3:19 AM Tacoma Park Falls, MD TLG Lair As Mulder pulled up to the back of the warehouse, Sam wondered why they were stopping. He wanted to clue Starkweather in on what they were researching tonight, but decided against it. He had caused enough trouble between the Starkwaethers. Luckily, Mulder's lanky form was a few steps ahead so Sam had no trouble hiding the quizzical expression that seemed to plastered on his face around Fox Mulder. Surely nobody lived here...there were no gutters for running water, and no apparent lights on inside. "It's us." Mulder said simply up into a security camera that Sam didn't notice until then. After a few awkward minutes, Sam was grateful to hear the click of the deadbolt...and a little puzzled as to why he heard eleven more clicks of apparently eleven more deadbolts. "Merry Christmas, Frohike." Mulder said to the stocky man on the other side of the door. He was decidedly odd looking in thin-rimmed owlish glasses framing an unshaven face, and from his peppery greasy hair, he looked to be in desperate need of a shower. "Little late for that, isn't it, Mulder?" Frohike grumbled, and let them in. "Well, I missed it last time, remember?" Mulder prompted, and handed him the folder he carried. "Shit, I forgot. In that case, Happy Hanukah buddy. Now where's my New Years' kiss?" "Not on your life, Fro." Mulder growled and took one of the hundreds of laptops off the mile-high shelves in the back of the warehouse, where a young bearded man in a suit was obviously looking at some sort of scanner. "Jesus Christ, Doggett," said a young bearded man in a suit, "your electromagnetic readings on the security cam are through the roof." Sam wondered briefly if he wasn't brought in as a consultant--surely he couldn't be the third lone gunmen. "I think Dogman's been standing too close to the microwave these days, Byers." "Sorry you hadda be drug out here at this hour." Byers apologized. "We're doing all we can to help the situation." Sam nodded a thanks. "...most of this stuff wasn't even on the market when I left..." Sam said in quiet awe looking around the lair. "When you left where?" Piped up a man with blond stringy hair from behind a large computer. The glare from the screen gave his already pale skin almost a green complexion. "The psych ward?" "Take it easy on him, Langley. It's not his fault--I tell ya, Mulder, it's that FBI coffee." Frohike was saying, hunched over Langley. "I knew they put some sort of mind- deterioration drug in that sh*t. G-Dog, bring it up here, and we'll run some tests on it. It'll be fun." "So why was I brought here?" Sam asked, choosing to ignore the remarks at his expense. "Well, since my new position is about as mind-numbing as watching C-Span, I did some digging this afternoon. Apparently, there was a number called to one of the highest offices of the FBI exactly 36 times both prior to, during, and immediately after our investigation. I'm pooling our resources, trying to figure out exactly who in the FBI was making those calls, and who was doing the calling. If we can find those out, then maybe you, Scully, Reyes, and Starkweather can head up the investigation from there." It killed him that he couldn't be part of the chase anymore. "Starkweather found several AFB's with unexplained crashes like the one we nearly experienced in Edinborrough. You probably couldn't reach her on the phone earlier because I'll be willing to bet she was doing some digging of her own. She's looking tonight for connections between the oil company in the Gulf and those marine bases." "I've got a lock on that address, guys." Langley piped up triumphantly. "It's a payphone on Penn Avenue, and on the same corner as a bank." Sam took a laptop off the computer, and the four other men in the warehouse exchanged puzzled looks. "What in the name of Bill Gates and all that is Holy do you think you are doing?" Frohike sputtered. "I'm...uh...hooking this up to your mother board to see if I can find the shareholders for that oil company." The four were all still staring at Sam open-mouthed. "Gomer, since when did you start hacking? I didn't think Marines had time to score free porn." "I used to build computers and I configured a data system." "In the marines?" Mulder finished. Sam nodded. "Cool! He's one of us." Langley murmured in admiration. Sam was torn between being flattered and worried. Meanwhile Back to the future Quantum Leap HQ Al found himself pausing in front of the chamber where Doggett-in-Sam's body stayed. He could hear the hammers while Goushie and some other techs he didn't know very well were putting plywood in place of the mirror that Doggett had thoughtfully shattered for them. He looked at the kid, barely old enough to shave, but old enough to wear military fatigues and to hold a gun that outweighed him. "Howya doin'?" Al said in a defeated voice. "Sir, lousy, sir," the young man replied formally. Al grinned. At least the kid's sense of humor hadn't been completely stomped out of him. Al punched in his code and the door swooshed open. Doggett was sitting at the table, picking at the dinner they had brought for him, by request. He finished his mouthful of corn before he asked. "So, is this my last meal?" Al looked at the demolished plate of fried catfish, mustard greens, silver queen corn on the cob, homemade macaroni and cheese plus the untouched plate of peach cobbler and the half-empty glass of sweet tea and felt his stomach growl. However he was dreaming of a heaping plate of linguine with a side of chicken breast, drowning in a fine tomato sauce with a big bottle of red wine. He knew he was going to be eating take-out tonight though. Al pulled up a chair and said "You really think we're going to kill you?" Doggett shrugged. "I don't know what to think." "Listen, Doggett," Al sat down, "we don't have much time here. The big clock is ticking and I don't know how to get you to trust me, so I'm just gonna have to lay it on the line for you. "Alright," Doggett said, pushing his food away, giving his total attention to Al. "Lay it out for me," he drawled out condescendingly. Al bridled but kept his cool. "Someone is gunning for Mr. Starkweather," he said "and I don't think he will let Sam help him out of the mess he's gotten himself in." "Why not?" Doggett asked, feeling his cop instincts kicking in. "Because Ben thinks you are one step away from boinking his wife." "WHAT??" Al studied Doggett before he went on. The look of shock and indigation on Doggett-with-Sam's face had been too quick to be faked. But still, with what Ben accused Jerilyn of earlier that night, with what little she had offered as defense, Al had to know. Ben's life may depend on it. "Are you?" "Am I what?" "You know... you... Starkweather... heavy breathing?" "Oh, for Christ's sake!" Doggett bolted up, completely infuriated by now. "What kind of soap opera bullshit is this?" "Look, like it or not, believe me or not, but Sam is parading around in your body. If Ben believe that you and his missus are partners in every sense of the word, it's gonna be next than impossible for Same to help him unless we know how to tiptoe around Ben's ego so tell me straight up right now, you and Starkweather. Are you or aren't you?" Al persisted. Doggett crossed his arms. "We are not having an affair," he said coldly. "That is insulting to me, to Starkweather, to our work relationship and our friendship." Do you have feelings for her?" "What???" Now Doggett sounded disgusted. "Don't look at me like I'm nutso," Al snapped back. "I'm not dead yet and I'm surely not blind. Girl's got a nice shape to her, pretty eyes, and that hair! Oh my God in heaven, I saw her tonight with her hair down, why does she punish such lovely hair by putting it up in those God-awful uptight hairdos at work?" "Quit it," Doggett growled. "And the girl's smart as a whip, loyal as a dog and a heart of gold. Any man would be a fool not to notice," Al said seriously. "Especially a man who works as closely as you two do." "You make it sound like I'm up for a spot on The Dating Game," Doggett said evenly. "I've known Starkweather for less than two months. We've only worked one case." "Two months huh?" Al said. "And yet you guys are comfy enough to spend a late night alone after your little poker party broke up." Doggett fell silent. "You aren't protecting Starkweather's honor if you're holding back. What you say stays here. But I gotta know if there's any reason for Ben being jealous of you other than the fact that he's an insecure prick. Personally, I think their marriage was in the toilet LONG before you were in the picture and Ben is just using you as an excuse but still. I gotta know right now how you feel for that little Hurricane so I can tell Sam what to do, how to behave around both Ben AND Jerilyn. The sooner Sam knows that, the sooner he does his job, the sooner you get out of here and it would be like none of this ever happened." Doggett, sighed, his shoulders slumped. . Meanwhile... Ben and Jerilyn's apartment 2:26 AM Ben tossed and turned on the lumpy sofa bed couch he had unfolded for himself. Eventually, he gave up on sleep, swung himself up and reached for his cigarettes. Lighting up, he looked at the Zippo he held in his hand. Jerilyn had given it to him while they were dating. No special reason, she said. "If you're going to pollute the air, your lungs and me, you might as well look classy doing it," she had said airily while he had unwrapped the paper from the tiny package. Two months later he had scrounged up enough money for the down payment for the diamond solitaire she wore on her left finger. "Christ," he muttered. Still puffing on his cigarette, he wandered down the hall towards the bedroom he was banished from. He scootched the door open a bit and peeked in. Jerilyn was curled up in the fetal position, as usual. She had kicked off all the covers, as usual. The cat was sleeping in the crook of her bare legs, as usual. Ben tiptoed in and hovered over her, helplessly. He reached out as if he was about to move a long lock of her hair out of her sleeping face, looking so deceivingly innocent, but he stopped himself and turned away to go out on the balcony. Outside, taking another Morley out of his pack, he looked out at the city he felt like such an alien in. The East Coast was a whole new world to that Midwestern boy and he wasn't sure he liked it. No, he KNEW he didn't like it, but at the time, it seemed like such an opportunity for Jerilyn. A toe in the door in Washington, a chance to clean up the somewhat blotted record she earned at the Minneapolis Field Office because her partner and her boss either didn't like her intellect, her femininity or both. It was either transfer to DC or have those years spent at Quantico, go to waste. Ben thought the sacrifice wasn't that great for him to make. Now he found it unbearable. He tried to hide his homesickness from his wife, she of the military moveabout life, knew nothing about roots, lifelong neighbors, friendships maintained from kindergarten. He still found himself wandering the streets of Washington like a tourist, treating the nation's capital like a vacation instead of home. Once he learned of the nature of the X-Files, he had breathed a sigh of relief. Jerilyn was not prone to flights of fancy. Ben sincerely believed his wife when she told him that the X-Files was just a stepping stone to something bigger and greater. At the time, she desperately dreamed of being an instructor at Quantico. Like an good soldier's daughter, she plotted her life in an intricate battle plan. One, two years maximum tour of duty in the X-Files, clean up her blotted record, then request a transfer to the Violent Crimes Division (VICAP). Three years in the field for VICAP. No more, no less. Then wait patiently for a teaching opening at her mecca, her Holy Land. She preferred a position in forensics, her specialty, but profiling would suit her just as well. Ben went along with her, on the surface, supporting his wife and anxious to see the world beyond the Midwest, but deep down in darkness where he held secrets he didn't even know existed, he had hoped that Jerilyn would get tired of the political bullshit of DC and would want to return to the Land of Ten Thousand Lakes or even the Land Between Two Rivers, he really hadn't minded Iowa all that much during the seven years he spent their for the Air National Guard and for college and law school. He completely did not expect Jerilyn to completely immerse herself into the X-Files. She had only been on one case so far, which took her to Scotland of all places and had nearly been killed, not once, not twice, not even three times, but four times. He didn't expect his wanderlusting wife, child of perpetually moving military family to sink her roots down in the capital and call DC "home." Ben had prepared himself to spend five years in Washington, then possibly ten more in Virginia, moving closer to Quantico... but he always pictured himself and Jerilyn moving back to Minnesota, buying a house on a lake, opening it up during the summer for the children and grandchildren he was beginning to wonder if he would ever have. That was the clincher. Ben was not a bad guy, he was just an ordinary guy, a "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington" type of guy, but at the end of the movie, Mr. Smith eventually returned home from Washington. He wanted his law practice, he wanted a wife, he wanted kids, he wanted the two-story house like his parents had and the white picket fence, a cat and a dog. **Well, I've got the cat,** Ben told himself, tongue in cheek as he smoked from his balcony while Jerilyn slept on inside. He had also hoped that once he and Jerilyn started to have children, Jerilyn would rethink about being in such a dangerous profession. Dead wives also make lousy mothers. He snorted in disgust as he remembered their fight earlier that night. He scoffed at the notion that he was in danger. He didn't understand what the big deal was. It was not a mob case. It was not a war crime case. It was a stinking little environmental case that the only winners from the legal battle was going to be the lawyers. Ben groaned. Did Jerilyn not understand how much money he was going to walk away from this? He was a rookie lawyer who, after landing this case, was told to bill the clients, the benevolent government of the United States of America, $150 an hour. He had already put in twenty-five hours on the case, bringing the pre-tax total up to $3750, which the firm advanced him in a pretty check that was folded up in Ben's wallet. Ben, child of a homemaker and a grammar school principal, had never imagined making so much money at once. It was one of the more compelling reasons why he went into law. He was on his way to becoming a wealthy man, a wealthy man who only wanted to spend his money on his family. Before the scene in Skinner's office today, he was daydreaming about what he was going to do with all that lovely money once the case was over and done with. He would send some to his parents because his dad was always talking about buying a new little fishing boat, but never had the cash on hand. He would buy little gifts for the spoiled rotten bratty children of his older sister. He would buy a new car for Jerilyn so they wouldn't have to share the POS Dodge they both have been driving around for two years now. He wanted to get a new motorcycle and let Jerilyn keep the little Suzuki they had now. He wanted to put a down payment on a nice house in one of Washington's finer suburbs. He wanted the life of a well-to-do upper class ordinary man. To have this, he realized with a sinking heart, he would also have to have an ordinary woman to be his wife and Jerilyn was less than ordinary. Ben paused to think how relations had been steadily deteriorating, long before their move to Washington, long before the tragic miscarriage Jerilyn suffered a while ago. Almost two years too late, Ben made the horrible realization that he married the wrong woman. She was too fiery, too unpredictable, too ambitious, too stubborn, too wild for a simple hearted man like him. He cringed at the idea of divorce, being a good Catholic boy but also because he loathed to concede defeat. At anything. Which made him a good lawyer. But still, sitting alone in his office working on his legal strategies or in his apartment, watching the Twins play ball, sipping beer, divorce was beginning to sound less and less heinous. He was alone all the time anyway, with Jerilyn cooped up in the hellhole the FBI laughingly called "the X-Files office" or when the same said FBI sent her off on another snipe hunt that put her life on the line one more time, putting her right in front of a gun, a poison, a bomb, a speeding van, a crashing plane... being a divorcee seemed infinitely more appealing than waiting to be a childless widow. There was just one problem though. He loved her. TLG Lair 4:17 AM "If I can find the stockholder's list, maybe we'll get lucky." "If this is your idea of getting lucky--" Mulder started "Shuddup, Mulder." Sam grumbled, having about all he could take of Mulder's snide remarks. "Sorry Doggett." Mulder said sheepishly, "my smart-ass- ometer is in direct correllation to my stress level." "I know, Mulder. Believe it or not, I'm on your side here. I've got people working for me on another end on our side" "Doggett, we need Knowell working for this situation like you need a hole in your head." "It's *NOT* Knowell. Believe me, these friends are on the level. I trust my life with them as much as you trust your life with Scully. The whole world is not out to get you, Mulder." "Well, I hope you meant what you said about trusting these friends, because the future of the x-files depends on it." "The x-files is my job now; I'm not about to let you or Scully down, and as long as it's in my power, I won't let the x-files close. Understood?" Sam silently added, and continued to key in data, hoping that what he said got through to Mulder. "Shizayum." Langly said quietly about an hour later. "I've got something here you boys might wanna take a look at." The four crouched around the huge computer screen. "Look who owns 5K of shares in the oil company...about halfway down the list of shareholders." "That explains a whole damn lot. No wonder the b*stard got jumpy when we wanted to investigate." Mulder growled, his voice growing steadily louder. "Dammit...I can't BELIEVE I was fired over a STUPID CONFLICT OF INTEREST!" He said, banging his head in slow repetative motion on the top of Langly's computer. "Not too hard, buddy, you'll break the equipment." Langly nasalled. Halfway down the list earning nearly 2 million in dividends every year in stock of a certain oil company based in the Gulf of Mexico was Deputy Director Kersh. Sam whipped out his cell phone. "Who are you calling?" Mulder asked from his station. "The Ghostbusters." Sam deadpanned. "I'm calling Starkweather. She needs to know about this mess before she goes to work in the morning." He hit the last button on Doggett's cell-phone, figuring that was the last person he would have added to the list. "Doggett, what early bird bit *your* wormy ass at this hour? God! The grass isn't even up yet." "Look, I'm sorry about the hour, but we've been digging all night, and there's something you should know about before you leave for the office." "I'll bring the doughnuts." "Kersh is in on it." "Fuckin' A!" Starkweather murmured, bolting upright. "How?" "I'll explain later...Scully'll pick you up for breakfast, in a couple of hours and we'll discuss what we'll do then." Starkweather hung up the phone, and sat still on the bed, half-heartedly praying that this whole night was nothing more than a bad dream. Needing to clear her head, she decided to plait her hair in braids and change into more suitable clothes for jogging. "Ben?" She called out, timidly opening the bedroom door. "Hey listen I--" She stopped in mid-sentence when she saw that the couch hadn't been slept on, and Ben was nowhere to be found. "Sonuvabitch musta gotten a hotel room." She growled. "I hope the clerk didn't speak fucking English and the people next door were having REALLY loud sex ALL night long." She ranted, forgetting the hour. She got a bottle of water, then went back for an extra one. She was going to need to run across the country to clear her head of last nights disasters...but she would have to settle for as long as rush hour traffic would allow her. Back at the TLG lair, Sam hung up the phone. "She took that well." Sam chagrinned. "Mulder, you wanna call Scully?" "Wait to call Scully for another hour, Doggett, unless you wanna face her wrath. She'd kill both of us if we woke up Will." Deciding he was right, Sam resigned himself to try and find any connections he could with the oil company and the AFB's. an hour later... "Boys, we're not getting anywhere on this." Mulder sighed defeatedly, glancing at his watch. "We might as well give it a rest for a while." "Mulder, you think the caller would be likely to use the payphone again any time soon?" Sam asked, downing a gulp of coffee. He thought, hoping silently that Mulder wouldn't think the caller would be back. "They could be." Mulder said quietly after a moment of thoughtful silence. "It's a big possibility--especially with the trial coming up." For the first time that night, Mulder seemed hopeful. The gunmen all exchanged tortured glances, and then silently made the decision for Byers to relay it. "What if we did a stakeout of that payphone corner?" "We could at least get a handle on who's making the calls, and get our first solid link. I think that could be just what you need, Mulder." Frohike agreed. "Just bring us some supplies, ok?" Langley nasalled. "Thanks boys, I really appreciate this" Mulder said, and then looking down, evaluating his appearance, he realized he needed something else. "...but what I really need right now is a shower and a shave and a change. I gotta be at work in a few hours." "Yeah, me too." With that, Sam and Mulder left the warehouse, minds buzzing from too much caffeine and a sleepless night. "You coming to our breakfast meeting, Mulder?" Sam asked, glad to be seeing the light of day and back in his own house. It wasn't that he didn't like the boys, he just didn't like walking on eggshells constantly. "Yeah, I'll bring Scully with me. Maybe if we put our heads together, we can come up with something." Something in his tone sounded almost sad and defeated. *********************************************************** Georgetown, Scully's Apt. 7:52 am "Mulder..." Scully scolded, "God, you look awful. You would think you were the one up with Will half the night." She said, handing the baby over to Mulder. "You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago." "Morning, Sunshine." He smirked. Mulder gave her an apologetic smile and sat down at the breakfast table in her kitchen, and began absently bouncing the baby on his lap, who still had processed plums all over him. "The boys and me were up late doing some digging." "Will's developed a new sport, haven't you sweetheart?" Scully said in her Motherese voice, bending next to Mulder to wipe the purple babyfood off Will's chubby face, hands, and legs. "It's called Babyfood Toss. The one who gets the most all over Mommy's favorite blazer wins. Extra points for Mommy's hair." Then, in her professional voice, she turned to Mulder. "What did you find? "Kersh is in on it. We're meeting Starkweather and Doggett over breakfast to discuss a gameplan in about an hour." "You have *got* to be kidding." "He gets cushy dividends with that oil company in the Gulf, along with a few other top military officials." "You have *got* to be kidding." Mulder shook his head, stood up, and scooped the baby up with him, and held him over his head, sending the toddler giggling. "I don't kid about the x-files." Then he put Will down in his walker, and sat back down at the breakfast table, raking his hands through his hair. "God, Scully, this is *my* fault...I'm sorry for all this..." "All what, Mulder? What's *your* fault?" Scully asked softly, and sat across from him, every now and then steeling a glance over at Will. "If I hadn't been abducted, none of..." he broke off, not being able to finish the sentence. "That's not your fault, Mulder. You can't blame yourself for what happened. To this day, I think Skinner still feels guilty about what happened to you..." She cautiously took her hand in his, he was trembling with emotions he wasn't quite sure how to define. Scully moved next to him now, wrapping herself around his shaking form in the chair, firmly squeezing his hand. "Oh God, Scully," he choked, startled and chastising himself for breaking down in her kitchen. "I'm sorry..." "While you were gone, I tried to do our job like you did...and I couldn't...and I blamed myself for that...but when Will came, I realized that what happened is nobody's fault except the monsters that took you." "You really think they're gonna shut down the x-files this time?" He asked, walking over to the baby, and lifting him out of his walker. "They've shut us down before. Someone told me once to never give up on a miracle. We'll get to the bottom of this, and go back to chasing little green men before you know it." "They're gray." He deadpanned, and waited with the baby till she got her business suit changed and her hair rewashed. Back to the Future QLHQ Al leaned forward, anticipating Doggett's answer, not really sure what to expect. He just hoped it wouldn't be mushy. Doggett's fists clenched up. His gaze got chilly again. "Starkweather is a great gal," Doggett said. "I admire her, I respect her. I like her. Not that junior high "do you like me or you like-LIKE me" crap. I enjoy working with her, I enjoy talking to her, I enjoy her company. You are right about her marriage going down the drain. That's what we talked about the night she stayed late at my apartment. She needed to vent. The reason why she didn't tell Ben what we talked about is because she mainly referred to him as 'asshole' the entire time we talked." "Funny," Al said, "she had no problem telling THAT to his face tonight." "She's thinking about going to a lawyer," Doggett confessed. "She's thinking about getting papers drawn up. And how good is that gonna look, huh? Starkweather just blurting out 'Well, Ben, the reason why I came home so late is because I spent the night weighing the pros and cons of divorcing you with the man you think I'm screwin' on the side.' She was thinking divorce long before I was in the picture. She almost divorced him after her miscarriage-" "Miscarriage?" Al asked. "What miscarriage?" Feeling like a traitor, Doggett said, "It ain't really my story to tell. I thought you already knew, since you seem to know so much anyway... about a year ago, the Starkweathers got pregnant and when she was shopping with her mother-in-law, Starkweather started to bleed heavily and ended up losing her baby in a mall's bathroom. According to Starkweather, Ben was wonderful, supportive, so on and so forth. But when they fight, he likes to point out that if she wasn't so career and goal orientated, they might not have lost that baby. He's always apologetic of course... but..." Doggett didn't go on, for the rest of what Starkweather said that night was none of Al's business. A few days before Sam's leap into Doggett Doggett's apartment Washington DC 1:35 AM Eastern Standard Time "But wow... when he's pissed and it's in the heat of the fucking moment," Starkweather said, sitting next to Doggett on the stairs leading up to Doggett's modest patio in back of his apartment. She shook her head, finished off the last sip of warm Bud Light, then reached behind her for another frosty bottle. She gestured to Doggett, holding the beer with her good hand, holding up her useless broken wrist in the air. Doggett popped the top for her. "Thanks." "No problem." "You know, it doesn't help ME get over the miscarriage when it's constantly rubbed in my face that it's my fault," she said bitterly. "You know it's not your fault." "I know that intellectually, but in my heart... I don't know, Doggett. I mean... I wasn't ready for kids, I'm still not so I guess it's a blessing in disguise. But, my God, Doggett," there was real hurt in her smokey voice. "I heard it's heart beat. I had just been to the doctor a few days before and I listened to the heartbeat and I started to get excited and maternal. I started daydreaming if it'd be a boy or a girl, if it'd look like me or Ben. I started picking out baby names. I called Linda-" her mother-in-law "-and asked her if she wanted to come with me to pick out a crib, maybe look at baby toys. Two days later, I'm waking up in ICU in critical condition because I nearly bled out. I know Ben wanted that baby more than I did... but that was only at first. I was just scared and overwhelmed and panic- stricken and constantly nauseous and in total denial. I just didn't believe that this was happening to me. I was on the Pill. We were careful. I freaked. I was like, "I'm not ready for this." But then I listened to the heartbeat and I thought "Yes I am. I am so ready for this." But it wasn't meant to be, so I guess I'm really not. Wait, I KNOW I'm not. I can't handle the idea of putting my career on hold again to start a family and I REALLY can't handle losing another baby if Ben and I would start a family. Once is enough. You know?" Doggett had been silent throughout Starkweather's entire speech, nodded. "Yeah, I do," he thought. "My ex-wife wanted to try for another baby after we lost Luke... but..." he shook his head. "I couldn't. I didn't wanna have a kid just replace Luke, like he was the family dog who we put to sleep and we went and got a new puppy the very next day. But I didn't understand my wife's need to have mor children. She didn't see it as replacing Luke. She saw it as mourning and honoring out son and getting on with our lives. Eventually, after a long, messy divorce, she found someone else and last time I talked to her, she has had two little girls with him." The agents sat in a comfortable silence sipping beer; listening to the sounds of a city alive at night in the dog days of August. "Was it really bad?" Starkweather asked after a bit, in a small voice. "What? The divorce?" Doggett asked, reaching for another beer. Starkweather nodded her head. "Yeah," he said in his typical honesty tempered by a soft Georgia drawl. "It was bad. The last time my wife and I talked, wasn't exactly civil." "Hm," Starkweather drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around herself. "I wonder if Ben would contest." "You're talkin' as if it's a done deal, like you've got your mind made up." Oh, Christ Almighty Papa John," Starkweather groaned. "You know what a wuss I'm being about this. One minute I'm all 'That motherfucker' but the next I'm all 'I love him!!' I don't know what the hell is going on. He whines about me never being home, but gee, I get bitchslapped by shapeshifting boogeyman and the Skin-man grants me a month of leave and Ben's gone at the office most of the time. You don't know how excited I was to come over and play cards tonight. I was to the point I was almost happy to see the Deputy Mayor." "Almost," Doggett grinned, ever conscious of the feud between Mulder and Starkweather and yet amused by the amazing (almost creepy) similarities between the two. "Almost," Starkweather said, rolling her eyes. "Not quite." "Well, it's an improvement," Doggett mollified her, not realizing the shitstorm that was going to erupt in a few days when Sam would leap into his body and he would be trying to escape the Quantum Leap compound while Sam would helplessly watch the mother of fights between Starkweather and Mulder. "I suppose," Starkweather said, also not a seer of the future, "he'd alright if he wasn't so goddamn arrogant and condescending." "Look who's talking!" "Doggett," Starkweather deadpanned, fluttering her lashes dramatically. "I DO NOT condescend." "Uh huh." "Plus I kind of have to be nice to him now since he saved my ass." A sentiment she would throw out the window the minute Mulder stormed into the X-Files office accusing her of setting him up. "How diplomatic." "I can be when I feel like it," she said airily, tossing her long hair like a proud pony. "I just wish I could find the right words to make things right with Ben... even if making things right means cutting him loose." She groaned. "This is terrible. I'm talking about dumping my husband while he's working his fingers to the bone at the office trying to secure some big high dollar law suit so we won't be so fucking broke. We got into a spat earlier tonight because he calls and tells me that this weekend we're supposed to go out with a bunch of his new friends from the law firm and their wives. He calls me as I'm doing bills and the money prognosis is not good right now. We blew our savings moving here. We quibble whether or not we can afford to go out to dinner, even though it's just going to beer and hot dogs at Hooters-" Doggett interrupted her. "Hooters?" he said in disbelief. Starkweather shrugged. "Retarded, isn't it." She looked up at the few stars brilliant enough to outshine the street lights. "But that's where his friends go after work, so... and even though money is really tight, especially with me not working at the moment... I gave in. And I hate myself for it." She sighed. "God, this sucks. I don't know what to do, Papa John." She rested her head on her knees, turning her china doll face to look at him, her hazel eyes turning into a deeper golden brown color, shaded by her turmoil. "Don't look at me!" Doggett said "I don't got the answers," as he reached over and patted his partner's arm companionably. "I know," she said miserably, reaching over with her broken wrist and resting her fingertips on his hand, which he left on her arm. "But at least you aren't pulling any fake 'it's-gonna-be-alright' bullshit answers out of your ass." "You know I won't lie to you," Doggett said seriously, slipping his hand from out under Starkweather's to push a lock of her hair out of her eyes. He hated talking to women with hair in their eyes. "I'd love to tell you that it IS gonna be alright, but we both know that's a load of BS. Just know that I've got your back no matter which way you choose, whether you're gonna stay with 'Mrs. Starkweather' or if you're going to go back to 'Dr. Bailey.'" Starkweather grinned. "Oh, no matter what happens, I'm going to stick with 'Agent Starkweather'," she said. "It sounds so much more bad-ass that 'Agent Bailey.'" She stood up and stood in front of Doggett. "I better get going... it's way late..." she unexpectedly kissed Doggett on the top of his head. "Thanks for being such a decent human being." "Doc, I do believe you're tanked." "Naaaahh," she said, weaving just a bit. "Wha' makes you shay that?" "The fact that you just slurred that entire sentence. C'mon," he said, ever the gentlemen, taking her small, calloused hand into his, touching nothing else. "You're drunk, I'm getting drunk, neither one of us is in any shape to drive you home, the bugs are gettin' bad, come on in and I'll make you some coffee." "You know," Starkweather said as Doggett lead her up the stairs and inside his apartment. "If we keep up with all this hand holding mushy sh*t, people at the Bureau might start saying we're the next Mulder and Scully." "Oh God," Doggett groaned. "I need that like a hole in my head." "I wouldn't worry about it," Starkweather said with an impish grin. "I'm sure you get laid a whole lot more than Mulder ever did." "A lady never uses vulgar language, Mrs. Starkweather." "Pbbsssst," Starkweather blew a raspberry at him. "Since when have I been a lady?" But she still held his hand. They stood in the door frame, being sucking on by little vampiric mosquitoes, close enough to kiss. Doggett and Starkweather stood there for a bit, like teenagers loathing to call a night to a close, but realizing that they had curfews to meet. Still holding his hand, Starkweather walked up to Doggett and rested her head on his chest. Doggett, feeling a bit awkward, stroked her pretty hair with his free hand, resting his cheek against her head, saying nothing, just being a friend. But she lingered a little longer than a friend would have normally, still holding his other hand, interlocking her fingers with his, squeezing. Starkweather then looked up at Doggett, and pushed him away. Maybe she heard his heart beating, maybe she heard his breath catch in his throat, but something scared her a little, because Doggett noticed she was trembling and wide-eyed like the proverbial deer in the headlight. "Look," she said "you're drunk, I'm drunk plus I'm depressed and not really in a state of mind to make rational decisions and it's not like... I mean... aw hell, Doggett, things are f*cked up as is. I don't want it to get weird." She paused, and grinned. "Damn weird." she mocked him gently. He laughed. "Jiminy Christmas," now he teased her, using her tamest expletive. "Relax. It's not going to get weird, Mrs. Starkweather." Doggett, holding her good hand, the left hand, lifted it up and pecked it like a gentlemen. He examined the diamond solitaire glistening on the pinkie finger. "Wrong finger, Doc," he said. "I can't get it on the correct finger at the moment," Starkweather said. "How about that coffee," she said, customary smirk on her face, walking inside, crisis past... Back at QLHQ As Doggett glared at Al, he thought **How am I supposed to explain that when I don't even understand what the hell happened myself?** 9:05 AM FBI Headquarters Deputy Director Kersh's office ******************************** "Assistant Director, you should be commended." Kersh began coolly. "With the exception of a few incidents regarding Agents Mulder, Scully, and Doggett, your work record is spotless." "So for all my efforts, I should be getting stocked up on suntan and flamingos, and expect my company watch in the mail?" Skinner glowered. It wasn't in his character to snap at his superiors, but then again, it wasn't in his character to give up on what was right, either. After all that he had been through for the x-files office, after all everyone involved had sacrificed for the Truth, he couldn't just walk away. He owed Mulder that much. "For all your efforts, I was going to say that you should be very proud of what you have done, Assistant Director. You seem to have a win-win situation on your hands, A.D. Skinner." Skinner clinched his jaw, not wanting to hear his options out. "What do I win-win here, sir?" "Allow Agents Doggett and the Deputy Mayor to testify on behalf of the Bureau and close their investigations into this matter, and rest easy with a tidy pention. It will be not only good publicity for the FBI, but it will exhonorate the Deputy Mayor. You would be a damn fool not to cooperate with me on this one, A.D. We all get what we want here. Before you make your decision, I have already allowed litigations to be carried out on the matter. Fox Mulder and John Doggett both have subpoenas, as well as Dana Scully and Jerilyn Starkweather." "Sir," Skinner almost-growled, trying hard to keep his voice controlled and steady, "if those agents testify, then you may very well loose any chance you ever had of recovering any of the injustices that had transpired on that oil rig." "Then that is a risk we will have to take." Kersh said, standing now behind his desk. "Those testimonies very well may bring light on the truth. I am trying to do what is best for the FBI here. Frankly, we need good publicity right now with all that's happened around here lately. If the country knows how dedicated its top agents are, it just may do the trick." "Don't think I'll be bribed to leave my position, sir." Skinner said, standing up now and almost shouting. "I cannot sell out to the people under me." "That will be all, A.D." Kersh said crisply, and Skinner stormed out. Skinner wasn't back from the meeting for five minutes before the phone rang. "Skin--" Mulder was saying, but Skinner broke him off. "Mulder if you start that Skin-man crap with me today you would rather have your face ripped off again." He growled, throwing his glasses down, clinching his jaw and raking the tip of his fingers up and down his sinuses. "We've got a situation on our hands here, Sir. Scully's left to get Starkweather, and Doggett's on his way over. I don't wanna say over FBI phones what it is." Mulder said on the other end of the line, hoping that the clank-crash he just heard wasn't an irreparable disaster. "You don't know the half of it." Skinner growled. "Everything alright on your end? "Yeah, I'm babysitting at Scully's right now...that kid is superhuman, right, Sir?" "Cut the "sir" crap, Mulder...you're not working for me anymore..." "How soon can you get over here?" He said, frantically trying to conceal the dent in the plaster of Scully's kitchen wall that Will's walker had just made with duct tape. Will, still in his walker, was gurgling and clapping his hands. "I'll be over there in about half an hour." He hung up and told Kimberly to hold all his calls and that he'd be gone for an undisclosed amount of time. "If Kersh calls for me, tell him to go to hell." He said in all seriousness, and stormed out to the FBI parking lot. Washington, D.C. Le Pane Cafe (A French Cafe in Downtown Washington) 9:13 AM ****************** Only if you were people-watching would you notice the two elderly men sitting at one of the tables in the back of the cafe. "I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you for all this." One of the men said, swatting at freshly puffed smoke blown carelessly in his face. "My little Jerri can finally have all she deserves. My wifes' last memory should not have been--" the man's broken voice trailed off, emotionally unable to form the words to complete it. "I should be grateful to you, Admiral." Said the other man in a callous, steady voice, taking another puff of his Morley. "All my work has come to this. He has served his purpose for us, and it is too dangerous for him to continue. Who knows who else's lives he's destroyed. Justice can finally be done, thanks to your help. You will be remembered for this. I will see that Agent Starkweather gets all you've ever wanted for her." "My son-in-law will see to that." "I have no doubt that he takes care of her, but he may prevent us from finishing our task if his investigations are fruitfull in this matter in the Gulf. We cannot fail this time, Admiral. Your daughter depends upon it." He absently took another puff of his cigarette. "What do you need me to do? "All I need you to do for her to get that is to set a trap." "What kind of a trap?" "A foxtrap." "It will be done." "For your little girl's sake, I hope so." The old man put out his cigarette and walked out, as if nothing was discussed. ***************************************************** 9:07 AM In Scully's car on the way back to her apartment ************************************************* Starkweather and Scully sat in silence for a while. It wasn't that they didn't feel like talking...just that the radio was the only thing keeping Scully from falling asleep at the wheel. The Monkees were blaring over the airwaves at fullblast. I thought love was only true in fairytales Meant for someone else but not for me love was out to get me that's the way it .... ...the signal wavered out for a couple of lines as they passed under a bridge... Now I'm a believer Not a trace of doubt in my mind Starkweather, needing either music to be pissed-off by or to scream, abruptly cut the radio off. "Something up Starkweather?" Scully asked, after a few minutes of awkward silence. "Ben and I had a knock-down drag-out last night. He got a hotel." "What about?" "I don't even know anymore." She confided. "I tried to talk him out of prosecuting the oil company case, and he made it crystal clear that he doesn't want me in the FBI anymore." "Is that what *you* want?" Scully implored her, glancing at her as soon as traffic allowed. "I want to make this marriage work. Love is such a godaamn bitch!" "For what it's worth, Starkweather, you're an asset to this office. I don't know if we would've found the connection with Kersh without your digging around the AFB's. And don't let what Mulder said yesterday get to you, either. He may be an arrogant shithead sometimes, but his heart's in the right place. Besides, I told him if he starts anything with you at this meeting he would opt to go back with the aliens. So you'll call a truce?" Starkweather cracked a small smile. "Only if you help me come up with a new nickname for him." "I think that can be arranged." She said with a wan smile. They erupted into peels of giggling like two high school girls as Scully pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex. Meanwhile Back at the QLHQ that morning Al came in, so proud of his new suit, an obnoixious metallic maroon zoot-suit, with a relatively sober black dress blouse and a skinny matching "Regis" metallic black tie. Goushie looked up. "Geez, Al, don't stand in direct sunlight, you'll blind everyone." "HA. HA." Al grumbled, not a morning person. "How's Ziggy?" "Well..." Goushie hedged. "We still working on the error that's allowing Mulder and Starkweather to see you." "Starkweather can't see me," Al wearily reminded him. "Just hear." "Um... not yet..." "What?" "Um..." Now Goushie cringed. "We think we've picked up a computer virus somewhere and it's mutating. We've got some other programs that are going absolutely haywire right now, but as of right now, nothing that will directly affect Sam's leap," he rushed on, eager to reassure Al. "Unless something else goes caca and poof, here I am in front of that wildcat. This is a secure building, Goushie" Al growled. "Only certain people have access to the Internet and our Intranet. How did a virus get into our systems?" "Um, we think one of the boys from Marine Security Forces disabled the security lock-out so he can surf the World Wide Web for porn," Goushie was now visibly sweating. "We've got it nailed down to three suspects right now, they're in lock up." "Oh that's just great. Terrific. Marvelous. Marines... the Few, the Proud, the Horny," Al ranted. "How's Sam doing?" he asked him. "Not good," Goushie, through Ziggy, was able to monitor Sam's vital stats through every leap. "His blood pressure is higher than I've ever seen on any other leap. Heart rhythms going batsy too." "Whaddya mean?" Al asked. "Does Agent Rabid Dog's body have a heart condition that we don't know about?" "No," Goushie was quick to assure him. "When Agent Doggett is in Agent Doggett's body, he takes very good care of himself. He eats like a pig, but he runs it all off. He was up at the butt crack of dawn, doing calthestinics." "Goody for him," Al said sourly. He too saw dawn's early light, but that was when he was going home for a shower and a short nap. "What about Sam?" "Sam's in a state of hyped up adrenline. Too much sugar, too much caffeine, too much stress. And this is only one day. He's going to burn out fast if he doesn't get some down time." "Time???" Al groaned. "Goushie, we don't GOT time, you know that!! We are literally," Al looked at his watch "hours away from Benny boy from being lifted. Ziggy's sick with a virus, all I got about the Missus Starkweather from Doggett was a whole lot of nothin'. Sam's out there, twisting in the wind..." a horrible thought crossed Al's mind. "Goushie, this virus is nowhere near the mainframe or the power grid... is it?" "That's the other thing I've got to tell you..." Goushie said timidly. "We may have to shut down Ziggy for a few hours to-" "NO!" Al thundered at the poor scientist. "We CAN NOT shut down, we CAN NOT leave Sam back there on his own!" "What happens if we crash out completely?" Goushie fired back. "What if this virus gets into the modems of the Crays and we go down for days??? Weeks? Sam could leap and we would lose precious time trying to find him. We may never find him. He'd be good as dead." Al's normally jovial face looked puckered and drawn. He pulled a cigar out of his coat pocket and lit it, chewing it ferociously. "Look," Goushie said tiredly. "Shutting down is our last resort. The techs are on it right now, trying to reconfigure the coding, to contain the virus so it doesn't spread. They've already got the firewalls built. So far except for the hologram glitch, Ziggy is virtually untouched, knock on wood. The only problem for Ziggy that this virus is causing is that it will not let us de- configure your brainwaves from Mulder's and sub consequentially Starkweather's. As of this moment, it is a issue, but a controlled one. The problem is what could happen if we don't figure out how to wipe that little bugger out of Ziggy. This virus has also gotten into a few office computers and wreaked hell. The techs are using those as cadavers if you will to figure out how the hell to stop this thing if the virus reconforms, figures out how to bypass the firewalls and start to take a trip down Ziggy's Memory Lanes. If we shut Ziggy down, it would be for five, six hours max to do a diagnostic and maybe, if worse comes to worse, put a new motherboard in her main modem, reboot, reinstall the Quantum Leap programming and bring her back up at the bare mimimum of capacity until we get her other systems powered up and operational. The holding chamber is on a completely different driver than Ziggy. That does not need to power down. If for some reason, Sam leaps, we've got power to support the leap. The problem is we won't be able to track him for at least a day. The tracking capabilities are tied to the holographic imagining chamber which is directly tied to Ziggy. If Ziggy gets completely infected and goes down..." "Sam goes down too," Al muttered. "Alright, Goush. Do what you gotta do, but WARN me if and when you gotta tuck the old girl in for a nap. Sam should be aware that he might be swimming alone for a few hours." "If it happens, it will happen in approximately 72 hours." Goushie said. "If... and Al, please, remember, this is a BIG if, if it needs to happen, we've scheduled it to be offline at night." "At night!" Al groaned, shuffling towards the imagining chamber. "Goush, buddy, this is an X-File, all the good stuff happens at night. Ziggy!" he called out. "Sorry you're not feeling well honey, but I need to see Sam right away...." Doggett Residence Georgetown, VA 7:51 AM ******************* Sam was not doing well. His heart was beating at an unnaturally fast pace, and his medical training told him that he couldn't live like this much longer without going into cardiac arrest. If he couldn't get to Ben Starkweather in time, who knows how long he would be in that state? Al was waiting for him in Doggett's house after his long night with the Gunmen. "How's it going Sam?" "Besides being in a constant state of hypertention, fine." "I know, pal. Just hang in there, we'll getchya through this. Doggett's calmed down back there, but one of the stupid marines got Ziggy a virus. We may need to shut down." "They can't shut Ziggy down! Al," Sam was panicking, "Ben gets killed by the end of today if I can't--they can't--" Sam felt his head spinning. "Calm down, Sam. It's only a possibility right now, we've got all the personnel we have on this one, making sure that doesn't happen. You, Spooky, and the three stooges find anything last night?" "Kersh is in on it." "Why am I not surprised." Al said, and took a puff of his cigar. "I'm due over at Scully's in a little while with everyone to come up with a gameplan. Can you nail an exact time for Ben's death?" "Coroners placed the time of death between 4 and 4:30 am tonight." "So, all I need to do is find a way to prove the connection between Kersh and the oil company before the end of the day. Any ideas?" "I'll go and talk to Doggett back there, see if he can say anything. Figure out what you can from the A.D. and I'll pool my resources to see what we can dig up." "Remember, hang in there. We'll do what we can to get you outta here as fast as possible." said Al, trying to be optimistic, and opened the chamber door. Sam got a shower and changed clothes, and left for Scully's apartment. ***************************************************** Scully's Apt. Georgetown, VA 9:35 AM **************** "Scully, don't go into your kitchen." Mulder said, grinning sheepishly as soon as her and Starkweather walked through the door. "We're having the meeting here. I just called Skinner over." "Mulder? What did you do to my--where's Will?" She said, eyes widening, going to the kitchen. "OH MY GOD! Muuuuuuuuuuulder!!" "Sorry Scully, I'll get you a new kitchen wall." Then turning to Starkweather, says "So, Starkweather, can we call it a truce?" "If you count a bib with little ducks on it a white flag, sure." She said, awkwardly looking around the apartment. "Have a seat." Mulder said. "Just for the record, I'd like to forget our little discussion earlier." "I'll take that as an apology. So whatchya got?" "You guys playing nice?" Scully said, coming out of the kitchen. "It is not perhaps the warmest of friendships." Mulder said, taking a seat on a chair across from Starkweather. He noticed for the first time how much her eyes looked like his fathers'. "Scully, you made me an offer I couldn't refuse. I won't send him postcards, but I won't murder him." Starkweather said, doing her best impression of Marlon Brando. "Cue the mandolins." Scully deadpanned, going into the kitchen to rescue Will from his rocker. "Hey, Scully," Mulder called after her, "If they made a movie about us again, what do you think about Al Pacino playing me? He's cool." Mulder said, taking the baby. "He's a god, but, Mulder, I thought Paul Reiser was in 'Mad About You'" Scully teased, giving Starkweather an "I-can't- believe-we're-having-this-discussion" look. "You wanna hold the baby?" Mulder asked Starkweather, handing her the baby. "Who'll they get to play me?" Starkweather whined, and then in baby-talk, giving the baby a raspberry in between words. "Yeeeeeees Will, who *phhhhbbbbbwwwwt* will *phhhhhhhbbbbbwwwt* play phhhhhhbbbbbwwwt* me?" "Oh, we'll get the special effects guys to come with something for your part." Scully and Starkweather both flashed Mulder a warning look. Mulder was saved just then as the doorbell rang. Scully went to get the door. "Thanks for your help on this. Come on in, John." "Hey, that bad guy from T2 would be PERFECT to play Doggett." Mulder smirked. "Shut up, Mulder." Sam returned dryly. Skinner came to the door as soon as Sam came in the door, and Mulder showed them both in. Sam went over to Starkweather and Will, and looked disbelieving over at Mulder and Scully. "Look, Starkweather," he said taking the baby, "finally someone Mulder can relate to around here." "So what are we going to do?" Mulder asked collectively. They all sat there, all exchanging blank glances for a few awkward minutes. "Mulder, how does Canada sound?" Skinner suggested, looking at Will as though he would go off. 9:35AM Lawfirm, of Spangle, Carter, and Adams **************************************** "Questions for Deputy Mayor F. William Mulder..." Ben dictated into the mini tape recorder. "Please explain to the court the circumstances under which you left the FBI. Please explain to the court why you went against official orders. Please explain to the court why you ordered quarantine. Please describe to the court what you found on that oilrig. Please describe to the court the circumstances under which you left the oil rig." He paused to flip over the tape. "Why do I get the feeling that the jury won't accept the bullshit answers the fucking Deputy Mayor is going to give me?" "Spooky will at least give the jury something to laugh at in the deliberation room. Jury duty for an environmental trial isn't exactly the feel-good event of the year." "Deputy Director, always a pleasure to see you sir." Ben said with a smile, shaking his hand and offering the man a seat. "My wife hasn't been sent to the principle's office today, has she?" He said with a grin. "No, Counselor. This isn't about your wife. This is about your first big case. I want you to know that you've got a friend in the FBI, one who will do everything he can to help you bring justice to whomever is to blame." "Thank you, sir. That means a lot to me. The Assistant Director isn't as cooperative, and neither is my wife." "Well believe me, Mr. Starkweather, they both will pay for their behavior if it has obstructed justice in any way. I came to personally deliver the litigation papers on behalf of the FBI to help move the process along smoothly. You will find everything in order." "Again, thank you sir. It is a relief to know someone in your building is concerned with serving justice. I will make sure the integrity of the FBI remains intact in the process." "I apologize for any complication that may have arisen on behalf of my colleagues. I guess some people just don't take their jobs seriously." Kersh said, and rose from his chair, dropping a scrap of paper from his folder, and left before Ben could hand it back to him. Kersh: "Discuss oil company matter at Lincoln Warehouse 5:30 second floor." CBGS Ben crumpled the note up and tossed it into the wastebasket, and glanced back down at his legal pad. He got the mini tape-recorder out and pressed record. "Questions for FBI Special Agent John Doggett. Please discribe to the court what you found on the oil rig. Please explain the circumstances under which you left the oil rig. Please explain to me what you've been doing with my *WIFE!*" He shouted, and threw the mini tape recorder across the floor. He took the peice of paper out of his pocket again, and unfolded it, twirling it around between his forefinger and middle finger. He went back to the wastebasket and picked up the crumpled note, and unfolded it. He shoved it into his pocket, and turned the tape recorder on again. Forgetting that the tape recorder was still on, he took the peice of paper out of his pocket again, and unfolded it, twirling it around between his forefinger and middle finger. What he wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall at that meeting. Maybe that meeting could give him the answers. It could give him proof of who Agent Doggett really was, and if Jerilyn could see that, maybe she would stop this stupid FBI kick she's on. He could have Mrs. Starkweather back, and all would be as it should be. He picked up the phone, calling his secretary. "Cindy, do I have any appointments between 4:30 and 6:30 this afternoon?" A few seconds later, a perky voice chirped, "Yes. You have a 5 with your dentist. Ben said inaudibly licking his teeth, "I need you cancel that for me, please. Something's come up that can't be moved." "It's done, Mr. Starkweather. Should I make another dental appointment?" "Um...I'll let my teeth rot Cindy, thanks." He said, and hung up. Yes, everything was definitely looking up. 9:04 AM Scully's Apt. ************ "I don't like the Blue Jays." Mulder deadpanned, shaking his head. "You guys have no idea how much I want to help put that snake back in the grass...but I have my own job, and I've already taken too many sick days." "We know, Mulder." Sam said. "You're forgetting that this isn't just *your* crusade anymore. It's *my* job now, and Scully's and Starkweathers to find the Truth that's in those files." Sam didn't know what he'd do if he was forced out of his own project. "Bottom line is we gotta get into Kersh's office somehow." Starkweather said, pacing back and forth. "We need some way to find out when he's not going to be there for sure." "Skinner, can you get a hold of his planner?" Scully asked, rescuing Will from Sam, who was scheduled for his morning nap in a half an hour. "I can try, Scully," Skinner answered, looking decidedly uncomfortable so close to Will. He couldn't help but warm up to the baby when Will refexively reached out for his nose. When Skinner leaned closer, the baby promptly pulled Skinner's glasses off. "But even if I was able to get a hold of his planner, there's no telling if he has any time away from his office before the trial. I'm going to have to create a diversion." Skinner said, perching his glasses back in their proper place. "What if I tailed Ben?" Sam suggested. He mentally added. "Doggett," Mulder started, "As much as I'd love to see the crap kicked outta ya, I can't let you do that. What would it accomplish except waste time we need finding to spend finding proof?" <"It would keep Ben alive!"> Sam inwardly protested. Too bad he couldn't tell Mulder. "Besides," Starkweather agreed, "as much as it pains me to agree with Mulder, it wouldn't look exactly Kosher for someone my husband thinks is gettin' freaky with me to be caught following the lawyer who is about to grill his ass on the stand." "She's got a point, Doggett." Scully agreed. "Mulder, Starkweather, tailing Ben is the only way we can make sure Ben doesn't have any tricks up his sleeve." "Doggett," Scully protested, "If you're tagging Mr. Starkweather, I'm going with you." "Scully, I can't let you do that! How What are you going to do about Will?" "Agent Reyes can sit with him. Doggett, I'm not letting you go out there alone." "Doggett's right," Starkweather interjected, "Let me go." "Starkweather," Skinner protested, "we need someone to sneak into Kersh's office for evidence during the diversion." "I wonder if Angie Dickenson ever had these problems." Starkweather deadpanned. "Alright, gang..." Mulder said, sighing heavily. "I hate to break this party up, but I have to go be a paper-pusher for a while. Let me know how everything turns out later. Who knows? Maybe I can get a buzz watching paint dry today." "Mulder," Scully protested, "while you're high on the paint, just make sure you don't do what you did on the chloral hydrate in Texas." "I don't care WHAT you say," Mulder started protesting, heading out the door, "I did NOT recite the beginning of Shaft." "Sure. Fine. Whatever." Scully deadpanned. "Scully?" Starkweather gawked, "The beginning of Shaft! Oh MY GOD! He DIDN'T!!" To which Mulder inappropriately gestured to Starkweather on the way out a slamming door. "Yee Haw." Sam said dryly. 9:37 AM The Lone GunmenMobile On the Corner of 23rd and Pennsylvania *************************************** "Mulder owes us BIG TIME for this one." Frohike grumbled, pulling the van into the corner. "Geez, Frohike." Langly whined. "Man....there's this wonderful product called DEODERANT!!!!! Ever hear of it?" "For Christ's sake, Langly. Did you get those damn Funions again? The van will smell like shit for WEEKS." "It wasn't me!" Langly protested, "it was Byers. He had a burrito last night for dinner. Beans, beans the musical fruit, the more you eat the more you..." "If I only had a brain." Byers sang barely audibly under his breath. "You see what I see, Frohickey?" Langly said, looking through the camera lens. "Yeah, Langly." Frohike answered, taking the camera lens from him, pointing it away from the phone booth. "Damn, she's tasty. I bet you could eat breakfast on her ass." "Would you cut that out!" Byers said through his teeth, snatching the camera away from Frohike. "That is Agent Monica Reyes coming going to the FBI building! If she spots us we are dead. Do you HEAR me boys?! DEAD!! Stay DOWN!" They all crouched down under the windshield, and then all three simultaneously, cautiously peered above the steering wheel. "Langly," Frohike glowered, "could you kindly get your FOOT OUT OF MY CROTCH!" "It's ok, she doesn't know the van yet..." Byers said, "...we're safe." "Byers, who's that blonde coming up behind her?" Frohike grumbled, "Ohhhh Christ, doesn't that look like Starkweather?" Byers and Langley both nodded simultaneously. "It's ok, isn't it?" Byers asked, now looking with his bare eyes. "She doesn't know the van. The only way we'd be dead right now is if..." All three men's eyes expanded three sizes at the same time as they saw a familiar red head moving toward them. "Oh shit..." Langly whispered "It's Scully!" Byers gulped. "We're cooked!" Frohike grumbled. "Very astute observance. That would be my evaluation of the situation." Byers deadpanned as he saw the door handles to the passenger side turning. "Are we insured?" "Boys," Frohike said, patting them both on the shoulder, "it was nice knowing you." He tried to bail out the back, but Starkweather was poised, trigger-happy. "Byers," Scully started, cocking her gun underneath his chin. "Don't think I won't pull the trigger. What the H*LL do you think your doing?" Starkweather was holding Frohike in much the same position, she had jumped him a few seconds ago, pinning his arm behind his back, and face down, had a gun ready to fire into the back of his head. "Nice..." Langly's Adams' apple bobbed three times... "day for a ride, ladies?" "We...were just in the...neighborhood..." Frohike whispered. "...and don't try and cover up for Mulder. His *ss is next if he put you up to this." "We're dead!" Byers grumbled. "I'm going to die. I'm going to die a virgin." "Ha! Pay up, Frohickey!" Langley shouted triumphantly. "Hey, at least I'm secure in my sexuality." Byers protested, and lurched forward until the barrel of Scully's gun was shoved in his nose. "Don't knock it 'till ya tried it." Langly nasalled, causing everyone to gawk at him. "Not that I ever--Scully, I swear, it wasn't my idea! Please let me live!" Reyes, who had her gun poised and ready to fire just behind Langley's ear grinned and said "I had a *feeling* there was going to be an ass-whuppin' today." Starkweather, backing off of Frohike, but gun still pointed at him, turned to Reyes saying "Feelin' nothin', Agent Reyes. With the Idiot Troopers an ass-whuppin' is in the forecast 100 peerrrrrcent." "Feelings, nothing more than feelings." Frohike sang off- key under his breath, shutting up abruptly at the click of Starkweather's cocking gun. "Spill it boys." Scully glowered. "What are you doing here?" "Mulder found out that a number from that payphone" Byers said in rapid-fire, jerking his head behind him. "was called lots of times..." "Twenty six times." Langley interrupted. "To someone high-up in the FBI, and we needed to know who was making those calls." Frohike continued, almost running his words into one, and finally daring to get up with Starkweather's gun still pointed at him. "So Mulder could get a solid lead on a connection between the oil company and the FBI." Byers said, who had finally been allowed free from Scully's death-grip and was now straightening his tie and jacket. Reyes, Starkweather, and Scully all exchanged evaluating glances, and silently came to an agreement that their story was believable. "They may be dolts, but they're not liars." Scully said. "We're dolts?" All three echoed simultaneously. "Why didn't Mulder tell us that?" Starkweather demanded Scully. "We thought Mulder sent you guys to spy on us." Explained Reyes. "Boys, let us know if you find anything." Starkweather said, and closed the back door. "Nice seeing you again." "We'll have to do this again sometime." Byers said, grinning like an idiot. "As much as we'd love to chat," Reyes said, shutting the driver side's door at the same time Scully shut the passenger side door, "We've got work to do." Scully said, and shut the door, making all those in the van feel almost sorry for Mulder... "Scully!" Frohike called after her, Scully opened the door, "so this whole assault on us was to get Mulder?" …almost. "No…" Scully said with a sly grin crossing her lips, "I have my own reasons for beating the crap outta you guys." "Being?" Byers whimpered, wondering what he did to deserve his punishment. "Two words…" Scully replied. "Vegas Payback." Byers landed his head on the steering wheel, setting the horn off. "I told you that was a bad idea, man." Langley said to Frohike with a thwack on the back of his head. "My idea!" Frohike was protesting as Scully shut the door, "Byers is the one who hadda needed to get laid." "Can't blame a guy for trying." Langley shrugged as Reyes closed her door. Assistant Director Skinner's Office 10:00 AM Eastern Time Assistant Director Walter Skinner had prided himself on being a "by-the-book" kind of man. Not in his wildest dreams did he ever imagine hitching along for a ride on the wild side. Part of him was screaming at him "Jesus, Walt! You are less than two years away from retirement and pension. Why are you throwing it all away now??" The other part, the part that rose above his uptightness to stand down Krycek, stand next to Mulder and to stand up to the Smoking Man when he was still running the show, said "It's the Right Thing to Do." And he knew it was. But it still felt wrong. Still, he got out his cell phone and dialed Starkweather's number. "Are you ready?" he asked her. "I've always wanted to be Mata Hari." "Agent Starkweather," Skinner hissed. "may I remind you of the seriousness of this matter? If you get caught, I can't help you." "With all due respect," Starkweather said sweetly "if YOU get caught, I can't help you either, so it's sink or swim for both of us. I'd rather go down grinning than getting my knickers in a twist about it." "You're a pain in the ass, Agent Starkweather." "Yes sir." "Be carefull." "You too, sir." Starkweather shut her cell off and looked at Scully and Sam-in-Doggett with an evil grin. "It's game time, sports fans. Let's get it on!" In front of the elevator The basement of J Edgar Hoover "So that dark-haired woman was Agent Reyes?" Starkweather asked Scully as she acted as point-guard while they waited for the elevator elevator. "Everything happened so fast, I didn't have time to properly introduce myself." Scully smiled. "Oh, I'm sure you two will have a chance to talk at greater length in the future." Sam inwardly groaned. According to the "current" future, Ben was going to die soon, then Mulder, then Starkweather, then... Sam didn't want to think about it. The elevator whirred down and the doors swished. Scully and Sam got in. "Don't get killed!" Starkweather cheerily bade them farewell as the elevator doors slammed shut, taking her back to the depths of the J Edgar Hoover building. "She has a way with words, doesn't she?" Scully remarked blandly as they rode the elevator to the parking garage. "Yeah..." <> Sam thought. ******************* Meanwhile... Skinner picked up the phone. "Deputy Director, might I have a moment of your time?" "What is this concerning, Assistant Director?" The words were pleasant enough, but the tone of voice was frigid. "I've been placed in charge with setting up a task force to monitor possible cult activities in Idaho. I need to talk to you about budgeting and manpower. After Waco and Ruby Ridge, no one is really eager to be a team player when it comes to missions like this." Skinner said evenly, knowing that this would appeal to Kersh's hardcore belief of "The FBI MUST look good at all costs." "I have some time." Kersh said slowly. "Let's meet in the cafeteria," Skinner suggested. "I haven't had breakfast yet," which was true. He had declined the doughnuts at Scully's, instead, drinking cup after cup of her good Vienna Roast coffee. Known more for his girth than his mirth, Kersh agreed. "I'll meet you down there in five minutes." Kersh hung up the phone and went to his file to dig up old cases to use as possible scenarios on how to handle the situation. Skinner redialed Starkweather's cell on his own mobile. Starkweather, who was already back down in the dungeon, was piling files after files on her desk. "Starkweather." "We're meeting in five minutes." "Bring it on," she said to him, hung up, put the last file on top of the tottering stack on her desk. She dialed Skinner's secretary's extension. "Kimberly, hi, it's Agent Starkweather, look I have a BIG favor to ask of you, Skinner asked me to up some old X-Files cases to him, anything that has to do with cult involvement. I've got the case files here, but I completely forgot that the about the rule about not letting the originals leave the office and I have no time to photocopy them," she could feel Kimberly's blood pressure rising. "I'm so sorry, I hate dumping this on you but it would save my ass..." Kimberly stifled a sigh. "I suppose so," the long suffering receptionist muttered. "Say..." Starkweather said, as if the thought had just hit her. "Maybe Kersh's secretary can help you. Kersh won't be there barking orders at the poor girl, she'd probably be happy to get away from him." Starkweather felt relief when Kimberly tittered in nervous laughter. She didn't like Kersh either. As soon as she finished the call, Starkweather beat feet into the bathroom and waited for the secretaries to come downstairs. Starkweather didn't have to wait long. She heard two female voices outside. "Ew, it smells funny down here," Kersh's receptionist commented in disgust. "That's from all the dead bodies they hide down here," Kimberly replied. "Really?" "Naw, I'm just pulling your leg," Kimberly said. "But you know what I heard?" Starkweather rolled her eyes. The women had chosen to stop and gossip in front of the bathroom door. she griped to herself. "What?" "I heard that Agents Mulder and Scully used to come in on Saturday afternoons and just go at it right on the floor of their office." "No!" "Yes!" Starkweather bowed her head and put her palm to her forehead in supreme irritation. < "Well," Kersh's receptionist said tartly. "Just goes to show how spooky those two are. I mean, it's not like they're the first male-female to have an affair, but most of them prefer motel rooms." "I know! And Agent Scully was well... you know... **normal** before she started working with Mulder... although, can you hardly blame her, the man is to die for." Kimberly said dramatically. Starkweather thought she was going to vomit. "Oh, I know, I saw him on TV last night for a City Counsel meeting and he was all cleaned up, in a three piece suit... oh! He looked like he could have been on the cover of GQ. Such a sexy man. If I wasn't married..." "Speaking of married..." "What?" "I think the other two agents are trying to follow in Mulder and Scully's path..." "Agent Doggett and.... But I thought Starkweather was married?" <> Starkweather fumed. The voices started to die away just as the conversation was getting interesting. Starkweather pushed her massive irritation away from her (for now) and slipped out of the bathroom and to the stairs where she ran towards her current mission... Nailing Kersh. Starkweather slipped unnoticed into the first room of Kersh's office, the secretary's office. She shut the door with a sigh of relief. She went over to Kersh's door and tried to open it. "You snake from the bowels of hell," she snarled when she discovered the Deputy Director had locked his office door. "You act like a man with something to hide." She reached up and fumbled around with her hair, pulled, as usual, severely up and back in a neat bun. She found a hairpin and as she jimmied the lock, she sighed. "This is so Nancy Drew-ish." The lock popped open and Agent Jerilyn Starkweather stepped into the monsters lair. Starkweather sniffed the air, her mind calculating every observation, forgetting nothing. <> Cradling her bad right wrist in her hand, she sat down at Kersh's elegant mahogany desk. "Son of a bitch gets a mahogany desk and I get plywood. How is this fair?" She asked herself as she opened his desk drawer and riffled through his papers with a gentle lover's touch. Her clumsy right hand, still in a cast from her rather unfortunate run in with an alien bounty hunter accidently knocked over a stack of books that were teetering on the edge of his desk. "Shit!" Starkweather jumped at the deafening noise and looked up, half expecting to see a SWAT team descend upon her. When no big burly men dressed in black stormed the doors, Starkweather bent down to pick up the books. "'Roots' by Alex Haley. Man," she snickered, immensely pleased with her superior intellect, "I read this when I was ten. 'Kiss the Girls' by James Patterson..." a huge movie buff, she wondered aloud: "I wonder if this is better than the movie," she adored Morgan Freeman. She moved on to the next book. "'The Silence of the Lambs'... okay, Kersh, now you're scaring me." Lastly, she picked up a yellow legal pad and thumbed through it. "Hello... since when did NASDAQ have anything to do with the Federal Bureau of Investigation?" On the sixth page of the legal pad, scribbled in the corner in Kersh's bad handwriting, were notes that would be gibberish to most, but a lexicon of knowledge and information to a rabid stockholder. "You rat-bastard," she seethed as she rearranged the books and notebook back on his desk exactly as it was. "And you know everything I touch in this office is inadmissible, don't you. Scum sucking, bed-wetting, foul-smelling troll of a man... hello..." Starkweather's eyes lit upon Kersh's Day Planner. "La la la," she sang under her breath as she undid the clasp... ********************************************* Meanwhile at the cafeteria Skinner kept his face stony as Kersh went on and on and on about how vital it was that the FBI's reputation remains unmarred. He was vehementally against Skinner's stakeout plans in Idaho, which he knew he would be. It was just a carrot for the ass to bite. Little did the ass know that Skinner was riding him, making him move forward by holding that carrot ahead of him on a string. Skinner tried not to look at the clock but couldn't help it. He didn't know how much busy work Starkweather left for the hapless secretaries. He didnt' know how much time she needed in Kersh's office. His stomach was in knots but as usual, he didn't show it, just pleasantly sipped his coffee and listened to his boss enjoy the sound of his own voice. ****************************************** Meanwhile back to the future... Doggett sat alone in the imaging chamber, trying to stave off boredom but not really suceeding. Even after Al's barraging, he still didn't quite believe what was going on plus it ticked him off momentously that every question Al posed for him was all about Starkweather. She was married. That's it. End of story. But as persistent as the scrappy little Italian-American Admiral was, Doggett couldn't help but wonder WHY he was so concerned for his spitfire partner. As she was fond of reminding everyone, Starkweather was a big girl, she could take care of herself... So Doggett sat there and tried to fight the boredom for he knew that boredom led to nervousness, nervousness led to fear, fear led to mistakes... Still, he couldn't help but worry... <> Then, the lights flickered, went out, and turned back on. Doggett could hear the sounds of computers rebooting from the outside. <> Al was with Goushie when the lights began to flicker. "Oh crap, what the hell is THIS??" Al gestured upwards pointing to the lights. Goushie fled to his read-out screen. "The virus has moved! It jumped the firewall. Oh geez... it's in the main power grid," he began typing frantically. "I'm moving Ziggy's power over to the backup generator A." Goushie typed and moved his mouse frantically. "Call the techs," Goushie said, wiping sweat out of his eyes. "Tell them to shut the main power grid down on my count." Al, for once, did what he was told without questioning. "Hello? Yeah, we know about the power grid. Goush's already moving Ziggy's juice over to a backup generator. He said to shut down the main power on his count," he covered the mouthpiece. "They're ready," he handed the phone over to Goushie. "Okay, on my count... three, two .... one, NOW!" The lights went off again, but went back on just as fast. All the computers, except for Ziggy went down. Only half of them rebooted. "I took half of the personal computers offline to save power," Goushie said. "Crap, this is worst than expected." "What happened Goush?" Al's voice had a dangerous ring to it. "I thought this was under control." Goushie said. "According to my readouts, Ziggy's still okay. Her RAM, her hard-drive, her modem... all that's still good to go. The virus traveled through her uplink to the computer that controls the power. We've got three more backup generators besides the one we're on now, besides that, the techs are out there as we speak, fixing up the main powergrid so that will be as good as gold by the end of the day. So it's not losing power that I'm afraid of." "It's Ziggy." Goushie nodded. "The only clue we're going to have that Ziggy's starting to circle the drain is if you appear to Starkweather." "That hasn't happened yet." "You haven't been around her lately." Al grimaced. This was true. "That's too big of risk to take. Having that wildcat see me. She already thinks she's going insane because she can hear me..." Al let himself into the holding chamber. The only source of amusement Al was getting out of this entire leap was how uncomfortable and self-conscious Doggett-in-Sam was in that tight tight tight white leotard. Doggett always looked like he was looking for a hole to dive into. In fact, his first words to Al was: "Hey, if I'm going to be here for awhile, could I at least have a pair of pants?" "We've got bigger problems than your britches right now, Marine," Al sat down. "We gotta talk. You gotta help me. We're in big trouble." That was plain talk and that was what Doggett responded to. "Will you tell me what the hell is going on then?" Present day Courthouse; Washington, D.C. 9:56 AM **************************** "The plans for the new Bay Street Park are ready, sir." Mulder said into the speakerphone. "Deputy Mayor," said his boss, voice quavering in disbelief, "are you sure this design is what you had in mind?" "Sure I'm sure. The kids will love it." Mulder said, making the 34th attempt at getting a pencil to stick on his ten- foot-high wooden ceiling. "Mulder, it looks to me like a spaceship." "Don't you think the neighborhood kids will get a kick out of it?" Now, he had a different approach. He got a paperclip, straightened it, and tosssed it above his head. "The flower arrangements look like those cartoon aliens." "Shit!" Mulder cursed as the paperclip landed point-down dangerously close to his eye. "What was that, Mr. Mulder?" "Oh, sorry sir, paper cut." Mulder inwardly grumbled. "What, you think I'd make them look like those things in ID4? Hey, what if I added bushes that looked like Sweetums from Marvin the Martian?" "Mulder, A.D. Skinner may have tolerated your behavior," the mayor barked, "but we don't go for that science-fiction comic strip shit around here. I want a revision of those Bay Street Park plans PRONTO!" "Yes sir." Mulder said, hanging up. "And while I've got my lips up your *ss, I'll just watch as I my mind goes numb from boredom." He mumbled. Being forced away from his passion, tucked away like an old toy nobody wanted anymore- -that was scarier than any freak of nature he ever faced on the x-files. Getting an idea, he picked up the phone. "Bunny," he said, revelling in the one perk...namely Bunny O'Dell this coushy job had to offer. "Yeeeeessss, Foxy." She huffed into the receiver. "Can you bring me some tacks?" "Anything you say." She said, giggling flirtatiously. What Mulder wouldn't have given for Scully to see that! Now, maybe he could get those tacks up there on the ceiling if he aimed juuuuuuust right... Just four floors below Mulder's rather sizable office window, completely undetected, two men waited for just the right opportunity. "Yo, Danny, is that it?" "Yep, Caster, that's gotta be it...that's the lisence tag the old man gave us and the 'I Believe' sticker and everything. There's something I can't figure, though." "What's that?" "Why he wants it." "Maybe the guy ticked him off." He offered and began evaluating the kind of lock, getting the toolbox out. "Hey, take the look-out, will ya?" "Sure thing, Cas." "You know what else I can't figure?" "Those rubix cube things?" Caster rambled, "Yeah, those are tough...I can't figure those crossword puzzles in the Sunday paper, neither." "Would you just get the damn lock off! I ain't talking about that...I can't figure why he wants it braught back." "He wants it back?!" Caster echoed, popping the lock off finally, and opening the door. He crawled through, and Danny got the toolbox and got in on the other side. "Maybe he just wants to take it for a test drive." "Whatevah. It's $500 for bothuvus. I figure it's worth it." Danny said, and hotwired the engine, making off with the vehicle, completely unnoticed. Mulder, totally unaware of what was going on down on the street below, wished he had a good trashcan to kick as he made attempt number 54 with the tacks. "Maybe I'll get lucky with a green one." Lawfirm of Carter, Spangle, and Adams ************************************* Yes, for Counselor Benjamin Starkweather, the previous night not withstanding, everything was definitely looking up. Even that would be ammended with a peace offering. He had that gift in mind for their anniversary, but something else for that occasion could be arranged. He was not going to spend another night in a hotel room. All the T's had been crossed, and the I's had been dotted. All there was to do now was sit back and wait. He couldn't wait to see the twelve expressions of complete and total disbelief on the jurors faces as he asked the new Deputy Mayor what happened on his last case with the FBI. "Mulder, I hope you're enjoying that pretty office window view now, because by the time I get through with you, you will fall flat on your face rambling on like an idiot about alien DNA crap. There's no one to cover your *ss this time, pal." He said to himself, flipping a pencil in the air. It wasn't that he hated the Deputy Mayor. He had nothing personal against the man...he just resented him for the crusade that drove his wife to that redneck ex-cop partner of hers. Special Agent John Doggett was another man he could not wait to see squirm. He resented Fox Mulder. He hated John Doggett. Meanwhile, parked on the corner going in the opposite direction on the street below, Scully and Sam waited in Doggett's pick-up truck. "Wanna start a pool to see how long it takes for him to move?" Scully joked, taking a sip of Diet Coke. "I got dibs on 3:15." "What do you think he's up to?" Sam asked, biting into his overdone, overpriced hot dog with everything. "He's probably trying to see if he can get a tack stuck on a ten-foot high ceiling." Scully said with a laugh. Sam couldn't help but chuckle a little. "Not Mulder, Ben." "Oh." Scully said awkwardly. "Well...I think he's probably been buttering Kersh's bread. I think he believes he's on the right side, and so my guess is he's scrounging up good solid evidence against you to show a jury who watches too much 'Law and Order.' "'Law and Order'?" Sam questioned. It had been years since he got to watch television. "Never mind. I forgot you only watch ESPN." "Sorry we never got the message to you about the boys staking out the payphone." Sam said after a few minutes of silence. "Sorry for who?" Scully demanded, "Me or the boys?" "I'm--not sure." Sam faltered. "Watch the side-view." Scully said flatly Back at Kersh's Starkweather flipped through Kersh's Day Planner, searching for anything out of the ordinary. "Meetings, meetings, meetings, golf. Meetings, meetings, meetings, golf. Meetings, meetings, meeting... whoa... what's this... Northwestern Flight 82A, Phoenix Arizona..." She repeated the city's name, rolling the word around in her mouth as if tasting wine. "Phoenix. Phoenix... who the hell is in..." She froze, remembering words from a heated fight not that long ago.... ************************************************ Starkweather's apartment A few weeks ago.... "Your ego gets fed by being one step ahead of the enemy. I mean, every after you got fired, FIRED, canned 86'ed from the Bureau for taking the fall for that oil rig explosion, you STILL found a way to get reinstated. But you weren't expecting your body to fail you, did you? How many times were you out sick before Kersh ordered the fitness test? You were screwed and this time there was nothing you could do about it. But ever after Kersh found a way to get rid of you for good, you still found a way to weasel back on to the X- Files, but Skinner could only pull enough strings to make you a consultant. But you know what they say, those who can't do, consult. Not the same as being out in the field. Ego in shambles, when my father approached you, you whored yourself out worse than a lot lizard in Arkansas. You hate yourself because you said 'yes' to him because you have always prided yourself being your own man, but now you're just one of his many puppets he has all over the United States. And you sit in your pretty office, bored silly because handling a garbage strike isn't exactly in the same league as black oil and fallen angels. But instead of getting off your ass and fighting like you used to fight, you sit and play the political game, waiting for my father to come through because he's the last angel in the government game that you've got left. He's the only one who can get you back into the Federal Bureau of Investigation." Mulder's eyes crinkled in amusement. "What makes you so sure?" "Because the Admiral is the one holding Kersh's leash," Starkweather said smugly. "When my father feels like repaying you, he'll pull Kersh's chain and you'll have your little dungeon office back. But he's probably going to wait until Skinner's retired and Doggett takes his place as AD. You have two very long years at City Hall to look forward to. Two long years of sweating it out, wondering what else my father may request of you. I'm know my dad well enough that he wants more than just to watch my ass." "I assure you," Mulder said in his maddeningly expressionless manner. "Your father came to us in all sincerity, concerned about only with your safety. I am well aware of his power, but he has no other agenda. That is the truth." "Bullshit!" Starkweather snapped. "He wants something else and you sold out! Did your balls get left in the casket along with your brain? I've seen him do this before!" (from Starkweather:Introitus)