Detente 
By Xenith 
 
Disclaimer: The X-files belong to Chris Carter and 1013 
Productions, not me. I'm only borrowing the characters for 
now. I'll put them back when I'm done.  
Rating: PG 
Category: SA 
Keywords: MSR, Muldertorture, mytharc 
Spoilers: Thru 7th season ending at Je Souhaite 
Archive: Sure! Spooky's yes! And the VS8 Archive of 
course. All others, ask me first.  
Feedback: Love it! Love it! Send it! Yum! 
Summary: Mulder's thirty-ninth birthday arrives on an 
unhappy note when he finds himself forced to listen to what 
CSM has been waiting to tell him and to depend on the man 
for survival. 
 
Author's Note: This piece was written specifically for 
inclusion in the Virtual Season 8. Chris Carter, watch out! 
If you don't treat Moose and Squirrel right, we'll just do 
it ourselves!! 
 
And a thousand thanks to my wonderful betas: Tracy G who 
advised me on rescue protocol and to Wylfcynne for 
demanding "More torture! More torture!" 
 
*********************************** 
 
 
October 13, 2000  
9:30 p.m. 
 
 
Darkness and dust and pain... 
 
Pain. 
 
It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. No, he couldn't move. 
Mulder tried to shift his torso and found that he was 
pinned from the waist down. He coughed, lightly and then 
more deeply, sucking in dust with every breath. He was 
lying on his right arm and the left one hurt..hurt..hurt. 
Broken, probably. Damn.  Couldn't catch his breath. His leg 
hurt too. Then he thought he heard a scuffling sound in the 
darkness. It was moving toward him.  Rats? What? 
 
It was so dark. Was he blind? Panicking, Mulder began to 
pant for air and tried frantically to pull himself out of 
the pile of rubble that buried him. He stopped when he 
heard a 'click' and saw a flame shoot out of a lighter. 
 
C.G.B. Spender's worn face appeared in the dim light, 
creased with dust. "Here now, don't do that, son. You'll 
only make your injuries worse." Mulder looked up  in even 
more panic and found that his body from the waist down was 
indeed buried in rubble, with that bastard's tobacco- 
smelling coat draped over his torso. 
 
Spender hovered solicitously over him, gently moving the 
coat aside.  "You've been out a long time. From the 
swelling, I'm fairly sure that you've broken your arm." He 
palpated the left arm while Mulder stiffened in agony. "I 
can't speculate about other injuries. You'll have to tell 
me whether you have feeling in your legs." Spender sat back 
on his haunches and watched Mulder's face. 
 
Mulder blinked, then slowly began to remember the evening 
and how it had all gone to Hell. "Damn it! Put that damn 
thing out! There could be gas leaks, you'll kill us for 
sure this time you idiot." 
 
Mulder felt a dim stab of satisfaction at the chagrin on 
the man's face as the light went out. The darkness pressed 
close again.  He drew a painful breath and rasped out, "Why 
didn't you die in the explosion, you bastard?"  
 
Mulder could almost see the man smile. "Oh, I can survive 
a lot. And so, apparently, can you.  We'll just have to 
wait here until they dig us out." There was silence, broken 
only by the sound of Mulder's harsh breathing. 
 
Spender's voice floated through the murk. "By the way, I 
never wished you a happy birthday." 
 
 
 
October 2, 2000  
Turlock California  
10:13 a.m. 
 
 
 
"Just like I tol' ya, the men were tall an' scaly. Yep, 
tall an' scaly and GREEN," Jessica Griffen took a delicate 
sip from her teacup, swishing the amber liquid around in 
her mouth before swallowing it down. Scully pegged her at a 
well-worn sixty five years old, with hair died midnight 
black only partly covering the gray. 
 
Dana Scully shifted position on the rickety kitchen chair 
and wondered at Mulder's intent concentration on the woman. 
She'd bet ten dollars that what Jessica was drinking wasn't 
tea. 
 
"And you say that they experimented on you? How?" Mulder 
asked pleasantly, his entire demeanor communicating 'I 
believe you'. 
 
"Well...they did things of a..." she leaned forward and 
Scully caught a whiff of her boozy breath. "a sexual 
nature, if you catch my drift. And man, were they hung!" 
 
Scully choked back a snort while Mulder scooted his chair 
back a bit. He'd caught her breath as well. 
"I...uh...see..." 
 
"Yeah. They said I was jus' the right kinda woman fer 
breeding stock and they had to have their way with me, 
y'know?" Griffen's eyes gleamed and Scully just knew what 
was coming next. 
 
Jessica leaned forward, her glassy eyes fixed on Mulder. 
"An' one of 'em looked a lot like you...if ya take the 
alien guy's scales into account. Annnyway...firs' they 
stripped off my clothes an' then..." 
 
 
 
October 2, 2000 Turlock, California  
2:24 p.m. PDT 
 
"Well, I know that she's not the most credible witness 
we've ever interviewed, but..." 
 
"Mulder, I honestly don't know where you find these 
cases," Scully tapped her heel impatiently but the noise 
was buried in the brown shag carpet. Shit-brown, that's 
what the color was. Earth tones, like the avocado wallpaper 
peeling from the wall in here. "And it's bad enough that we 
spend the afternoon listening to the sexual fantasies of a 
lush, but this after a night spent in a dust-ridden flea 
trap like this." 
 
Mulder looked up from where he sat on the bed and winced 
when he saw Scully's expression. She wasn't happy. Oh no. 
"What's wrong with it? We're within budget." He slid across 
the brown gabardine bedspread and stood up, stretching his 
muscles. "Okay, so the mattress isn't the best in the world 
but it's okay for a few nights." 
 
Her expression grew even stormier. "But it isn't a few 
nights, is it? Mulder, we spend half our lives on the road, 
sleeping in dumps like this, chasing shadows.  Hasn't it 
ever occurred to you that our lives ought to be about 
something better? And as if the cases weren't bad enough, 
couldn't we, just once, stay someplace better? A hotel, not 
a motel?" 
 
Mulder grinned indulgently. "What's wrong with these 
accommodations, Scully?  Besides, if all you're going to do 
is sleep what do you need with anything more than a bed? 
After the lights are out you can't see the bad paintings on 
the walls or the shag carpet." 
 
Her eyes narrowed. "Mulder, the shag carpet is older than 
I am. And I think the bedspread in my room dates to the 
Truman administration. You really can't tell the difference 
between a cheesy motel and a real hotel, can you? It's been 
that long since you stayed at a nice place, had a real 
vacation, maybe a decent meal that didn't involve hamburger 
meat?" She sighed. "What are our lives, Mulder? Why are we 
doing this? We're stuck on the road three weeks out of four 
and for what? So we can find another colony of Bigfoot? Or 
maybe another faked alien abduction, like we did here. No, 
don't say it..." she raised her hand as he tried to 
interrupt. "Mrs. Griffen is a nice lady but there is 
absolutely no proof that she was ever abducted by aliens, 
no implants, no physical changes, and her accounts vary 
significantly from the norm. Her aliens originate from that 
bottle of bourbon I saw in her kitchen, not from outer 
space." Her eyebrows lifted. "Unless you buy her story of 
massive orgies with scaly green men who look just like you?" 
 
Mulder sat back down on the edge of the bed and winced as 
the springs squawked painfully. "Scully, why are we always 
like this?" 
 
She pulled the chair over and sat down as well. "Like what?" 
 
"I find a case and you debunk it. I choose lodgings and 
you hate them. Nothing I do every really meets your 
specifications, does it?" He gave her a longing look while 
she fidgeted. 
 
"Am I that bad?" she asked. "I've always stood up for you. 
You know I'm on your side, Mulder." 
 
"Scully, you've defended me a hundred times when I was 
attacked both physically and politically. But why do I get 
the feeling that, as a man, I never quite measure up to 
your expectations? What is it that you really want from 
me?" Mulder's lips twisted. "I mean, you're my partner and 
you're all I have left..." 
 
Scully stared and fumbled for words. What did she expect 
from Mulder, really? Maybe the same things she'd wanted 
from all the other men in her life. "I...I suppose I expect 
a level of...of stability, of maturity and professionalism 
commensurate with your age and position." 
 
Mulder grimaced. "Oh, I see. And not go haring off after 
crop circles at a moment's notice, huh? But why not, when I 
can offer you all this?" He stretched his arms out and 
gestured to the motel room. "You want a hotel with an 'h' 
in it, huh Scully? Not a string of cheesy 'm'otels like 
I've been throwing at you. You'd probably like to see me 
promoted out of the basement too..." 
 
She found herself focused on her hands, sitting quietly in 
her lap. She had never intended to allow Mulder to find out 
her private reservations about him. "Mulder, I'm as 
committed to the work as you are..." she said earnestly. 
 
"Then why do you fight it so often? Why do you fight 
*me*?" Mulder's voice was softer. "Is it because I'm not 
the stable, settled, powerful man you think I should be?  
Have I lost your respect because of that?" He paused and 
added sadly, "Or did I ever really have it?" 
 
"Mulder, I've always respected your abilities as an 
investigator and FBI agent," Scully said carefully. 
 
"But not otherwise? Does my life not meet with your 
expectations?" Mulder cocked an eyebrow and folded his arms. 
 
"Mulder...we aren't kids any more. It's time to grow up, 
take on responsibilities..." She couldn't meet his eyes. 
 
"Acquire a mortgage, huh? Get a big SUV I can't afford? 
Find me a wife and get me some kids?" She jerked at that 
but he went on. "Scully, my life has never fit the mold and 
neither have I. It's time to stop expecting that it ever 
will." 
 
She stood up and gave him a narrow look. "Mulder, you 
spend your Saturday nights playing Dungeons and Dragons 
with the Lone Gunmen when you aren't reading case files. 
You are responsible to no one, have no long-term 
commitments and have no intention of ever changing your 
lifestyle. The man you are is the same as he was at 30. 
What's wrong with this picture?" 
 
"You're saying I won't grow up?" He pursed his lips. 
 
"Mulder, I'm saying that you won't mature. You refuse to 
change, to bend." She sighed. "I don't want to do this any 
more. I can't argue with you about this, you'll never 
change. Not in your professional life. Not in your...your 
personal life." She eyed him up and down. "I'm going to 
pack. It's time to go to the airport." 
 
 
October 2, 2000 9:55 PDT 
 
 
Dana Scully sullenly occupied her seat and watched Fox 
Mulder doze.  She had always envied his ability to sleep on 
the plane. She wasn't as nervous a flyer as she'd been in 
the beginning but she still couldn't quite relax on a 
plane. She pondered Mulder's sleeping form, sprawled out 
across three seats on the opposite aisle. He 
was...beautiful, easily the handsomest man she'd ever 
known.  
 
She snorted. He was also the most frustrating. He'd been 
reaching out to her for years, making sexy innuendoes, 
romantic gestures. She'd die for him but sometimes she 
wanted to save the mutants the trouble and kill him 
herself.  
 
She sighed and shifted in her aisle seat. That was the 
trouble, really. She loved him and was terribly frustrated 
by him. He wasn't what she'd ever really planned for 
herself. She'd wanted, oh, a man with authority, power, a 
man who was a doer.  Of course, Mulder was every bit as 
energetic a man as she could wish for, but at what? Aliens. 
Monsters. Crop circles. Haunted houses. 
 
She rolled her eyes and then narrowed them. And the 
enemies he'd made. If ever there were a man capable of 
pissing off the truly powerful it was her partner. And the 
devastation spread to those surrounding him; not that he 
intended that. Oh no, he'd die to protect a friend. She 
knew he'd never forgiven himself for her own abduction and 
its results. 
 
I'm caught, she considered. I can't leave him but I can't 
accept what he is, either.  What is he, then? Passionate, 
courageous and so damned unconventional that most of the 
world wanted to lock him up in a nice padded cell. This 
isn't what I planned. I'm supposed to be happily married 
and a mother by now, picking up groceries after a long day 
at work. What do I do instead? I investigate alleged alien 
abductions that turn out to be dipsomaniac little old 
ladies. I'm in my thirties and what's it all for, anyway? 
 
Mulder lay quiet and pretended to sleep. He needed to 
think after Scully's comments. She respected him as an 
investigator but not as a man, wasn't that it? She thought 
he had some variant of the Peter Pan Syndrome. He heard her 
shift in her seat and listened to her breathing. He'd often 
listened to her sleep, watched the rise and fall of her 
chest and cherished the quiet trust she had in him.  He was 
beginning to realize that her trust was his most valued 
possession.  What was it that she wanted from him, really? 
He wasn't sure. He'd always guessed at what normal 
families, normal people did. He supposed that Rob and Laura 
Petrie weren't particularly accurate role models.  
 
What did he have to show for himself anyway? A pile of 
dusty citations from his early years at the Bureau. Even 
those wouldn't save him from termination if he pissed off 
the bosses again.  He'd helped some people, uncovered some 
truths, found a few monsters that the government wanted 
hidden. 
 
He'd made Scully sterile.  
 
Okay, he hadn't made her sterile, her friendship with him 
had caused that. Or, more precisely, she'd been standing in 
the blast radius when Cancerman needed Mulder taken down a 
peg. 
 
How much in his life he owed to that smoking bastard. 
Scully's sister murdered. Dad dead, courtesy of Alex 
Krycek; Mom a suicide, maybe. And Sam was gone. The ache 
over her had eased a lot but that didn't change the sins he 
could lay at old C.G.B.'s door. All the pain in his life 
originated with that corrupt old man. And had his mother 
really slept with him? The thought was too horrifying to 
consider. He wouldn't consider it. 
 
Scully. God, how he loved her. No, it was more than that. 
He required her. She was like air or sunlight. If he lost 
her he'd wither away and die. He found himself phoning her 
on weekends just to hear her voice.  And now he was finding 
out that he didn't measure up somehow. What did he feel 
about that? Angry, he knew, and worried that he'd lose her. 
 
Thirty-nine on October 13, and then on to 40. And he had 
nothing to show for it but a dusty basement filled with 
files that nobody cared about except him. 
 
 
October 13, 2000  
4:30 p.m.  
Hoover Building 
 
"Mulder, I just can't see it! I'm sorry, but I don't see 
any reason for us to investigate this case!" Scully handed 
the manila folder back to an obviously impatient Mulder. 
 
"Scully, the money in the bill-changers at this arcade has 
been replaced with dried leaves for weeks. For weeks, 
Scully! I'm telling you that this is prime evidence for the 
existence of elves in Fresno!  Remember the ancient legends 
of fairy gold!" He waved the folder in a sweeping gesture, 
then caught the slight quirk of her lips. 
 
"What?" he demanded. 
 
"You're telling me that there are fairies in Fresno, 
Central Valley of California. Raisin and garlic capital of 
the world." Scully asked, too calmly. "Mulder, some arcade 
employee is playing tricks. This isn't even some fog-bound 
castle in Ireland you're talking about." 
 
"Gilroy's the garlic capital..." he muttered. "Scully, 
c'mon. Work with me on this one, huh? There's something 
going on and since it involves embezzlement of money on an 
Indian reservation it's a federal matter." He stopped, when 
he saw the look on her face. "What is it?" 
 
Scully took a deep breath. The previous weeks had been 
quiet, with neither she nor Mulder mentioning the argument 
they'd started in Turlock. "Mulder, don't you ever ask 
yourself whether this is all there is? I mean, is this all 
we'll ever do? Look for proof of Mexican goat-suckers and 
mothmen in the remote wilderness," she looked away from him 
"and never find it?" 
 
"Are you saying that my life has been wasted?" he asked 
quietly, setting the file down and leaning against the desk. 
 
"Mulder, I really don't want..." she moved away but he 
caught her arm. 
 
"No, I really want to know what you think. Today of all 
days." 
 
"Today? Oh." She flushed. "Oh, Mulder I never meant to 
imply..." 
 
 
"Today I hit the big 3-9, Scully. One more year and I'm 
middle-aged. As you've been pointing out to me, I'm not a 
kid anymore; I'm supposed to have a house, family with 2.3 
children, picket fence and sheepdog aren't I? Or at least I 
should have the respect of my peers by now, huh?  What do I 
have to show for my life?"  
 
He glanced bleakly around the basement, which managed to 
look even dustier and more decayed than usual. "I don't 
even get gag gifts for my birthday, like normal people." He 
picked up Scully's birthday present to him, a miniature 
maglite to replace the one destroyed by the last mutant and 
flicked it on and off. So useful in his line of work. 
Better than, say, golf clubs. He absently slipped it into 
his suit pocket. 
 
"You haven't wasted your life, Mulder, you just...You're 
just different..." her voice trailed off when she caught 
his expression. She took a deep breath. "Mulder, I won't 
lie to you. I disagree with many of the things you feel 
called upon to investigate and yes, I think that you've 
missed out on a 'normal' life." She moved away from him and 
he could barely hear her words. "We both have." 
 
"Do you blame me for that, Scully? That you haven't had a 
normal life? Don't you think I haven't wanted that for you? 
I've told you to get out, but you stay. You stay. But you 
don't want to stay really, do you?  I've trapped you here." 
He sighed and bowed his head. "Scully, I've managed to hold 
you back from every goal you ever had. If I could make it 
up to you somehow, you know that I would.  You know...what 
our partnership means to me... I've tried to tell you...how 
I feel about you..."  
 
She broke in hastily, "Mulder, stop. I made my choices in 
life and I don't regret them. But let's not get 
too...deep...here.  Okay?"  Her eyes turned away from his. 
 
He sighed in frustration.  "And that's it, huh? Scully, 
I'm not the only one who's fooling himself about the 
chances he's missed. I may be hitting middle age, but at 
least I tried to make a difference and I've tried for a 
normal life, whatever that is.  It's just...never worked 
out that way." He stalked over to the coat rack and snagged 
his trench coat. "I'm done here today. If you want me, I'll 
be at Casey's." 
 
"We have reservations at Tonio's, don't you want me to 
take you to dinner?" Her voice was low and apologetic.  
 
He shook his head, "No. I need to think about things. 
Alone. But thanks for the birthday gift." He gave her a sad 
smile and shrugged on his coat. 
 
"Mulder, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to imply..." Scully 
found herself talking to empty air, then sighed.  
 
Mulder rode the elevator alone, ignoring the curious looks 
from the other occupants. He was used to being a freak, 
nothing new about that.  They moved aside, letting him out 
of the elevator first. Afraid to get too close to Spooky 
Mulder, he pondered, pariahdom might be catching. 
 
He wandered down the street and found his favorite bar. 
Casey's. Funny, he only went here now when he wanted to get 
really really drunk. Scully wouldn't go here anymore after 
Pendrell....no, don't think about that. Don't want to add 
more depression to an already stellar evening. 
 
It was quiet tonight. No loud parties yet, but the after 
work crowd would be in here soon. The cocktail waitress 
smiled as she delivered his drink. "Why aren't you at the 
bar, Spooky?" 
 
He grimaced back. "How'd you know my name? Oh." The 
bartender smiled and gave him a little wave; the same lady 
who'd cut him off before he was properly drunk a couple 
years ago when Scully was leaving him. He waved back and 
handed the waitress a twenty. "Just keep 'em coming." 
 
"You celebrating something?" she asked. 
 
"Yeah.  Yeah, my birthday and the fact that it's Friday 
the 13th.  I was born on a Friday the 13th and it's been 
downhill ever since... Somehow they seem to go together, 
y'know?" He bent over his drink and heard her go silently 
away. Way to go, Spooky. Scared another one off. I scare 
'em all off in the end, even Scully.  He pulled out the 
maglite again and examined it. Seven years of partnership 
and this was as personal as her gift-giving got. He tucked 
it back into his pocket. 
 
"Hello. Mind if I join you?" A tall, rumpled figure slid 
into the booth. "You seem to like dark corners, don't you? 
Basement office, booths in the darkest, farthest corner of 
the bar. Hardly a suitable place to celebrate your 
birthday." Rheumy eyes stared at him from across the table. 
 
Mulder sipped his drink. "What the hell do you want with 
me? Run out of women and children to victimize?" 
 
The man laughed and leaned back in his seat. "Aren't you 
curious about how it is that I know it's your birthday?  Or 
why I care?" 
 
"You know everything about me," Mulder shrugged. "The bugs 
in my apartment have bugs. I figured that out a while ago. 
As to why you care?" Mulder fixed him with burning eyes. 
"That's irrelevant." 
 
"Don't you want to know why I've stopped by?" The man lit 
a cigarette and inhaled luxuriantly. 
 
"Nothing could interest me less. I'll be going now," 
Mulder stood, to find himself blocked by the man. 
 
"Not yet.  You have certain talents and abilities that I 
need just now." 
 
"I'm not your flunky. Call Krycek."  
 
The man shook his head slowly, his eyes gone cold. 
"Krycek's loyalties may be divided. I can't trust him with 
this." The man looked vaguely uncomfortable and shifted for 
another cigarette. "Please. Sit down and allow me to 
explain. Please." He motioned toward the booth. 
 
Puzzled, Mulder sat while the man lit his second 
cigarette. "There have been some...differences...among the 
consortium hierarchy. The power vacuum since our leading 
members died has resulted in some maneuvering for position." 
 
Mulder shot him a glance. "Somebody wants you dead." 
 
The man looked up abruptly, then smiled. "Yes. I need 
someone to find out who it is and deal with it for me." 
 
Mulder's eyes widened. "And you trust *me*?" he hooted. 
"I'd gladly watch you die in a pool of your own blood, you 
murderous bastard!" 
 
"You wouldn't regret my death but I know you, Fox Mulder. 
You couldn't betray me." 
 
"Try me!" Mulder leaned across the table. "You killed my 
father, you goddamned murderer! My sister died because of 
you. And my mother's death...has never been explained to my 
satisfaction..." he ended softly. 
 
The man held himself stiffly upright and brought the 
cigarette to his lips. "Your mother was ill. She chose her 
own end and I grieve for her every day of my life. I've 
lost more than you can ever comprehend -- for your sake. 
Yours and the rest of this planet..." The man stopped. 
"What the...?"  
 
His voice was drowned out by the loud rumbling roar that 
blasted through the building.  A flash of light blotted out 
the world and the last thing that Mulder knew was the loud 
booming sound, before the wall collapsed on him. 
 
 
October 13, 2000  
6:30 p.m. 
 
Scully felt the building shake, heard the roar and knew it 
for what it was. Dallas was still too fresh in her mind. 
She ran for the stairs and soon stood on the front steps, 
watching a plume of smoke rising from what appeared to be a 
building several blocks away and listened to the sirens of 
the emergency workers. Several minutes later, Skinner made 
his way through the crowd of Hoover employees and joined 
her, looking worried.  
 
"What happened?" she demanded, watching the plume of smoke 
rise in the distance. 
 
"According to police communications, there was an 
explosion at Casey's Bar. The building itself is devastated 
and there's considerable damage to the surrounding area. 
They aren't sure about the cause yet. We haven't been 
called in... Agent Scully? What is it? What's wrong?" 
Scully had started to move toward the smoke and Skinner had 
to run to keep up. 
 
"Sir, Mulder went there. He told me he was going to 
Casey's tonight. Oh, my God...." Her voice broke off on a 
sob. 
 
"Scully! Agent Scully! Shit!" Skinner picked up speed, 
trying to keep up with her.  He found Scully standing in 
front of the wrecked and burning building, helplessly 
watching the police and fire units arrive. The area was 
being cordoned off for a block around, standard procedure. 
And all she could do was watch helplessly while the 
building burned and burned. 
 
"How do you know that Mulder is here?" Skinner demanded 
breathlessly, taking in the scene. 
 
She shook her head and folded her arms tight against her 
chest.  "He...wanted to spend a quiet evening alone. He 
told me he'd be at Casey's if anybody wanted him. Hey!" She 
strode over to the EMTs who had just arrived. "I'm a 
medical doctor. I'd like to offer you any assistance I can. 
Have they found any survivors or...or bodies?" 
 
"Hello, Dr. Scully," the woman read Scully's I.D. "I'm 
Jane Farnon. No, we haven't had any casualties yet and they 
aren't going to be searching for survivors for at least 
twelve hours yet. They have to get the fires out and make 
sure the building is safe to enter.  But we're glad to have 
you, we're bound to get injuries from fire and police 
personnel till then." 
 
"Is there any chance I might be able to assist in the 
rescues? When they do have the building secured?" Scully 
watched the firemen wistfully. Farnon shook her head. 
 
"No, I've been to scenes like this before. They always 
rely only on the trained teams from the fire department or 
the Red Cross. They never take volunteers." Farnon took a 
close look at Scully. "You have someone in the building?" 
At Scully's nod, Farnon continued. "I'm sorry about that. 
You can certainly help us and when they find your friend, 
you'll be first on the scene. That's the best I can offer 
you, I'm afraid." 
 
"I know, I'll stand by.  I can see where they have you set 
up." Scully nodded to Farnon and, sighing with frustration, 
wandered back to Skinner. He motioned her over. 
 
"Agent Scully, this is Lt. Walker, from the D.C. police. 
They're working on developing a theory behind the 
explosion. Local agencies have been alerted but not called 
in, since this bar is an unlikely target for domestic 
terrorism." 
 
"Agent," Walker shook Scully's hand. 
 
"Have you considered that this explosion might not have 
been an accident? That it could have been targeted at 
someone?" she demanded, eyeing the dust still rising from 
Casey's. 
 
"We're considering all possibilities. Why? Do you know 
something?" Walker followed Scully's glance. 
 
"Mulder was in that building when it went up," she began 
when Skinner grabbed her arm and pulled her away. 
 
"Are you suggesting that someone burned an entire block 
just to get at one man?" he hissed, looking around to see 
if they'd been followed. Walker stood at a distance, a look 
of puzzlement on his face. 
 
"I consider it a possibility, sir, especially given the 
trouble that Mulder has caused them." 
 
Skinner shook his head. "This is overkill, even for them." 
 
"Sir, they blew up a federal building in Dallas. They 
would have killed hundreds of people, just to hide a few 
bodies."  Scully gave Skinner a doubtful look. "I'm hoping, 
just like you, that this was only a gas leak. But I don't 
think it was." 
 
"In any case, this isn't a Bureau matter Agent Scully. We 
have to wait until our assistance is requested," Skinner 
commented grimly. 
 
"Yes sir," she muttered, still eyeing the building. 
 
 
October 13, 2000  
10 p.m.  
INSIDE 
 
"It's dark in here, isn't it?" the old man's voice came 
conversationally through the dusty air. "Not much to do but 
talk." 
 
"I have nothing to say to you," Mulder's voice faded out. 
He felt sweaty and sick to his stomach. Going into shock, 
he thought. And he felt parched but wouldn't admit as much 
to the old bastard. It was dark in here. And stuffy. He 
tried to shift position but his arm stabbed at him. He 
gasped and panted, determined not to let the man hear him 
in pain.  He wasn't sure but he thought that his right leg 
might be broken. It hurt. Shift and twist it a bit and 
YEAH, oh yeah. It was busted all right. Damn. Damn. Damn. 
He thought that he'd busted at least one rib as well. It 
hurt, but not as much as when he'd broken a rib before. 
 
"On the contrary, you had better keep talking to me. 
You've probably got a concussion and shock and I need to 
monitor your condition." 
 
"Go to Hell," Mulder gritted. Just his luck. He gets stuck 
in a hole in the ground with a talkative Cancerman. A 
talkative Cancerman in a jovial good mood. 
 
Shit. 
 
"Been there. Did that. A long time ago." Mulder heard the 
rustling sound again and smelled old cigarettes as the man 
laid a hand on his forehead. "You're sweating. Do you feel 
chilled? Nauseated? Do you have any pain anywhere? Your 
abdomen? Your legs?" 
 
Mulder shrank away. "Goddddddamnit! Don't touch me. Don't 
ever touch me. I feel fine. Just fine. Now get the hell 
away from me." He heard the rustling sound again and the 
tobacco odor faded. He relaxed clenched muscles a bit. He'd 
be damned if he let the old sinner see any sign of 
weakness. Weak was dead with this old man. Weapons. Did he 
still have his service weapon? Couldn't tell... 
 
"I did try my cell phone, but it was broken. Yours, too. 
Yes, I searched your pockets while I was checking you for 
injuries." 
 
Mulder started and tried to grope carefully under his left 
arm. "Gaaaaahhh..." he panted and found his cell phone 
gone. But his weapon was still there in its holster. The 
bastard had left him armed. He slowly slid the weapon from 
the holster and held it in his right hand. 
 
"Are you all right? It sounds like you're in pain," the 
old man's dry voice carried through the pounding in his arm. 
 
"None of your damned business," Mulder snarled and held 
the weapon more tightly, then considered his position. 
Great. He had a weapon now that he didn't dare use. The 
spark of a bullet could ignite a gas leak or trigger the 
building's further collapse if he took out the wrong 
timber. Probably why he still had the gun. 
 
There was silence for a moment and then the man's dry 
voice carried a hint of a chuckle in it. "Does it surprise 
you that I care whether you live or die?"  
"Truthfully, yes. I'm the only member of my family not 
dead at your hands, so yes, I am surprised." Mulder tried 
to pull free from the debris again and gave up with a sigh. 
He wasn't going anywhere. 
 
"You know my reasons for wanting to preserve your life," 
the relentless voice said. 
 
"No. That was a hallucination. I was dying and I dreamed 
that...You're nothing to me. Nothing." 
 
"Then I'll put it to you in plain English, Fox. I'm your 
father. That's why you're alive and I plan to keep you that 
way if I can." 
 
"You...lying...torturous BASTARD! You've already destroyed 
everything I ever loved. You tried to kill Scully with your 
damned experiments and then your assassins. And now that 
I'm trapped here you can't resist playing your goddamned 
mind games on me..." Mulder broke off, coughing with the 
dust. His lungs hurt with every explosion. He smelled old 
tobacco again and found his head being supported as he 
coughed some more. His arm and leg started in as well. He 
fought against the evil man's touch without much success. 
"Get...the...HELL...away from me!" Mulder could hear 
himself choking on tears and was ashamed that he would beg 
for anything from this man. There was silence and then 
Mulder heard the man move away from him. 
 
"Fox...what I've done was for a greater purpose. The 
damage to your family was...unavoidable and very painful 
for me.  Your parents were my friends for a long long time. 
Your mother and I...we had something special." 
 
"My mother...and you..." He couldn't help the fit of 
coughing that broke out, propelled by sheer rage. "How 
could you do that? To my father, your FRIEND?" 
 
The man sighed. "I was young and so was your mother. It 
just happened and you were the result. We thought we could 
keep it quiet, she and I, but later that proved untenable.  
Bill had to know." The man sounded almost sad. No, that 
couldn't be. He couldn't possibly be feeling regret at the 
damage he'd caused. 
 
Then Mulder realized when his father must have been told.  
Oh, my God, all those silent years when his father seemed 
to hate the sight of him. "He knew when Samantha was taken, 
didn't he?" 
 
"Yes. After the aliens had made their demands and I had 
already sent my loved ones away, I forced Bill to choose 
Samantha rather than you. I'd already given Jeffrey, sent 
the one child I was forced to risk. I wouldn't send two." 
 
Mulder lay back, spent, and closed his eyes against the 
darkness. He could see it, the whole scene, played out 
against his eyelids. His voice was soft and hoarse as he 
addressed this terrible man.  
 
"You came to the summer house that night. You told my 
father about the affair. You told him that only Samantha 
was his child, that I was your own...because of your affair 
with my mother. Oh my God, that was what broke up my 
parents marriage," Mulder could feel his voice rising as 
the truth of it hit him. "What I saw, what I heard was 
real. It was a real memory, not some ketamine-induced 
fantasy. Samantha was chosen and not me...because I'm your 
son?" Oh, God, no. "After Sam was taken, Dad didn't want to 
see me. Nothing I did was ever good enough for him. I 
thought...I thought it was because I let them take Sam. But 
it was because Dad *knew* who I really was. I wasn't his 
son. And I really was the reason that he lost Sam."  This 
was too much. This couldn't be happening. The rustling 
sound approached again. 
 
"I wouldn't sacrifice two sons to them," the old man said 
softly. "I wouldn't give you to them. I still won't." 
 
"What do you mean, you still won't?" Mulder felt suddenly 
cold. 
 
"You have certain gifts that would make you very 
interesting to the colonists as well as the rebels. What 
happened to the others we sent to them was simple 
experimentation. But you..." 
 
The man fell silent and the air filled with it. Finally, 
Mulder could take no more. 
 
"What?  What happens if they take me?" 
 
"When they find out what you are, they'll dissect you." 
 
 
October 14, 2000  
2 a.m.  
OUTSIDE 
 
Scully was silent, watching the latest wrapped body leave 
on the gurney.  
 
"Any sign of Mulder?" Skinner moved in next to her. 
 
"No.  This is the fifth body they've taken out of the bar. 
No survivors yet, but the dogs are still looking." She 
tucked her cold fingers under the armpits of her FBI 
windbreaker. She'd gone back to the office for it after the 
third cop had looked askance at her FBI badge and gently 
tried to remove her from the scene. Then she'd stood and 
waited until the fires were out, until the building was 
certified as safe to enter, until the rescue teams had 
arrived...Helpless. So damned helpless. She'd helped with 
the usual injuries to the fire personnel, smoke inhalation 
mostly. But even that had tapered off and the medical 
personnel were competently handling what little traffic 
there was. The only people taken from the building so far 
were dead.  No. Don't think of that. Don't EVER think of 
that. 
 
"Agent, why don't you go back to the office and wait 
there. It's only going to get colder tonight, and they 
expect rain." Skinner blew on his own hands.  
 
Scully smiled at him grimly. "I will if you will, sir." 
Skinner just smiled back and they continued watching the 
rescue efforts. 
 
"Wait a minute, is that...?" Scully darted forward to the 
next body on a gurney. A long-fingered hand had fallen 
outside the body bag and she could see the remains of a 
white cuff at the wrist. "Who is he?" she demanded of the 
EMT. 
 
"I'm sorry ma'am, but there's no ID on the body and we'll 
have to use dental records to identify him. He was a male, 
age between thirty and fifty, dark hair. But the body 
suffered some severe crush injuries. He's unrecognizable." 
The EMT prevented Scully from pulling aside the rest of the 
body bag. "I'm sorry, but if he was a friend of yours you 
don't want to remember him this way." 
 
Scully stiffened, her jaw tight. "I'm a pathologist and 
I've seen worse." She grabbed the zipper to the bag and 
gave it a tug, then slumped as she heard Skinner come up 
behind her. 
 
"Agent...?" he said. 
 
"No. It's not him. There's a wedding ring on the left 
hand. It isn't him." She gently folded the covering back 
over the body and watched as the EMT rolled it away. 
 
A fine rain began to fall, making the spotlights on the 
emergency vehicles glow. She shivered, then noticed a pile 
of debris near the entryway of the building.  The remains 
of a coat rack, she thought. She rummaged through the pile 
of torn fabric and found a charcoal gray trench coat. 
 
"Scully, what are you doing?" Skinner asked. 
 
"Sir, he's here. This is...was...his coat. See?" She 
pulled a handful of sunflower seeds from the shredded 
pocket. She gathered the coat against her chest as the rain 
got heavier. "He's in there somewhere." 
 
October 14, 2000  
2 a.m.  
INSIDE 
 
"What's that noise?" 
 
"Huh...what noise..?" Mulder struggled to get the words 
out. He felt groggy and cold. The nausea had died down but 
he still felt ill. 
 
"It sounds like water dripping. I wonder if there's a 
water main broken somewhere? If we're going to be here for 
a while, we'll have to find water and food if we can." 
Noises.  "And thank you for the loan of your flashlight. 
You're right, using my lighter could endanger us both." 
 
"Light...? That's my birthday present from Scully! Give it 
back, y'bastard!" Goddamn it, he'd hit his leg. 
Shitshitshitshitshit...he wasn't going to let the old man 
know how hurt he was. Don't project weakness... 
 
Mulder heard a 'click' and saw the man's face. He looked 
even dustier and more tired than he had before. "You 
shouldn't 
move around like that, son. You may have internal injuries 
and you'll only make them worse." The man gave Mulder a 
look strangely like compassion. "We can't afford to fight 
right now. We're in a life-threatening situation which 
neither of us may survive without the other. We must put 
away old resentments, at least for the time being." 
 
"I'm not going to die here. You will *not* be the last 
thing I see in this life," Mulder said slowly. "And I am 
not your son." 
 
The man shook his head. "Don't you understand, son? We 
have to cooperate or neither of us will survive this. I, 
for one don't intend to die here. Consider it a sort of 
detente, a truce between equals." The man flashed the light 
around the tiny space. "At least for the time being." 
 
In the light reflected from the maglite, Mulder could see 
that the space they were in was narrow but long. Heavy 
wooden beams that had formerly held the brick building 
together had fallen against each other, propping up a 
portion of the wall and ceiling.  
 
Die here. They could die here. Mulder pondered the 
ramifications of that. He knew that Scully was outside 
somewhere, searching for him. She had to have heard the 
explosion and she knew where he'd gone. He could picture 
her out there, all 5 foot three of her, giving peremptory 
orders to men three times her size. Skinner was certainly 
involved, running the investigation. And if the two of them 
did die here? He shivered. Scully finding him here, in this 
man's presence. What would she think? Would she imagine 
that he'd betrayed her after all? Think that he had been 
fooling her all these years? Or would she wonder if the 
smoking man had some kind of hold over him? In any case, 
Scully would find no rest or peace. And what kind of death 
would this be, anyway? Nothing heroic. Just a slow 
suffocation, alone with an evil old man. 
 
 
The smoking man had gone to the far end of the space and 
was searching for the sound. 
 
"Here," he said, then looked up. "Here's what's left of 
the water pipe, there's a bit of water coming through." The 
man looked around the floor and found a cracked plastic 
water glass. "I think this will work," he said and propped 
it under the trickle.  
 
"Great. All the comforts of home," said Mulder 
sardonically, then began coughing again. 
 
"How are you feeling?" the man asked while he monitored 
the water level in the glass. 
 
"How should I feel? I'm trapped in Hell with my worst 
enemy." Mulder was silent, then "Did you love her? Did she 
love you?" 
 
"Your mother? Oh yes." Spender removed the glass from the 
trickle and carried it to Mulder. "Here, you should have a 
sip, but not too much in case you have internal injuries. 
Just moisten your mouth and spit it out." 
 
Unwillingly, Mulder allowed the man to prop his head up 
and pour a few tablespoons of water into him. He grudgingly 
admitted to himself that it helped. "You know a lot of 
first aid. How?" 
 
The man sat back on his haunches, the flashlight pointed 
toward the ceiling like a lantern. "I was in the military 
and learned field medical skills. The military was where I 
met your father...and his wife." He patted his pockets, 
absently pulling out a cigarette then, with a chagrined 
look, replaced the pack in his pocket. 
 
"So how did you end up cheating on your best friend?" 
Mulder asked and was surprised to see a look of 
vulnerability on the other man's face. 
 
The man paused, gathering his words, and remembered. "She 
was so beautiful and bright. She had a lively spirit that 
could light up a room. Bill took her for granted even then. 
She and I became friends; she confided to me that she and 
Bill had been having marital troubles for some time. They 
wanted children but hadn't been able to have them...there 
were many stresses on their relationship." He took a deep 
breath. "She was my life." 
 
"I'll bet." 
 
"It wasn't what you think," the man said defensively. "I 
loved Teena and still do." His fingers pulled the 
cigarettes out again and Mulder saw him falter before 
setting them down on the ground. "I gave up my dreams for 
her and for you." He gave Mulder a look. "I could have had 
a normal life. With her. But the work took precedence and I 
knew that she couldn't be with me." The man reached out a 
hand toward Mulder, who flinched away. 
 
"You loved her so much you destroyed her life," Mulder 
said inexorably. 
 
"Everything I did was to save her. And you! Do you think I 
wanted the colonists to destroy you both along with the 
rest of the planet? We had no defense against them, we 
needed time! We bought that time by seeming to agree to 
their colonization plan while secretly working on a vaccine 
for the black oil. Everything, everything I did was for you 
and for her." 
 
"You gave them your wife and your son." 
 
The man sighed. "I had to. Some sacrifices had to be made 
to preserve the rest. Do you think that decision was 
anything less than heartbreaking? If you had been in my 
shoes, what decision would you have made?" Spender fixed 
him with a steady glare. 
 
"I'd have gone myself before I sacrificed anyone I loved," 
Mulder spat out. 
 
"They didn't want me," the man said tiredly. "They wanted 
hostages to ensure our compliance. We had no choice, only 
the resistance your father suggested.  But I chose the 
right son to send and the right son to protect. Jeffrey 
betrayed me in the end." 
 
Mulder could feel himself getting tired and both his leg 
and arm throbbed. He'd feel better if he could just get 
away from this terrible old man and his truths. They didn't 
feel like lies, somehow. He could always tell when people 
were lying. But this man...no, they had to be lies. 
 
"Murderer," Mulder said wearily. "I oppose you even more 
than Jeff Spender did. When will I be killed like he was?" 
 
"I did justice. You have never turned against your own 
beliefs, even though I don't agree with them. Jeffrey was 
unstable and couldn't be relied on. I had hoped to train 
him by assigning him to the X Files and harden you at the 
same time. It didn't work." The man pulled a cigarette from 
the pack and held it under his nose, inhaling luxuriantly. 
"But your relationships are hardly perfect, are they. You 
and the desirable Agent Scully have been partners for seven 
years now and your relationship has barely progressed." 
 
"You leave Scully alone, or I'll see you dead," Mulder 
grated. He flashed on Scully's experiences with this man 
and his flunkies. "You kidnapped her, tortured her, made 
her sterile. I just can't understand why you didn't fucking 
kill her the last time she was in your clutches." 
 
"Temper. She does love you, you know. Oh, you hadn't 
guessed? It's perfectly obvious to anyone who sees you 
together. Of course, that does give enemies a lever to use 
against you. Not that I'd ever do that." 
 
Mulder gasped, panting with frustration. "You. Leave. 
Scully. Alone." 
 
"You haven't figured it out yet, have you son? I sent you 
Scully. I knew that she was the woman for you the moment I 
read her dossier. It was unfortunate that the larger group 
decided you two had to be separated. I disagreed but 
carried out my instructions and placed her in the program. 
I gave her back to you, you know, and gave you the cure for 
her. But you have been slow on the uptake, haven't you?" 
 
"Why are you doing this?" Mulder lay back against the 
rubble. "What is it you want from me?" 
 
"I suppose that I feel a need to finally explain myself. 
And I still would like your assistance on that other matter 
we were discussing before the latest attempt on my life." 
The man gave Mulder a wistful look. "And I'd like to see my 
son inherit my legacy, continue with my work." 
 
"You want me to investigate your little assassination 
problem. Understand this, old man, my answer is no. I will 
never, ever work for you in any capacity. I am not and will 
not be your investigator, your flunky or your bodyguard." 
 
"What about being my son? My work must continue and you 
have the necessary gifts." 
 
Mulder blinked. "You want to hand down your legacy of 
treachery to me." 
 
"I want you to save the planet. I believe that you can and 
you will." 
 
Mulder was silent a while. "I remember El Rico Air Force 
Base. Your plans are in a shambles. Your own best men died 
in flames." 
 
"We had a back up plan. You." 
 
Mulder squinted against the maglite. "That time I spent in 
the hospital, when I almost died..." 
 
"When you could read minds, yes, that's part of it. You 
are what you sought. You have active alien DNA in you, and 
the black oil can't hurt you. You are immune. You have the 
gifts necessary to fight back."  
 
The smug look of fatuous pride on the man's face almost 
forced Mulder to lunge for him again. Instead, he asked the 
question that had been haunting him since Scully had rescued 
him. "Why did I develop telepathy? What was done to me?" 
 
"In the hospital? Oh, your special abilities." 
 
Oh my God, the realization hit. Scully wasn't the only one 
who'd been experimented on. How young had he been when they 
began experimenting on him? An infant? A child? He flogged 
his memory and tried to recall anything that might have 
been abduction but found nothing. Mulder shuddered and 
huddled himself into a smaller space. "I have an eidetic 
memory. Why? It was you, wasn't it? You did something to me 
or to my genes? Was I one of your first test subjects?" 
 
"You look cold." The man leaned forward and tugged the 
coat more snugly against Mulder's body while Mulder cringed 
away. "Yes. And no. Each of us has the necessary DNA. We 
had discovered a way to activate it, we thought. When you 
were very young you received certain treatments, but then 
all we could do was watch you grow. Imagine my surprise 
when I discovered that you developed a genius-level 
intellect. But then, you started with good genes." 
 
"Was the color blindness a side effect?" 
 
"It almost kept you out of the FBI, you know. I had to 
call in a few favors to get you in. That sort of disability 
is usually weeded out at the application stage." 
 
"You got me into the FBI?" Mulder's voice was flat. He'd 
been recruited in college, allegedly because of his 
extraordinary abilities at profiling. He'd known that this 
was an unusual background, but this... 
 
"If not for me you'd be an English professor somewhere. 
Normally, profile are drawn from experienced agents or 
law enforcement. But you wanted it so much, and I wanted 
you here, under my eye and influence. And you've added your 
own outlook to the work. When you seemed to be burning out 
in the IS, I arranged, with Agent Foley's help, for you 
to be steered into the X-files. They've been an excellent 
training ground for you; you've had an opportunity to learn 
to look behind the facades. And it's helped you learn to 
survive. Those will be valuable skills in the times to 
come." 
 
Mulder just blinked, trying to process it all. Then he 
took a deep, painful breath. "You're saying that you 
created me." 
 
"Figuratively and literally."  
"You..." Mulder just looked at the man, unable to say 
anything more. Each word was sweetly logical, yet the 
structure was horribly wrong. "If...if what you say is 
true, what does that make me?"  
 
The man gave Mulder a proud smile. "Everything you are, 
Fox, I created in you. You are my son and my heir." 
 
 
October 14, 2000  
3 a.m.  
Outside 
 
"Anything?" Skinner handed Scully a cup of coffee. She 
shook her head and sipped it gingerly, while Skinner held 
an umbrella overhead. The promised rain had turned into a 
downpour. 
 
"The rain is a problem. The rainwater is being funneled 
into the already unstable foundations.  They're afraid that 
the water is undermining the building. They haven't heard 
any noises or sounds of life." She drew a deep breath. "But 
they're not giving up yet. You?" 
 
Skinner sighed. "They don't know. It might have been a gas 
leak or it might have been a bomb. Nobody's called to take 
responsibility for the blast yet. No apparent motive if it 
was a bomb."  
Scully just frowned and held Mulder's coat more closely. 
 
Skinner eyed her calmly. "You still think the target was 
Mulder?" 
 
"Why not? They've tried to discredit him before. Why not 
just kill him and get him out of the way? He's only been a 
thorn in their side for the past seven years." Scully shook 
her head, absently stroking the grey fabric. 
 
"Just because of Mulder's history, don't automatically 
assume that he was the target. This thing could have been 
accidental, just a gas leak," Skinner argued. 
 
Scully shook her head. "Since when does random ever hit 
Fox Mulder?" She bit her lip and stared out into the mist. 
"He's only there because of me..." she muttered. She pulled 
the tatters of Mulder's coat around her shoulders and held 
it tightly against her, trying to catch his scent in the 
cloth. 
 
"What? What did you say?" 
 
She looked up and gave Skinner a bitter smile. "We had an 
argument before he stomped off to drown his sorrows at 
Casey's. If I hadn't picked at him, we'd be eating dinner 
at Tonio's. Today was his 39th birthday." 
 
"*Is* his 39th birthday, and don't forget that, Agent," 
Skinner said firmly. "You two have bickered since the day 
you met, but I've never seen a better partnership. Nothing 
that has happened here is your fault." 
 
"I wish I could believe that." 
 
October 14, 2000  
3 a.m.  
INSIDE 
 
"Fox..." 
 
"Mulder. I hate that name and you know it!" Mulder tried 
to shift position. Damn, he hurt. Can't let the old man 
see, though. He didn't know what nauseated him more, the 
smoking man he was used to or this new, solicitous smoking 
man. Don't let him see weakness; he'll play you. Oh how 
he'll play you... 
 
"Mulder, then.  Do you hate me so much? Hard as it may be 
for you to believe, I've always watched over your progress. 
I've been proud of your accomplishments.  And you're more 
like me than you'll admit." 
 
"I'm nothing like you!" 
 
"Oh? Consider. You're nearing forty, you're unmarried and 
spend your life following a secretive quest that only a few 
believe in. You are committed to your search for the truth, 
whatever that is. Don't you ever feel that you're on the 
outside, looking in on others lives?" The man's voice 
lowered. 
 
"Is that the way you feel?" Mulder asked skeptically. He 
was surprised by the honest tone in the other man's voice. 
 
"I gave up the things that other men have. Love, family, 
children to leave a heritage to. That was a heavy price.  
You're following in my footsteps." 
 
Mulder responded angrily. "How can you say...my personal 
life is none of your damned business!" He jerked and was 
surprised that he seemed able to move a bit. He wriggled 
again experimentally. "These bricks...I...I can move 
them a bit, maybe dig myself out a little..." He felt like 
his leg was about to explode but it was worth anything to 
get away, get free...be able to move away from this 
horrible man he was trapped with. 
 
"Let me take a look." The flashlight went on and Mulder 
could see the man carefully removing bricks. "It doesn't 
look all that stable. Are you sure you want to try digging 
out? You could bring the wall down." 
 
"I don't want to die here, covered with bricks. Either 
help me or get the hell away...." 
 
The man sighed and began to help after Mulder gasped and 
began to struggle at heaving the bricks away with his good 
hand. "This isn't a good idea, but I'll help you if it will 
keep you from injuring yourself more." Mulder just glared 
at him and kept working at the bricks. 
 
The man finally sat back on his haunches and studied 
Mulder and the rubble. "I don't think it's safe to take 
away any more debris, or the rest of the wall could come 
down. The debris is all that's supporting it." 
 
"So you say," Mulder said blandly. 
 
The man took a deep breath and surveyed Mulder and the 
rubble again. "I know that I've asked you to trust me 
before..." 
 
"And betrayed me," Mulder broke in. 
 
"And betrayed that trust. But in this place and at this 
time, what possible motive would I have for lying to you? I 
don't think it's safe to remove any more rubble and I don't 
want to see you die, son." 
 
Mulder stopped and eyed this terrible old man. What was it 
that Scully had said after her botched attempt to get that 
CD with a universal cure on it? She'd believed him, thought 
that somewhere deep inside there was a real human being, 
longing for something he could never have. Mulder eyed the 
old man and shivered. He couldn't think. The nausea was 
back and he was sweating like a pig...felt so ill and he 
hurt. He hurt. He had a deep suspicion that they were both 
going to die here. 
 
The man moved forward, tucking the coat around Mulder more 
securely. Too tired to resist, the agent let him. 
 
"You don't look very well. I'll get you some more water," 
the man moved toward the back of the space where the cup 
still sat collecting water drips. 
 
"You should drink some," Mulder said weakly. "I don't know 
how long we've been here, but it's been a while." 
 
"I don't need it as much as you do. Go ahead," the man 
cocked his head to one side and gave him a crooked smile. 
"Or do you deny me my right to be heroic?" 
 
Mulder said nothing but took the water. His right arm had 
been freed when they removed the rubble and he could almost 
sit. Still his leg hurt; couldn't move it and the less said 
about his left arm the better.  
 
"I have a question, though," the man said, taking a seat 
in front of Mulder. "I'm going to turn the light off, save 
the battery." He snapped it off and Mulder heard the rustle 
in the darkness as the man sat down. 
 
"What's your question?" Mulder asked. 
 
"With all you've seen, why don't you support my solution? 
Doesn't it make more logical sense to fight the aliens 
through subtlety? What can you hope to gain by crying out 
in the wilderness?" 
 
The man seemed reasonable, like the father in Father Knows 
Best. But there lay the danger, he reminded himself. 
Everything this man said seemed reasonable and sweet and 
admirable. Mulder remembered that strange dream he'd had in 
the hospital, the life he'd lived and almost died. He 
remembered Scully's face, when he'd woken up at last. He'd 
seen her crying, the tears dripping off her face. That was 
true and real and reasonable, not what this man was saying 
to him. 
 
Mulder answered slowly, "My soul. I gain my soul." 
 
"Isn't that a selfish attitude? There are over 5 billion 
people out there that you have the ability to save. Surely 
that's worth a little flexibility on your part. And I'm not 
the evil monster you've painted me."  
 
The man shook his head. "You make yourself a target, boy. 
The Japanese have a saying for it, the nail that sticks out 
gets hammered down. What do you think life has been doing 
to you all this time? Not all of it was my influence." 
 
"A lot of it was." 
 
Mulder heard the frustration in the man's voice. "Yes, yes 
it was. If you couldn't defend yourself, what earthly hope 
would you have of staying alive in the new order of things? 
You must become adept at survival in all milieus, physical 
and political, because you'll be their first target once 
they land." Mulder heard the rustle as the man fished for a 
cigarette, then barely stopped himself from lighting up. 
 
"You hate it, don't you? Not being able to smoke those 
damned things?" Mulder chuckled. "I got smart and quit." 
 
"You like a sign of weakness, then. The poor old man, 
master of everything except nicotine." The old man took in 
a deep breath. "Life...masters us all in the end. We 
survive as we can, with the crutches we find necessary." 
The man rustled a bit.  
 
"I don't need a crutch." Mulder shifted again, his leg was 
flaring. He suddenly knew that the old man heard the pain 
in his voice. The old bastard knew it all. 
 
"Oh, but you do. What do you do when Agent Scully is away? 
When she was taken? When she was dying?" 
 
"You keep coming back to her. She isn't your business. 
Your business or whatever it is, is with me." Mulder 
struggled to sit up and face this man but felt first a jolt 
from his leg, then his ribs and arm kicked in. Damn it. He 
felt so helpless, forced to do nothing but listen to what 
this man had clearly been aching to say for a long time. 
Scully, where are you? Get me out of here! Scully! Damn the 
pain. He tried to move away from the man's poisonous voice. 
 
"Always the white knight, defending her. Of course, she'd 
do the same for you. Yes, yes, leave her alone. Very well, 
I'll stop discussing her before you hurt yourself. Stop 
moving, you're shifting the... 
 
 
October 14, 2000  
6 a.m.  
OUTSIDE 
 
"Hey! It's shifting! Watch out!!" 
 
Skinner and Scully abruptly moved away from the building. 
A corner of the building, still mostly intact, had begun to 
collapse inward. Two rescue workers leapt off the rubble 
and landed hard on the ground. The would-be rescuers 
watched helplessly as the brickwork caved in, raising a 
pile of dust in the damp morning air. 
 
Scully stilled and watched the building settle on itself, 
then her eyes followed the men. The older man stopped and 
yelled at the younger one. 
 
"Well, that tears it. Damn it, Jameson, I told you not to 
move that beam! What agency did you say sent you?" 
 
A blond man in his twenties shrugged. "I'm from the Red 
Cross. Hey, I'm sorry Joe, it just gave way underneath me. 
I think the rainwater had undermined it." 
 
"Well, let's go back and see what damage was caused." The 
two men went back to the building, leaving Skinner and 
Scully shivering behind. Scully eyed the young man. 
 
"Sir, you don't think he collapsed that section on 
purpose..." 
 
"Agent Scully, you're starting at shadows. The building is 
unstable and part of it collapsed. End of story. And 
besides, even if this was a planned hit on Mulder, why 
would a professional assassin hang around the scene of his 
crime?" 
 
"To make sure he was successful," she said evenly, 
watching the two men climb back into the wreckage. "This 
just doesn't feel right somehow." She began to move towards 
the younger man. 
 
"Excuse me, I'm Agent Dana Scully," she said, flashing her 
badge. "Can you tell me how it's going?" 
 
"Hello, ma'am," said the older man. "Well, it's been 
better. The building is slowly collapsing. The rain is 
infiltrating what's left of the masonry and causing it to 
settle." 
 
"I see," Scully eyed the building again. "Do you see any 
chance for survivors?" 
 
"We haven't found any yet, but most of the bodies so far 
were at the front of the building near the blast. There's 
always a chance that somebody at the back of the building 
made it." 
 
"But we haven't heard any noises or movement either," the 
younger man broke it. "We haven't found any evidence of 
survivors." 
 
"You plan to keep searching, though?" Scully asked. 
 
"Oh yes, we aren't going to stop any time soon."  
 
Scully watched closely as the two men resumed their 
search.  They split up and the blond returned to the newly 
collapsed area. He seemed to be listening very hard for 
sound. As she watched, he slipped into an opening in the 
rubble. 
 
She quietly prayed that this time the bodies they removed 
would be alive. 
 
 
October 14, 2000  
8 a.m.  
INSIDE 
 
Mulder heard the man coughing and retching. 
 
"Hey...CGB! You all right?" Mulder called into the 
darkness. "Hey!" 
 
"What...a caring voice?" Mulder heard the sound of 
vomiting not far away, then the raspy voice was back. "I 
got hit...in the gut. It hurts. A lot." 
 
"Where's the flashlight?" Mulder kept his voice calm. "Do 
you still have it?" 
 
"It's...near you...somewhere." 
 
Mulder ran his right hand over the gravelly surface for 
several minutes before he found the light. He flicked it on 
gratefully.  
 
The space had collapsed by half, leaving only a pocket big 
enough for the two of them. He sniffed. The air had seemed 
fresh before, now it was stuffier.  Spender was lying on 
his side next to Mulder, a pile of bricks covering his 
abdomen.  Mulder tried to move and found that, with 
difficulty, he could slide away from the debris. He 
painfully pulled himself over to the other man, wincing as 
his leg and arm jolted him. 
 
"That last slide moved most of the bricks off me," he 
panted.  
 
"And... on to me," the man gave a dry chuckle. "Talk about 
fate, or karma. I can't argue with it." 
 
Mulder choked out a laugh and joined the man in a coughing 
fit.  
 
"We make quite a pair, don't we?" Mulder wheezed.  
 
"That we do," the man responded and tried to clutch his 
abdomen. 
 
"Wait, let me help get the bricks off you," Mulder said 
and inched carefully forward. He lay on his stomach and 
began removing the bricks one by one, until the man was 
uncovered. It hurt but he could tell that his rib wasn't 
broken after all. Oh joy. One less broken bone for Scully 
to autopsy. 
 
"I don't see any blood. Any injuries you have are internal 
ones," Mulder ran the flashlight over the man's body. 
"Here, you need this more than I do right now," Mulder 
dragged the coat across Spender's torso. "Besides, I never 
liked the smell of tobacco." 
 
Spender nodded. "So, now that you've thought about it, are 
you going to help me with my little assassination problem?" 
 
"You think that bomb was them?" 
 
"Oh yes. Who else is so good at overkill?" 
 
"Well, they tried. Maybe they believe it worked." 
 
The man shook his head. "No. They'll have somebody posted 
to make sure that the work was complete. If I can catch 
sight of the assassin, I'll know who sent him. That's the 
trick, you know, knowing who your enemy is. All else is 
strategy." 
 
"I've known who my enemy is for years, for all the good 
it's done me," Mulder muttered. 
 
"Oh, have you?" Mulder could hear the smile in the man's 
voice. "Look again." 
 
Mulder was beginning to doze off when he heard a scraping 
noise, like somebody digging.  
 
"Hey! Here! We're here! Help! Help!" he called and trained 
the flashlight onto a corner of the wall.  He saw the 
rubble slip away into a blank hole. 
 
"Hey! They found us, we're saved!" he called in glee. 
 
A blond head in a helmet poked itself though the opening, 
then a young, slender man shinnied through the hole and 
grinned. 
 
"Am I glad to see you!" Mulder yelled. "Thank God you got 
here...hey...wait a minute..." The young man ignored Mulder 
and fixed his gaze on the old man and raised a pistol with 
silencer. 
 
Spender nodded solemnly. "I thought you might be the one 
they sent. The explosion was a bit much, don't you think?" 
 
The blond man raised his gun and pointed it at Spender. 
"No, I think it was appropriate, given your stature in the 
consortium. A sort of a Viking burial." He cocked the gun. 
 
"When they autopsy the body, they'll find the bullet," 
Mulder broke in calmly. "They'll know he didn't die in the 
building collapse." 
 
The gunman shrugged. "They'll know what we tell them. They 
always do. And I was instructed to make it final, my choice 
as to method. Right now, the gun works for me." 
 
The old man lay motionless and watched the gunman move in 
closer, aiming the weapon between his eyes.  
 
"See you in Hell," the young man said, just before the 
shot rang out and blood spattered throughout the space. 
 
Mulder put the service weapon down and lay there 
trembling.  He usually wasn't that accurate firing one- 
handed but the man had been close. He suddenly felt very 
very ill. Mulder studied his bloodied hand and tried to 
wipe the blood spattered across his face with a shaking 
hand. He drew a breath. "Old man, you still alive?" 
 
The man slowly opened eyes in a blood-sodden face and 
smiled, "I'm fine, son. They'll be here soon and get us out 
of here." 
 
"What about your assassins?" 
 
"He was one of the best. He came from the direction I 
expected; a difference of opinion between myself and Mr. 
Strughold. Undoubtedly, he and I will need to discuss our 
conflicting strategies for the future. 
 
"I thought all you rats were united in your goals." 
 
The man smiled. "In our goals, yes. But not in our 
methods. He has always supported a quieter, less active 
organization where I am more proactive. He's looking to 
diminish my authority in the new consortium, I think. Well, 
if the assassin had backup, you still have your weapon." 
 
Mulder stared at him, wondering when he'd become the man's 
bodyguard, when the first rescuer arrived. He clutched his 
weapon in a sweaty hand until he heard Scully's voice and 
saw that the EMT wasn't armed. Then he sagged back in 
relief. 
 
 
October 14, 2000  
8:45 a.m.  
OUTSIDE 
 
"What was that noise?" Scully shouted, then began running 
toward the building. "I heard a gunshot!" The noise had 
come from the section of building that Jameson had gone 
into. Come to think of it, he'd been in there over an hour 
now. 
 
Scully and Skinner climbed to the tiny entrance the man 
had used and heard voices. 
 
"I hear voices," Scully said and began clawing at the 
debris. "Hang on! Hold on and we'll get you out of there!" 
She felt Skinner move in beside her as he, too, began to 
move rubble away. 
 
She heard more faint voices from inside but was soon 
shouldered aside by other rescue workers with heavy shovels. 
 
She waited in a frenzy of impatience outside the hole 
until word came through. There were two live victims and 
one dead. By gunshot. 
 
The stretcher through the opening was a bloody and very 
battered CGB Spender. 
 
"You!  You were caught in this?" she gasped as he was 
carried past her. 
 
He smiled at her benignly. "Oh yes. You might even say it 
was my fault. I really think that you ought to appreciate 
Mulder more. I certainly do." 
 
"What do you mean..." Scully heard the next stretcher 
being hauled out. Mulder, carefully cradling his left arm 
in his right blinked up at the sky.  She could see his 
service weapon wedged between his knees on the stretcher. 
"Hey, Mulder..." she moved over to him. "How ya doin'?" 
 
Mulder gave her a dusty grin. "Not so bad. I'm alive. You 
should see the other guy." She grinned back and took his 
good hand. 
 
"Mulder, I'm sorry for all those things I said. You've 
made a life to be proud of, you do good work and help 
people. I'm sorry." She bit her lip. "I guess I have a lot 
of funny ideas about commitment, but when push comes to 
shove I'm committed to our friendship. Forgive me?" 
 
He squeezed back. "Scully, you've always been there when I 
needed you. I know I can trust that. I always will." He 
paused. "Scully...I..." 
 
"What, Mulder?" 
 
"Nothing. Nothing you need to know." Mulder watched her as 
she walked next to his stretcher. He'd been about to tell 
her what Spender had disclosed. Then he thought better of 
it. What would she think about him if she knew it all? If 
she knew, knew for sure that Spender hadn't only 
contributed genes to him but had engineered his entire 
life. What could she think? And when would Cancerman tell 
her all this? 
 
She followed him down to the ambulance, then glanced back 
at the last stretcher. The body of the blond man, Jameson, 
was being removed. "Was that a gunshot, Mulder? Did you 
shoot him?" she asked wonderingly. 
 
Mulder looked deep in her eyes. "Yeah, why did I shoot my 
rescuer?" He sighed. "He was about to murder the smoking 
man. I couldn't let him do it...  Why couldn't I let him 
just do it?"  
 
 
October 15, 2000  
Fairfax Mercy Hospital  
3 p.m. 
 
Scully sat by her partner and watched him. 
 
Mulder lay in the hospital bed and didn't say much. His 
right leg was in a cast, as was his left arm. He hadn't 
complained much about pain, but then that was Mulder. 
Broken leg and broken arm, shock and concussion. He'd whine 
with a sliver but was silent when seriously ill. 
 
Finally, Scully couldn't take the silence. 
 
"You aren't sleeping. Do you need some pain pills?" 
 
"No." 
 
"Mulder, what's wrong? What did he say to you? The smoking 
man?" 
 
Mulder gave her a long look. "You don't want to know." He 
looked away toward the window. What would she think of him 
if she knew what he was descended from? He could barely 
stand it himself. How much of his own life could he take 
credit for and how much was mere puppetry by that smoking 
bastard? 
 
She reached out and took his right hand in hers. "Try me." 
 
Mulder took a deep breath and fixed his eyes back on the 
ceiling. "Scully, can a good thing ever be produced by 
terrible evil? I mean, if the devil had a child, wouldn't 
that child inherit all his tendencies?" 
 
"I don't understand," she faltered. 
 
Mulder looked at her with a haunted expression, then took 
a deep breath and spoke. "He told me that he created me. 
He...he put me into the FBI. He sent me to the X-files. 
He...he says...says..." Mulder's voice went flat and he 
closed his eyes. 
 
"Says what?" 
 
"Remember that weird hallucination I told you about? The 
one I had in the hospital? Some of it might be true. He 
says he's my father." Mulder turned his head and stared 
deep into her blue eyes. 
 
He saw her jerk and look down. She licked her lips, 
clearly disturbed by the revelation. "You said you thought 
it might be a possibility before, when you were questioning 
your mother about her relationship to him. Spender says a 
lot of things, only a few of them true." 
 
He squeezed her hand hard. "Scully, if he really is...if 
he put me where I am and made me his tool, what am I then? 
Who am I? Am I like him, somehow? How free were any of my 
choices, really?" 
 
"You aren't his tool, Mulder. You are the person you 
always were. You're Fox Mulder and you do a lot of good in 
the world." She watched his face and knew that he was 
unconvinced. "Mulder, you know that the last time I saw him 
I saw something human in him. He didn't start out as a bad 
man. He made bad choices and created himself." 
 
Mulder barked a laugh. "He was right about something...the 
choices he made. On the surface, they were all the right 
ones. He gave up family, a life of his own to save the 
world from the alien colonists. By doing that he has 
destroyed thousands of lives. He, Bill Mulder, lots of 
good, intelligent men made these same decisions and created 
evil." 
 
"Mulder..." 
 
"How do I know that my decisions are any better, Scully? I 
try to find the truth and I'm convinced that I'm doing the 
right thing. And isn't that the same thing he's been doing 
all these years? What gives me the right to pursue my 
quests at the expense of others? What about those whose 
lives are ruined when the secrets are brought to light? 
Don't I have the same potential for creating evil 
as...as...him?" He couldn't call that man his father, even 
though he was beginning to become convinced that the man 
hadn't been lying. 
 
"Your decisions have never been based on a desire for 
power or personal gain, Mulder. They've been good ones," 
Scully said calmly, although Mulder thought he could detect 
a slightly worried frown. "And while the truth might be 
painful at first, it's still the truth." 
 
He thought back to all the years as Bill Mulder's son, his 
pride when he graduated the FBI Academy, the citations he'd 
earned as an agent and wondered how much of it had been 
real. "Sometimes there's too much truth," he said softly. 
 
"Mulder, your decisions have been sound and I trust your 
judgment. And you," Scully was kneeling next to the bed, 
her hands clasped around his good one. "You aren't Spender, 
no matter whose genes you carry." 
 
"Really?" Her answer was suddenly the most important thing 
in the world. 
 
"Yes, Mulder. Trust me on this one," she said firmly. 
 
 
October 17, 2000  
Fairfax Mercy Hospital  
6 p.m. 
 
Scully had gone home for the day, leaving Mulder to his 
bland dinner. He wanted a cheeseburger. He got a broiled 
chicken breast with watery mashed potatoes. Oh well, 
hospital food was as bad as airline food and...hey, what 
was this?  Tucked under his napkin he found a small folded 
piece of paper. He opened it and read. 
 
"Mulder, your life is in danger. Guard yourself. CGBS" 
 
He stared at it, not knowing what to make of it. Spender, 
wanting to protect him? Why? What was going on? He picked 
up the hospital phone and called Scully. 
 
She arrived thirty minutes later, out of breath and 
slightly damp. Mulder smiled ruefully. "I'm sorry I 
interrupted the bubble bath, Scully. I just don't know what 
to make of this." He handed her the note. 
 
She took it, frowning in concentration. "It looks like his 
writing," she looked up at Mulder's puzzled expression and 
flushed. "He signed the hotel register at that resort he 
took me to. Did he say anything while you were trapped to 
indicate that your life might be endangered?" 
 
Mulder shook his head. "No, in fact he was very anxious 
for me to act as his bodyguard. His life was the one in 
danger, not mine." 
 
Scully eyed him up and down, taking in the casts. "Well, 
you can't defend yourself as it stands. It's just as well 
you're being released tomorrow anyway. You'll come to my 
place as planned and I'll take care of you *and* watch your 
back." 
 
"Wash my back? Is that a promise, Scully?" Mulder gave her 
his patented leer. 
 
She grinned back. "You haven't seen a bed bath until 
you've had one of mine." She frowned again. "I just wish I 
knew what all this was about." 
 
 
October 20, 2000  
Dana Scully's Apartment  
10 a.m. 
 
"Okay Mulder, here's the television remote. I'm going to 
take the trash out but I'll be right back. Will you be 
okay?" Scully nodded and hefted the garbage bag.  
 
Mulder, propped in Scully's barcalounger grinned. "I have 
a television remote and my service weapon within easy 
reach. I'll be fine." He watched her close and lock the 
door behind her. The past several days had been very 
peaceful. Mulder had to admit that he was enjoying the 
attention, not to mention the unlimited television time. He 
stretched in the chair. That note had probably been a hoax, 
an attempt by the smoker to put him off balance. That's all 
it was, a fake. Well, he was glad that it had given him an 
excuse to move in with Scully for the duration. They had 
both been on edge the first day or so but it was becoming 
clear that nothing was going to happen. Mulder yawned and 
picked up the remote. 
 
As Scully stepped outside the door she felt herself 
grabbed and lifted off her feet, a broad hand clasped 
across her mouth. She tried to free a hand, to grab for the 
gun at her waist, he was stronger than she was.  Although 
she struggled, she soon found herself tied and gagged in 
the bushes beside her townhouse. 
 
She didn't recognize the man, who had made no attempt at 
disguise. He was nondescript, brown hair, brown eyes, 
medium height. But he wasn't anyone she recognized as one 
of Cancerman's goons. 
 
To her surprise, the man didn't go into the townhouse. 
Instead he went back to his post beside the back door. He 
seemed to be waiting for something. She began to struggle 
with the plastic ties he'd bound her with. 
 
She heard a car pull up to the door and saw two men get 
out, a tall thin man who looked like he was 
armed....and....she squinted...CGB Spender. Her eyes 
narrowed. Spender moved slowly, almost but not quite 
needing the other man for support. 
 
Spender's companion used a lock pick to open the front 
door. So much for the expensive locks, she sighed to 
herself. Her own attacker just watched the men enter the 
townhouse. What did they want? Mulder.... She struggled 
even harder against the bonds. 
 
Inside the townhouse Mulder was starting to worry about 
Scully. He'd put the television remote down and picked up 
his gun. For the first time his various disabilities began 
to seriously worry him. 
 
"Scully!" he called. "Scully! Are you all right?" He heard 
nothing, then a rattle in the front door. It swung open and 
CGB Spender walked in, followed by another man with a drawn 
gun. Spender didn't look good. He was pale and moved 
hesitantly, but Mulder had no doubt about the man's 
dangerousness. 
 
That was okay though, Mulder considered, since he had his 
own weapon trained on the two. "Where's Scully? And what 
the Hell are you doing here?" Spender walked carefully 
toward Mulder's chair.  
 
"Stop right there and tell me where Scully is." Mulder 
said calmly, aiming at Spender's chest. Spender carefully 
put a hand against the back of Mulder's chair and leaned 
against it, propping himself up. 
 
"We don't have her. I have no idea where she is. Jeremy, 
why don't you take a look out back for her while I speak 
with Agent Mulder?" 
 
"No Jeremy, don't do that or I'll shoot your boss," Mulder 
said steadily. "Stay where I can keep my eye on you. Now 
what is this all about you Goddamned bastard? I saved your 
miserable life. Is this how you repay me...*Dad*?" 
 
The old man carefully pulled a pack of cigarettes from his 
pocket and lit one up. "I'm trying to show my gratitude. I 
sent you the warning note. You should know that I left my 
own hospital bed against doctor's orders to warn you. Your 
life is in danger, you can expect an assassin to try for 
you. Soon." 
 
"Why? I won't stop them from killing you," Mulder said.   
 
The man gave him a twisted smile as he puffed. "I'm aware 
of that but there are other...reasons...that they want you 
terminated. I was tipped off and decided to warn you. 
Jeremy is going to stay and ensure your safety." 
 
"You mean to tell me that he isn't your bodyguard? He's 
mine?" Mulder demanded incredulously. 
 
"Yes, he is. Agent Scully is very talented but she has to 
sleep some time. And I'd just as soon you knew about your 
protection so you don't try taking any pot shots at him." 
 
Spender motioned at Jeremy, who moved toward the back 
door. Mulder, bemused, didn't try to stop him. He kept his 
attention focused on the truly dangerous man, Spender. 
 
"I've asked you this before; what do you want from me?" 
Mulder asked evenly. 
 
Spender pulled up a chair and gingerly sat down. "I 
suppose I could say that I want you to understand. I want 
you to know what choices I made and why I made them." 
Spender shifted uncomfortably. "I want you to know that the 
things I did were heroic acts, done for the good of all." 
 
Mulder snorted. "Suddenly my good opinion is important to 
you?" 
 
Spender shook his head. "No, but your understanding is." 
 
They both heard a loud noise from outside and jerked as 
the back door crashed open. Two men were struggling: 
Mulder's 'bodyguard' and Scully's abductor.  Before they 
could react, the brown-haired man angled his gun against 
the other man's body and pulled the trigger. While Jeremy's 
body slumped to the floor, Mulder raised his service weapon. 
 
"Drop it. Drop it *now*!" he barked at the man. The 
assassin smiled and aimed the gun at Mulder. The smoking 
man slowly stood up. 
 
"You drop yours. Besides, you know who I'm really here for." 
 
Mulder kept the weapon steady. Here it was, then. Mexican 
standoff. But the target was CGB Spender, an evil man who 
deserved execution a dozen times over for his crimes. 
Mulder could simply lower the weapon, save his own life. 
His glance flickered over to CGB who sat there calmly with 
a set expression, smoking his cigarette. 
 
Yes, the old man was ready to die. He'd lived according to 
his principles, warped as they were, for years. He'd die by 
them. Or for them. Mulder was suddenly struck with the 
similarity of their characters. Oh, it hurt but it was also 
the truth, this evil old man would die for his beliefs just 
as Mulder would. Spender would compromise nothing to 
achieve his personal vision; and how many people had Mulder 
pissed off in a lifetime of demanding that the truth be 
known? He sighed and watched Spender out of the corner of 
his eye. 
 
"No. Lower your weapon," Mulder said. 
 
The gunman looked steadily at Mulder, then moved and 
quickly knocked the gun from his hand. He scooped it up and 
tucked it into his waistband, shaking his head. "You should 
have cooperated. You'd have died easier." He raised his 
weapon and aimed it at Mulder. 
 
"Old man, I was told that you were to watch this before I 
let you go. G0 stand against the wall." Spender carefully 
moved as directed. 
 
Mulder tried to smile. "Hey man, this can't be much of a 
challenge for you, huh? Kinda like shooting fish in a 
barrel. I mean, I got a cast on my arm and my leg so 
where's the fun in it? And why me, anyway?" 
 
The gunman was solemn. "These were my instructions, to 
kill you and make the old man watch. Then let him go."  
 
Mulder gulped as the man took aim again, then saw Spender 
moving quietly, quietly toward the gunman. This 
was...unreal. Spender was trying to save him? Mulder looked 
down the nose of the weapon, watching the man's finger 
squeeze on the trigger waiting for the inevitable. Spender 
rushed the gunman, knocking him over with the weight of his 
body.  Soon Spender was lying on top of the man, holding a 
small pistol under the assassin's chin. 
 
"Where'd you get the weapon?" Mulder asked, leaning over 
the side of the barcalounger to see. 
 
"Ankle holster," Spender said. "All right, you, stand up." 
He climbed to his feet, motioning the gunman upright. 
 
The gunman stood, towering over Spender. Spender smiled, 
aimed the pistol and shot him between the eyes. 
 
Mulder tried to scramble out of the chair and prevent this 
but found himself sprawled over the floor instead. While 
Mulder reeled in pain, Spender stepped over the body and 
carefully helped Mulder back into the chair. 
 
"Well?" Mulder asked, gasping. 
 
"Well what?" the old man replied. 
 
"Aren't you going to shoot me now? I'm a witness. You just 
murdered a man." 
 
Spender smiled gently and pocketed his weapon. "No. I 
prevented another murder. Yours." 
 
"This doesn't buy me," Mulder stated. "You set this up." 
 
"Oh no, the threat was real. He was going to kill you and 
leave me alive." Spender holstered his weapon. 
 
"But why? Why kill me and make you witness it? They wanted 
to assassinate you!" The light began to dawn and Mulder 
went on. "I see. I represent your plans, your cherished 
legacy, don't I? Kill me and they kill your dream." 
 
Spender smiled gently. "Do you think that plans are all I 
would lose? I think that Agent Scully is probably outside. 
I'll check on her." 
 
 
October 20, 2000  
Dana Scully's Apartment  
11:30 a.m.  
OUTSIDE 
 
Dana Scully struggled frantically against the plastic 
ties. Goddamn it, this guy was good. She couldn't scream 
and she could barely move. She'd just heard a second 
gunshot from the house and knew it didn't bode well. 
Mulder. Damn. They hadn't killed him before, now they were 
going to make sure of it and she'd been caught in the first 
ten minutes. She felt like a Christmas turkey, trussed up 
and left. 
 
"My, my, Agent Scully. You do get yourself into trouble," 
a familiar voice drawled from above and she smelled 
cigarette smoke. Scully rolled over onto her back and 
glared silently up at CGB Spender. 
 
Unfortunately for him, the gag was what he removed first. 
 
"Goddamn you! What did you do to him?" To her fury, the 
man was now smiling at her fondly. 
 
"Agent Scully, Agent Mulder is quite well and in the 
house. Now if you will allow me to help you, I'm here to 
untie you. Will you cooperate?" 
 
Scully nodded and he began work on the plastic ties. "What 
happened?" she asked. 
 
"An attempt on Mulder's life, as I expected. My man didn't 
survive. Mulder did. There..." The man moved away as Scully 
quickly got up and ran for the house. After she disappeared 
through the back door he quietly made his exit. 
 
Scully's eyes widened when she entered the living room. 
Two dead bodies lay on a floor splattered with blood. A 
frightened Mulder held his weapon on her until he saw who 
it was. 
 
He lowered the gun with a sigh and leaned back into the 
chair, eyes closing. "Scully. Thank God you're alive." 
 
Scully picked her way over to Mulder and laid a hand on 
his forehead. "What happened? Did you shoot any of them?" 
 
Mulder shook his head. "No chance to. The gunman who got 
you," he pointed. "killed the other man. Then Cancerman 
killed the gunman. In cold blood." 
 
Scully nodded. "Because he was sent to assassinate 
Cancerman?" 
 
Mulder frowned. "No. CGB Spender shot him to save me.  The 
assassin said he was sent to kill me, with CGB Spender as a 
witness. I...don't understand. I don't want to understand." 
He looked up at Scully with haunted eyes. "If I understood 
and accepted what happened here today, I think I might go 
mad."  
 
 
October 25, 2000  
J. Edgar Hoover Bldg Basement  
11 a.m. 
 
"Mulder, the interoffice mail is here," Scully remarked as 
she put a pile of envelopes onto his desk. "This one's 
addressed to you. Looks like a card." 
 
Mulder looked up from the file he was reading. It had been 
a difficult week for him. He'd gone so stir crazy that 
Skinner had finally been persuaded to allow Mulder back 
early for desk work. 
 
Mulder picked up the red envelope and slit it open, then 
read the card inside. He pursed his lips in a silent 
whistle. 
 
"What is it? What does it say?" Scully demanded, moving 
closer. 
 
Mulder handed it to her. It read: 
 
"My dear Agent Mulder, please let me express my wishes for 
your speedy recovery after our little accident and also 
thank you for the service you performed in saving my life. 
I understand that we may not always agree, yet I am still 
gratified that when things were truly difficult I could 
count on your help. Regarding the visitors to Agent 
Scully's apartment, do not be concerned about any future 
visitations. I have reached my own detente with the parties 
who wished my enforced retirement and they no longer seek 
my death or yours. Needless to say, I have never sought 
harm to you and, for the reasons I gave you before, will 
continue to follow your progress with great interest." 
 
The card wasn't signed. 
 
THE END 
 
 
Author's final note: CGB Spender is one of my favorite 
characters and I've tried to give my take on why he does 
what he does. Source material is derived from such episodes 
as "Demons," "Musings of a CSM" and others. I think CSM is 
really the flip side of Mulder. The two men have the same 
strengths: persistence, intelligence, courage, vision. But 
they also have the same weaknesses: obsession, arrogance 
and isolation. They could very well be father and son. God 
help them. 
 
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