J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.
9:04 am
****************************
"Sir," Skinner was saying. "I think pending the
investigation Doggett will raise in the coming weeks once
this oil-rig matter blows over, the findings will give you
no room to squirm. It will not be in your best interest to
put anyone involved in the x-files division underfire." He
decided the best tactic to employ in this situation would
be to try and persuade his superior the good reasons for
alleviating blame from the x-files division.

"Walter," Kersh refuted, "I have good reason to believe
that justice has been obstructed here, and I will do my
damnedest to make sure that the proper measures are taken
against that. You've had a distinguished career, A.D., I'd
hate to see it all end up in smoke."

"Or in oil." Skinner mumbled.

"I am allowing Doggett's investigation of my office to
continue" Kersh went on, disregarding Skinner's remark,
"because I am positive that he will find nothing wrong
while in this position. I am bringing the members of the x-
files division here today because I believe that some
aspects of their current situation needs to be brought to
light."

"Interrogating them in this manner is not going to bring
any answers to light, Sir." Skinner rebuttled, "All
questionning will do is arouse Doggett's suspicions of your
own behavior, further giving him cause to probe into your
term as Deputy Director.

"Nothing is going to interfere with this investigation. I
am not--"

Kersh stopped in mid-sentence because just then there was a
resounding BOOM! Followed by an obvious voiceless scuffle,
then a silence.

Skinner spat up and spun around, not loosing any time
getting his gun out of his ankle holster.

"I think nothing's at the door, Kersh." Skinner said,
poising his gun.

The door flung open, and a tall man with dark hair, eyes
searching but not 'seeing' lumbered past Skinner and went
directly for Kersh.

Billy Miles, moved arms zombily outstretched, directed at
Kersh's necks. Kersh, wide-eyed, stood paralyzed, unable to
do anything defense-wise except cower under his desk
Skinner, not blinking once, shot at the tall form, but
missed the crucial spot due to Billy Miles' own swift
movements. Green ooze protruded from his shoulder-blade. In
one fell swoop, Billy Miles picked up the desk, threw it at
Skinner, who barely managed to side-step it.

Trying to keep himself from being flung like
that desk and his superior alive was Skinner's immediate
priority.

Kersh, in reflex, grabbed the flagpole that stood in his
office for defense. He idley swung to the left, and then
swiftly again to the right, looking a little to Skinner at
the moment like a majorette, and would've laughed at that
thought had the situation not been so dire.

Billy Miles' form snatched the flagpole from Kersh, who
shot a desperate glance at Skinner. Billy Miles first swung
the pole in the direction of Skinner, barely missing and
swinging the pole into the wall in the process, also
knocking his pistol out of his hand. He then swung at
Kersh.

"The oil...the oil stocks..." Kersh's voice shook in
cowardice. He began confessing to the monster formerly
known as Billy Miles, hoping to gain a reprieve. "The oil
company involved in the case that got Agent Mulder fired is
currently earning me hefty dividends. Investigation...would
have gotten me reprimanded or in legal trouble."

"Is that true?" Skinner questioned as he ducked another
swing.

Kersh nodded as he backed up against the window. Skinner
watched in horror as Billy Miles throttled his neck through
the blinds, and shattering the glass.

Skinner plunged for his gun, which laid somewhere under the
rubble that was formerly his superior's desk. He grabbed
the gun.

With the abruptness of a summer storm, Billy Miles released
his grip. Kersh clutched the ledge of the window, and
Skinner helped him up as Billy Miles robotically left the
room.

Scully stood jaw gaping as she surveyed the disaster that
was formerly an impeccably organized Deputy Director's
office. Kersh was still doubled over, just holding the two
ends of the flag-poles.

"Sir? What--" Scully said, looking puzzled at the mess.
Being ever the medical doctor, she went to Kersh, doing a
topical examination of his injuries.

"Billy Miles was here." Skinner began.

"He did this--but I thought--" Scully stammered in
disbelief

"Whatever that virus was that he and Mulder were infected
with last winter made Billy Miles indestructable.
"What is going on here?" Sam demanded, surveying the
damage. "I saw the paramedics outside and--"

"Holy smoke, Sam," Al blurted out when he appeared, letting
out a low whistle "looks like my place after ex-wife number
3 found out about ex-wife number 4"

"I think these agents deserve an explanation." Skinner cued
to Kersh, who admonishingly sighed, closing his eyes.

"Billy Miles came after me." Kersh began softly.

"Why? Why does Billy Miles want you harmed?" Sam-in-Doggett
demanded, and flashed a quizzical look at Al, who quickly
jumped in with the answer.

"Billy Miles is the main suspect charged with Mulder's
murder, T-1000 style." Al finished.

"For a sizable sum of money in oil stocks, I was paid to
let certain things within the Bureau slide." Kersh
admitted.

"You are aware that a man is rotting in jail right now for
a crime he didn't commit." Scully pointed out.

"All the evidence against him suggests otherwise, agent
Scully." Kersh argued.

"All the evidence against him is circumstantial, Kersh."
Sam fired back. "The defense attorney working his case has
a questionable background."

"Not questionable, Sam...Leo's as crooked as Quasimodo's
back." Al butted in.

"Agent Doggett, don't think I'm in anyway connected with
that attorney assigned to him."

"The wicked flee-eth when he's been caught holding the
bag." Al grumbled.

"I think you're hiding something." Sam-in-Doggett glared.
"I think you know exactly who's behind all this and I think
that unless you come forth with that information, a lot of
people are going to be killed." He said, storming out.

"Sir, I think Doggett's right." Scully seethed. "You are
letting an innocent man rot in jail and you are putting
everyone here at risk. If our investigation of your office
finds anything--even a pack of cigarettes on the FBI's
dime--you are going to wish Billy Miles split you instead
of that pole. If you'll excuse me, I have an investigation
to persue." She finished, and stormed out.

Meanwhile...
At an horse farm in rural Maryland...

Marita Covarubias was out in the barn saddling up her
favorite mare, Arwin, a placid palamino, when her cell
phone rang. Arwin twitched an ear in interest but made no
other movement, as well-trained as she was. Marita looped
the reins around the fences, stepped away from the animal
and answered. "Hello?"

"It's Justin Leo. We have a situation.... he figured it
out."

Marita bit back a howl of frustration. It was all going to
hell. First, that smokey son-of-a-b*tch's coup de tat, re-
seizing control of the New Syndicate. And now this. She had
gone against her better judgement about allowing Leo to be
a part of this project. He was too personally involved. Now
she was going to pay for it.

Calmly, as if talking to an idiot child, she said, "Go to
the safe house and don't move until I say so. We'll have to
arrange a flight and money and lodging for you."

"You talk as if I'm in danger," Leo said as he hailed on of
DC's colorful cabs.

Marita, losing her calm just a hair, informed him, "You
don't think Mulder is on the phone to Agent Scully right
now, telling him what's going on? The man still has
connections. Plus we have the very unfortunate situation
where most people don't believe he's guilty."

"The judge is fixed."

"The judge is dead," Marita took great pleasure in telling
him while she thought <<Or at least, he will be after I get
off the phone with you, you waster of oxygen I could be
breathing.>>

"WHAT?" Leo was in the cab now, clutching his briefcase.

"Capitol Hill," he told the cabbie before resuming his
conversation. "Why the f*ck did you do that?" he snapped.

"He was an valuable asset."

"This entire mission is getting too messy," Marita spelled
it out for him. "The goal was to get rid of Mulder and Mr.
and Mrs. Starkweather. The more people who get involved
with this, the more potential we have for information
slipping out."

"While you're at it," Leo seethed, "why don't you just take
out the entire X-File Division? Skinner, Scully, Doggett,
Reyes?"

"I just might," she told him coldly before she hung up on
him.

After calling her favorite hitmen to take out the judge,
Marita walked back to Arwen, patiently waiting for her. She
scratched the horse's ears while she debated with herself
on what to do next. Finally, she did what she knew she was
going to do all along.

Damn the old man and his obsolete ways. His ways didn't
work anymore. She finished saddling up Arwin and swung
herself up on her back before she dialed again.

"Things have changed. Send the replicant to Mulder's cell
tomorrow night." She said crisply. "And then, afterwards,
get rid of Benjamin Starkweather permanently. I'm calling
for a full abort of the mission. In forty-eight hours, all
evidence must be destroyed."

She knew she was taking a risk in waiting so long in
eliminating Mulder and Mr. Starkweather, but she needed
some time to pull the wool over the Cancer Man's eyes, to
let him think HE was in charge.

Gently, she nudged Arwin in the ribs and took off at a
gallop.

Scully, having an overnight bag to pack, Will to check on,
and plane reservations to change--again--practically flew
to the FBI employee parking garage after the encounter with
her superiors.

Mick Jagger whined over the stereo

Tiiiiiyiyiyime is on my side
Yes it eeeehhhhhhis
Tiiiiiyiyiyime is on my side
Yes it eeeeeeehis
Scully hoped so.

The trance-like state she was in from the music and her
fatigue was interrupted by the shrill ring of her cell
phone.

"Scully, it's Byers. We found something you might wanna
know."

"What did you get, Byers?" Scully asked, turning the car
radio on mute.

"Are you sitting down?"

"I'm driving." Scully said flatly.

"Oh well...I hope your at a stoplight or at a stop sign or
a traffic jam..." Langley nasalled in the background.

"Sorry Scully, we hadda put you on speakerphone." Byers
apologized meekly.

"That's ok, Byers...what did you guys find out?"

"Um...we got this package." Byers hesitated. "It had Mulder
and Jerilyn's blood in it. We ran tests, and the chances
are less than slim that they are blood related."
Scully's car screeched to a stop at the result.

"How?!"

"We don't know." Frohike butted in. "Scully, we heard tires
screaching. Everything alright?"

"Yeah...everything's fine." Scully said queitly.

"I don't think Luke and Princess Liea will be happy when
they find out about this." Langly said.

"I think we're lucky Starkweather doesn't have her own
personal Chewbacca." Byers commented.

"She's got Doggett." Frohike grumbled. "He's close enough."

"Guys...how did you get this information?" Scully demanded
after her nerves were calmed down enough to concentrate on
driving.

"We got these test tubes from some guy in a trench coat."

"Some guy in a trench coat...you guys sound like something
out of a really bad old detective movie."

"Scully, dollars for doughnuts, this is real..." Byers
assured quietly.

"Hang on, Byers, I have a call." Scully thankfully took the
incoming call.

"Little Dana Scully!" a male's voice boomed on the other
end. "How's that little boy of yours? I can't call you
Little Dana anymore with a child of your own, can I?"

"Sir, Williams fine. How are you?"

"Well, I'm upset about this whole mess with my son-in-law
and the Deputy Mayor, Dana. I was hoping you'd set me
straight with the details."

"Sir, I'm right in the middle of an investigation right
now." Scully said ...of you...she silently added.

"I realize your busy, Dana...but I really would like to see
what you have so far on the case. For my little Jeri's
sake. Is there anyway you can make it to Martha's Vineyard
this weekend?"

"I think that can be arranged sir. I'll be there late
Friday."

"Wonderful." The Admiral replied, "You know, Dana, I don't
want to believe he's guilty..."

"I think the evidence against him is circumstantial, and
hopefully my investigations will prove that."

"I hope so, Dana. Take care of that little boy, and feel
free to bring him along. I'll see you this weekend."

"Thank you admiral. See you then. Bye."

Maybe she'd take this visit to get some sun and do a little
interrogation.

With a push of a few buttons, she was back in touch with
Byers.

"I'll pass the word along guys. Thanks for letting me
know."

"May the schwartz be with you." Langly cautioned, and with
that, Scully hung up.

5:37 pm
Martha's Vineyard
******************
Scully wound down the endless sea of vacation houses on
Martha's Vineyard. It certianly hadn't changed much since
she had been here as a child. Being the middle of summer,
the tourist-season was just hitting it's stride, and the
streets were dotted with bicyclists and children bouncing
balls across the streets.

She caught sight of the beach and memories of her brothers
dunking her in the water and chasing after her and Missy
when she was in the middle of itemizing sea shells and
poking at gellatinous jellyfish corpses dotted along the
shoreline. To her, they weren't gross, but beautiful and
fascinating.

She made her way to the Bailey summer home and found the
front door surprisingly unlocked. She opened the door to
find the furniture redecorated and covered in plastic, most
likely by Mrs. Bailey.

"Did the pottery barn throw up in here?" She mumbled.
She walked over to an unfinished chimoise and lifted the
plastic. From behind the plastic, a yellowed and doily-thin
letter feathered down at her feet.

She picked up and her jaw dropped like nighttime
temperature in the desert as she continued to read the
letter's contents.

Dear Jeremy

I know you and your wife will raise this baby girl as your
own daughter, and I am sure she will make a fulfilling
addition to her family. She will be happy with you, I am
sure, unless she finds out her true origins.

At all costs, you must keep this secret from her. She will
be a part of your family until our cause has use for her.
Her father has recently lost his only daughter and youngest
child, Samantha to the cause, and his wife Teena--for the
sake of their 12-year-old boy does not wish for her
father's part in this to be revealed. Your new baby girl's
mother remains a mystery to me, but I believe she is
special...the only one of her kind, moreso than most
parents wish their children to be.

Enclosed you will find forged adoption papers with people
who are not living. In this way, if your new baby daughter
chooses to search out her origins, she will arrive at a
dead end.

I wish all the happiness and promise a young girl can bring
to a father. Keep her part in our cause a secret, and she
will be a happy, well-adjusted, child. Best of luck to you
and your new family.

Sincerely
CBG Spender

Oh my God...the tests...they were accurate...he's in with
Spender...he's part of all of it...it's all coming together
now.

Why is it, Scully wondered, that whenever an x-files case
started to come together, did that usually mean her world
was about to fall apart?

Now, this letter was proof that he was connected to the
syndicate. Now, he just had to find a connection with the
syndicate to Ben's murder. She was wasting rummaging
through the cubbies in the desk and was so intensely
determined to find evidence that she barely heard the
doorknob turning.

Scully ignored her first instinct to dive in a good hiding
place when she heard the click of the doorknob. Instead she
pulled her gun out of her shoulder-holster. She had every
right to be here, and the warrant to proove it. Problem was,
she felt like a kid being caught redhanded.

Admiral Bailey stood at the thresh hold, wide-eyed and
opened-mouthed.

"Dana?" he finally croaked.

"Admiral, can you please explain the meaning of this,"
she said weapon still trained on the old man, she brandished
the old letter with her free hand.

"The meaning of what?!" Admiral Bailey

She read the letter verbatim.

"Are you involved with a syndicate of conspirators involved with
alien/human hybrid projects?" She demanded when she finished.

"When I joined them, I didn't know who they were." He admitted,
sighing defeatedly. "I just got back from serving in the Vietnam
War, and after seeing all that destruction, I wanted desperately
to give a life everything a human being deserved. My wife and I
wanted a daughter, and soon after I was told she was unable to
have children, I was approached by a man. They had a little girl
who needed a family, and we needed a child to make our house a home.
When I agreed to take her, I had no idea as to who the man was.
As time passed on, I was pulled into the group, conspiring with them,
pulling strings for a single cause. I'm not a bad man, Dana. To protect
the people I love, I had to do some very bad things."

"Did you have anything to do with Mulder's arrest?" Scully demanded,
gun still trained on him.

"Oh God, Dana...I didn't want that to happen. After all, Mulder was the
one standing between that man and my little girl. I wish there was
something I could do to get him out of this ordeal." He sighed regrettably.

"Sir, there is." Scully replied frankly, taking off the safety. "You can
come forward with this information."

"I know, I know...but if I let on that I come forward, they'll come after
me and Jerilyn. I dont' care about my own ass, but I'll be damned if I let
them take Jerilyn. You'd do the same for little William, and you know it."

"Sir, I wouldn't if that meant two lives were to be destroyed because of
my actions." She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a search warrant.

"Admiral Bailey, I have a warrant to search your premisis. Am I going to 
find
any more damning evidence?"

"You can search all you want, Dana." The Admiral said softly.
"Sir...I think you need to come back with me and explain all this to my 
partner."

"Let me get my bags." Admiral Bailey consented.

After the police left and the smoke cleared from the Deputy
Director's office, Sam got the Assistant Director's
permission to go home and rest. Lord knows he needed it
after not sleeping more than three hours for the past two
nights.

He barely remembered hitting the pillow, but Sam still had
a very troubled sleep.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Starkweather seathed, a
little girl stood with her blue-eyes wide at her pointing a
gun at Sam. "Bailey," she said, eyes shifting to the little
girl but not allowing the gun to move, "I want you to go to
your room and play."

"But Mommy!" the girl protested, "He said--"

"Bailey," Starkweather insisted sharply, "I want you to go
to your room and play with your toys. Please sweetheart,
just go...I don't care what he said..."

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?!" She began as
soon as Bailey was safely upstairs.

"I'm only trying to help." Sam insisted quietly.

"Help what?" She fumed, "My husband is supposed to be here
now, not you. If you have abducted an FBI agent, sir, you
should know that I will not hesitate to make sure you pay
the full legal penalty." She c*cked the gun, "or maybe I
should just let you rot in hell. Tell me, which do you
prefer?"

"Jerilyn, please," Sam pleaded, "I'm not here to hurt you.
I'm here to make everything right."

"Where did you come from?" She demanded, turning the safety
off.

"That's hard to say." Sam answered sheepishly.

"Sir, you've got a gun pointed at you about to go off. I'd
hate for your last words to be 'that's hard to say',
wouldn't you? Now, before I blow your f*cking brains out, I
suggest you tell me where my husband is."

Somehow, Sam knew she was referring to Doggett.

"Your husband is safe, Jerilyn. I'm here to help bring him
home." Sam said simply.

"How the h*ll am I supposed to believe that?" Starkweather
retorted.

"Why would I lie about something like that?" Sam answered
bluntly.

"Because you want me to let my gaurd down so I won't
introduce you to St. Peter." Starkweather glowered, slowly
stepping up to him brandishing her gun.

"Starkweather...please...just listen for a second."
Starkweather glanced at the clock, "You've got exactly
three minutes to explain yourself." She threatened.

"I built a time machine..." Sam began desperately, "Most of
the time, people see me for whose ever life I am changing,
but for some reason, you're seeing me for me."

"And John Doggett is--"

"In Project Quantum Leap waiting room--the government
experiment enabling me to be here. He's safe, he's alive.
People I trust implicitly are making sure of that."

"Why are you here?" She said, finally putting the gun down.

"To make sure things go the way they're supposed to."

Sam woke up with a start.

Dreams these days were making it harder and harder to fall asleep.

later that afternoon
*******************
Jerilyn spent the early afternoon trying to make the peices
fit, but it was like trying to merge fettucini alfredo with
a bean burrito delux.

Doggett wasn't even Doggett anymore...that was unhenging.
Every ounce in her wanted to make Mulder pay for Ben's
death. She wanted someone to pay for what happened, and
Mulder was in the closest proximity to guilt.

But it was true...all the evidence piled against him was
circumstantial. It was also true that he didn't behave at
all questionably before the murder. Something resounded in
her with Mulder during their first encounter. Something
familial. If he weren't such a jack-ass, she might actually
be friends with him.

"But facts is facts." Starkweather mumbled. "He's being
prosecuted for my husbands murder, and nobody else seems to
be guilty for it." She plunked the half-consumed Jack
Daniels bottle down on the ground.

She slumped onto the couch, and fell into a deep
undisturbed sleep.

Her next conscious moment was several hours later, it was
dark outside and it took her a few minutes to register that
someone was there in front of her.

"You look like hell." Al said simply.

Starkweather bridled in pain at the headache. She lunged at
him, but just passed through him.

"Who--" she sputtered, "What...the FUCK are you?!"

"I am your fairy godfather. I'm here to make you an offer
you can't refuse."

"Gimme a break, she studied him quizzically, you sure as
hell ain't Brando."

"Maybe not...just think of me as your gaurdian angel."

"Where are your wings, Clearance? And why the hell are you
wearing a flaming red suit?"

"St. Peter decided to let us wear colors because the stains
were hiking up the cleaning bill." Al retorted.

"Hey wait...I remember you!" Starkweather blurted out,

"You're that guy--the one that was hear earlier--when
Doggett wasn't Doggett!"

"I don't know what the hell your talking about, Jerilyn."

"How come you know my name?" Starkweather demanded.

"We've been watching you for the past few days."

"Watching me?" She puzzled, "Who's 'we'"

"You know...us." Al said.

"Why have you been watching me?" She demanded.

"Basically because we don't get cable up in Heaven." Al
deadpanned. "Harps loose their interest pretty quick."

"What is in those clouds? LSD? Come off it! You are not an
angel any more than I'm Shirley McLane."

"Look," Al insisted, "I'm here to tell you Ben is fine.
He's alive and he's fine."

"The Gospel According to Fun-House-Mirror-Freak-in-a-
Clownsuit." Starkweather deadpanned. "Ben's fine?!" She
echoed immediately. "Look, Casper, I wanna believe
you...but, since when do angels smoke?"

"Alright, alright," Al admitted, "Ben's alive in a
warehouse somewhere around here being held by the same
people responsible for Mulder's abduction. I'm not an
angel. I'm part of a top secret government project
involving time travel called Quantum Leap. I'm a hologram
here from fifteen years in the future and I'm here to make
sure you're safe."

"Yeah." Starkweather began incredulously, "Riiiiiiiiiiight.
Well...I'll believe you are no angel."

"Believe me, you're on thin ice right now Queenie...you
shouldn't be mad at Mulder. He's done nothing to be mad
*about*."

"Alright...I won't be mad at Mulder, Ben's alive...maybe if
I smile and nod you'll go away." Starkweather said crisply.

Al sighed heavily, "Starkweather, you've gotta help
Mulder." he pleaded quietly.

"Why?" she fired back, "he deserves to be in jail for what
he did."

Al shook his head.

"Doesn't he?" She questioned. For some reason, against all
logic and explanation, she believed the man standing before
her.

Al was getting desperate for answers. He wasn't getting
through.

"That's not the only reason you have to help the Deputy
Mayor."

"Just because he saved my ass doesn't mean I have to break
him outta jail like some bad episode of the A-Team!" She
fired back.

"No...because," Al said with a heavy sigh, "he's family."

Starkweather stood open-mouthed. "He's WHAT?!"

"There is a 98.5 % chance that you and Fox Mulder are
blood-related."

"What?!?! How?!?!?"

"That is being investigated." Al replied. "We don't know,
but that's being looked into."

"By whom?"

"Scully." Al answered simply. "As we speak, I think."

She shot up and whispered, "Fuckin' A!"

"My sentiments exactly. Look, please...just don't point
fingers at Mulder. He can help you keep Ben alive."

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" Starkweather
demanded.

"Kid, this is too hard to pull outta thin air. My name's
Calivici. Just look me up in about fifteen years and I'll
explain everything."

"Oh, I'm gonna be dead in fifteen years." Starkweather
smirked "That's comforting."

With that, the man in front of her pushed a couple of
buttons, a bright blue rectangle appeared, the man stepped
through it, and Al was gone.

"Geez...I always thought heaven was white, not blue." she
mumbled, and nursed her hangover with a long bubblebath.

Meanwhile...
Back to the Future...
QL HQ
Doggett REALLY hated wearing the white leotard. He found it
uncomfortably tight, especially around certain sensitive
special areas. He felt like he was walking around with a
permanent wedgie, which would ruin any man's mood.

So Al should have been more forgiving when Doggett bit his
head off when Al popped in to check on him. "What the
hell's been going on???"

Al, tired, annoyed and throughly sick of just about anybody
even remotely connected with the X-Files, glared at him,

"Shut up, Puppy Man," he snapped.

"I see you've been talkin' to Mul-dah," Doggett drawled
nastily.

Al resisted the urge to slug him. "Yeah, I popped in on
Spooky." Al pulled up a chair. "And Starkweather."
Doggett, barely noticeable, softened at her name. "And?"

"Well, he's in jail, she's a mess, other than that," Al
light up a cigar, "Pretty good."

"PRETTY GOOD??" Doggett exploded, taking the cigar out of
Al's mouth and throwing it across the room. He loomed over
Al, thrusting a finger in his face. "Now you listen to me
you slippery son-of-a-bitch, don't you just stand there and
give me smart ass comments about 'pretty good,'" he yelled.
"I'm sick of this BS! I'm sick of gettin' jacked around.
I'm sick of Starkweather getting the shaft because you're
dicking around with me, not telling the whole truth. If
finding Ben's what we gotta do, then let's do it instead of
standing around and pissing in the wind. I'm sick of this
hellhole, I'm sick of these tights, I'm sick of you and I
want to go home."

This time Al didn't hold back his urge to hit Doggett-in-
Sam. His punch landed solidly on his jaw. He stood up and
pushed Doggett away from him. "Now YOU listen to ME, buddy-
boy. I'm just as sick of this crap as you are! I wanna get
rid of you as bad as you want outta here. The only way we
can do that is to put right what went wrong and what went
wrong is Mulder and Starkweather getting killed so instead
of acting like a typical Marine jack ass, act like a god
damn fed. I need your help Doggett. Mulder and Starkweather
are dead in the water if you don't grow the f*ck up!"
Doggett-in-Sam wiped the blood off of his lip. "You throw a
good punch, seaman," he said gruffly.

Al pulled out another cigar and lit it. "Yeah... well..."
Al muttered "my hand's gonna hurt for the next few days."

"Good."

"Can we get to work?"

"Alright."

Verbeena had watched the entire exchanged through the newly
reconstructed two-way mirror, shaking her head.

<<Men>> she thought as she went to check on Ziggy. <<Past,
present, future, it didn't matter, they were still
unfathomable...>>

"So," Doggett said, subdued. "Wha'cha got?"

Al rubbed his eyes. He was very tired. If Sam had only
gotten three hours of sleep, Al had gotten less. "Well...as
far as info, not much, except confirmation from Ziggy that
Mulder and Starkweather are brother and sister."

If Doggett was surprised by that revelation, he carefully
concealed it. "Did you tell them?" he asked evenly.

"Yeah," Al said, fighting to keep his eyes open. "Actually
that part was kind of fun."

"I assume they took the news less than well."

"Safe assumption," Al nodded. "Anyways, beyond that...
we're still on Square One."

Doggett sat quietly, lost in thought. "There's the old
cliche..." he finally said after enough time had past for
Al to smoke half of his cigar away, "'those who do not
study history are doomed to repeat it.'"

"Boy, ain't that the truth," Al said, "I flunked sixth
grade American history. Had to do a whole session of summer
school or else they were gonna let me go on to junior high.
And I squeaked by with a C minus cus this really cute girl
who liked me wrote my history papers for me..." Al trailed
off, noting that Doggett-in-Sam was once again giving him
the look of death. "Sorry... anyway... continue..."

"I was sayin'" Doggett said patiently, sitting down at the
little table, reaching for the file, "that I think the
truth is in here. In the past. There's gotta be somethin'
more, somethin' we're missing. Somethin' we've got to study
up on to more understand what the holy hell is goin' on."
Doggett got out the legal pad and pen he had received
yesterday. He tore off the page of doodles and the
beginnings of brainstorming and started with a clean sheet.

"Okay, fill in any blanks if you can, Admiral. So," he
began to theorize aloud the list as he wrote, "Now, this
whole mess started a year ago when Mulder and I
investigated the oil rig. A year later, me, Scully and
Starkweather investigate a fighter plane crash whose base
has an fuelling contract with the same said oil rig.
Suddenly, here comes Ben, prosecuting the oil rig for
environmental negligence, a whole year later," he sighed.

"And that's what's getting ME. That's the second thing
doesn't make sense to me." He scrawled on the page his two
questions. "One, what IS the connection between the oil rig
and the plane crash in Scotland-"

Al interrupted. "Starkweather was working on that, but
after her... um, personal difficulties, I asked Mulder to
pick up where she left off."

"Can you get me what she had so far?"

"I can try," Al said. "But remember, in the future, the X-
Files is under lock and key. It was reclassified into a
military jurisdiction and no fed or laymen could get their
hands on any X-File."

Doggett, for the first time in a long time, smiled. "But
you AREN'T a laymen or a fed," he reminded him. "You're a
retired Admiral."

"Ahhhhhhhhhh........" Al said. "I'll get right on that.
What was your second question?"

"My second question is... why did they wait so long to
prosecute Galpex? And for something as weak as
environmental destruction? Why not the murders of the men
on board? I understand that law suits take time... believe
me, I fully understand that... but, from the way
Starkweather was talking, this was sprung onto Ben like
less than three weeks ago... it's like pulling a rookie out
of the minor leagues and telling him he's going to take
Sammy Sosa's place for the day." Doggett shook his head.

"And the revenue the law firm was going to earn from the
case was astronomical..."

"So why let a kid handle it?" Al was beginning to see where
Doggett was going.

"Exactly," Doggett said, opening the file up. "I'm just
wondering if someone dirty is working at the Law Firm of
Carter, Spangle and Adams." He started thumbing through the
file pages. "Someone dirty, someone with power enough to
manipulate case assignments but still being maneuvered by
someone else, someone with a vendetta..."

"Someone like-" Al started to say but Doggett beat him to
the punch.

"Justin Leo."

"Hot damn!" Al yelped in glee, but stopped his victory
dance when he saw the look on his face. "What's wrong?"

"Al..." Doggett said, thin-lipped and white. "Maybe I'm
goin' stir crazy and all... but... Mulder's murder date
changed."

"What?" Al said, heart sinking lower and lower into his
bowels.

"I swear to God, it was dated four days from now... now
it's saying time of death, 6:30 PM, June 19... that's
tomorrow night... am I losing my mind?"

"No," Al said, trying to fight off the panic. "That's the
hazards of working in Quantum Leap..." Without saying
goodbye, he stormed out of the chamber, issuing orders at a
bark, "Verbeena, get General Keeling on the phone, tell him
I need File X081601 emailed to me sometime in the next two
hours and remind him he owes me a big time favor since it's
because of me that he's not in jail and he's not divorced.
Tina, darling, me everything there is about Carter, Spangle
and Adams and that little shit Leo. Goushie!!! Find Sam and
center me on him..."

The shitstorm of all time was about to strike.
Meanwhile...
back at the warehouse...

After sleeping for a bit, Ben finally gotten over his
nausea. He managed to even get cleaned up a little bit,
there was a bar of moldering soap on the ancient sink and a
ratty old washcloth. After scraping off the scum from the
soap, he stripped down to his boxers and gave himself a
sink bath, which, afterwards, he felt marginally better.

Air-drying, he sat on his squeaky cot and ate the
sandwiches and fruit left behind for him, surprised to find
himself ravenously hungry. When finished with the meager
meal his captors/protectors left him, he smoked a
cigarette, pondering on his next move.

Feeling better, despite the headache that lingered from the
blow giving to him from CSM, Ben found, to his immense
relief, his wits were beginning to come back together
again.

He did not believe for one red hot minute that Jerilyn was
dead. He did not have any logic or tangible evidence. He
was listening to his heart, for, even though the girl
exasperated him, frustrated him and infuriated him, he knew
she loved him and he, her. They had "clicked" the minute
they met each other. They were tied together through a
force stronger than friendship, stronger than sex, stronger
than marriage. And Ben fully believed in the spiritual ties
between people who loved each other. He would have known,
somehow, if something bad would have happened to her. If
she would have died, he would have felt a part of him die
with her within his soul. They were, he firmly believed,
soul mates.

Just because they were soul mates, didn't necessarily mean
they should have been married, but Ben remembered the
thundering voice of the priest who married them "Let no man
bring asunder what God hast bound together." Which troubled
him, but that was a bridge they would jump off together
once they were finally together again.

Pushing their marital issues onto the back burner, Ben
redressed and began to assess his present situation, which
was not good, he realized with a faltering heart. The door
was metal and barricaded from the outside. There were no
ceiling panels he could climb out of. There were no
windows. Ben didn't even really know how much time had
passed, his watch had been broken during the scuffle with
the Men in Black who had borne him away to this nightmare.
Pacing, smoking another cigarette, Ben, just as big of a
movie buff as his wife, drew strength from quotes from two
of his favorite movies: the line Tom Hank's Oscar winning
character muttered over and over in the movie
"Philadelphia" - "For every problem, there is a solution"
and from Alan Ruck's indelible portrayal of the uptight
Cameron in "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" - "I am not just
going to sit on my ass..."

"'I am not going to sit on my ass,'" Ben mumbled, throwing
the butt of his finished cigarette into the toilet and
reaching into the pack of a new one "'For every
situation... there is a solution...'" He told himself that
he had served as a soldier in the United States Air
National Guard. He told himself about the time he and
Jerilyn went to New Orleans for their honeymoon and he had
fought off the thugs who tried to steal Jerilyn's purse
when they had gotten lost in a "bad" part of town. He told
himself that he was married to one of the finest and
sharpest FBI agents ever to have graced the halls of J.
Edgar Hoover, albeit also the crankiest. He was betting on
her tenacity and her arrogance to go blithely off and try
and save the world, to discover the truth behind whatever
lie they fed her about his disappearance.

However, he also knew he couldn't just wait around for
Jerilyn to be leading the cavalry to him. He had to meet
her halfway. He had to get out of this pit. Plus, he
worried greatly, what if he was merely a lure to draw
Jerilyn into the open... these mysterious people, the ones
she had referred to as "The Syndicate" had tried to kill
her once... no... twice... no three times before and that
was just on her first official case on the X-Files. What if
his disappearance was just one big trap?

Ben sighed as he lit his cigarette. Then, his eyes widened
as his looked at the glow of the cherry. His holders had
left him a weapon... they had left his handed unbound and
they left him a weapon.

Ben checked the box of Morleys. He had half a pack left. He
had a lighter. He had the strength of a youthful, free body
to his advantage. He sat down on his cot, smoking, with a
grim smile on his face.

Let that smokey bastard come visit him again. He would get
the burn of his life and then Ben was going to run like
hell.

He had to. He had a goal to live for. He had to keep
together what God hast bound. He was not going to let those
vows be brought assunder by Special Agent John Doggett.

Meanwhile
back at Ben and Jeri's apartment

Jerilyn got out of the tub, shivering. She towelled herself
off and coiled her wet hair in a bun. She crossed over to
her bedroom to get dressed. Just then her phone rang. She
checked the caller ID: **Mom and Dad S**. Jerilyn closed
her eyes. It was the call she had been dreading.

"Hello?"

"Jeri, hi, it's Linda," The voice of Ben's sweet, gentle
mother crackled through. "We hadn't heard from you yet. We
were getting worried." It wasn't intended as a guilt trip,
for Linda Starkweather did play those kind of manipulative
games. She was one of those very rare people who always
always put others in front of her, even when she herself
was in great anguish.

Still, it made Jerilyn feel terrible. "Oh, I'm sorry," she
whispered. "I didn't mean to worry you, it's... these past
two days... have been really hard..."

"I know, I know," Linda's voice was calm but quiet, as if
she had already cried her tears and was now dealing with
the inevitable. "It's been hard for us too. We understand
completely but please, don't keep all of your hurt locked
up within you. You're all we have left of Ben now. I don't
want you to shut us out."

Jerilyn cracked a thin smile. "You know me too well."

"Well, your boss, that nice man... Mr. Skinner? When he
told us... the news... he asked us to look out after you.
He said you weren't taking what happened very well."
Jerilyn pressed her lips together and closed her eyes.

"It's... it's just been really hard," she repeated, her
voice cracking.

"That's why I wanted to get in touch with you. It IS hard,"
Linda said "but we have to stay together to get through
this together." When Ben told her that Jerilyn had lost her
mother to cancer at the tender age of sixteen, Linda went
out of her way to act as a surrogate mom to her. "We're
family, Jeri. Just because Ben's gone, doesn't mean we're
still not family."

Fresh grief ripped Jerilyn apart. "Okay..." she whimpered
to her mother-in-law. "Okay..."

"We would love it if you would come stay with us for
awhile. Or else Luke and I can come and stay with you...
I... wouldn't mind looking through Benjamin's things for
some keepsakes..."

A fresh wave of guilt crashed over her. A bad memory gushed
forth... the night she had left for Scotland... the huge
fight she gotten into with Ben because she was leaving for
a case while his parents had made a special trip from
Minneapolis to DC to visit... "I would love it if you would
come," she said. "That would be really nice."

"We would like the funeral to be here... to have Ben buried
in the family plot."

"That's not a problem..." Jerilyn clutched the phone. "Ben
would want that." The ultimate irony. Ben would be going
home at last.

"We can arrange the funeral from here... but Jeri, dear.
Could you pick out a suit for him? Or maybe get his dress
blues (his formal uniform from his days in the Air National
Guard) dry-cleaned? I know..." now Linda's voice cracked.

"I know the funeral has to be closed-casket and all,
but..."

"I think he'd want to be buried in his blues. I'll get
those ready." Jerilyn gulped, took a deep breath and asked,

"How's Luke?"

"Oh... he's taking this hard. We all are." Linda said
softly, "He's been spending alot of time at church, talking
it over with Father Anderson... trying to make sense of it
all."

"Tell him... tell him Ben died a hero..." Jerilyn still
fought against the tears. "Tell him Ben was just trying to
do what he thought was right..."

Silence. Then the sound of muffled weeping. "Yes. Yes... I
will tell him. Stay in touch, Jerilyn."

"I will..."

"We'll see you soon."

"Alright... goodbye." Jerilyn put the receiver down. "He
was just trying to do what was right..." she repeated as
she stood up to get dressed. She slipped on a pair of
khakis shorts and a sleeveless black turtleneck sweater.
She went to the closet and started digging for his old
uniform, which she found easily enough, but was unsure as
to where his decorations and dress shoes would be.

Standing on her tiptoes, she looked at the neat rows of
labelled boxes on the top shelf. Finally, she found the one
marked "Air Force Stuff" and she pulled it down.
When she took that box down, the one on top of that fell to
the floor, landing upside down. Putting the Air Force box
on the bed, Jerilyn crouched down to pick up the fallen box
but all the contents fell out. "Oh God..." she moaned,
sitting down, Indian style, casting the empty box aside.
Baby clothes. Tiny little shoes. A pacifer and some small
stuffed toys. The things Linda had bought for her at Baby
Gap and Toys 'R Us that horrible, horrible day they went
shopping at the Mall of America for her unborn child. Her
hospital wristband they had put on her when paramedics
wheeled her into the emergency as the baby left her body in
a quagmire of blood and fluids. A bouquet of dried roses,
what Ben had brought her when she was finally released from
Intensive Care and into a regular hospital room.
Jerilyn reached for the little stuffed Beanie Baby teddy
bear and held it close to her.

<<You're all we have left of Ben now.>> Linda had said.
<<But I have nothing>> Jerilyn thought and clutching the
small stuffed toy, she leaned against the dresser and began
to cry.

Later that afternoon
5:47 PM
Washington, D.C.
*******************
"Dana," the Admiral said as they climbed into the car. "I
wish I could say something to make you understand why I
worked with those people."

"The only thing I understand is that a man is dead and
another man's life for all intents and purposes is over"

Scully fired back, "because you didn't give your daughter
the chance to fight for herself."

Aside from the pleasantries and occasional considerations,
not another word was said between them for the rest of the
flight.

Instead of taking a second class plane back, as angry as
she was, Scully didn't decline the Admiral's offer to take
his private jet.

After an hour and a half of uncomfortable silence, Scully
was glad to get off the plane with the Admiral. She really
felt sympathy for Starkweather. She was going to have to
learn the truth about her father and the man who raised
her, whether she wanted to hear it or not.

They finally made it to her apartment but Scully couldn't
help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the old family
friend. He's right, after all. She would have done the same
for William. Without a second hesitation.

"Admiral, for what it's worth, she's a strong woman." She
said as they pulled up to her apartment. "I think she would
have been able to protect herself just fine. I just hope
you two can make amends once the air clears."

"Dana, I owe it to Lynn to be honest about this. I am going
to come clean with her. If I ever hope of earning her trust
and respect back, we must be truthful."

"Admiral, can I ask you something?"
"Sure Dana." He replied slowly.

"Is Ben still alive?"

"Dana--you did his autopsy."

"No." Dana answered bluntly, "Ben had brown eyes. The man I
did an autopsy on had blue eyes. Last time brown eyes
turned blue was in a song. Is your son-in-law still living?

Before you answer that, you better think good and hard
about the criminal charges I promise you'd be facing for
aiding and abetting a murder."

"Is that a threat Dana?" He tested.

"Sir, I think that's a garauntee." Scully fired back, with
a look that didn't need the barrell of a gun to accompany
it.

Suddenly, the Admiral looked about forty years older as he
sighed defeatedly, looking as though all the air had been
let out of him.

"At least I feel safe with my little girl in the FBI with
you watching her back."

"Sir, like you said, you owe it to your family to come
clean with this. Please." Scully pleaded with him now, "No
more lies. No more half-truths. No more excuses."

"Yes." He admitted softly. Ben's alive. He's in the Lincoln
Warehouse being held there."

"Thank you sir. I hope Jerrilyn can forgive you easier than
I can.

With that, Scully climbed out of the cab, and the Admiral
whipped out his cell phone as the cab drove off.

"God, I hate these things." He mumbled to himself. "Leo,"
He said as soon as Justin answered, "make sure the
councelor is moved from his current location."

Meanwhile...
Back at Ben and Jeri's apartment

Jerilyn had cried herself back to sleep. Sleep was such a
welcome escape, when she wasn't plagued by strange dreams.
The phone woke her up with a start. Jerilyn crawled to the
nightstand and looked at the caller ID. **Admiral's cell**,
it read.

Jerilyn grabbed the phone. "Dad?"

Alone, in his hotel room, the Admiral nursed a drink.

"Angel," he said.

"Dad... Ben... he's gone... they killed him," she began to
blubber incoherently.

"Jeri, Jeri, I know, I know... I heard the news... angel,
I'm so sorry..." The Admiral was sickened by his own
hypocrisy but the wheels had already been set in motion. He
only hoped that Scully would find Ben in time, despite the
phone call to Leo. In time to save Ben, but only after
Mulder was eliminated. <<If there was only a way to save
all three>> the Admiral mourned, for he genuinely liked
Mulder, had sought him out to save Jerilyn from the
Syndicate. But the Syndicate had discovered his double-
cross and now someone would have to pay the price. Not Ben.
And definitely not Jerilyn. Not his little girl. He already
had to sacrifice Lynnette, his first wife.

Plus... there might... however slim... there might be a
chance that Mulder could even save himself, although the
Admiral wondered how. But then again, this was a man who
nearly drowned, escaped a burning train car, survived from
being lost in the desert and being lost in the Anarctic,
defused a bomb threat in a bank, was abducted by God-only-
knows-what, hell, literally rose from the dead... there
might be a chance.

The Cancer Man had referred to Mulder as the alley cat with
nine times nine times nine lives. The Admiral, perhaps due
to his retirement in Arizona, had thought of Mulder more
along the lines of the Phoenix, the beautiful mythological
bird who purposely built a funeral pyre only to rise from
the flames, more powerful and lustrous than before.

As he listened to his twenty-eight year old daughter weep
for her husband,he sincerely hoped Mulder would pass
through these flames unscathed.

But he doubted it.

And so, it was up to Scully to save Ben. He prayed that she
wouldn't be killed in the process, he'd hate to see William
grow up an orphan.

"Jerilyn, angel, believe me," he said, breaking into his
daughter's sobs. "It will get better," hopefully with
Mulder out of the way and Ben home.

Starkweather was sound asleep finally after the emotional
exhaustion of her mother-in-law's phonecall. And then again
with her adoptive father. The room was dark when she awoke
from her couch. The abrupt reality was finally sinking into
her system. She had dabbled in a few psychology courses at
Quantico. What did that chapter on grief say? Her
photographic memory told her that there were five stages of
the process.

She wondered if people who had made that process up had
ever actually experienced deep grief. Acceptance was the
last stage of grief, but it seemed to Starkweather that she
had already accepted the fact that she was dead. Shock and
denial were the first two steps and she seemed to have
skipped those altogether.

The news of Ben's death immediately sparked anger. Anger at
Ben for leaving her, especially without reconciliation, but
Ben wasn't at arm's length. Mulder, unfortunately for her
future working relationship with Scully and Doggett, was.
Bargainning was the next stage. To Starkweather's mind, she
had absolutely nothing to bargain with. If they hadn't
fought that night, Ben wouldn't have died. But, Jerilyn
thought with a sigh, she wasn't the first widow. People die
every day as long as people have been living. Simple as
that. It was a common tragedy and there wasn't a damn thing
she could do about changing that fact except making sure
the people who did this to him paid for their crimes. Maybe
then Ben's ghost would let her rest.

Starkweather was jolted out of her thoughts with the shrill
ring of the phone.

"Mrs. Starkweather, this is Jessy Spangle on behalf of
Carter, Spangle and Adams. I'm calling to personally offer
condolances on behalf of all of us here. We all miss him."

"Thank you." she said softly.

"I'm truly sorry for your loss. I hate to bring this up at
such a tragic time as this, but Mr. Starkweather's personal
affects are still in his office..." the man trailed off
awkwardly.

"Oh--I--uh--completely forgot. I'm terribly sorry, Ms.
Spangle." Starkweather stammerred sheepishly.

"Mrs. Starkweather," she corrected, "if you would prefer, I
can get his things delivered to your apartment.

"Thank you. I'd appreciate that." She said softly. Then,
lightening-quick, she had an idea. "Can you send me the
files of his last case?"

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid we can't, Mrs. Starkweather," she
answered. "That information is in the senior partner's
hands now to prepare for prosecution of the upcomming
murder trial of Deputy Mayor Mulder."

"I thought the DA typically handled situations such as
those." She fired back. "Since when does an environmental
practice take care of murder charges."

"We are part of the D.A.'s argument on a consultant level."
Jessy replied coolly. "Mr. Starkweather's case was a direct
result of the Deputy Mayor's arrest, and we are continuing
with the investigation in his memory."

"I see." Jerilyn answered. "Thank you. Have a good
evening."

She needed access to that casefile from the lawfirm's
database. Unfortunately, the only people she knew who could
hack into that file were three people in the running for
computer geeks of the year.

Meanwhile.....

Sam pulled up in front of Starkweather's apartment
building, slightly apprehensive. Starkweather, to say the
least had almost left the Land of Sanity for a trip to La
La Land.

With trepidation, he let himself in and rang her doorbell.
Starkweather opened the door, "Hey Papa John," she said,
with a weak smile. Sam noted, with a little amusement, that
Starkweather was not an attractive lady when she wept or
recovering from a bout of tears. Her eyes were bloodshot
and her face was blotchy. Starkweather must have realized
how un-pretty she looked because she said wryly "Yes, I
don't cry like a Hollywood glamour puss. My nose drips with
snot, my eyes get all red..." she shook her head. "Come on
in, Doggett."

Sam did. "You should have called," he chided her.
Starkweather shrugged. "Yeah... well..."

"Starkweather..."

"I know I know... stop being a lone soldier, let others
help you, but dammit Doggett... tell me who the fuck I can
trust? Skinner--understandably--is pissed at me because
I've been less than professional... Scully is awesome...
but... lord... I knew she and Mulder had some sort of thing
going on... but I didn't know it was THAT serious...
I mean I heard the rumors that Mulder may very well be the
proud papa of Will... but... well... what if Mulder's guilty
you know?  Shit, man... I feel like I can't even trust my own
father... I can't even trust my own MIND... I had a mental
breakdown earlier... I'm seeing things... a person who's
not even there... so who? Who can I trust?"

"Me," Sam put his hands on her shoulders. "You can trust
me, Doc."

Starkweather looked up him. "Yeah..." She clenched and
unclenched her fists over and over. "Doggett, if you
weren't here... I don't know..." she looked at the ground,
trying not to succumb to a fresh bout of tears, trying to
revert back into FBI mentality. "I'm going to get the...
um... Lone Gunmen to hack into the mainframe of Carter,
Spangle and Adams so I can get ahold of the oil rig case
that Ben was working on... I swear to God... there's a
connection to this... and I owe Ben at least this much...
to figure out exactly why he was..." She put her hand to
her eyes. "Oh god dammit Doggett," she whimpered, "Things
with me and Ben were supposed to be BETTER when we moved
here."

Sam drew her close to him. "Starkweather... as hard as it
is to believe right now... it will get better..."

Starkweather didn't respond, she had lost her battle with
the weak tears and was sobbing silently into his chest.
Sam so desperately wanted to kiss her. Not to "start"
anything, he respected her too much just to jump into the
sack with her. Just to comfort her, to give her physical
reassurance, to make her like that someone gave a damn.

But Ben was still alive... and he didn't think the real
Doggett would have, so he just cuddled her.

Just then, Al appeared.

7:43pm
Sedai Residence

Ana Sedai sat in her kitchen nervously fidgetting with her
coffee mug waiting for the water to boil. Her hair,
originally mousey brown and now dyed a vibrant red,
glistened in the light of the setting sun shining through
the window. She thought the light almost looked tangible
just then, the way the beams came up through the clouds. If
you found just the right spot, she wondered if you could
climb up to the very sun itself.

Her brother Justin was on his way over for dinner with her
family that evening. She hoped, for his sake as well as her
own, that he had let Lily rest in peace.

Ana was good friends with Lily before she disappeared.
They had gone to church together, sat side by side in the
choir, worked side by side at charity functions. The weeks
before graduation, Lilly had bored Ana to tears with
stories of how wonderful her step-brother was. She
remembered Justin showing her the ring he was planning to
give her and wondering flipantly if he would ever actually
have the guts to give it to her.

"That would be Justin." She said quietly, sighing anxiously
as she went to answer the door.

Her son Peter was sitting in the greatroom zombily staring
at the television set. Sometimes she wondered if he was
conscious of what he was looking at. If she was going to
have a heart-to-heart with her step-brother, he would have
to go.

"Peter, honey," she chirpped sweetly, "can you go play
video games in your room while I talk with your uncle?"
Without a word, the boy left the room, and she opened the
door.

"You look...tired...Jus." she said after they hugged their
hellos.

"Just a lot going on these days, Ana. Big case at work
piling up on me. Where's Mr. Sedai?"

"He's got a convention in Boston, Justin," she looked at
him frankly, "you're not a part of a lawfirm anymore."

"Who told you?" he demanded.

"You still have my house listed as your mailing address.
Your unemployment check came Thursday." She said with a
thin, wan smile crossing her lips, waving the check like a
white flag.

"I'm working...with some people that may help me find
Lily, Ana." he said, sighing heavily. "They told me they
know where she is and a man told me he could get her back."

"Do you really think Lilly is going to want you anymore?"
She fired back. "You're not the same man you were the night
she left!" Her words seared into him. "This--obsession--you
have with her--has turned you into some kinda monster.

You're not a man anymore." she said sadly. "You're her
ghost."

"I don't know what else to do, Ana." He whispered hoarsely.

"I can't give up on her. I don't even care if she would
still marry me anymore. My life is no longer my own. I
can't sleep--I barely eat enough to live. If these people
are who they say they are and can help me find her--then
maybe I can be redeemed. I am the reason those--those--
things took her. The worst part of it is," he said,
choaking down sobs, "I didn't do a damn thing to stop it. I
just let that beam carry her up. I just let them take her
away."

"Be fair to you, Jus. To me." She pleaded. "Could you
honestly have done something without getting yourself
killed?"

"The scary part is, ever since that night, I don't think
I've been alive."

"Do you think Lilly would be happy right now knowing what
this has done to you? Now," she said with a warm smile,
"come on and help me with the salad."

The dinnertable was nervously quiet; forged conversations
had never been either one's forte. The meal, consisting of
Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes overdone limabeans and
a salad, gave all who were present a gratefull excuse to be
silent.

Finally, Peter broke the silence with an announcement after
one last long gulp of milk. "The coach wants us there
forty-five minutes early for pictures at practice tomorrow,
Mom."

"I hated picture days when I was your age." Justin began.
"This one time, I was on a team just like you are and we
had to take a picture, only just before, two of the guys on
my team had bothered a wasp nest under the bleachers. Right
before picture time, a whole bunch of wasps came flying at
all of us. We musta looked pretty silly all nine of us
hopping into the Coach's van!"

"I betchya would've looked even sillier in the pictures if
the wasps hadn't come." Peter sneared.

"Eat your limabeans, Peter." Ana scolded her son crisply.
"If you don't finish them you won't get desert."

"Your Mom has cherry pie tonight, Pete. You better eat up."
Justin urged helpfully.

"I don't like cherry pie." Peter grumbled.

"You haven't had *this* cherry pie." Justin coaxed.

"I've had five peices of cherry pie, and I didn't like any
of 'em. Why should I like the sixth."

"Your mom didn't make this one." That remark earned Justin
a playful punch in the shoulder from his step-sister.

"We have your favorite icecream--the Ben&Jerry's Phishfood
in the freezer. That's where it will stay if you don't
finish up your limabeans."

"Besides, kiddo, you gotta eat your veggies. If you don't
you'll look like me and girls won't touch you with a ten
foot pole."

That persuaded the boy to eat his lima beans. With those
finished, he took his plate over to the sink, and the other
two adults followed.

"He's at a difficult age." She said, excusing his attitude.

"So am I." Justin replied as he began clearning the dishes.

"So how's the jobhunt coming?" Ana asked as she ran the
plates under the faucet.

"I told you, I've got a job." Justin answered, subsequently
loading the plates into the dishwasher. "I'm defending the
Deputy Mayor of DC. It's all in the papers."

"Yeah, I heard about that. The case any good?" She said
over the running water rinsing the silverware.

"All the evidence against him is circumstantial. The DA's
got nothing solid on him." He said over the clinking of the
silverware in the dishwasher.

"I don't think you're telling me everything, Justin."

"I don't think you need to know everything, Ana."

"Listen, Jus. I'm looking out for *you* here. Your my half-
brother...but I never thought of us like that. I just don't
want anything to happen to you because of someone who may
or may not be alive."

"When the Deputy Mayor was in the FBI, he specialized in
alien activity. If he can't help me find her, then the
people who put me on that case can."

"What do you mean?" She demanded, raising a questionning
eyebrow.

"These people who put me on this case...they're fighting a
cause...this old guy and this blonde Russian b*tch are at
the healm. They have a lot of power."

"Jus...these people sound dangerous." She answered angrily.

"They're powerful, too, Ana." He fired back desperately.

"They can get me the answers I've been after ever since
that awful night."

"I just don't want you to be wiped off the face of this
earth like that poor girl was. You are in way over your
head Big Brother," she warned.

"I think I was in way over my head with Lilly." He answered
softly.

"Remember when we were kids? I think when they hire faculty
for the school, they ask for teachers, a principal, a vice
principal and a bully. Anyway...it was your last year in
grammar school and it was my second year, and you found out
somehow that a bunch of bullies were stealing my lunch
money. You went to confront them, but got into a brawl."
Her features became drawn... "They broke your nose, and
fractured your wrist...if the teacher didn't break it up, I
think you would've had a broken neck. You've always done
stuff like that. I'm just wondering when the teacher won't
come out to save your ass."

"I'll turn the porch light off on my way out." Justin
growled and stormed out the door. Ana hoped that he wasn't
going to get bitten by the sharks.

Out of her giant bay window, Ana watched Justin storm off
the porch and down the sidewalk towards his car in a huff.
She heard a buzzing noise in the background...

"Mom," Peter said, rolling his eyes in typical pre-teen
fashion. "MOOOOOOOOOOM... hell-LO, earth to Mom."

Startled out of her reverie, Ana turned to her boy. "What?"
she said, a little more tired than she meant to be.
Sometimes, Justin just drained the life out of her.

"Phone," Peter said. As Ana walked back to the kitchen,
Peter tailed her. "Hey, Mom, can I go to Mike's house
tonight?"

"Clean your room first," Ana said automatically which sent
her son grumbling upstairs. She picked the phone up.

"Hello?"

"Mrs. Sedai?" A swarmy male voice asked.

"Yes?" <<Oh no, a telemarketer>> she groaned inwardly.

"You have five minutes to get out of the house." Dial tone.
Ana raced out of the kitchen and to the foot of the stairs.

"Pete! Peter, come down here, now!"

Peter, alarmed by the panicky tone of her voice, actually
came down immediately. "Wha-" he started to say but his
mother grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out of the
door...

Justin Leo was four blocks away from his half-sister's
house when he saw the explosion in the rearview mirror.
Cutting off a Suburu while doing an illegal U-turn, he
floored it back to Ana's house...

The wailing of fire trucks were in the distance. Startled
neighbors were standing in their doorframes stunned. A few
had come to their senses and were coming out to assist the
figures laying in the middle of the road.

Leo squealled his tires to a halt and ran to Ana, who was
sitting up, holding a weeping Peter. "Peter, Peter, buddy,"
Leo grabbed the boy's face and kissed his forehead soundly.

"Are you hurt?"

The boy shook his head but pointed to the hole in the
ground where his house used to. "Smokey was in the house,"
he sobbed, referring to his beloved dog.

As the ambulances pulled up to assist a shaken Ana and her
devastated son, Leo's cell phone began to ring. He answered
as the paramedics lifted Ana onto a stretcher. "What?"

"Consider that a warning, Leo," Marita Covarrubias hissed.

"I told you to get your ass to the safe house." She hung up
the phone with a vengence.

<<That little punk>> she seethed, <<better get his
priorities in line.>> He worked for HER, not CSM, not the
Admiral. He worked for her and he screwed up royally. She
was glad she had the foresight to put listening devises in
Ana's house years ago when Leo came to work for her. She
figured it would keep him honest. Now he just about blew
the entire mission to her. So, Marita reasoned, she blew up
the house.

Next time he screwed up, she'd make sure she'd kill more
that just a dog.

"You two are staying with me tonight. Peter, on the week-
end, we'll go to the pet store and get you another dog,
alright?"

"I don't want another dog." Peter mumbled, horrified of the
thought that Smokey was as replacible as his clothes.

"Peter, don't talk that way to your Uncle." Ana scolded,
then turned her wrath on Leo, who had just finished talking
with the police. "Justin, what if the--those people--the
ones who burnt down my house come after you?" She seethed.
"Justin, whatever the hell it is you've gotten into, I want
you out! I don't give a damn what you do to yourself
anymore, but I will NOT let you destroy my son!"

"How come you can yell at him but I can't?" Peter whined,
but wished he could take it back as soon as he saw the
damning glare his mother flashed him. The defensive,
recoiled look in Leo's eyes made Ana realize the harshness
of her words.

"Oh, Jus...I didn't mean it like that--" she immediately
apologized.

"It's ok...and you're right." He said, sighing heavily.
"The people after me may hit again. I should have thought
of that. I'll put you and Pete in a hotel tonight until I
figure out how to stop these people."

"Justin...I have lost my house." She said pointedly. "I
think I deserve to know what the hell is going on."
Meanwhile...

In Coffee is My Friend 24 hr Coffee shop
********************************************
"Ana..." Justin began, fiddling with the cigarette holder
in his breast pocket. Ben tried to use the lighter as a
weapon in the struggle a couple of nights ago, and with
possible traces of skin and fingernail on it, there was no
way he was going to let it be found in the car. Not wanting
to look at her, he simply replied, "I can't."

"Jus," Ana countered, "we were almost blown up tonight.
Everything I own is GONE...you HAVE to tell me."

"If I tell you, they'll kill all of us."

"Who's *they*?" She demanded

"Them." Leo answered flatly. "I seriously don't know who
THEY are beyond a group of people I work for." Then eager
to end the conversation, he steered the topic, "Come on,
you need to find a place to stay. The sooner we get you
guys outta here, the safer you are."

"You mean the safer *you* are." She hissed. "Justin exactly
what have you gotten yourself into?"

"Deep shit." was all Leo could answer.

"Apparently." Ana snorted. "I can't handle this Justin,"
she said with a frustrated sigh, "I love you, but if you
don't stop dealing with this group, I'm going to have to
put a restraining order on you."

"I don't blame you, Ana. Look...I'm sorry for all the
trouble I caused."

"When all is said and done, do you think it will really
help you find Lily?" she asked quietly.

"Yes...they promised me that...but if that means you shut
me out then..." Leo couldn't finish.

"Are these people good at keeping promises?"

"I don't think so."

"Then you should get out. Get away from them. Get a fresh
start."

"I don't think I can."

***********************************************************

"Marita, you should have been more careful." The Admiral
reprimanded. "Blowing up a house like that only makes us
high profile. The police will want to know what's going
on."

"I made sure that there's nothing left to investigate. No
arsen charges will be made tonight. Look, old man," she
seethed, "I had to make sure that cocky little shit knew
who was in charge."

"Are you in charge, my dear?" The Admiral demanded.

"If the human race can keep the illusion that we're in
control of this planet just a little bit longer, and if
that means keeping Spender and Leo in check, then yes...I'm
in charge."

"How can you be so sure?"

"The same way anyone is sure of anything." She said with a
sly smile. "By not thinking too hard about it."

The news was all over the explosion in the quiet suburbian
neighborhood. The Lone Gunmen, still so stunned by their
recent discovery of the link between Mulder and
Starkweather however, probably would have paid no mind to
the horrifying event if Langly hadn't looked up at the TV
and said "Crap."

"What?" Frohike adjusted his glasses, smudged with
fingerprint dust. The boys were trying to deduce who the
benefactor of their package was.

"You guys missed it," Langly said. "A house blew up for no
reason in the 'burbs and guess who was in the
neighborhood?"

"Tom Hanks?"

"No... and Byers what kind of stupid, lame-ass answer is
'Tom Hanks'?"

"Well... he did make that terrible comedy called "The
'Burbs", naturally this was all pre- 'Sleepless in
Seattle', 'Philadelphia', 'Forest Gump' and let's see... oh
yes! 'You've Got Mail' and 'Saving Private Ryan' and
'Castawa-"

"Hey, Leonard Maltin!" Frohike snapped. "Get to the point."

"Well, I was merely making an attempt at humor since the
atmosphere has been quite dark ever since we made the
discovery that Mulder and Mrs. Starkweather share more that
just the supreme talent of getting under everyone's skin."

"You're just pissed because she made you crap your pants
when she stuck that gun in your face, Virgin Monkey Boy."

"STOP CALLING ME THAT!!!"

"Dudes!" Langly broke in. "Mulder's lawyer was in the
neighborhood."

Frohike shrugged. "So?"

"Well..." Langly babbled. "Doesn't that strike you as kinda
weird?"

"Why?"

Langly paused. "I dunno," he admitted.

"Langly," Frohike spluttered, absolutely frustrated. "I
think the peroxide is soaking into your brain. And I can't
find one damn print on this box."

"What about the vials?"

"Worthless. We handled them too much."

"Wait a minute..." Byers said quietly, going to the
computer.

"What?" Langly asked.

"Langly, you may have for once in you life, been observant
about something."

"So the LSD didn't kill off ALL of his braincells? That's a
relief," Frohike grumbled.

"Well... call me insane-"

"Insane," Langly and Frohike droned at the same time.

"But personally, I think it would be odd that a prominent
lawyer would be at the site of an explosion but not
necessarily damning..."

"So... how was I observant?" Langly demanded.

"Well, when you pointed out Mr. Leo to us on the TV, that
reminded me that I had asked one of our associates to get
documented history on Mr. Leo, because... again... another
coincidence... when I spoke to Mulder on the phone-"

"When did you get to talk to Mulder?" Frohike pouted.
Byers ignored him "-he mentioned his defense attorney was
from Carters, Spangle and Adams... which was the law firm
Mr. Starkweather worked for..." Byers opened his email and
saw a message from Jimmy Bond with a ZIP attachment.

"Now... does that strike you as odd?" he queried as he
opened the email and waited for the ZIP file to download.

"No." Langly said. Frohike stood on his tiptoes and slapped
him upside the head. "Ow!!!"

"Why would a lawyer from the firm Ben was working at send a
lawyer to defend Mulder?"

"Cause lawyers are dogs?"

Frohike hit him again.

"Stop that!"

"Well," Byers said mildly. "Not all, but THIS lawyer is a
dog, like I suspected."

"Wha'cha got?" Frohike leaned in closer.

"HR records from CS and A. Mr. Leo was terminated from the
firm as of May 13, 2002. And this... if Jimmy did his
job..." Byers double-clicked his mouse. "Ah ha..."
Langly and Frohike looked at the jibber-jabber on the
scene. "What the hell is that?"

"Data retrieved from Washington DC Workforce Development.
Mr. Leo is a lawyer on unemployment." Byers clicked on the
next file. "His bank statement Yves hacked from Wells Fargo
site. Virtually empty."

"So what the hell is going on?" Frohike said. "If he's
getting a payoff, where is it? And what made you so
suspious of Leo in the first place?"

"Mulder said that Leo is doing this case pro-bono."

"AHhhhhhhhhh," Langly and Frohike said.

"And, well, when Mulder said that... I had to do a little
digging. Find out what kind of character that this Mr.
Justin Leo is. And I find this..." Byers shook his head.

"But when we got that package... I completely forgot all
about Leo and the case."

"Me too," Langly admitted.

Frohike closed his eyes. "Guys... we've been had."
Byers and Langly exchanged confused looks. "I don't
follow," Byers said slowly.

"This," Frohike held up the note from the package. "'The
answers are in here?' Bullshit. We were sent this to keep
us busy. To throw us off the trail..."

"Because the answers in there..." Langly said, putting the
pieces together. "would distract us from what we were
working with Mulder and Dog-breath in the first place...
The fucking oil rig!" he cried as he raced to his computer
and started to type frantically on his computer. Then, his
body slumped in his sit, head lolling back in defeat.

"We're too late. There's massive firewalls built around the
Galpex site. They even found the rabbit-holes we created
and filled them. It's going to take time to get back in
there."

"Time we ain't got." Frohike ran his fingers through what
was left of his hair. "F*ck," he muttered inaudibly.

"I hear ya, brother," Langly groaned, pulled on his own
hair in frustration. "Why were we so stupid????"

Byers scratched his beard. "We're not stupid." He said in
his quiet voice. "We were distracted by the red herring.
But we are not stupid." Byers began to type. "Mrs.
Starkweather was working on a connection between the oil
rig and the Air Force base where the downed planes came
from and I think it's safe to say that the USAF and the FBI
have not strengthened their firewalls as Galpex has."
Frohike and Langly raised their head. "Well, Hippie,"
Frohike said. "Make some coffee...."

Meanwhile....
Back in Jail...
Do not cross Go
Do not collect $200...
um.... sorry... anyways....

Manny was sound asleep, snoring loudly as drool dribbled
down his face. Mulder paid him no mind. Under the guise of
reading a book, Mulder was trying to quietly finish piecing
together what Starkweather had started.

But first he had to get inside her head. <<Oh God...>> he
moaned to himself, little realizing that Starkweather had
the same reaction when she had decided to profile him.

"Alright, Jerilyn," Mulder closed his eyes remembering
their first encounter. He had by surprised at her small
frame and baby face. She was a woman creeping towards
middle-age with extreme defiance. Nature had been very kind
to her, and Mulder remembered she was damn well how kind
Nature was to her and used Nature's kindness to her
advantage, lulling people into a sense of security... until
they pissed her off and she opened her mouth.

Judging by their few and far inbetween meetings, for
Starkweather did not hide the fact she was not overtly fond
of him and so did not make a point to talk to him, unless
she absolutely had to, Mulder knew for a fact she rarely
backed down from confrontation. Plus she was not afraid of
using force, at all, Mulder recalled, ruefull rubbing his
neck where she tried to choke him. <<B*tch>> he couldn't
help thinking. But her violent outbust only proved what
Mulder had thought from the beginning, if someone could
look beyond the childishly sweet face and into her eyes and
ignore the cutting tongue, they would see the passionate
and loyal heart that drove Starkweather into doing what she
believed was right. Coupled with her feral intelligence
that could took swipes at people's foolishness and
corruption fearlessly, someday she would be a force to
reckon with. But not until she learned to curb her
naturally salty tongue. Her mouth and her attitude was
going to get her in trouble time and time again until she
grew up. In fact, Mulder's ears still rang with the snarls
of his first fight with her, when she had busted him and
the Lone Gunmen for trying "To break into my home, to
tamper with my phones, to add surveillance cameras to
monitor my movements for my protection? That a little Air
Force medic retiree and current FBI agent, who survived
Basic training, medical training, FBI training and a
Slipknot concert is so inept at self-defense that a
illegally placed surveillance equipment is going to be
adequate protection?"

"I don't doubt your abilities to take care of yourself,
Jerilyn," Mulder said patiently. "You're a very capable,
competent woman-"

"Gee, can you be any more patronizing?"

"Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather, do you have an open mind?"

"It's fairly open, but not so much that my brains fall
out."

"Jerilyn, you need to listen to me now, your life is in
danger."

"I'm a federal agent. My life is in danger everyday due to
my choice"

<< "I'm a federal agent. My life is in danger everyday due
to my choice.">>

And that was the stumbling block, Mulder reasoned, keeping
Starkweather from achieving healthy self-actualization.

<<**I'm.** **My life** **My choice**>> Her pride and her
arrogence and fear of loss, fear of being alone. Never a
**we** heard anywhere.

Mulder smiled and shook his head. <<Like looking in a
mirror>> he sighed to himself.

Pushing his own issues aside, he delved deeper into
Starkweather's psyche. As of right now, she believes her
husband is dead and her dedication to duty and honor is
probably fueling the fire of guilt that's burning her up.
She believes that she should have stopped Ben from his
fool's errand and now that he's gone, she owes it to him to
find the truth.

<<Why does that sound familiar?>> he wondered before his
profiling went on...

So where would she go for answers? Well... she probably
checked HIM inside and out. If she was as good as people
were saying, Mulder thought smugly, then her profile is not
going to match the true "murder" suspects, which will raise
the hairs on the back of her neck. So now she's dealing
with whether to believe or not believe, to be or not to be,
the eternal question. Unable to handle emotions, she
probably hides away to cry, only to come out feeling worse,
but in extreme denial and harboring much guilt, she will
try to shove those feelings even deeper down, trying to be
professional...

Until a gesture of sadness or kindness makes her crack.
Mulder sighed. Or a hologram appearance, that could make
her crumble.

<<So...>> Mulder backed up. While she was in professional
mode, she probably went back to square one. That damn oil
rig. There was a reason why Ben was ordered to prosecute it
and why he was silenced for it. Mulder wondered how far
back in the oil rig case did she go? Did she explore the
history of the vicious Black Oil known as Purity?

She would have... Mulder believed... or at least... I would
have...

He scoured his memory for the conversation he and Scully
had after her mission to Scotland, with Doggett and
Starkweather in tow. Incidently, it was Starkweather's
first X-File.

The Lone Gunman had just brought him to Scully's after his
futile attempt to make the Hurricane understand how much
danger she really was in. He was retchedly ill, literally.
Before Scully brought him to bed, he threw up her favorite
shoes.

After she took his temperature and listened to him whine
about how he felt like such a loser, a puppet, a sell-out,
thoughts planted by the benevolent Starkweather herself.

Scully had basically told him to stop whining because she
was there and together, they had battled worse odds. To
change the subject, Mulder had asked her about the trip.
"A complete diaster," she had said, once again mopping his
hot brow with the soft, cool, damp cloth. "We lost our only
witness and the legal evidence was confiscated by the
United States Army. It's under lock and key, we can't touch
it. The case is dead in the water."

"Legal evidence?" Mulder had rasped, striken with
bronchitis. He remember how much it hurt to breath, how
much effort it took to even keep his eyes open, but he
wanted to listen. He wanted to stay awake. "Are you
implying that there's not-so-legal evidence?"

"Starkweather killed a bounty hunter. She doesn't believe
that it was alien, of course, but... anyway... samples of
the blood was collected to be sent to Quantico, but Doggett
took one of the samples."

"Doggett?" Mulder had hardly been able to contain his
mirth, despite how bad he felt. "Puppy-Man?"

"Stop it Mulder," Scully gestured Mulder to sit up, which
he did. Scully slid behind him and he rested his head on
her, closing his eyes as she continued to bathe his face,
throat and chest with the cooling water. "And when we
examined the downed aircraft, Starkweather noticed an
abnormality with the c*ckpit shield... she said the glass
looked to be heated enough to liquidify, then cooled down
and solidify again. Starkweather helped herself to a piece
of glass." Mulder had chuckled. "Mulder, it's not funny.
They violated a crime scene, they disturbed evidence..."

"Scully, Scully, Scully, how often has our work been
sabotaged? I think Starkweather and Doggett are engaging in
a little CYA if you ask me." Mulder had sighed in
exhaustion and relief when he felt Scully's cool fingers
rub his temples. "But you still have no idea why this plane
went down?"

"I can't think of any. Starkweather was muttering she might
have a hunch, but before she said anything, she passed out
and Doggett took her home." Mulder had startled at that,
tried to sit up, but Scully had pushed him gently back down
against her again. "Remember how I told you that van the
bounty hunters were driving were hurtling towards her? She
threw herself across the hood of another car to avoid being
mowed down by the runaway truck. Also an Army lietenant
hurt her arm pretty badly. Come to think of it... she also
hit her head pretty hard when we had to make that emergency
landing in Rome... I'm surprised she held up this long."

"But you don't remember what her hunch was?"

"Mulder, don't press. It's not good for you, it's not good
for me. You're sick and I'm tired." She had stroked his
hair and used the same soothing voice that she did with
little Will when he was fussing. "Mulder, just let it go...
it'll be fine, just rest, just close your eyes and let it
go..."

And Mulder had let go and fallen into fitful sickly sleep
until the LGM returned from the errand to the drugstore
like Scully asked him. She had roused him enough to take a
heavy duty antiboditic and an even heavier
antidecongestant. Then he truly let go and slept like the
dead.

Now, trapped in a cell which seemed to grow smaller and
smaller every hour, Mulder was reaching for the thread that
Scully told him to let go. <<The oil rig, the oil rig... Al
said Starkweather was working on a connection between the
rig and the crash in Scotland. They were intertwined and
the reason for this whole nightmare....>> Mulder's teeth
clenched together. He longed for a sunflower seed.
Stretching, he rotated his head left to right, hoping to
pop his stiff neck. As he did this, he happen to look at
Manny, still sleeping, still snoring.

And the answer hit him like a Mack Truck.

"Oh my God..." Mulder said aloud.

He had the answer. He just hoped there was physical
proof... he hoped it could be found before good ol' Billy
Boy paid him a visit.

"Oh my God..." Mulder said aloud. "What if the plane was
SUPPOSED to crash???"

Manny snorted in his sleep and rolled over, continuing to
snore.

Mulder began to pace. It made sense, it made perfect
sense... according to what little Scully told him about the
case in Scotland before she left with Doggett and
Starkweather... several other military planes had taken off
for routine missions and crash-landed way off course days
later. According to Starkweather, several airbases had
fueling contracts with the oil company. If Mulder was
right... if the oil company was just a cleverly simple
fascade for their real mission, to secretly import Purity
into other countries...

Mulder continued to pace. But wasn't the Black Oil
transmitted by bees? He knew it was, Scully had nearly died
from a bee from that weird farm in Texas. But the Black Oil
was also transmitted just by touching it. Plus... God only
knew how many other places there could be in the world that
was genetically engineering killer-bees...
Mulder went to the bars and grabbed the bars in
desperation, wishing he had the strength of Billy Miles. If
Ben would have been successful with bringing the case to
trial, everything would have come out. Including the race
of indigents that were immune to the Black Oil... which,
Mulder realized frantically, is what the Syndicate was
hiding... or rather the New Syndicate. Even though he knew
that most of the "Old Guard" had been killed, he had the
sneaking suspicion that someone was waiting in the wings
for just such an event so he... or she could grab the
reins.

And if the New Syndicate was anything like the Old
Syndicate... pretending to help the alien nation while
trying to undermine their efforts... they would NOT want it
to become public knowledge that some humans were immune...
humans like the two brave souls who perished on the oil rig
trying to stop their evil work... humans like himself and
Scully... possibly Starkweather... but definitely...

"William..." he breathed. "Oh no..."

If Starkweather didn't wake up, if he didn't get out of
this cell... the hell with the rest of the world, who was
going to protect Scully and Will?

"D-d-doggett..." Starkweather stammered "I think I should
lay off the J.D.'s."

"Starkweather?" Sam asked with an expression of forged
confusion plastered on his face. After fifteen years of
leaping, he had acquired acting skills. In a flash, he
pulled the gun out of the shoulderholster and had it poised
toward the gun.

"Please..." she stammered, "tell me you see a man in a God-
awful suit in this room? Because if you don't, Clarence is
back...and you should check the yellow pages for nutfarms."

"Awful?! What the hell do you mean awful?!" Al objected.
"This material is top-quality 100 % silk! He can't see me.
You're the only one who can see me honey." Al fibbed.

"I think I'm going fucking insane..." She closed her eyes.
"He's not real, in a minute, I'll wake up and this will all
go away...he's just a figment of my imagination..."

Mumbling, she walked over to the liquor cabinet, and poured
every drop of liquor that existed.

"Who's there?" Sam immediately recoiled, poising his gun
for show.

Sam and Al, meanwhile, took the opportunity while her back
was turned to them to relay a message

*Mulder* Al exageratedly mouthed and pointed at his watch
then pointed at Doggett's gun and then emphatically pointed
at his head

"Callivici," she swung around, and immediately Al and Sam
both stiffened up, "Why'd you come back?"

"Ummmmm...St. Peter wanted me to tell you that unless you
stop cryin' me a river, Mulder's going to be killed in
prison within..." he held up Ziggy and punched in data,
"twenty four hours."

"Glad to see Heaven's gotten an upgrade." Starkweather
purred.

"Why do you think we couldn't affoard the cleaning bill?"
Al retorted.

"Oh, I see. You cant affoard a cleaning bill but you can
affoard technology that doesn't exist yet. It's a God damn
miracle."

"That's what Angel's do, isn't it?"

"I can't believe I'm arguing with a figment of my
imagination. God...I must be insane."

"I'm not God, I'm--" Al protested.

"Shut up!" Starkweather barked.

It was hard for Sam not to hide his urgency. Aside from
finding this situation slightly amusing, he desperately
needed whatever information Al had to give him. So, he
continued to play along. "Starkweather? Who are you talking
to?"

"Calivici...my gaurdian angel...with a pretty blinking
calculator..." she said quizzically.

Just then, Starkweather's cell phone rang. Scully's voice
was urgent on the other end.

"Starkweather, turn on the local news. There's something
you should see.

Sam gave her a questionning glance that was unanswered.
Starkweather turned her television on from cable to local
television.

"A Gap commercial?"

"No no no...it just went off the air...Mulder's lawyer is
connected to an unexplained explosion.

Al and Sam were both starring wide eyed at the next
newsclip from the Spangle, Adams and Carter lawfirm.

"Jiminy Christmas!" Starkweather murmuring at the sight of
the man on the screen. "Look at that..." eyeing the
cigarette holder..."looks a helluva lot like the cigarette
holder I gave...he knows...holy F*ck! I think that man
killed Ben...if he didn't kill Ben," she finished quietly,
"...then he at least knows who did..."

Starkweather faced the television set, nibbling her
thumbnail, oblivious to Sam or Al. "Unless, he's in on it
with Mulder, he is his lawyer, but... no if he was in with
Mulder, he would have gotten him off on bail, if Leo was in
on it with Mulder, there is no logical reason why Mulder
would still be sitting in that jail cell..." she bit her
lip. "Unless he's being set up..." she muttered to herself
as the commericals droned on and on, a McDonald's spot,
then a local spot for a furniture company, then the news
was back on. The way-too-happy anchor woman re-informed
Washington DC and the surrounding areas of the unexplained
house explosion in a nearby suburb of DC. As the already
over-played footage re-aired, the woman's voiceover
announced how the fire marshall suspected foul play, but
has not yet been determined. The picture flashed back to
the family, a woman, cut, scraped and mildly burned
hovering over her fear-striken son while a man, Justin Leo,
tried to comfort them both.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," she whispered to herself, still
thinking.

"Starkweather?" Sam asked.

"Hang on a sec," she said, dashing off into the bedroom.
Sam was about to follow, but Al already vanished, centering
on her. Sam heard a loud "CAN'T A GIRL GET SOME FUCKING
PRIVACY YOU PERVERTED LITTLE HALUCINATION??" Al
returned to Sam quickly, very red-faced, a rarity.

"She's changing," he mumbled, punching at his little com-
link to cover his massive embarrassment.

"What's going on?" Sam hissed insistantly. "Does anything
change?"

Al began punching at his com-link for real now. "Mulder
still croaks tomorrow night at straight up five o'clock
Eastern time-"

Just then, Caesar the Fat Orange Cat rounded the corner.
His tail puffed up three times it's normal size, hissed at
Sam, glared at Al. He lowered himself to ground, just like
his bigger and wilder relations in Africa, waggling his
rump, tensing his legs, preparing for the attack. Suddenly
he lunged himself off the floor, hurtling himself towards
Al, claws extended. Al, by now, used to animals freaking
out on him, put his hands behind his back and waited
patiently. The cat sailed right through him. Confused,
Caesar flailed his paws wildly as he tried to control his
landing. He belly-flopped onto the polished oak coffee
table, sliding across it, knocking magazines and coffee
cups off and falling into an undignified orange heap on the
floor. Tucking his tail between his legs, Caesar slunk off
to nurse his wounded pride in peace. "HA!!!" he barked at
the retreating cat. "That makes up for every damn cat Ex-
Wife Number... Four... Five... whatever... brought home to
destory my house."

"Al!" Sam snapped, although he had been privately amused by
the entire scenario.

"Oh oh oh right..." Al got back to work. "Oh... no...
Sammmmmm.... Starkweather gets killed **tonight** now."

"WHAT?!?!?!" Sam felt his heart and head spin. "How???
Why?"

Just then, Starkweather came back, in baggy khakis cargo
pants cinched tighly at her waist with a thick black belt,
a chest-hugging tight black t-shirt while wearing one of
Ben's dark grey dress shirts over it, shiny black boots Sam
correctly guessed where from her days in the Air Force. Her
hair was pulled tightly back in a harsh French braid. Over
her head, she had tied on a black hankerchief, pulling her
bangs back so anyone could clearly see the ugly scar she
earned when her flight to London was crash landing in Rome.
The tail of her braid swished back and forth as she walked
out. She wore dark black sunglasses. Her mouth was pulled
down what seemed to be a permanent frown. She looked evil.
But what scared Sam more was the gun she was loading.

"Starkweather, what are you doing?"

She smiled coldly at Sam, the smile worse than the frown.
"I'm gonna go have a chat with Mr. Leo," she said wickedly.

"Don't know if you wanna come with Doggett. The game just
got dirty and your suit is still sparkly clean."

Sam looked down at Doggett's neatly pressed black suit,
starched white shirt and grey and red and violet striped
tie. With a sigh, Sam took his gun out, checked it, took it
off of safety and put it back in his holster. "My suit's
washable," Sam said.

Starkweather stuck the gun in the back of her waistband,
pulled Ben's shirt over it and grabbed her car keys.

"Oh boy," Sam said, following...

After Scully left the Admiral, she could not shake the
feeling that he was not going to be honest with her. He was
an old family friend, and she believed he truly wanted to
do right, but that other forces were compelling him to do
wrong.

It was her job now to flush the compelling forces out and
uncover the truth. The truth now, she hoped, would set
Mulder free...literally this time.

She needed to go to the county jail and tell Mulder
everything she found. He would want to know he had a sister
again, even if it was someone who had a powerful left hook
that liked to meet his face. She had come to rely on Reyes
in these times when she needed someone to stay with Will
while she persued these questions, and was really not quite
sure how she would repay the favor.

The house phone rang just then, interrupting her train of
thought which was in the middle of trying to determine the
best next step in this investigation.

"Dr. Scully, my name is J. Stephen Cello III." a young man
began, "You don't know me, but one of my late colleauges
worked with one of your colleagues."

"What's this all about?" Scully was slightly irritated with
a man automatically introduced himself as someone whose
name sounded like the closing of Seseme Street <this seseme
street was brought to you by the letter J and the number
3>.

"Mr. Starkweather was my colleague." He answered sadly. "I
was going over the police reports here in front of me on
behalf of our lawfirm and your name came up. I think some
things need to be brought to your attention."
Scully got off the phone completely outraged. Mulder was
being set up by the young lawyer, and she was sure it had
something to do with the oil-rig. Now all she had to do was
find the connection. She picked up the phone again.

"Byers. It's Scully. Listen, I need you guys to do me a
favor as fast as you can. Can you get me the phone records
for Justin Leo and fax them for me? Thanks, I appreciate
it."

She was slightly puzzled when the records pulled up on her
fax machine immediately.

Al, taking a puff of his cigar, stood in the shadows. When
he realized she didn't see the smoke, he stepped into the
light.

"Mulder..." she mumbled to herself, a thin smile gracing
her lips, "you are one paranoid piece of work..."

"Ain't he though?" Al said, grinning over her shoulder.
Her brow crinkled in confusion when she saw one number from
Sasha Krycek at PO Box 37 Cherry Lane Apts.

She was interrupted on her way out again by yet another
phone call. This time it was her cell, so she wasn't
completely stopped.

"Scully," Skinner began, "what have you found so far? I
tried to get a hold of Starkweather, but she's busy at the
moment."

"Sir, I wish I could fill you in, but so am I. I'll get
back to you in a few hours."

Feeling in the way and out of the loop, Skinner sighed and
dialed the number for the mayor.

Scully wound down the streets towards the county jail
apprehensively, and it had nothing to do with the place she
was going. This whole ordeal was completely illogical. Who
gets arrested on pure circumstantial evidence? Why did the
judge set the bail so high? Where did the body come from?
The only question unanswered surrounding the whole mess was
that Ben was opening doors someone intended to keep locked.
Tonight, before The Gunmen, Starkweather, and Doggett came
for Mulder, she knew that she needed to find at least seven
out of ten. If they weren't all going to serve time in
prison, she needed solid proof.

>From what she could tell from Ben's colleague, Mulder's
current lawyer was someone definately working with someone
who had connections...but as far as she knew, the most
connected man in Washington was dead.

But, she reminded herself with a heavy sigh, "The phrase
'as far as I know' has a way of not going very far in this
job."

She knew without a doubt that if the break didn't succeed,
Mulder would be moved to a state penetentiary. That wasn't
the worst of the consequences, though. Her mother would
undoubtedly be given full legal custody of William, while
she, Starkweather, Doggett and the 3 Muskateers would be at
the mercy of the court system. The truth that's out there
would be abandoned, ignored, closed completely.

But that wasn't going to happen.

She was going to find the proof they needed. Mulder was
going to help her after rush hour tomorrow, and then
everything would be back to normal. <Why do I feel like
I'm in the middle of a Television series that's jumping
the shark?!> she wondered.

Scully pulled into the parkinglot and got out the paper she
reached for after the Gunmen called. She scrawled the
message that Starkweather was coming for him at rush hour,
and beneath that some questions she knew Starkweather would
need answers to if the stunt was to be successful. She
folded up as small as possible and tucked it in her skirt.
Because of the late hour, she was escorted into the
visitation room by a gaurd, and while the gaurd went to get
Mulder, she took the opportunity to get the paper out. She
fervently wished that she could have brought Will with her.
She knew Mulder would want to see him, and that maybe he
would give the motivation she knew Mulder would need to
pull this off. But it was past her bedtime. She knew that
Parenting Magazine would not approve of bringing an infant
to a jail at such a late hour.

Scully never doubted Mulder's innocence. Even still, after
all the horrors he'd been subjected to, she knew those
monsters hadn't robbed him of his compassion. The only
doubt that existed in her mind was whether or not they
could prove it. She wasn't ready for this to be their
goodbye. She sighed tentatively as she waited, and resolved
that she wouldn't let that happen.

Mulder was finally escorted into the visitation room.

"You look tired, Scully." He said quietly, and took her
hand through the glass. Scully thought he looked like he
had probably stayed awake the entire time he was in
custody.

"It's been a hellish day. I went to Martha's Vineyard."
"Finally decided to take a vacation there like a normal
person?" He answered dryly. "Wow, Scully. I'm impressed. If
that's what it takes to get you to have a vacation, I
shouldda gotten arrested long ago."

"Yeah, Mulder." She answered. "I went there to have my
yearly rendez-vous with the pizza guy." Scully deadpanned.
"That explains why you look so beat." He answered in his
annoying monnotone with a sly smile. Not skipping a beat,
he took her hand through the gap in the plexiglass at the
bottom, and in the same tone of voice, he asked "How's
Will?"

"A lot like you at this moment." Scully said with a wan
grin of her own. Then slid the paper into the palm of his
hand. And with one glance into his eyes, she made it
understood that this wasn't something to clue the gaurds in
on.

"I haven't passed notes to a girl I liked since grammar
school." He mumbled only loud enough for her to hear. He
cracked a slight smile as he read the contents of the note.

"My apartment until two weeks, Scully...that's where I'm
staying." he said, hoping she'd get the hint.
For a moment, she looked confused, and then her face lit up
in understanding as she realized what he was saying. <42
until...minus...two weeks...fourteen days...42 minus
14...28.>

"Scully, the way I see it, we've got proof already. I know
what Doggett and I saw on that oil rig, and I think the
connection lies in my cell mate."

"Manny?" Scully asked incredulously.

Mulder nodded slowly in response. "They were using people
who wouldn't know any better...and if they did know better,
they'd need the job too badly to quit, and be willing to
take the risk. The people on the oil rig were transporting
alien oil...same as we saw inTungeska...the same oil that
was being used in those planes in that airport in Scotland.
Certain higherups were getting they're palms greased..."

"No pun intended?" Scully interrupted.

"Right..." he continued, "...anyway...the connection is
that oil, and those workers...if we can get proof that
Kersh and whoever else is connected get those stocks the
boys and me found, then I'm home free."

"There's something else I found out today. I found proof
that the Admiral has been dealing with the Syndicate. They
are the ones who adopted Jerilyn through a blackmarket
adoption agency. Leo has been parading as a lawyer for the
past two weeks. He was fired from his firm, and is
connected to a bombing of a home in a residential
neighborhood. Your old lawyer has been calling this one
number quite a bit for a Cherry Lane apartments, and
they've been increasing lately. When I leave here, I'm
finding out who lives at that address."

"Scully.." Mulder began hesitantly, "if this doesn't work
out, and I..."

"Mulder..it'll work..." she said firmly.