Title: Thrown Author: Red - ds4fm@orange.net Classification: X-File (of sorts), A, MSR Rating: 12 Summary: Well, I don't wanna give too much away. Moose and Squirrel are given a worrying case and must try to distinguish the truth from the lies. Disclaimer: First there was nothing. Then CC created The X-Files. A bunch of ppl saw the X-Files and knew that it was good. But we also saw that CC wouldn't always think in the same way as us, so then X-Philes created fanfic. (In other words, i borrowed 'em. File No Lawsuits) Archive: Anywhere, just let me know! Author's Notes: Well, this is based upon a rumour I heard a while ago (nothing came of it, thank god). Thrown They sat side by side in hard plastic chairs of the kind normally found in waiting rooms and other such horrible places of death and fear. They didn't speak. The air was dry and taut, full of tension. It was humming around their bodies as they sat bolt upright, a void between their seats. They stared into nothingness. Their fate was firmly in the hands of people from years ago who they would probably never know. And then the swinging doors opened, and fate turned over the card... --- Three Days Earlier. Scully walked into the office with an air of purpose about her. She'd had a good weekend, felt relaxed, was up to date on her paperwork and was ready for whatever the X-Files could throw at her. She didn't notice Mulder at first, as she shut the door, hung her coat up and checked the light switch for any signs of bugging devices. "Scully?" His voice was quiet and rough. She looked around sharply and saw him, curled in the corner on his desk chair. He was white as a ghost and his eyes looked moist. "Mulder?" She looked into his eyes and was taken aback by the fear she saw there. "What's wrong? What happened?" She rushed to his side. Put an arm around him. He flinched. This was wrong. Something was wrong here. Mulder never backed away from her touch. "Mulder?" Her voice was slower, calmer. She tried to sound concerned, tried to eliminate the anxiety she felt rising. He turned his face away as she spoke. She watched as a tear made its sad way down his wet cheek. Another followed it. He let a sob loose. It was Scully's turn to back away a little. If Mulder wanted space, she'd let him get it. But not before she knew why. "Mulder, I need to know what's wrong. I want you to tell me. I can't help you if I don't know what's going on." She glanced around the office as she spoke to him, and her eyes rested on the desk. On a case file. She reached for it. "Mulder? Is this a new case? Is this what's upset you?" No response: just a shrug. She opened the file. The nightmare began. This was not happening. It couldn't be happening. It wasn't real. This couldn't be true. Not after her perfect weekend. Not after everything she'd been told. It was a lie. It had to be a lie. She repeated the words over and over to herself as she tried to calm herself down. Stood in the cold, impersonal bathroom of the Bureau, it did, indeed, seem more like a dream or distant memory. She turned on a silver tap. Splashed icy water onto her feverish skin. Took a breath. Her head was still spinning. She rummaged in her handbag, which she still had on her shoulder, and pulled out a small box. Removed a pill. Swallowed it. There, now, Dana. Pull yourself together. It's all been a dreadful mistake, you know that. She left the bathroom and headed for the coffee machine. She bought two cappuccinos and carried them back down to the basement. Walked into the office. Mulder had moved, much to her relief. He was stood at the counter, wiping the tears from his face, when she stood at the door once again. "I brought you a coffee," She offered gingerly. He turned on his heel and looked at her. For a second an unrecognisable emotion crossed his face, and then he managed a weak smile. He spoke. "Thanks, Scully." She nodded and handed it to him, putting down her bag. She sank down into a chair. Took a sip of the cappuccino. Waited. The brown file folder was still on the floor, where it had slipped to from her hands. She eyed it for a moment, and shifted her gaze to Mulder. He was chewing on his lip. "Mulder?" She gestured towards the document and he flinched again: visibly blanched. But then he set down his cup and came to sit opposite her, on the other side of the desk. The folder stayed where it was. "I, um, found it on the desk when I came in this morning. Skinner knows nothing about it. Seems our friend Cancer Man has been breaking and entering." He drew a ragged breath and met her eyes with his; looked down and continued. "I picked it up and opened it. I didn't really read it. I just skimmed the first paragraph and then called Skinner. His secretary said he was out, so I said I'd call back later. "I read the file again. "I saw what you saw." He stopped and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, before continuing in a shaky voice. "I.. um, I panicked. I called Skinner again. That stupid secretary of his said he was in a meeting. So I... I went up there and marched into his office. That son of a bitch was in there smoking his disgusting cigarettes in the corner, and I asked Skinner what the hell was going on. He seemed to have no idea, but old Smoky just laughed and said he hoped I was pleased... god damn it..." His voice cracked. He looked away, a tear sliding down his face once again. Scully could feel herself shaking and realised that shock was probably setting in. For once, she didn't care. "...pleased that I'd found what I was looking for," Mulder managed to spit out before breaking down again, and this time he didn't try to stop her as Scully put an arm around him and held him. She swallowed back her own grief, but soon she couldn't stop it. They cried and cried for what seemed like an eternity. It had to be a dream... Finally... Finally, they calmed. Separated. Scully moved to the other side of the office, shaking her head. Mulder watched her, recognised each sign as she tried to construct some sort of explanation other than what had been offered to her. "Mulder... "Mulder. This can't be true. You know it can't." He looked at her in some sort of wry amusement. He snatched up the folder from the floor and tore the picture from it. He waved it at her. "What about this, Scully? *Photographic* evidence. And it looks to me like it's a genuine picture. Get it tested. Betcha ten bucks they can't find anything to suggest it's not a real snapshot." A sudden, fiery flash of anger lit up her eyes. Her features seemed to toughen. "Mulder! I refuse to believe that it's true! I remember my childhood! I remember it well! I have memories, I have photographs, I have holiday souvenirs - *Damnit* Mulder, I have my mother! How can you possibly believe this to be true?!" She saw a look of doubt cross his face for a moment. He didn't respond at first, but when he did it was in a poisonous tone to match hers. "And how do you know those memories, those photographs, those souvenirs are genuine?" Scully's eyes widened. "I don't. "But I know my mother. And so should you." With that, she stormed from the office, photo in her hand, to get it proved. To get it refuted, to get it turned down. There wasn't any way in the world that it was possible. There wasn't any way in the world that she could *let* it be possible. Fox Mulder, the man she couldn't help but fall in love with more every day, could not possibly be her brother. --- "Well, it looks genuine," the white-coated lab technician told her, "but these days it's hard to tell. Especially if it could have been prepared by professionals. I wish I could tell you something different." The harsh lighting didn't mask the anger on Scully's features, but it did take the edge from her fear. This was not happening; this was not happening. She kept telling it to herself, but she didn't believe it for a second. "Thank you for your time," she said politely, and then took the photograph and turned on her heel. She stalked across the laboratory, trying to hold an air of authority: it didn't work. As soon as she got out of the building and reached her car, she spotted him across the street. Cigarette in hand, he was talking to a woman, and had a snide look on his face. At that moment, she hated him more than she'd ever hated anybody in her whole life. "Hey!" She ran towards him, her hair flying out behind her as she closed in on her target. She briefly considered taking out her gun, but changed her mind again in a second: that would just cause more trouble. He looked around and saw her, and she felt a red-hot shiver of anger drip down her spine as he grinned toothily in her direction. The woman he was with seemed oblivious to the goings-on, but as Scully crossed the last lane of traffic the lady turned away, and instantly vanished into a crowd. Scully didn't care. She didn't really give a shit who Cancer Man liked to chat up. She wanted to know what was going on... and, more importantly, --why--. "Agent Scully - or should I say, *Mulder*," He stated smoothly, throwing his cigarette butt to the ground and swiping another from his top pocket. "How nice to see you here." Scully was fuming. She threw herself at him, a scream of rage escaping her lips. Her right hand connected with his crinkly cheek. She slapped him hard. Startled at what she had just done, Scully backed away again. She was breathing heavily, and her mind was racing. She never acted like this normally. Yes, so she was terrified about the implications of this so-called "case", but attacking Cancer Man in broad daylight? "I'm sorry." She let the apology slip out, uncaring. People were staring, and she felt her fair face reddening with embarrassment. "You obviously don't like the truth as much as that... *partner* of yours does, Dana." He grinned again, and this time she inwardly cringed but didn't move. "Uh-huh." He raised a hand to his stinging face. "It's the truth. Take it or leave it: I offer it to you as a goodwill gesture. If you prefer to live a lie, so be it - but don't complain to us when things don't go your way anymore. "I've helped Agent Mulder enough. Now's my time to give him his answers and move on. Good day." And with that, he turned away. She was left in the street with questions and no answers. -- "Mom? Are you there? Mom? Mom, pick up the phone." No answer. Scully sighed. "Ok... mom, just call me when you get in. Please. I'm at home all evening. Bye." She put the phone down and sank into the sofa. What else could she do right now? She reached under the sofa and pulled out an old, worn photo album. She opened it to look at page upon page of pictures. Herself with her brothers in the woods. Her and Missy, climbing the giant oak in the garden. Her and her mother reading together. Her and her father, about to leave for a trip. She knew these things were real. She knew that she remembered that fishing trip, that game, that summer. She felt the tiny scar on the back of her shoulder, from falling out of that tree moments later. She pulled the photo out of her bag. Scrutinised it. Her and Mulder. She was 7. He was 10. She rose to her feet, went to the desk and took a magnifying glass from the drawer. Scrutinised herself. She held the picture against every photograph in the album, and it matched none of them. No gaps in the album, no match from which it could have been copied. The phone rang. She snatched it up before one ring was finished. "Mom?" "Dana, are you ok? You left me three messages." "Mom... I... I don't know. I need to see some family photographs, if you don't mind. Me when I was 7." Her mother was quiet for a moment. "What for, Dana? What's wrong?" She paused. "It's, um. It's complicated. Can I see them first? It's really important." "Ok, honey, I'll see what I can find. Are you sure you're okay?" She signed once more. "I hope so, mom. I'll be round in the morning to collect them, if that's alright." "Of course, Dana. Goodnight." "Night, mom." She paused. "Mom?" A click. Too late. She put the phone down and looked at it. She shook her head. --- Mulder paced in his apartment. The window. The door. The window. The door. He stopped walking for a moment. "Christ," he said out loud. Continued pacing. He stopped and pulled out the file. Read the first few paragraphs. xxxx -- Classified memo 1013MSR to (name deleted). -- Adoption/reassignment project. -- Update on activity: The project to reassign abducted test subjects to new families is successful so far. Memory control techniques work well for both adoptees and adopted families. Please find attached list of current subjects. MULDER, SAMANTHA -- reassigned as: SCULLY, DANA xxxx The other names were blanked out: no chance of checking their validity. An attached post-it note on the front of the page read: "Happy now?" No, he was not happy. Not happy at all. How could his partner be his sister? How could the people in the project even have allowed such a slip-up to be made? How could they prove this? He picked up the phone. Dialled Scully's number. Hung up before it rang. He picked it back up and called his mother, but she didn't answer. Just as well: he knew she would only get upset if he asked her what was going on. What about the other information in the file? Complete medical profiles of Scully, aged 8, and Samantha, aged 7. Strikingly similar. Samantha had broken her collarbone, Scully fractured her shoulder. Both the same height and weight. The biggest difference between them was Scully's red hair and Samantha's brown: but if the rest of the file were true them surely altering somebody's natural hair colour would be easy. The age difference beetween them, of course, could not be reconciled. But then, one year? Scully had been bright as a child. So had Samantha. One year probably wouldn't have made a huge difference. Especially not if the rest of Scully's family had been 'assigned new memories' as well. He sighed. Paced the room once more. How could they possibly deal with this without virtually admitting that it was true, and taking a DNA test? They couldn't. He called Scully. --- She was sleeping on the couch when the phone rang, her body curled protectively around the album. She knew it was Mulder when she saw the time: 1:19am. She picked it up. "Yeah." "Hey. It's me. Are you okay?" "I'm fine. You ok?" "Fine." Silence for a few seconds. Mulder sighed. "Did you talk to your mother?" "Yeah. She's lending me some photos so I can figure out where they got the picture of me." "Did you tell her?" "No. And I'm not going to. She doesn't need to be upset by this lie." "Ok." Another pause. "Mulder? You do know it's a lie, don't you?" Silence. "Mulder?" "Of course I do. It's just..." "Just what?" More silence. "Just what, Mulder?" "Just so hard to deal with." "I've got to go. It's late." "Ok. Night." She put the phone down with a gentle click. Regretted it instantly. She went to her bed and fell asleep within minutes of laying down. Exhaustion took over her body. Mulder let the phone slip from his hands and lay down on his couch. He cried. --- Scully looked through the photos her mother had given her, four times. After 6 hours of looking through the magnifying glass, she gave up in despair. No match. She racked her brains for who else might have photographs of her at that age, and realised how futile it was. Her grandparents may have done, but they could be anywhere now. Charlie or Bill may have them, or perhaps they'd even been thrown away after her grandfather died. And, of course, the neighbours. Growing up in naval-family accommodation had meant growing up in a close-knit community. Any of dozens of people could have taken photographs of her as a child. She didn't have a chance. But then, how could the people who had made this photograph have tracked down a picture which Scully herself couldn't even find? Unless... She mentally slapped herself for even thinking it. She examined the photograph once more. Where was this taken? She looked at the trees. They were bare. It was winter. She didn't recall taking any vacations during the winter. Perhaps her and Mulder had met each other somewhere on a childhood family outing. Become playmates. Surely she'd remember a boy named Fox? Perhaps not. At the age of 7, she'd be hard pressed to store anything in memory for over 20 years. She wiped her eyes and went over to her computer screen to allow herself the pleasure she'd denied herself since the nightmare had began. She opened up her email and re-read the message that Mulder had sent her on Sunday afternoon. "Hey. Can't wait to see you tomorrow. Hope you've had a good weekend. Just wanted to remind you that we've got tickets to go see that play on Friday night. See you tomorrow. M" Things had been going so well. Their relationship seemed to be heading towards something more concrete. They'd been happy and relaxed. Everything was perfect. Why did this have to come at such an important time? Perhaps that was the reason for them fabricating such a story: to draw them apart. She considered this for a long time. Until he arrived at her door. --- Mulder had slept badly. He spent the morning on the phone to the Gunmen, trying to figure out which government agency issued memos with numbers consisting of 4 digits and 3 letters. Byers had said he was unaware of any agency at all, but that they may have used different codes 30 years ago from what they do today. Frohike had sounded worried when Mulder explained the predicament. Mulder had wondered out loud if Frohike was too scared to marry into Mulder's family. The Gunmen had laughed, but they sounded concerned. Not as concerned as Mulder felt. He made his way to Scully's apartment and knocked before he could change his mind. She just looked at him sadly when she opened the door. "Anything?" he asked. She shook her head slowly. "Not yet." "Me neither." he replied. A pause. "Can I come in?" he asked quietly. She stood for a moment before stepping aside. He walked through the door and sat down on the sofa. He looked up at her. She brought the photograph over to him. "Can you identify this location?" she asked him. He squinted. He didn't want to look too closely. He had to. "Yes, Scully. It looks like the garden to our old house. I told you." She nodded. "Ok. It's winter. Do you remember having friends over at winter? Playing in the garden?" He thought. "Mom and dad had lots of visitors... I guess they could have brought kids with them." "But you don't remember anybody at all?" He shook his head. "No." She thought for a moment. "Mulder, do you remember playing in the snow with Samantha, in that garden, in that year?" "No! God damn it Scully... I don't remember this picture being taken." He jumped to his feet and paced the room twice, hands over his face. Stopped. Sat. Scully was waiting patiently: her face expressed nothing but quiet determination. "Ok. Can you be sure it's the garden?" He picked the picture up once more. Held it before him. "No, because all you can see is the two trees at the end. There's no sign of the fence, the gate, even the bird bath, because of the blizzard that's whipping about behind... the children." A lump formed in his throat. He swallowed hard. "I suppose it _could_ be anywhere at all. The trees just look so familiar, and you can see where I carved my name on that branch, there." Scully held the magnifying glass over the carving. She was stood behind the sofa, leaning over Mulder's shoulder. How much she wanted to hold him, kiss him, take the pain away from him: but she couldn't right now, because a feeling of revulsion was sweeping over her at the thought that this man, this man she had shared a bed with when they were both lonely, the man with whom had cried and shared her very being, the man who she had some very unpartnerly thoughts about, could be related to her in some way. She sighed deeply as Mulder studied the photograph. "Scully, in your opinion, should this carving have been covered by snow?" She roused herself from her thoughts. "What do you mean?" He pointed at the branch above. "There's no way the snow could have been caught by this branch here. Not only is it too far to the left of the branch below, it's also angled down, so the snow would have slipped off when a large drift collected: but it hasn't in the picture." She considered this for a moment. He was right. She'd been so busy concentrating on the figures in the picture that she had missed the other features completely. "Ok, so what are you saying? That they left the carving in just to give you the impression that it's your garden we're looking at, when in fact it's something very different?" "Possibly. Although it's also possible that I may have wiped the snow off so that I could still see my handiwork." "That's true, I suppose, but Mulder - how did you manage to carve your name so high up the tree?" "I climbed it one summer." He grinned at her, and for a second her heart melted. Then she remembered what was going on and the warmth faded. "Ok, but you couldn't have climbed it again in the snow, especially not just to wipe some snow off. And you would have knocked the rest of the snow off of the tree, too." She indicated the snow collected on the bark, and then pointed to the undisturbed snow around the base of the tree itself. It was evident that nobody had approached the tree since the snow had fallen. Mulder nodded. He looked at the picture once more, and then said, "But Scully, even if this photograph is a fake, how can we ever know the truth for sure?" She froze, then. Once the seed of doubt is planted, it is hard to ignore. She knew, in her heart, that this couldn't be true. Could it? "What are you saying?" He drew a breath. "We should take a test. Get our DNA matched. We need to know." --- She was in the parking lot before he managed to catch her. "Scully! Where are you going?" She didn't look back, didn't slow down, just kept right on running until she reached her car and realised she'd left the keys on the counter in her hurry to get away from him. She stopped and leaned against the vehicle in despair. He ran over to her, stopped. Looked at her in confusion. "Scully, what are you doing?" She was out of breath, but she was also angry, and she exploded with rage. "MULDER! HOW CAN YOU EVEN SUGGEST THAT WE TAKE A TEST?!" He was surprised by her outburst. Stepped back. Looked at her in confusion. "I - I just thought -" "Mulder, why can't you just ACCEPT that it's not true? Why do you need to take a TEST?" He shook his head. "You always tell me you need proof, Scully. Now I do too." His voice was calm and even. She realised what he was saying; would have smiled ruefully, had the circumstances been less grim. She sighed. "Mulder. If they can do all of the stuff it says they can in that file, how do you know they can't change DNA? They could have genetically engineered me to have Scully genes! There's no way you could know for certain!" He was looking at her quizzically as she said this. He nodded slowly. "Scully, did you not read the last page of the file?" "Mulder, I didn't read any of it other than the first page. What does it matter?" He chuckled. "It says in black and white that the DNA matching programme was a failure and that the first- wave subjects would not pass a DNA test, if suspicions were aroused. You... Samantha... were first-wave. "If you have Scully family DNA then you're in the clear." She couldn't believe what she was hearing. How could she have been so stupid? The file was pages long, and yet she'd read the bare minimum before freaking out and going through photo albums? There could be more clues in the words than in the picture! She turned on her heel again and ran back towards her building, calling back to Mulder that she was going to read the file from cover to cover before she'd take any test. She'd prove this for herself. She had to. --- Mulder was confused. Scully had barricaded herself in her apartment with the case file, switched off her phone, and was refusing to respond to his banging on the door. After an hour he had given up and gone back to the FBI building to search the archives for anything that might refute the case. What was she doing? He wondered as he sorted through inter-department memos from 30 years ago. Why wouldn't she just take the test? Why did she have to prove it for herself? Was she scared? Surely taking a test was no less awful than finding for yourself that the person you're in love with is actually related to you. Did she want to feel in control? Yes. That had to be it. Scully wanted to be in control of the situation, and by letting someone test her blood she would be handing that control over to someone else, not to mention leaving the door wide open for Cancer Man and his cronies to tamper with the results. The situation was fucked up: that much was certain. Everything else was to be doubted. What would happen if it were true? How the hell would they cope with such a revelation? He didn't want to face that, but knew that it was a small possibility. He was so confused. So, so confused. He was in love with Scully. How would he deal with finding that she was his sister? It would screw everything up. Things had been going so well. He was sure the time was nearly up, and they could finally sort out their relationship and not have to hide their feelings. What would he do? He rubbed his face with his hands. They were cold and clammy. He pulled out another file of memos. Nothing. His phone rang. He snatched it from his pocket. "Yeah?" "Ah, Agent Mulder. I've been trying to reach you. You weren't in your office. " "Yeah, I'm on my way round to kick your ass, you son of a bitch, now tell me what's going on." Mulder tried to avoid shouting at the Cancer Man - other agents were already giving him strange looks as he delved through years of records and cursed when he didn't find what he wanted. "So, you don't believe it either. I'm disappointed in you, Fox. I thought you'd be pleased to have Samantha back, after all these years." Mulder swallowed and controlled his voice, speaking slowly. "It's not true. You know that and I know you know. Just tell me how I can prove it." He laughed creakily. "So, Fox finally wants some proof." His soft tones hardened suddenly. "There is none other than what you've already suggested to your partner. If you are willing to force her into it, to put yourselves through that torment, go ahead. Just don't blame me if you don't like what you find." With that he slammed the phone down and cut Mulder off. Mulder held the phone in his hands and looked at it for a long minute before heading back to the parking garage. --- Scully was in her apartment staring at the wall when Mulder knocked at the door again. She was surprised that he'd come back so soon. She'd expected him to turn up late in the evening and try to talk some sense into her - and yet here he was just three hours later. Maybe he actually had something. She walked to the door and opened it slowly. He was stood in the hallway looking triumphant. "What is it?" Scully asked eagerly. "What did you find?" He sighed. "Maybe something. Maybe nothing." She shook her head, not following. "Look, can I come in?" he asked. She shrugged and stepped out of his path. He walked into the warm living room and flopped onto the sofa. She followed him but chose the armchair, rather than sitting next to him. "Listen to me carefully. The Cancer Man called me. He said there was no way to prove it other than what I've already suggested to you. The test. Now, I know you don't want to do that -" She started to protest, but he raised his hand and put a finger to her lips. She was quiet again. "This tells me a few things. Mainly that they've been listening to us, following us, watching our reactions to this thing. We had that conversation right here in your apartment, which means that they can hear us even as we speak." Worry creased her brow as she opened her mouth to talk, but again he cut her off - this time with a look in his eyes that compelled her to listen. "I've booked us an appointment at the Washington Memorial Hospital for tomorrow, at nine o'clock." As he spoke, he was writing on a scrap of paper. She glanced down to see what it said. Don't go. Pendrell said he'd do the test for us. Meet me in his lab at 7am. "I want you bastards to know that you can't break us," he said loudly, with a wicked glint in his eye. "You think we won't be able to go through with it. But we're onto you! If you're so great then you'll be there tomorrow to tamper with the results - and we'll be waiting for you." Their eyes met as he rose to his feet, nodding to her. She squeezed her eyes closed and a tear escaped. She didn't want to do this. But she had to. She nodded. He smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow morning at nine, Scully." As soon as he'd left, she searched the apartment from top to bottom, but found nothing. How did they know? --- Pendrell was waiting outside his door when Mulder arrived at 7:20. He looked concerned. "Agent Mulder, why are they doing this to you and Scully? I don't understand." Mulder shrugged. "I'm not sure, Pendrell, but I suspect that they want to turn us against each other. They put us together as enemies, but it didn't work out that way. Now they're trying to break down our partnership." Pendrell nodded sympathetically. "I'm just glad I can help." "Right, I'm here." Scully was walking quickly through the empty Bureau corridor, dressed professionally as always, but with her hair tied back and a look grim resolve on her face. Mulder nodded. "Okay, let's go," he said. They moved into the lab and sat down on hard plastic chairs. Pendrell took blood samples from their left arms and then fiddled around with some equipment. Mulder was watching the clock. An hour had already passed. They'd find out what had happened if this wasn't done soon. Scully rose and went to help him with some of the procedure, before returning to Mulder. Pendrell turned to them. "I gotta go through to the other lab to finish this," he said apologetically. "I'll be about an hour." Mulder nodded. "Where are you going?" Scully asked. Pendrell's brow creased. "Just into the other lab. The equipment I need is in there. Just call if you need me." He eyed Scully slowly. She sighed. "Ok. Fine. Go ahead." She nodded towards the swinging doors of the lab. Pendrell nodded too, before turning and leaving them alone. Time passed. They sat side by side in hard plastic chairs of the kind normally found in waiting rooms and other such horrible places of death and fear. They didn't speak. The air was dry and taut, full of tension. It was humming around their bodies as they sat bolt upright, a void between their seats. They stared into nothingness. Their fate was firmly in the hands of people from years ago who they would probably never know. And then the swinging doors opened, and fate turned over the card... Pendrell was carrying the results in a cardboard file. He handed it to Scully. He drew a breath. He spoke. "I, uh, I didn't look at them myself yet. I thought you'd probably be the first ones to know." "Thank you." Scully's voice was wavering now. Pendrell took her hand for a second and smiled. "I'm sure it will work out just fine, Agent Scully." He looked at Mulder and then left the room. Scully turned the file over in her hands. She handed it to Mulder. "You open it." Mulder drew a jagged breath through his lips. "Why? You're surer than I am. You should do it." She shook her head. Shivered. "I can't." She tossed the file into his lap and then got up and ran out of the lab and into the corridor. Mulder looked at the file in his hands. His hands were shaking. His heart was pounding. This was it. He opened the file. The nightmare ended. --- They were in Mulder's car, driving to the Washington Memorial Hospital. They were late for their appointment and Mulder was speeding. Scully reached over and squeezed his shoulder lightly. "Don't worry. They won't suspect a thing." Mulder shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. Whatever, they might have already figured out what we did. What if they get to Pendrell? Kill him?" Scully shook her head. "Why would they do that? Pendrell doesn't know anything more than any other agent who knows our reputation. What could they possibly achieve by killing him?" Mulder barked a laugh. "I guess the paranoia is still on overdrive." He directed the car to the hospital, parked it and climbed out of the drivers seat. Scully was already walking towards the entrance when he caught up with her. They looked at each other for a second before entering the building. The tests were taken in different rooms, this time, so they couldn't glance at each other knowingly. Mulder thought this was probably for the best, especially if They were everywhere in the hospital. When the nurse took Mulder's sample away, he watched her carefully. He was unsurprised to see Cancer Man walking through the corridor towards Mulder's room. "So, Agent Mulder, you took my advice, I see." "That's right." Mulder looked him in the eye. "What are you gonna do?" Cancer Man laughed. Oh, we've already done it, I can assure you. But figuring out what we've done is what will drive you both mad." Cancer Man chuckled once more before exiting the room and making for Scully's. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, picking at a nail. She barely looked up when he walked in. "Agent Scully. I trust you won't be hitting me today, then?" She raised an eyebrow and then scowled. "Do your worst, you bastard." He looked surprised at this turn of events. "We already have, of course. Enjoy." Scully turned her back on him and heard him leave. She allowed herself a smile. If the results came back as a match, they knew they'd been doctored and could probably use CCTV footage to identify the people responsible, even though bringing them to justice would be futile. If the results were negative, then they would know the plan was to keep them guessing and wondering, scared and confused, perhaps destroying their partnership for good. The results came back negative. "Gotcha!" --- Finito --- Should I write a sequel? Should I write a prequel? Should I write an alternative-viewpoint? Should I stop writing altogether?? Please, send any feedback at all to ds4fm@orange.net Flames will be used to warm up my flat - I'm a student and all my money gets spent on X-Files stuff. The Love Shack: http://www.ilovethexfiles.co.uk