FAITH 9/9
By Suzanne Bickerstaffe
Ecksphile@aol.com
May 30, 1997

Disclaimers and acknowledgements in ChapterOne

Chapter Nine



Atlanta, Georgia
Saturday, March 15
11:07 PM


"Just how sure about this are you, Mulder?"

The agent returned Skinner's stare calmly.  It was little after 
eleven and the team had been in place for almost five 
hours.  The church had been searched twice and both times 
had checked out clean. A sizeable crowd had gathered, 
waiting for the doors to open. There had been no sign of 
Gatling, and the AD was getting nervous.  "He'll be here," 
Mulder replied with certainty.

Skinner pulled Mulder closer to the light spilling from the 
window of the cafe, about fifty yards from the church.  
They were dressed as joggers, but the cold mist was rapidly 
soaking them, adding physical discomfort to the unbearable 
tension of waiting.  "He doesn't usually cut it this close.  He 
might have smelled a trap, gone somewhere else."

"He's cut it close before - we know he did in the fifth 
bombing, when he killed the caretaker.  There may have 
been others.  No, I think he's waiting to mix in with the 
crowd going into the church.  He's going to want to leave as 
little opportunity for the bomb to be discovered as possible.  
I think he's learned something from his past failures."  
Mulder paused, thinking.  "Is Alvin on the door?"

"Yes. Agents Lowell and Kovacks are on the door, 
purportedly to hand out the candles, but actually to screen 
everyone coming in. Why?"

"Better get word to them.  No one - absolutely no one - 
goes in with a box, package or bag of any kind.  While I 
don't think Gatling would defer the 'honors', it's just 
remotely possible he would give the bomb in some sort of 
package to an unsuspecting person attending the service."

Skinner nodded.  "All right, I'll tell them.  They should be 
starting to let people in soon."  The official time of the 
doors opening was still some thirty minutes distant.  But 
the thunderstorms which had been forecast rumbled 
threateningly overhead, and with the chill, wet weather 
already upon them, the attendees would probably be let in 
early.  With a last glance at Mulder, the AD jogged down 
the sidewalk toward the church.

Mulder stretched his aching muscles and adjusted his 
sweatband to keep the drizzle from dripping from his hair 
into his eyes.  Then he set off at a leisurely pace around the 
three block circuit he had run at least ten times since 
arriving at the site.  There were fewer empty parking spaces 
now, he noted automatically.  The prayer service would be 
well attended.  He turned left and continued his run, his 
eyes sweeping both sides of the street for pedestrians and 
vehicles worthy of note.  A pickup caught his eye and as he 
bent to tighten his shoelaces, he scanned the license plate.  
Then he began running again, taking another left, and then 
another, finally jogging past the Ebeneezer Baptist Church, 
where people were now entering in a steady stream.

Mulder looked around for one of the agents on the team.  
Shit, he thought.  We don't have to worry about Gatling 
spotting anyone - *I* can't even find them.  Panting, he 
slowed to a walk with his hands on his hips, his attention 
focused on finding a colleague to report to.  He bumped 
into a tall black man in hat, overcoat and clerical collar 
who had suddenly loomed in from of him.  Just as he was 
about to excuse himself - 

"Hey, Spaceman, watch where you're goin'."

"Mike!  I didn't recognize you."

"Well, I thought it woud be a good disguise, " he said, his 
face splitting into a grin. "And besides, I already had the 
costume."

"Look, Mike.  I spotted Gatling's truck over on Turner - an 
'87 black Chevy S-210 pickup, dent in the right front 
fender.  The license plate checks.  Get word to everyone to 
look sharp, will you?  I'm going to cruise around and see if 
I can spot him."

"Will do.  And y'all be careful, now.  Hear me, Mulder?"

"I hear you," Mulder grinned.  "I've picked up enough cuts 
and bruises for one trip."

He and Mike took off in opposite directions.  Mulder 
strolled up one side of the street, his eyes darting through 
the windows of the few establishments still open.  He 
walked for a couple of blocks, then crossed the street and 
headed back in the direction of the church.  It was then that 
he spotted Gatling.

The man was about thirty yards ahead of him, wearing a 
loose old raincoat.  His hands swung empty at his sides.  
Furtively, his head turned to the left repeatedly, searching 
the opposite side of the street.  His profile was 
unmistakeable.  Still, he wasn't carrying anything.  Could 
he already have set the bomb, Mulder worried.  Could the 
bomb squad have missed it, and now Gatling was just 
coming back to watch the fireworks?  His heart thudded 
painfully in his chest.  Then he noted how the sides of 
Gatling's raincoat bulged, flopping heavily against his hips 
with each step, and he sighed in relief.  No, Gatling had the 
bomb with him, probably still unassembled.

Mulder lengthened his stride, hoping to catch up with the 
man without alerting him.  He wished now he had the radio 
he had been offered.  He had declined - he had enough of a 
problem securing and hiding his weapon in his sweatpants.  
He would just have to hope that someone on the team 
would notice them.  A flash of lightning illuminated the 
street, followed almost instantly by the crash of thunder.

He had closed to within ten yards, the church still sixty 
yards distant on their side of the street.  Mulder glanced 
away from Gatling for a few seconds, searching the crowd 
in front of the church for the faces of other agents, hoping 
to signal them.  When his eyes turned back, Gatling had 
disappeared.

Mulder broke into a run and darted around the corner to the 
right, his eyes scanning the dark, wet street for Gatling as 
thunder rolled overhead.  Suddenly, an arm snaked around 
his neck and pulled him into a doorway.  He felt the cold 
muzzle of a gun pressed against his jaw.

"Well, whaddaya know.  It's the Jew-boy."

"Give it up, Gatling."

"Shut up!  Shut the fuck up!"  He tightened his hold on 
Mulder's throat.  "Listen up, Jew-boy - I take orders only 
from the Lord.  He's told me what to do.  If He wants me to 
do somethin' different, He'll show me the way. Now we're 
gonna take a little walk over to the back of Satan's temple."

They had gone no more than a few paces in the 
now-driving rain, when a deep voice rang out.

"Federal agent, Gatling.  Put down your weapon."

Gatling spun, still holding Mulder around the neck, using 
him as a shield. "I'll shoot this som'bitch if you don't back 
off, nigger."

Mulder caught Mike's eye, and an almost imperciptible nod 
passed between them.  He waited to the count of three, then 
twisted loose from Gatling's grasp, diving down and to the 
right, rolling across the wet street and away from the 
bomber.

What happened next would be recorded on their reports, in 
versions differing depending on the eyewitness.  It would 
probably be the subject of speculation for years to come.  
No one really could say exactly what occurred, though 
everyone had a theory.  

Gatling raised his weapon, pointing it at Mike, who 
dropped, rolled and came up firing.  Suddenly there was 
simultaneously a blinding flash and a roar and the crash of 
thunder. Both Mulder and Mike were thrown some distance 
away, their bodies tingling as they lay stunned on the 
pavement.

Skinner was fifty feet behind where Mike had been 
standing.  He had seen the black agent break into a run, and 
assumed he might need help. "Jesus Christ!" he breathed.  
In the center of the road, where Gatling had stood, was a 
smoking crater.  Buildings on both sides of the street were 
scorched, windows now devoid of glass, siding and bricks 
littering the road.  He picked out first Mike, and then 
Mulder, laying some twenty feet apart on the ground. Over 
his shoulder, he yelled, "Call an ambulance, two officers 
down!"

The AD ran over to Mike, the closer of the two.  He had 
been cut and bruised, and was twitching all over, but was 
starting to come around.  "Thomas, are you alright?  What 
happened?"  He helped him to sit up.

"What happened?  Are you kiddin'? The hand of God is 
what happened!"  He sat, trembling in the downpour.  
"Where's Mulder?"

"Over there.  If you're all right, I'll go check out Mulder."  
Skinner nodded at the other agents who came running up.  
Then he moved over the where Mulder lay on the sidewalk.  
It looked as if he had been flung into the side of the 
building.  Although unconscious, he too was twitching as if 
in some kind of seizure.  "We need the paramedics here!" 
he bellowed.

Mulder was breathing, had a strong if irregular pulse and 
didn't appear to be bleeding too badly.  Skinner took a 
raincoat one of the other agents offered and covered him.  
Some of the crowd waiting to get into the church, led by 
curiosity, had appeared on the scene.  Several opened their 
umbrellas to shield the downed agents from the pouring 
rain.  

Skinner left Mulder's side to move over to the crater in the 
middle of the street.  Shaking his head, he looked down 
into it.  It was some twelve feet across and close to three 
feet deep.  In the morning, they would have to get someone 
down there, looking for remains.  But from what the AD 
could see, there wasn't much left of James Robert Gatling.

- - - - - 

12:30 A.M.
Sunday, March 16


Skinner went to Scully's room as Mike and Mulder were 
being attended to in the Emergency Room.  Hospital 
grapevines being what they were, the AD was sure than 
Scully would hear of Mulder's latest admission, and wanted 
the news to come from him.

"I'm going down there."

"Agent Scully, that isn't necessary.  They appear to be all 
right.  The doctors just want to hold them in the Step Down 
Unit for twenty four hours so their cardiac status can be 
monitored."

"Cardiac status?  Why?  What happened?"

Skinner pulled up a chair to the bedside and lowered 
himself heavily into it.  "*That* is a very good question.  
Mulder and Thomas and myself were the closest to the 
action, and  even we can't agree."  He sighed wearily.  
"Mulder was trailing Gatling close to the church.  He lost 
him for a second, and Mulder being Mulder, dashed off 
looking for him.  He walked right into him."  The AD 
noticed Scully stiffen.  He was sure that any lecture by him 
would be nothing compared to the earful that Mulder 
would be getting from his partner about his rash behavior. 
"Gatling grabbed him and stuck a gun in his face.  
Fortunately, Thomas saw what was going on and 
challenged him.  Mulder and Thomas have worked together 
before.  Evidently they had some sort of pre-arranged 
signal.  In any case, Mulder got away from Gatling, and 
Mike fired."

"So Mike shot Gatling."

"Well...possibly."

"What do you mean, possibly?  Surely an autopsy - "

"There won't be an autopsy, Agent Scully.  Unless we find 
body parts blown onto rooftops, there isn't enough left of 
Gatling to put in an evidence bag, let alone a body bag."

"Did you say 'blown onto rooftops'?  What the hell 
happened out there?"

"Depends on who you ask.  Mulder said he didn't see too 
much, since he was busy rolling around in the road, trying 
to get away from Gatling.  He assumes that Mike's bullet 
hit the dynamite Gatling was carrying for his bomb, and 
boom!  But Agent Thomas tells a different story.  There 
was a hell of a thunderstorm going on.  The city took 
several direct lightning strikes - I've confirmed that with the 
weather service.  Mike swears that he might have hit 
Gatling, but he was aiming high, so as not to mistakenly hit 
Mulder.  Too high for his bullet to hit the dynamite, which 
your partner later said was in the pockets of Gatling's 
raincoat.  Thomas said... he said that Gatling was struck by 
a lightning bolt - cut down by 'the hand of God', as he put it. 
And then the lightning in turn set off the explosives."

Skinner shook his head.  "I was about seventy five feet 
away when it happened.  The visibility was poor, what with 
the rain and the darkness.  But I could swear I saw Gatling 
reach into his pocket just as Mike fired.  I believe, knowing 
he was about to fail for the last time, Gatling might have 
set off the explosives himself, hoping to take a few FBI 
agents with him.  Certainly, there was also a close lightning 
strike - that's why Thomas and Mulder are in for 
observation.  They have a few electrical burns and some 
cardiac arrythmias consistent with a close encounter with 
lightning.  But as to what came first - the bullet, the 
lightning or the explosion - I don't think we'll ever know for 
sure."  He paused.  "Don't worry, Scully.  Mulder's okay.  
He had a strong pulse when I got to him.  I don't think 
there'll be any lasting effects from this.  He's even already 
tried to sign out AMA." She rolled her eyes and he laughed.  
"This time I told the ER staff if he walked, they were to 
call the Bureau and we'd take him into custody.  But 
Mulder didn't fight it much - I think he's tired."

"Thank you for coming to tell me."  She frowned.  "I *told* 
him to be careful."

Skinner smiled grimly. "With Mulder, 'careful' is a 
somewhat relative term."

"I suppose you're right," she replied, smiling herself. "When 
will they be discharged?"

"Not before Monday morning.  I can pick you up here in 
the morning and take you back to your hotel.  A day of rest 
without having to worry about Mulder might do you some 
good.  How did the tests...?"

"Okay.  Nothing new, sir.  Although I wish you hadn't told 
them about the cancer."  Blue eyes met brown ones 
directly.

He shrugged. "When you and Mulder were brought in, they 
ran a battery of tests, skull xrays amongst them.  With no 
next of kin around, I was approached by the doctors about 
it.  I told them I was aware of your condition.  I gave them 
the name of your oncologist because they asked for it.  
When medical professionals are just trying to do their job 
with your health uppermost in their minds, Scully, I don't 
feel that I breached any confidences.  Actually, they 
seemed a bit... surprised... that you were still in the field."

"There's no reason I can't do my job, sir," she declared 
firmly.  "When there is reason, I'll be the first to ask for 
medical leave."

"I realize that, Agent Scully," he replied softly.  "That's why 
you *are* still in the field."  He stood and stretched, the 
exhaustion of the last two days starting to catch up with 
him.  "I'll be back in the morning around ten, if that's all 
right by you."

"Yes, sir.  And thank you for coming."

He nodded, his fatigue-ringed eyes warm with concern.  
"Get some sleep, Dana."  He held her eyes for a moment 
longer, almost as if he wanted to say something more. Then 
abruptly he broke his gaze and walked from the room.


- - - - -

Hartsfield International Airport
Monday, March 17
11:45 A.M.


They were the last to board.  Mike's wife had driven them 
from the hospital to the airport, her husband having been 
forbidden by his doctors to drive for a week, much to his 
chagrin and everyone else's relief.  Now she waited in the 
loading zone while Mike saw his friends off.

"Spaceman, it's always interestin' when y'all come down 
here."

"Let's make it a little less interesting next time."

Mike chuckled.  "It's a deal."  Then he grew serious.  
"Thanks for comin'.  I think we may have saved some lives.  
I know this is one of those things we're gonna agree to 
disagree about, Mulder.  But I *know* what happened that 
night."

His friend shrugged.  "Who knows, you might even be 
right."

"Well, I guess I'm makin' some headway, then.  Maybe you 
aren't a lost cause."

"Stranger things have happened, Mike."

"Yeah - but not many."

The last call for their flight was announced.

"Guess this is it," Mike said with a sigh. He hugged Scully.  
"Dana, you take care of yourself, sugar.  And if the 
Spaceman gives you any trouble, you give me a call.  Hell, 
even if he doesn't give you any trouble, give me a call."

She smiled fondly at the black agent.  "I will, Mike.  
Thanks for everything."

"Spaceman...."  The two men embraced.  "You think about 
everything we talked about, y'hear?  And you know where 
to find me if you need me."

"Thanks, Mike."  A look passed between the two that 
Scully couldn't quite categorize..  Mulder picked up their 
bags.  "Better get on board, I guess.  Goodbye, buddy."

They had reached the jetway when Mike's voice boomed 
out.

"Keep the faith, baby!"

Mulder turned, then with a smile, nodded and waved.

The flight was comparatively empty, and they had the 
luxury of a vacant middle seat in their section, which was 
also an emergency exit.  Mulder stretched out his long legs, 
grateful for the extra room.  He still ached all over and his 
stitches were beginning to itch.  His hand closed over 
Scully's as the plane began to hurtle down the runway.

Once airborne, they put up the armrests between them and 
reclined their seats.  Scully picked up his hand and peeked 
under the dressings, assuring herself that all was healing 
normally.  Instead of freeing his hand, she laced her fingers 
through his and lay back against the headrest with her eyes 
closed.  He knew that she had something on her mind, and 
he waited patiently for her to speak.

"It was close, wasn't it?" she asked quietly.

"It was real close," Mulder grimly agreed.  "Ironically, the 
explosion saved our lives.  If it hadn't torn some holes in 
the walls of that refrigeration unit, we would have been 
dead by the time they found us."

She was silent for so long he thought she had fallen asleep.  
He was on the verge of doing so himself when her voice 
startled him into wakefulness.

Her tone was tentative, but her gaze direct.  "Mulder, do 
you remember Clyde Bruckman?"

He chuckled wryly.  "How could I forget?  My sex life 
underwent an abrupt and drastic change."

Softly, she laughed.  "In your dreams.  You don't have a sex 
life."

"That's just one of the many things I love about you, Scully 
- your devastating bluntness.  Anyway, yes, I remember 
Clyde Bruckman.  Why do you ask?"

"Well, when it was my turn to babysit him, after we had 
played gin until we were bored stiff, he started... I don't 
know... tempting me, hinting around, sort of intrigued that I 
wasn't badgering him for his 'special knowledge'."

"You mean his gift for predicting how and when people 
would die?"

She hesitated.  "Yeah.  I had come so close... after my 
abduction.  I wasn't ready to deal with it, didn't want to 
think about it.  Finally, I just... I guess my curiosity got the 
better of me.  I asked him how I would die.  Do you know 
what he said?"

Mulder's throat tightened so much he could hardly get the 
words out.  Not sure he wanted to, not sure he was ready to 
hear what the tragic prognosticator had to say about his 
partner.  He pulled Scully closer. "No, what?" he finally 
managed to choke out.

"I asked him how I would die, and... and he got this... this 
expression on his face, a sort of a smile.  It was almost 
beatific, Mulder. And he said... 'You *don't*'."

His throat constricted so much he couldn't speak, but his 
heart leapt.  Surely Bruckman wouldn't have lied...?  But 
how...?  His thoughts went back to his conversation with 
Mike and his friend's absolute certainty that Scully would 
find her truth, her miracle.

"I've been thinking a lot about that lately, Mulder.  Since 
finding out... about the cancer.  I mean, Bruckman was 
right about so many things. Do you think he was lying to 
me, that at the last minute maybe he couldn't bear to tell 
me?"

Mulder swallowed hard, getting his emotions in check.  "I 
honestly don't think he would lie about that, Scully.  Other 
things, maybe, but not that. Ripoff artists and charlatans 
like the Stupendous Yappi are one thing.  People who 
have... gifts... like Bruckman had....  Whatever else they 
might lie about, they take a certain pride in that gift, they 
don't lie about it.  That gift is surrounded by a kind of 
higher integrity, if you will, held inviolate.  No, he wouldn't 
lie to you about that."

"But what do you think he meant?"

"I don't know."

There was a long pause.  "There's no scientific explanation 
for his gift, Mulder," she said hesitantly.

"No, you're absolutely right about that.  There's no 
scientific explanation."  He held her tight, his body tense, 
waiting to hear her next words.  Would she follow form 
and dismiss this ray of hope, just because it didn't have the 
imprimatur of science?  Please, just accept this, Scully, he 
thought.  Don't question it, just accept it.  We need this.

"Mulder, I want to believe what he said."  Her voice was 
small, almost apologetic.

He breathed out slowly, the tension leaving him.  At last. 
The final and biggest wall between them was cracking. 
They might have a chance after all.  "Against all odds, 
Bruckman was always right, wasn't he?"

"As far as when we were with him, yes, he was always 
correct,"  she agreed.

Mulder's voice was low, rich. soft.  "I can't even begin to 
explain Bruckman's gift, Scully.  I wouldn't even try. Let's 
just have faith in what he said.  Not question it or analyse 
it.  Let's just believe he was right.  I want to believe that, 
more than anything else."  His voice caught and he ended in 
a hoarse whisper as he buried his face in her hair.

Her voice, too, was hushed.  "Me, too, Mulder."


End of Faith