|
Copyright:
Wednesday, March 09, 2005 11:08:15 PM
WASHINGTON
NATIONAL AIRPORT
WASHINGTON, D.C.
NEXT DAY - 6:00 A.M.
Even at dawn, Washington
National Airport was bustling with travelers, businessmen, tourists.
Sleepy-eyed people of every age, every nationality, every financial strata
straggled through the wide, brightly-lit corridors. This, Mulder mused as he
followed Scully into a security checkpoint and surrendered his battered
overnight bag, was the true American ‘melting pot.’ A vast hodgepodge of
colors and creeds unmatched anywhere else in the world.
Sometimes he loved D.C.,
and sometimes he hated it. The nation’s bustling capital radiated an intense
energy, a dynamic vitality, that he’d never sensed anywhere else. Anything
could happen here--and frequently did.
Over the years, most of
his colleagues had tired of the frenetic, unceasing activity. But he never
would, no matter how far he traveled or how long he lived. Mulder found a
curious comfort in that sudden realization.
The security guard’s
eyebrows flickered in mild surprise as both agents flashed their FBI badges,
surrendered their weapons for inspection, and walked briskly through the
metal-sensitive ‘cage.’ Probably wasn’t used to seeing government agents
dressed so casually, Mulder reflected as he retrieved his 9mm on the other
side, and tucked it securely in its holster again. Well, he couldn’t dress
like a GQ advertisement all the time, not if he wanted to retain a grip
on his already-tenuous sanity!
His comfortable blue
jeans and dark-green polo shirt might not be the FBI’s traditional uniform,
but dammit, he was on vacation! Not a vacation of his choosing, perhaps, but
nevertheless he intended to make the most of it.
Ignoring the security
guard’s disgruntled sideways glance, he retrieved his worn leather jacket and
battered flight bag off the narrow conveyer belt. It always irked him that
just because he was a Federal agent, everyone assumed that he should have
brand-new, expensive luggage. He liked his weather-beaten old backpack.
Each faded stain, every hand-mended rip spoke to him, reminding him of the
incredible adventures he and Scully had survived over the past several years.
Those were memories he never wanted to lose.
His impatient partner was
already stepping onto the first moving slideway ramp. She was still resentful
about being dragged away from her precious laboratory cubicle--and truthfully,
he couldn’t blame her. Only yesterday morning, he’d received a very intriguing
report from New Mexico, one that might help solve several bizarre local
murders.
If he’d had his way,
they’d be boarding a plane heading in the opposite direction right now. But
like it or not, they were committed to this vacation. Fretting about it was
pointless. He could only hope that the unknown murderer, or murderers, would
take their own short vacation until he returned. As if Gallup’s frightened
citizens would get that lucky...
"Scully, wait up!"
Several sleepier travelers edged out of his way as he jogged down the creeping
slidewalk to catch up with her.
She turned just enough to
acknowledge his appearance, then pointedly looked away again.
Mulder sighed. Years of
shared hardships and dangers had melded them into an unbeatable team. In
crisis situations, they thought as one, reacted as one. They knew and trusted
each other implicitly. Yet there were disadvantages to such an intimate
emotional bonding. Scully always knew when he was withholding information from
her, and she resented it fiercely. Nor could he blame her; he’d been fighting
against secrecy and far-fetched conspiracies most of his adult life.
He was hiding something
now, and hated himself for it. Hated Skinner for forcing him into such an
unenviable position. Hated the Joint Council for forcing a showdown.
Sometimes it seemed like
the only person he didn’t hate was Scully herself.
Yesterday’s bitter
meeting with Skinner echoed through Mulder’s mind again as they found their
assigned terminal, and waited for an attendant to process their e-tickets. He
wanted to divulge the entire conversation--but this was one of those
rare times when Scully was better off not knowing everything. And he hated
that, too.
Damn it, it just wasn’t
fair! Skinner understood them, and their bizarre cases, better than anyone
else in the Bureau! Why hadn’t he been willing to see reason this time,
as he had so many times before?• • • • • •
|
"I’m worried about Agent Scully," Skinner had told him, the moment he’d
entered his supervisor’s spartan office. "This obsession of hers is starting
to affect her judgment."
Mulder had been expecting
a terse briefing on their newest X-File. Skinner’s harsh denouncement was so
totally unexpected, he was stunned speechless for several moments.
Surely he’d heard wrong!
Their tight-lipped Assistant Director could be harsh at times, but he was
always scrupulously honest and fair with his agents. And he’d supported
Scully’s clandestine research, at considerable risk to his own position,
ever since their dramatic return from Antarctica over four years ago.
"Sir, you of all
people should understand what we’re trying to accomplish," he protested,
sinking numbly into a padded leather chair. "Scully’s research could be the
key to a vaccine that..."
Skinner cut him off with
an impatient gesture. "I understand more than you think, Agent Mulder," he
warned, clenching his teeth around each angry word. "But I’m under
considerable pressure from my own superiors." His round face was grim with
warning, and the brown eyes behind his wire-rimmed glasses were stern. "They
feel that your so-called ‘alien virus’ is a nonexistent threat. Agent
Scully’s obsession to find a cure is, therefore, an unacceptable use of her
time and efforts--and of the Bureau’s resources."
He couldn’t count the
number of times Fox Mulder had sat in that very chair, facing him across his
wide mahogany desk, jade eyes aflame with raw untamable passion.
No one else wanted
responsibility for Mulder or his bizarre X-Files Project--so Skinner had
been charged with keeping the Bureau’s most brilliant agent under control.
It was a thankless task. But overall, he’d succeeded fairly
well.
The best way to keep Mulder contained was to give him
exactly what he craved--every outlandish, inexplicable, unsolvable case that
came across Skinner’s desk. And until recently, Agent Scully had offset his
impetuous nature with a calm, controlled logic that balanced his wild
theories, keeping him intent yet focused. Together they formed an invincible
team, and he valued them more than any other agents in his department.
Things had changed over the last few years, though. Now,
ironically, Scully presented the greater danger. If they hadn’t acquired an
anonymous new champion on the Joint Council, he had no doubt that they’d
have faced permanent censure long before now.
As usual, Mulder seemed to read his troubled thoughts
with uncanny ease. Skinner still couldn’t help wondering, in the most
private recesses of his mind, whether Mulder’s unprecedented telepathic
abilities really had vanished over time. It was an unnerving thought, far
worse than the clandestine surveillance he occasionally endured. At least
then, they could only spy on his body and his words. His thoughts remained
inviolate...
"Sir, we all know that the Joint Council thinks I’m full
of shit because I couldn’t bring back any proof of alien life from
Antarctica," Mulder was grumbling. "Or from Mexico City, or from Panama, or
any of the other places we’ve searched. But that doesn’t alter the facts.
Agent Scully’s research is of vital importance!"
Skinner released a heavy sigh, and fought to contain his
growing impatience. "Agent Scully’s research has drawn considerable
attention, and not only from the Joint Council," he warned. "Several
interested parties, not all of them within our own government, are
disturbed by her preliminary results. And since it’s not yet possible to
test her vaccine prototype on human test subjects, she is currently in a
very dangerous position."
A manic gleam lit Mulder’s eyes. "We know that the
Tunguska experiments are still being conducted..."
"No!" Skinner slammed both fists down on his desk,
and rose to tower over his impetuous subordinate. "Absolutely not, Agent
Mulder! The Siberian border is closed to you! The Joint Council will not
sanction another clandestine excursion to the Tunguska prison camp, not for
any reason."
Mulder choked back a bitter groan of despair. The aliens
had invested too much time and effort in their Colonization Project to
simply abandon it! Why couldn’t he make anyone understand how vulnerable
humanity was right now?
"If we can’t develop a viable vaccine, and test it in
time..." He was on his feet, nose to nose with Skinner, though he had no
recollection of jumping up or bracing both fists on his superior’s desk.
"And there’s not much time left! You know that!"
Skinner raised a restraining hand. Out of long habit,
Mulder reluctantly subsided. "Officially the Tunguska prison camp doesn’t
even exist," Skinner reminded him. "So even if I could blackmail the FDA
into approving tests on human test subjects--which I cannot--what
good is Scully’s research? She’s risking her life, and yours, for no reason.
Her obsession with that research is attracting dangerous attention--and that
is a valid cause for alarm, if her declining health is not!"
Mulder spun on his heel, and impatiently stalked back and
forth across the room. "Scully and I know we’re close to the truth!
But we keep getting sabotaged by the very same people who claim to be on our
side!"
Skinner stubbornly ignored his bitter inference. "The
Joint Council believes that your partner’s obsession to find a nonexistent
cure for a nonexistent virus is clouding her judgment, and impairing her
health. She is becoming a danger to herself and others by her actions. If
she cannot distance herself from that obsession, Agent Mulder, I will have
no choice but to demand her permanent resignation from the FBI."
Mulder felt--and looked--as if he’d been gut-shot.
Skinner was in a tight corner himself, but he was not
without compassion. "I’ve recommended to the Joint Council that Agent Scully
be granted an extended leave of absence," he explained, trying to soften the
blow. "They agree that being forced to give her son up for adoption has
subjected her to an unusual amount of stress. When her health improves and
her judgment can be trusted again, she’ll be free to return and resume her
normal duties."
Mulder blindly sank back into his chair. Skinner never
bluffed, not when his agents’ lives or careers were at stake.
"Scully never really relaxes, even when she does go on
vacation," he bitterly reminded his supervisor. "She can’t stop thinking!"
The barest hint of a smile curved Skinner’s lips, then
vanished again. "You’ve been working hard lately, too, Agent Mulder," he
calmly observed. "Maybe you should both take a vacation. Then nothing would
be holding Agent Scully here."
Skinner didn’t just want to send Scully away, Mulder
realized with a quick burst of insight. He wanted them both gone, until the
furor had died down. Until she ‘recovered.’ And relaxed. As if that was
likely to happen.
Frustration propelled him to his feet again. "I can’t
believe this!" he fumed, stalking across the room. "I’m even more involved
in this than Scully is! It’s my obsession, not hers! So why are they
attacking her? Because I’ve always been considered irrational, so
they don’t expect as much from me?"
Skinner looked away. And his guilty silence spoke
volumes.
Finally he met Mulder’s narrowed eyes again, and his own
were filled with mute pleading. "As a friend, Agent Mulder, I’m
asking you to take Dana away from here for a few weeks," he begged. "Not
forever. Just until she’s had time to put things back into perspective."
"Or I’ll face the same penalties, is that it?" the
younger man demanded.
Suddenly he clenched both fists. "What do you
believe?" he challenged. "Do you think Scully’s becoming obsessed and
irrational?"
Skinner hesitated, then pursed his lips and squarely met
Mulder’s hostile gaze. "I believe that she’s skating perilously close to the
line." His words emerged clipped and terse, as if his jaws were clenched
against an unpalatable conclusion. "No matter how important her research may
be, if she continues to endanger her health and safety, she’ll be of no use
to anyone. Certainly not all the people you both hope to save."
They faced each other in silence for several long
moments. The manic part of Mulder’s troubled soul longed to rant and rave
about injustice, about punishing a good agent for her dedication. But he’d
been down that road before. And it never did the slightest bit of good.
Anything he said right now, his pragmatic half warned, would only make
matters worse.
Besides, galling as their orders might be, he knew that
Assistant Director Skinner was genuinely worried about Scully’s
health and safety.
Exile it would be, then, for two whole weeks...but
not one day longer!
If they had to be sent away, at least he could
pick his own destination for a change. Some remote tropical island filled
with gorgeous babes in bikinis--and not a single X-File in sight.
He slowly straightened, nodded once, and left the room
without a backward glance.
Skinner watched him stalk out the door, and wearily shook
his head. Some days, he really hated this job. |
• • • • • •
The entire exchange flashed through Mulder’s mind in an
instant as he watched his partner stare moodily out the nearest window.
The Joint Council was wrong. Scully was neither obsessed nor
irrational. She was a dedicated scientist, on the verge of a tremendous medical
breakthrough that could mean salvation for their entire world. Those incompetent
bastards couldn’t have chosen a worse time to interrupt her intensive research!
Because they’re scared, his cynical half scoffed.
Scared that we can prove what they don’t want to admit.
Well, for better or worse, he was obeying orders like a good
little soldier. Two weeks in sun-drenched Bermuda, sipping Mai-tai’s under
waving palm trees, swimming in the warm ocean, basking on some faraway pristine
beach.
Hell, maybe he had been a bad influence on Scully over
the past decade. Maybe she simply didn’t remember how to relax anymore!
But there were plenty of things to do in Bermuda. Scuba diving, sailing, water
skiing, horseback riding--all kinds of energetic sports for an energetic FBI
agent.
Damn it, though, the Joint Council hadn’t traveled to
Antarctica with him. They’d never been abducted, or infected with that deadly
virus. They hadn’t suffered a mental or physical breakdown from being exposed to
alien metal fragments. They hadn’t seen the results of the Alien Bounty Hunter’s
deadly work. They didn't understand!
The answers were all out there, just beyond his
fingertips!
When he and Scully returned from this little enforced
vacation, they’d find a way to pull the last puzzle pieces together. And
then their illustrious government would be forced to accept the truth.
The whole truth. And nothing but the truth.
God help them all!
|
