own destiny, but no one's fate
is theirs alone.

CATEGORIES: Post colonization, Alternate
Universe, MSR, Angst

SPOILERS: We leave CC's universe completely
toward the end of the 6th season.

FEEDBACK: Dev1025@uswest.net

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Sorry for the delay in
starting this last part. Real life demanded
my attention for a bit. The universe in
these files doesn't blend well at times with
this one we exist in. I'm hoping there'll be
no more problems with me splitting my time
between worlds and this story will progress
with at least one chapter posted each week.
Any and all prayers, chants, good luck charms
and/or talismans sent in this direction for
the purpose of assuring smooth sailing
through this final book will be much
appreciated and faithfully used.

The Damascus Files - File Three
by Katvictory

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

"Then Ananias went to the house and entered
it. Placing his hands on Saul, he said,
"Brother Saul, the Lord Jesus, who appeared
to you on the road as you were coming here,
has sent me so that you may see again and be
filled with the Holy Spirit." Immediately,
something like scales fell from Saul's eyes,
and he could see again...

...Ananias said, "The God of our fathers has
chosen you to know his will. He chose you to
see the One who is right and to hear Him
speak. You will speak for Him. You will tell
all the people what you have seen and heard.
Now, why do you wait?" Acts 22: 12-15

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

<><><><><><><>
CHAPTER ONE
<><><><><><><>

FWM Tapes
Mid April, 2003

There's been traffic on Highway 1 for the
last week or so. Several times a day, I've
been hearing what sounds like trucks. We now
know what it is. The round-up has started.
Since yesterday morning, each time we hear
the low rumble of what Skinner scouted out as
being military transports, I'm hustled off to
the old root cellar that Wagner used for his
"survivalist pantry".

It's getting old, running and hiding like
this. But, I'm an illegal, so there is no
choice. At least not while we're here at Sky
Watch. We're going to have to leave our
humble abode, today or tomorrow, at the
latest. The decision to leave came after
Skinner's last run to the settlement center
to get supplies. He returned much earlier
than expected, but his explanation of short
lines for the not even worth the trip ration
allotment he'd received made sense to me.

I realized within the hour that something was
up. The unannounced disappearance from camp
of both my companions spurred my search which
led me to the picnic area that the abandoned
ranch had once leased out for parties. I
interrupted my friends secret conference,
surprising them with my unexpected
appearance. I suggested that this get
together should now become a meeting to
discuss our future plans. My words were more
than a bit heated, fueled by my painfully
stung pride and bruised feelings.

It hurt that they had been trying to keep the
news Skinner had learned in town from me, but
I understand. In many ways, though,
comprehending the whys of their attempts to
shield me from such matters creates an agony
which is much harder to live with. Still, the
balm is knowing the most important truth
--they care.

I'd overheard what Skinner had learned from
the rumor mill grapevine that runs through
the innumerable lines in each of the
settlement centers. The decision to leave
this place, our home for so long, is not by
choice. It is a necessity. It seems life
imprisonment in a camp is no longer the
punishment for those who associate with
illegals. If my friends are caught hiding me,
they will be executed beside me.

(Sigh) Scully has been reading the files.
She has agreed to add her story to our record
of the time since "the end", but she told me
she'd rather do it orally. This is strange,
because she won't talk to ME about any of her
journey or our months apart. I had Skinner
acquire a recorder like mine for her so she
can dictate her tale. Maybe this will help
her deal with whatever is troubling her.

Tape Ends
-DKS-

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X

Dana K. Scully
Tape 1
April, 2003

You want this on tape?

MULDER: (His voice slurs with rapidly
approaching sleep.) I want you to tell me
everything, from when you left 'til now.

Mulder, you're talking 8 months. I can't tell
you everything that happened the entire time
we were apart...before you go to sleep...on
one tape...

MULDER: Summarize...(Pause, a loud sleepy
yawn. The sound of him burrowing his face
against my neck.) Just hit the highlights
right now, before I go to sleep...I want to
hear the sound of your voice...I've missed
listening to the sound of your voice...

So I put you to sleep? (Softly) You want a
bedtime story? This year wasn't exactly a
bedtime story, Mulder.

MULDER: (Sighs) Just talk to me...

Well, since I don't feel like singing... Mom
used to be the one who told the bedtime
stories. Stories from the Bible...

MULDER: Oh, save me. I've been cooped up with
Reverend Walt all winter.

Sh-h-h, he'll hear you. (His laugh is muffled
as he once more nuzzles against my neck. I
smile and idly play with his thick, soft
hair.) Okay,no Bible stories...well,
sometimes she'd tell us about the lives of
the saints.

MULDER: Your mother was very strange, Scully.
Talk about your nightmare material.

(I find myself chuckling at the memories.)
Well, there were a few that weren't too bad.
And we did get the edited versions, but I
can't say they brought sweet dreams. Ahab,
now he could tell a story. We heard the
classics from Ahab.

MULDER: Melville isn't exactly soothing
fare...but then again he's probably less
violent than Grimm's Fairy Tales and a hell
of lot less mind numbing than that singing,
purple dinosaur (another yawn).

Well, I loved the myths, the epic heroes.
Zeus was Bill's favorite. I think he just
liked the way he kept eating and vomiting his
children. (His chuckle is a soft whisper
against my neck. I can feel his long body
slowly relax and melt against me.) I loved
to hear about the muses and the
charities...the Horae and the fates. You
remember the story, Mulder? Clothos spins the
thread, then Lachesis measures it, and
Atropos cuts the thread...(His soft uhh-huh
lets me know my spoken lullaby is working.
I'm now talking more to myself. For myself.)

It was a good system, I guess. A logical
system. It worked for countless millennia,
but then the world tilted. I left and the
skeins became tangled. I was wandering in a
tapestry where I felt lost. I grasped at the
threads, but found myself dangling by loose
ends. I could no longer fully see the pattern
being woven into destiny's cloth. Without
you my future held no form or fashion. But
now, wrapped in your arms, I feel I've found
my place in the design that makes up this
fabric we call life. (Pause, for I must enjoy
the sight of his face; at last more than just
a memory.) And so he sleeps...I'm sorry I
left you. It will never happen again if I can
help it. It is still forever, Mulder. I
promise...

(Machine off)
-DKS-

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X

FWM Tapes
Mid April, 2003

Well, we've left Sky Watch. It was just
getting to 'hot' to stay. Sooner or later the
bounty hunters from the Fort Collins
settlement area would have caught me. We were
pressing our luck, staying as long as we did.

We buried the files there in the root cellar.
We made a time capsule out of a one-drawer
cabinet and now we're on the road. We've
camped just over the Wyoming border, at the
base of this hill that my companions tell me
is topped by a huge, wooden buffalo. They
also informed me that the land where we've
pitched our tents was a buffalo ranch before
the fall. I have a problem with choosing
this location as our base of operations. The
lumbering beasts have kept their distance up
'til now but -- well, they never looked this
big in the movies. And they didn't smell this
bad, either.

Scully and Skinner have decided that I am to
hold the fort during their little larcenous
excursion tonight. It stings that I am
neither needed nor wanted, sans powers, on
this night raid, but I've held my tongue. I
don't want to distract them or give them
something more to worry about before this
endeavor. I do remember how the last one
turned out. I feel we were lucky it ended as
well as it did.

So while they plan, plot and prepare...I cook
dinner. "They also serve, they who stand and
wait." Yeah, bullshit. I hate fucking
waiting. I always have. I feel useless
and...whiny. Shit. Well, I guess I have a
choice here. I can stay in camp, waiting, and
pissing and moaning. Or I can use my powers
(long pause) and run the risk of killing my
friends, or at the very least, driving them
away when I turn into some kind of
megalomaniacal Luke Skywalker on an endorphin
rush.

(Pause) While they're gone, maybe I'll listen
to the tapes Scully made about her last
year's adventure. She finally finished two of
them. It'll pass the time, while I wait...

End Tape
-WSS-

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X

Dana K. Scully
Tape 1 (cont.)
April, 2003

Shall I start this "Dear Theophilus"? No, I
guess Skinner has already taken on the role
of Paul. So, who might I be in this little
post apocalypse passion play that we're
staging? I do know, Mulder, my love, that YOU
have been cast in the role of 'savior'.
Whether you want the part or not, it looks
like you are destined to play it.

I guess I arrived at that particular
conclusion during my sojourn in the
wilderness. During the long, cold months I
was snowbound, I spent quite a bit of time
thinking about everything that has happened.
So much of what has come about seems to be
the fulfillment of prophesies.

Before you ask, I did winter with a tribe of
Mormon survivalists (laughs). I can just see
your face at hearing this news. But this
former skeptic now believes, 'there are more
things in life...' I know there are more,
Mulder, so much more. I've said it before;
it's an inexplicable world. I've found that
God does have a sense of humor and an
extremely over-developed penchant for the
absurd. You wanted my story, Mulder? Well,
it's probably time you know what happened...

Mom and I were packing for the flight to
Colorado when they arrived. The bell rang, so
Mom hurried to open the door. Two extremely
nervous, dark suited, young men stood on the
porch, guns drawn.

"Dana Scully?" The taller of the pair
inquired of my stunned mother.

"No, two doors down, " Mom answered, her
discreet giggles soon becoming loud, braying
guffaws at the rookie goons' crestfallen
expressions. You know how I laugh when I'm
nervous and how some things that most
'normal' people think are strange, horrible
or frightening just tickle my funny bone?
Well, it's a trait I inherited from my mom.
She confessed a short time later that she
just had to see the look on their faces at
hearing they had the wrong house. Maggie
Scully does have a bit of a cruel streak.

The shorter, dumpy one quickly glanced down
at the note clutched ever so tightly in his
sweaty hand. Seeing that the numbers written
there matched those above the entry, the
embarrassed kidnapper snarled, shoving my
mother inside.

They wanted me to go with them. They had been
sent by C.G.B. Spender. At first I was
puzzled by the fact that our old nemesis sent
such obvious incompetents to collect me.
After a while, due to my ignoramus
kidnappers' loose lips, and a little
deductive reasoning on my part, I realized
that CSM was a little short on help. Fowley
had disappeared without a trace. Krycek, I
soon found out, was in Colorado. All the
other heavyweights he normally called on to
do his nasty bidding were otherwise occupied
with the million and one last minute chores
which come with managing a successful alien
takeover. Apparently, judging by his final
selection, the goon pool was shallow at this
point in time.

I grabbed my coat and motioned for my mother
that we needed to go with these unkind
gentlemen. I didn't fear for our safety.
Curiosity is what made me wish to accompany
the pair. This is when I first discovered
that, somewhere, somehow, someone had caught
Spender off guard. The two men spent the
next twenty minutes arguing over what to do
with MOM. Apparently she wasn't on Cancer
Man's guest list. I assured the thugs that my
mother would not present them with any
problems if they left her at home unharmed.

Fortunately, they had at least an ounce of
brains between them for they did as I asked.
They must have reasoned that since they had
me for a hostage, Mom had a reason to behave.
Plus, they knew, in less than two hours
local, state and national law enforcement
would be dealing with the fear and panic that
were certain to occur after the news of the
alien coup was made public. So who could my
mother call that wouldn't have their hands
already more than full?

This is why I have hope that my mother is
safe, Mulder. I was able to give her a
business card with Jack Hart's toll free
number on it. He'd been setting up that new
office in Virginia Beach, remember? He didn't
plan on returning to Cancun until September.
And Morrie was with him. If anyone could have
gotten Mom out before the riots and burning
started, Jack could. Right? I have to believe
I'm right. Two hours remained before the
announcement, and most of the worst of the
trouble didn't start in the cities 'til that
night. So she could be safe, huh? Oh, God.
(Pause while Scully composes herself.)

I was finally led out to the prerequisite
black limo and blind folded. I do believe my
captors were taking their instructions
straight from "The Men In Black
Kidnapping/Hostage Handbook". I guess it's
just not written in the manual that an
operative should not talk about the best
route to reach his destination while his
prisoner is sitting in the back seat.

Our three hour drive put us at our
destination. I was led, still blindfolded, to
the room that was to be my holding cell. I
was sequestered in this tiny, windowless
prison until the following morning. My stay
wasn't uncomfortable; my lodgings were
equipped with both a serviceable cot and a
nice, reclining lounger. While there was no
way to shower or bathe, the minuscule
bathroom's sink did offer hot water. I was
given towels, wash cloths and soap at my
request. Twice a cloth covered meal tray was
brought to me by a young, spit and polish
Marine. There was even a little motel style
refrigerator in the back corner, filled with
bottled water and various sodas. I was given
all the comforts of home. I was driven mad by
the wait.

(There is a hitch in her voice as she
continues.) Sixteen hours is an eternity to
have nothing for company but your thoughts. I
knew from the conversation I'd overheard from
my oh-so-inept abductors that I was being
held at some resort in Ocean City. I knew
that this tourist spot was a headquarters of
sorts for those we've always called THEM. I
knew the clock had run out. I knew the end
had begun. Cloistered there in my neat, well
stocked cell, reality first began to blur
while I dwelled on what might be happening
outside the four walls that surrounded me.

We'd read Wagner's files. Studied them
earnestly with the hope they would educate us
as to our enemies' plans. Mulder, you know
there was nothing there, among the
speculation and rumor, that could have
prepared us for what actually happened. The
planned takeover was only the catalyst for
the destruction that followed. The
"Visitors'" only ignited the blaze; the fear
and panic that fed the fire was purely human
nature. They had counted on humanity to aid
them in their cause. We didn't disappoint
them now, did we?

Mulder, I failed this test, too. My own
descent began in that very room, that very
first night. The endless hours of waiting and
imagining unveiled the flaws deep inside me.
These fine, tight breaks in my character soon
spread and widened. I splintered, shattered
into a million tiny, bitterly sharp pieces.
Oh, I've found bits of myself, here and
there, as I made my way back, but what has
been pieced together is tainted. When I gaze
at my reflection, "she who returns my stare"
is someone I no longer know. The image is
distorted, hopelessly askew.

(Long pause) Mulder, I'm not the person you
think you see.

(Machine off.)

-WSS-

End Part 1a/?

-------------------------------------------------------

TITLE: THE DAMASCUS FILES FILE THREE part 1b/?
AUTHOR:katvictory
RATING:PG-13... naughty language
FEEDBACK:Dev1025@uswest.net
Disclaimers and notes in part 1a

I'd forgotten this feeling, Mulder. Peace.
The warmth of contentment. Funny, nothing has
really changed in the world, from that time
when I was out "there", cold and alone. I
know THEY still rule. I'm aware that mankind
has reverted, been reduced to an existence
governed by the survival of the fittest. We
are surrounded by violence, shadowed by death
and must accept and deal with the truth that
the entire human race is teetering on the
edge of total obliteration. Yet...

You and I have just whiled away the night,
(yes, that IS Venus there, proudly announcing
the birth of a new day) mixing soft,
whispered conversation, with tender kisses
and heated passion. I rise from this bed you
made for us beneath the planter's moon, and
slip away to answer nature's call. When I
return, I smile, listening to the sound of
your low, sated snore. I relish the sweet,
simple normalcy of this moment and I realize,
I'm happy. This surprises me. I'd believed
that was something I'd lost forever.

The door to my prison finally opened at 5:20,
the morning of August 10th and Alex Krycek
glumly motioned for me to follow him. His
normal, smoothly handsome face was marred by
a frown, and the dark circles beneath his
eyes were testimony to his lack of sleep. We
walked through the dimly lit hallway, neither
of us venturing into conversation. I hid the
desperation and fear that had consumed me
during my lonely incarceration, grimly
setting my shoulders to walk as tall as I
could beside him.

We took a service elevator, silently riding
up to finally stop on the penthouse floor. No
bunkers or basements for these conquering
despots. The door slid open to a "top of the
world" luxury suite, complete with a
wonderful panoramic view of the morning sun
rising over the blue-gray ocean. The sliding
patio door was closed. The huge room was
befouled with a haze of cigarette smoke.
C.G.B. Spender stood near the wide glass
expanse, busily talking on a cell phone as he
watched the day begin.

I was quietly ushered over to him and a smile
creased his craggy features. Not wanting to
return his greeting, I focused on the lit
cigarette almost burned down to the filter.
He held it casually between the middle and
index fingers of his right hand. At that
moment I noticed the brown nicotine stain
that discolored the digits. I watched as he
absently lit another of the brown and white
sticks off the smoldering butt of the first.
I was still mutely staring, mindlessly
enraptured by the rituals of his habit, when
I suddenly realized he was speaking to me.

"What?" I murmured, meeting his fluid, gray
gaze. The vertical lines cut into his jowls
as he half grinned. "I asked, Ms. Scully, to
what do we owe this pleasure?"

"You brought me here, "I mumbled, surprised
and confused by his query. Try as I might, I
couldn't quite disguise the muddled daze that
lack of sleep and recent events were causing
in my mind.

The crevices deepened; he smiled. "We are
puzzled as to why you're here on the coast,
Ms. Scully, and not in your usual place - -by
Mulder's side."

"I was visiting my mother," I stuttered,
attempting a disinterested shrug that didn't
come off as casually as I'd planned. "I
needed some time away from...with all that's
happened."

He stared at me, suddenly somber, searching
for the truth of my reply. He sensed I was
holding something back, knew my hastily
blurted excuse covered only surface intent.
Fortunately, his ego didn't allow him to
question the intelligence he'd acquired
concerning your condition, or that the bits
of knowledge he'd gathered detailing our
lives in Colorado could possibly be suspect.

Did he choose to read my answer as a
reluctant admission that my 18 month long
death watch duty to my former partner had
finally taken its toll? That must have been
what happened, for ever so slowly, the lips
stretched into a grin and the flinty eyes
locked in to hold me. "Your timing is to be
admired. Must be the luck of the Irish,
wouldn't you say, Alex?"

Krycek muttered something in answer, too low
for me to decipher. Spender either had heard
the younger man's reply or wasn't really
interested in what Alex thought because his
cold study never left my face as he spoke. I
couldn't break the contact, I could find
neither the energy or the focus to even begin
to try.

That's when I knew, Mulder, that something
had happened, back home in Colorado. I sensed
something was wrong. With you. A tingling
dizziness rose from this surety and I swayed.
Only the cold, hard grip of Spender's hand on
my arm kept me from falling.

"Take her to the couch and I'll order her
some food. They're not due until eight. I
don't want her to look this shaky when they
arrive."

The words buzzed softly in my ears. I was
ushered to a soft, cushiony sofa and made to
lie down. My eyes shut of their own accord,
and my captors' voices were a low drone in
the darkness. I didn't have the strength to
fight. I must have slipped off to sleep
almost instantly.

Alex Krycek woke me, gently shaking my arm,
and I numbly accepted his help to sit. A
plate of Belgian Waffles garnished with fresh
strawberries sat on the low, glass and gold
plated coffee table before me. I ate without
hunger, hoping the sustenance and black
coffee would clear my head and give me
strength.

I was on the last few bites of waffle when
the expected visitors arrived. I tried to
stay interested in my meal, but I couldn't
help a quick glance up when the company
entered and greetings were exchanged. My
breakfast was forgotten when I spotted the
tall, brutally muscular man who had entered
with the crowd. It was the alien who held me
hostage for your "sister".

My heart pounded in my chest as I reasoned
that since this "man" was actually an
extraterrestrial in disguise, his companions
might well be the same. My blatant stare
caught the notice of one of the group, a
slim, graying man in his fifties, but I
quickly returned my gaze to my food. Spender
ushered his guests over to the sitting area
near the patio.

I eavesdropped on the conversation, hearing
most of what was said. The discussion was,
for the most part, about how successful their
plans were proceeding. More than an hour
passed, during which my presence was
generally ignored, except by the visitor who
had met my eyes. Mulder, he could have been
Paul Newman's identical twin, but younger.
Each time I glanced over, I found him
watching me. His bright, blue gaze radiated
extreme pleasure that I was there.

Finally, giving a nod to me, he spoke in a
voice that was smoothly articulate; the
accent hinting of time spent on magnolia
covered verandahs, mint julep in hand. "I'm
assuming he's in the bedroom since she's
here."

A hushed silence followed his statement and
all eyes focused in on Spender, including my
own. The air seemed to leave the room when I
read his expression and stood up to hear what
he had to say, not even realizing I'd gotten
to my feet.

"There was a problem," Spender explained, his
voice low. A solemn mask of sadness was
slipped on to mold his leather features to
the proper degree of distress. I found myself
inching closer to hear the news. "Apparently
Wagner was a lot more like his father than he
knew. He fought back. Patriotic delusions."

My gaze was drawn to the visitor when he
spoke. "Just get to the point, Charles." The
request sliced through the tension filled air
with sharply honed ire, wielded with a much
practiced, acutely accurate precision. "He's
dead, am I right?"

"There was a fire..." Spender's excuse began
its rebirth, but died quickly when the cold,
blue fire seared it to ash. With a deep sigh,
eyes on the floor, he nodded the truth.

When stars die, they implode. Their vast
energy crushes them inward on themselves and
the brilliant light blinks out. All that is
left is a void. A black hole. A dark
nothingness.

Voices blurred and blended, muffled by the
roar of the blood rushing through my veins. I
was paralyzed, standing frozen to my spot
behind Krycek. My body, my mind, my emotions
were deadened, dulled by shock to a
self-defensive, half-life that I mutely
prayed would last forever, because I knew the
pain would be there for that long at the very
least. I felt crushed and the world slowly
began to tilt with this weight.

Weakly, I placed a trembling hand on the back
of the chair to steady myself. Paul Newman
rose from his seat at seeing me sway. The
others in the room followed his lead. As
creatures cloaked as men rushed to gather
around me, I felt smothered by their
closeness. They stole what little air I had
left in me. With frightened panic, I fought
their grasping hands, stumbling away from
their worried concern. I found myself backed
against a door, and I slid down to the plush,
carpeted floor when my legs finally gave
way. The group gathered in a tight
semi-circle; all eyes centered on me as I
buried my face in my arms to muffle my tears.

The voice broke through my misery and
confusion with a sharp, electric surge. Shock
at hearing him in my mind brought my head up
with a jerk. Though I searched the faces of
those around me, I knew from the start, the
soft whispers were not coming from anyone
here. It was a young voice that spoke to me.
The small cry was hauntingly familiar.

A quicksilver laugh assured me my guess was
correct. Mulder, I think the mind link you
and I share is what made me so receptive to
the boy. Gibson, while very adept at
receiving others' thoughts, had never
succeeded in sending until that very moment.
His relief and joy at finally being able to
communicate filled me, and I couldn't help my
smile. It didn't go unnoticed.

"Ms. Scully?" Blue Eyes leaned closer to me,
tentative, cautious. His cold study still
somehow reflected a concern for my sanity.

I suppose he had reason to fear my mental
state. I hadn't exactly shown that I was
coping too well with recent events. It had
been plain to see from the start. I'd been
nothing but frayed nerves and splintered
psyche. The way I'd reacted when I overheard
the rumors of your death had been a wonderful
illustration of an unhinged, human female.

I chose to ignore them all. Ducking my head,
I closed my eyes and concentrated on
listening to the boy. Words were tumbling
from him, a long pent up flow that overloaded
the weary, wounded synaptic processors in my
brain. Numb, close to shock in my grief, I
received only about half of what he was
telling me. It was more than enough to make
me lose my smile. The sobs began in earnest
as I heard of yet another child, used,
abused, destroyed by the evil that stood not
two feet from me.

Gibson effortlessly read every nuance of my
mind, even as he told his tale. It wasn't
long before he stopped, pulling back from me
at realizing just how his painful
self-history was effecting me. Mulder, they'd
left him little more than a vegetable, kept
alive by machines. But the worst part was,
his consciousness still thrived. He wasn't
mindless, far from it. It was like what had
happened to you, but so much more
frightening, because he had been fully
cognizant from the start; there was no hope
for release. For over four years he had
existed in that nightmare, alive, but not
alive.

I attempted to recover from what I'd learned
of his tragic history and pull my wits about
me, all the while feeling his comfortable
presence there with me. He was waiting,
watching, politely studying me with his mind
as one would contemplate another when having
a "normal", mundane conversation. I felt his
gentle probing, but wasn't offended by it. It
was no more obtrusive than a concerned
bystander's visual assessment.

It was enough though, to inform him of the
reason for my grief. He quickly informed me
of the truth.

"He's not dead!" I gasped aloud, stunned by
this joyous revelation. My eyes popped open
and I jerked, bolt upright. I vaguely noticed
the crowd that watched me take a step back in
unison at my surprised reaction.

Had I not been in such a turmoil, I might
have registered Gibson's question as to why I
had not realized the fact that you'd
survived. You see, Mulder, he had sensed our
link, so it puzzled him that I had even
questioned your demise. He knew that
connected as we are, I would, of course,
immediately know of your passing. I guess
this information did lodge somewhere in my
subconscious, because later it would prove to
be my lifeline.

Looking about, noticing the eight sets of
eyes that so intently studied me, I couldn't
help the grin that came with my newly
discovered knowledge. Slowly, I pushed up
against the door at my back and made it to my
feet. I caught sight of C.G.B. Spender's
puzzled gaze and gave him a triumphant smile.

"You didn't kill him. He's still alive, you
black lunged bastard!" I laughed at the fear
that sprang into those cold, gray eyes.

Gibson had told me all. I knew now that the
handsome, blue eyed one, with the morphed,
movie star's face was the head of the
project. The leader cut a glance to Spender
at my accusation, but remained silent,
waiting and watching.

My grin grew even more bright as I simply
whispered, "I know." Silence blanketed the
room. I suddenly knew what had to be told.
"I know who is behind this door."

I watched as a half circle of faces grew
pale. They seemed to float before me as I
began to quote, "And there came a voice in
the wilderness...saying, 'He who comes after
me is mightier than I... He will baptize you
all with the Holy Spirit, and with fire.'" I
turned to the Cancer Man and felt power when
he seemed to shrink at my gaze. "You can't
get rid of Mulder, you son of a bitch. He IS
the one. Don't you see that?"

Krycek stepped forward, his complexion the
color of ash, his eyes brightly beseeching
and desperately grasped my arm. "You know I
tried to help him."

I listened as my oracle told me this was
true. "You helped," I nodded, allowing him
the crumbs his act deserved.

"You know all this?" the leader asked calmly,
catching my attention; holding me with his
searing, sapphire stare.

"The boy is a prophet and you have him behind
this door. He knows. He sees. That's why you
feared him. You know who he is. You know why
he's here." I paused and let the truth come
into me. "Spender brought him here, in this
condition. You were angry it had happened,
but still, it made it easier for you to
control him and his power, didn’t it?”

A low, whispered swear was flung from the
area behind the leader, instantly drawing the
room's attention. We watched a light glimmer
cross the Cancer Man's face as understanding
of a truth was born. It brought first a dark
frown, then slowly, a resigned smile broke
through the dusky cloud of anger.

"I suppose this is my cue to demand a bowl to
wash my hands," Spender chuckled wearily. He
stepped over to the handsomely cloaked alien,
his eyes filled with resigned betrayal. "You
see, I've always told you I was only here to
serve your will. I didn't lie now, did I?"
His laugh was soft, dipped in bitterness.

The leader twisted in scorn, his disgust
perfectly expressed by his evenly voiced, but
archly clipped, British tones, "You chose
the part you wished to play. We never
requested these acts of you, Charles. It was
your own desires that drove you to do what
you did."

I followed the alien's sharp crystalline
glance as he mutely signaled the muscular
visitor we'd met so long ago. The drama
continued to unfold before my wide-eyed,
stunned watch . The huge, brutally
constructed guard slipped quickly,
soundlessly, behind C.G.B. Spender, his arm
raising as though to strike the unseeing,
unsuspecting human.

A small, sharply exhaled sigh parted
Spender's lips, and he pitched forward,
hitting the carpet with a muffled thud. A
tiny, dark red blotch stained the back of his
white collar. Every eye focused on the still
form, lying upon the gun metal colored carpet
in what resembled, in it's stiff formality,
the military stance of attention. His face
was buried deep in the plush pile.

The only thought that rambled about in my
weary, shock befuddled brain was an
idiotically absurd observance. I kept
repeating to myself, over and over that
Cancer Man was truly dead because I knew he
couldn't breathe carpet.

"Do you want to see the boy?" the leader
asked softly, breaking through my almost
mindless haze.

I reeled myself up to a somewhat coherent
lucidity in order to nod that I did wish to
see Gibson Praise. Together, his hand firmly
on my elbow to guide me, we entered the next
room. His burly guard made to follow us, but
was halted by a stern shake of the older
'man's' head; then the door swung shut behind
us.