TITLE:    Introspection
AUTHOR:   Kitsunagari
RATING:   PG (language)
CATEGORY: XRA
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully romance
SPOILERS: Assumed knowledge up to and including the movie
SUMMARY:  Scully's brother is involved in a car accident, forcing her
          away from the FBI and Mulder...leading to a bit of conspiracy, 
          some angst, an x-file, and an unexpected          
          ally.  Plus Fowley gets her just desserts and our favourite
          agents get another run at that hallway scene (sans bee) Yay!
DISTRIBUTION:Already sent to Gossamer - anywhere else with permission 
DISCLAIMER:  Mulder, Scully and assorted others are all property of
             Chris Carter, 1013 productions, Twentieth Century Fox                                                     etc. etc.  No infringement intended; just a little
             hero worship.
NOTES:       I wrote this _before_ I saw any of Season 6.  The only
             thing I knew was that Fowley & Spender (ick) were
             to be assigned to the X-Files.  Feedback?  Compliments                                                     can be emailed to kitsunagarix@xoommail.com.  Less                                        glowing commentary can be sent straight to the recycling                           bin *g*.

Truth would quickly cease to become stranger than fiction, once we got as used to it. - Henry Louis Mencken


*********************************************************************
                                                       
Special Agent Fox Mulder sat impatiently shifting around in his seat 
outside of Assistant Director Skinner's office.  For the fourth time,
his restlessness 
culminated in his springing out of his chair and pacing 
quickly back and forth in front of his seemingly unruffled partner, 
Special Agent Dana Scully, who seemed oblivious to her partner's
growing irritation to the 
point of abstraction.   The restive pacing came to an 
abrupt halt as Mulder paused in front of his partner, irked impatience 
an almost tangible aura emanating from him.  "I just wonder what
exactly 
the problem is this time, Scully.  Do you think they've changed their
mind about reopening the 
X-Files?  What the hell is this, "screw with Spooky Mulder" month?"
asked Mulder bitterly; 
barely restrained anger undulating in every syllable.
"Sit down, Mulder," replied Scully softly, staring absently straight
ahead, still caught up in 
her reverie.
"Sit down?"  The Assistant Director's secretary surreptitiously glanced

over as Mulder's voice rose.  "That's what I've been doing too much of 
over these last five years, Scully!  Just sitting down and taking this 
crap.  I'm tired of it!  We've been working our asses off; and what do 
we get?  Our work is constantly undermined as key evidence and
witnesses conveniently disappear
 or are discredited; or is ignored as it lingers too closely to truths
people choose to avoid 
to aid in the perpetuation of the mix of lies and half-truths that make
up our so-called 
enlightened society.  And in the end, all that is left is you and I
proclaiming we 
fight for the truth, all the while sounding like a bad Oliver Stone
cliche.
  "And still, you and I smile and thank them for the privilege; and
still 
we get jerked around like this!  Barely thirty minutes after Skinner
calls 
to tell me the X-Files have been reopened, I get this call telling me
that 
we must be outside his office at 9am sharp Monday morning, with no 
explanation, only to be kept waiting for forty-five minutes!  I tell
you, Scully, I'm beginning
 to prefer Cancer Man to Skinner; at least you always know where he
stands."
Mulder released an explosive breath of air and agitatedly looked down
at 
his partner.  Scully closed her startlingly blue eyes for a fraction of
a second; and watching 
her, Mulder was reminded too late with a pang of 
conscience by the quickly fading but still visible scars of her recent 
ordeal in the Arctic that Scully didn't really need to hear this from
him
 now.  After all, she knew the truth of his words, had lived the truth
of 
his words for the last five years; had lost a sister, a part of her
life, 
and her unborn children to it. Mulder inwardly cursed at his
carelessness 
as her eyes wearily slid up to meet his.  As their eyes locked, Mulder 
barely restrained a start of dismay.  It wasn't that they held
reproach; 
the familiar look of understanding was there, and, due to her recent 
ordeal, a great deal of fatigue.  It was not this however that caused
his
 heart to plummet into his stomach, but instead, a look of barely 
restrained, raw grief, that also was all too familiar.  His mind began 
racing as he remembered that the unfailingly punctual Scully had been 
thirty minutes late and had exchanged only the briefest of greetings
with
 him, obviously preoccupied, which Mulder had attributed at first to
worry
 over what the forthcoming meeting was to bring, but now...
"Scully...," Mulder began, looking searchingly at her, but got no
further
 as the hum of voices warned them just before the door to Skinner's
office
 swung open; and Scully rose and stood beside Mulder, both turning 
expectantly.  Skinner came out, still talking to somebody following him

out of the office.  A surprised stillness fell over both the waiting 
agents as they saw who emerged next.  Special Agent Diana Fowley
stepped 
out, still talking to Skinner; shook his hand, and then caught sight of
 the waiting agents, and crossed over to them.
"Hello again, Agent Scully," the tall, dark-haired woman greeted the 
petite redhead, giving her a brief glance and nod, before turning to 
look at Mulder.  "Hello, Fox."
"Diana!" Mulder's voice held a surprised note, "I didn't know you had 
returned to work.  You haven't been out the hospital that long."
Diana gave him a half-smile.  "Nor have you, either of you," she said, 
glancing at Scully to include her in her remark.  Mulder slowly nodded 
his head in rueful agreement and was about to comment further when he 
noticed that Agent Fowley had not been the only one in the early
morning
 meeting with Skinner.  Special Agent Jeffrey Spender had emerged from 
the confines of Skinner's office and was conversing in low tones with
the Assistant Director. 
 At the smug look on Spender's face, premonition 
breathed softly down the back of Mulder's neck.  Finishing up with 
Skinner, Spender turned and caught Mulder's eye; and smiled, causing
the 
hairs on the back of Mulder's neck to prickle in earnest.
"Why hello there, Agents Mulder and Scully," he said, nodding to them
in 
turn.  "I must say, you're both taking this much better than I
expected."  Immediately Mulder
 was on full alert.  "Taking what, exactly?" he queried warily. 
Spender feigned a look of 
mild surprise.  "Why, the assignation 
of myself and Agent Fowley to the X-Files division, and you and your 
partner's assignations elsewhere."
"What?!" exclaimed Mulder, seeing Scully's movement of surprise out the

corner of his eye, and looking quickly for affirmation to Skinner, 
standing in the doorway of his office; and Fowley, both of whom avoided

his gaze assiduously and looked distinctly uncomfortable.
Skinner cleared his throat and looked with barely concealed annoyance
at 
the younger agent.  "I think that's enough, Agent Spender.  You're 
dismissed."  Skinner's eyes flicked in their direction.  "Agents Mulder

and Scully, in my office please."  As Scully complied, Mulder paused, 
glancing once more at Agents Fowley and Spender in disbelief, then 
quickly strode in on Scully's heels.
  Tense emotions running too highly prevented Mulder from sitting down
and
 he stood in front of his usual chair beside Scully; watching as
Skinner 
shut the door to his office; pausing in front of it as it clicked shut,

using the moment, it seemed, to find the right words to tackle the 
situation.  Finally, letting out a reluctant sigh, he let go of the
door 
handle and turned around.  Mulder, as expected, stood like a tightly
wound
 coil, anger flaring in his eyes.  "Well," thought Skinner in grim 
amusement, "at least now he waits until the door is closed before he 
loses control."  His eyes swung to the silent form of Scully, noting
that
 she looked withdrawn.  She seemed to be taking this harder than
expected.
  "But then," he thought, "she's had a hell of a lot to deal with
recently."
Skinner walked over to his desk with a slowness that sprang from 
reluctance.  Taking his seat, he waited for the inevitable explosion.  
He wasn't kept waiting long.
"Well, sir, would you care to explain that?" the anger in Mulder's tone
 was reflected in his expression; the betrayal of his usual mask-like 
demeanor an extremely expressive exclamation point to his clipped
words. 
 "Would you like to explain why it is two new agents are assigned to
the division that I 
discovered and built up, for little or no reward save any 
small personal fulfillment it might give, a division that both Agent
 Scully and myself have had to fight repeatedly to keep open; why
although Scully and myself 
have one of the highest success rates in the Bureau, 
someone has felt that we were still somehow not up to standard?" 
Mulder 
paced tightly in front of Skinner's desk.  "It seems like every time
we're called into your 
office we're dealt more of this crap, and I'm sick of it!  Agent Scully
is sick of it!  Just 
where the hell does it end?"
Skinner's sympathies with these two agents gave strength to his
patience,
 as he looked Mulder levelly in the eye.  "Agent Mulder, I strongly 
suggest that you calm down, and take a seat."  Teeming with resentment,
 Mulder flopped down in his customary seat beside Scully, who
throughout 
his tirade had sat calmly with her fingers interwoven across her
stomach.  Looking at her, 
Mulder again felt a strong surge of worry.
"Thank you," continued Skinner.  "Now what Agent Spender so prematurely

let slip to you is, unfortunately correct."  Skinner sat back in his
chair, his cheeks puffing 
as he expelled a weary sigh.  Taking off his glasses, he continued. 
"Not long after I called 
you, Mulder, I got a call and I can 
tell you this came down from the highest levels.  I was told
specifically 
to reassign the both of you to other divisions, and to assign Agent 
Spender to the reopened X-Files division instead.  Any inquiry on my
part 
was brushed aside."
Sobered by his concern for Scully, Mulder digested this for a moment or

two, chewing on the inside of his cheek, examining the pieces of this
new development minutely.
  "What about Agent Fowley?" he asked finally.  "Was
 she specifically requested too?"
  Skinner put his glasses back on.  "No.  Somehow she heard about the 
"vacant" position and volunteered for it.  Those higher up accepted her

request.  Mulder, you've been reassigned to the Behavioural Science
Unit,
 and Scully, you've been requested to teach at Quantico again."
  Mulder sat in his chair in stunned disbelief.  Scully registered no
expression, but spoke up 
for the first time.  "Sir," she began, her voice slightly hoarse from
her prolonged silence.  
She cleared her throat and 
began again.  "Sir, I would like to re-tender my resignation at this
time."  Mulder's head 
whipped around to regard her, her words echoing inside the emptiness
that his world had suddenly
 become.  Skinner looked at her intently.  "Scully, I know you've been
through a lot recently, 
and all this coming on top of that must come as a shock but..."  "It's
not just 
that, sir," continued Scully as Skinner trailed off.  "I've recently
had some...family matters come up that I need to be free to address." 
Scully
 fell silent and looked down.  Her expression hardly changed, but it's
subtleties were enough to tell Mulder that she fought back tears.  
  "Well, whatever these matters may be, Scully, I'm sure they've at the

very least compounded whatever effects recent events may have had on
you.
  I would suggest that you are not really capable of making such a 
life-altering decision at present.  I won't accept your resignation at 
this time, but suggest that you take an extended leave of absence;
after 
which we can discuss whether or not resignation is the best course of 
action for you."  Scully looked up and made a slight nod of
acquiescence.  "Sir, I would ask 
that the leave of absence start from today."  Looking at her, Skinner
nodded.  "All right, 
as soon as this meeting is over, you are officially on leave of
absence."  He paused.  "I want 
you both to know that I will do whatever I can to straighten matters
out.  Until then, I 
suggest you both sit tight."  His gaze fell on Mulder at this last
remark;
 who, sensing his gaze, turned from his stunned contemplation of
Scully, 
his abstracted expression leaving Skinner doubtful that he had
registered anything of what he
 had said.  "Is that it?" asked Mulder quietly, his expression veiled
again.  Skinner sighed. 
 "Yes, Agent Mulder, you're free to go."  At this, as if on cue, Mulder
and Scully rose in 
unison. Skinner stood and walked over to open the door for them. Mulder
passed by 
him with a distant, brooding expression.  As Scully followed, Skinner 
briefly placed a restraining hand on her shoulder, and as she looked
up, 
said, his voice softened by compassion,  "Take as much time as you
need.
  Think about what I said.  If you need anything..."  Skinner's voice 
trailed off.  "Yes, sir.  Thank you sir." Scully acknowledged quietly. 
Skinner's hand dropped, 
and she joined Mulder, who had paused to wait for her in the hallway
outside of the waiting room
 of Skinner's office.  
Skinner saw their eyes meet for a moment; and then, not saying a word, 
they turned and walked on down the hall, their footsteps blending in 
with the hubbub of the other foot traffic.  


  Mulder remained silent until they were outside the FBI building; his 
mind still trying to absorb and categorise the events of the last 
half-hour or so.  Finally, he came to a halt, placing a hand on
Scully's 
arm, stopping her also.  "Scully..." he began, but she interrupted, 
forestalling him.  "Mulder...just before I left my apartment this
morning 
for the meeting with Skinner, I got a call from my mother."  Scully
looked down at her hands, 
which twined in anxiety.  Taking a deep breath, she 
continued.  "My brother Charles was involved in a car accident this 
morning.  He's in hospital, in a coma.  It...it doesn't look good.  He
was driving from the 
airport, he had flown in to surprise Mom and me..." as 
her voice trailed off, Mulder silently enveloped her in a hug.  As he 
rubbed his chin along the top of her head, he could feel her taking
deep 
breaths to compose herself.  He knew that as well as they knew each
other 
and as much as they'd been through together, she always strongly
resisted breaking down in front of him.  After several moments they
broke apart, 
Mulder's hands sliding down her arms to take both of her hands in his
in a gesture of comfort.  Scully looked down at their clasped hands. 
"I'm 
going straight to the hospital from here, and after that I'll be
staying 
at my Mom's for a while.  Bill's coming down too as soon as he can, but

that won't be for a couple of days at least."  Scully looked up, and 
reading the look of intense compassion and concern in her partner's
eyes,
 made an attempt at reassurance.  "I'll be fine, Mulder, really." 
Mulder released her hands, but the worried expression in his eyes
lingered still.
  "Can I do anything?  Do you need a ride to the hospital?"  Scully
shook
 her head, and cleared her throat as her emotions threatened to get the

better of her again.  "No...thanks, but I've got my car here."  Mulder 
nodded slowly in reluctance.  "Let me know if you need anything," he 
insisted; both the sincerity underlying his quiet words and the fact
that 
Scully knew that he meant every word gave weight to the usually trite 
statement.  Silently, Scully nodded in acknowledgement and gratitude,
and 
then took a deep breath.  "I've got to go."  Slowly, she turned and
began
 to walk away.  "Scully?" She half-turned and looked back at Mulder,
whose
 eyes again held the look she had always felt must have originated when

his sister was taken from him, a look of hurt confusion and
loss..."Keep 
in touch."  At this, Scully's lips moved in what almost managed to be a

weak shadow of a smile, before turning and walking away.  Mulder
watched 
her go for a few moments before retracing his steps back into the FBI 
building.  As they walked, they silently re-evaluated their previous
understanding of the word "alone".  Grimly, they both realised how
little 
they had comprehended the scope of it.

THREE WEEKS LATER

Mulder examined his pen.  At a certain angle, it caught and reflected
the
 light.  If he moved it up and down, he could make it appear that the 
light was sliding up and down the pen.  After several minutes of 
experimenting with this phenomenon, he eventually moved on to bigger
and 
better things.  By careful manipulation, his watch could be made to 
reflect a spot of light onto the ceiling.  With practice, he was able
to 
shine this at objects.  Now, if he could just manage to get it
to..."Agent Mulder, are we boring you?"  As the heads of the other
agents in the room 
all turned to look at him, Mulder calmly raised his eyes to meet their 
narrowed and irate counterparts belonging to Special Agent Jackson, the

new head of the B.S.U following Bill Patterson's arrest and subsequent
incarceration in an institution for the criminally insane.
  "What makes you think that, sir?"  Somehow, Mulder managed to make
the 
very lack of facial expression and tone inflection give the seemingly 
innocent words an insolent twist.  Agent Jackson's eyes narrowed even 
further.  "Gee, I don't know.  Perhaps the fact that you seem to have 
been examining the fascinating inner workings of your writing equipment

instead of the slides and my rundown on the key aspects of this case." 

Mulder's eyes flicked to the current slide, which was, of course, 
practically identical to the others preceding it.  It showed the
mutilated
 body of a young woman, probably in her early twenties, wrapped in a 
blood-soaked white sheet.  Her eyes had been cut out; and, from reading

the case files, Mulder knew also that her tongue had been removed, and 
that the naked body beneath the sheet had had the breasts and genitalia

grossly mutilated.  There had been six of these cases already.  Agent 
Jackson continued:  "By your obvious preoccupation with other matters,
I 
would assume that you have already have a theory?" Jackson's tone
became mocking.  "Wait, don't tell me...the aliens have stopped wasting
their 
time mutilating cattle and have moved on to humans instead."  The room 
erupted into sniggers.  As Mulder had expected, from Day One there had 
been at least three alien jokes a day at his expense.  Occasionally the

odd conspiracy one was thrown in, and Mulder was confident that he held

the lofty position of laughing stock of the whole Bureau.  Not that he 
cared.  Still holding Jackson's gaze, he replied: "Somehow I doubt that

the families of the victims would find much humour in that remark,
sir."  Jackson's face flushed slightly.   Mulder's gaze flicked over to
the 
latest slide.  "Actually, my theory is that the killer suffers from a 
deep-seated religious melancholia.  He is obsessed with the notion of 
sin, and it's likely he feels that his thoughts must constantly be with

God; and sees anything that distracts him from that as evil and
corrupt. Unfortunately for our killer, he is also obsessed with women. 
The guilt 
he feels at his impure thoughts leads him to see women as the source of

all sin, original and otherwise.  He most probably believes that all
women, but especially young, pretty women, are deliberately trying to
lead him down 
the path to temptation.   He doesn't see the deaths of these girls as
murder, but instead as a kind of sacrifice to save his soul.  The
mutilations are 
a form of purification; the tongue is removed so they can no longer
lie, 
the eyes are removed so they can no longer look covetously on men; and 
their breasts and sexual organs are mutilated so they cannot use them
to 
tempt men to lust after them.  As a sign of their purification, he then

wraps them in a white shroud..." Mulder's voice trailed off, and again
he 
slowly swung his eyes over to meet those of Agent Jackson. "But I'm
sorry 
sir.  What is it you were saying?"  Mulder tucked the offending pen
behind
 his ear.  "I'll be sure to try and pay more attention."


Mulder wearily entered his apartment, throwing his jacket on the couch
and pulling his tie loose.  He headed straight for the kitchen, opened
a 
cupboard, and drew out a vodka bottle, cursing when he saw it was
empty.  Putting it back in the cupboard and shutting the door, he
opened his refrigerator and scanned its contents.  Deciding he didn't
really have the stomach for orange juice at this time of the day, even
if was actually relatively fresh, he went back into the living room and
collapsed onto the couch, closing his eyes.  Despite himself, he
couldn't help replaying the 
scene in Skinner's office that had taken place an hour or so after the 
scenario in the debriefing room earlier that day.  Skinner had been 
definitely unimpressed and had told him so in no uncertain terms.  He'd

spouted the usual "I understand you're upset about the X-Files 
situation...but" speech.  Mulder hadn't really paid that much
attention; remaining indifferent throughout Skinner's motivational
speech.  As in, 
get motivated, improve your attitude, or you might be out of a job.  
Mulder, whose days seemed gray, interminable and ultimately lacking in 
purpose; felt that there was very little to feel motivated about.  The 
types of casework that had initially so intrigued him when he was still
a 
young and "green" agent, now seemed two-dimensional and mundane.  Not
only
 that; but the loss of the X-Files had taken away his single-minded
drive
 to seek out the truth, regardless of the consequences.  
  The X-Files had provided a focal point; a means to carry out his
quest.
  Even when the X-Files had been shut down before, this had only 
intensified that determination as he felt a need to find out who was
responsible.  Likewise, when they had taken Scully from him, both with
her abduction by Duane Barry and her more recent encounter in the
Arctic, he 
had stopped at nothing to find his way back to her.  
  But now...the X-Files were not closed; the truth was still out there,

but the task of finding it had been assigned to someone else.  Scully
was
 gone, but not through the shadowy workings of some mysterious 
organisation, but through a simple act of fate, which had taken her
beyond
 his reach more absolutely than any anonymous group of
morally-challenged 
men ever could.  There was no-one to blame, nothing to beat his fists
upon, demanding justice.
  He remembered his words to Scully the first time "they" had managed
to 
shut the X-Files down.  "I still have my work...I still have you...and
I 
still have myself."  Well.  The first two were gone, and the third was 
fading quickly.  Mulder had never in his life felt so defeated and
alone.  
  Before Scully had joined the X-Files, he had been alone, trusting
no-one; but the defensiveness that such an existence engendered created
an armour 
against any sense of isolation and loneliness.  After the advent of
Scully, however, Mulder had finally found someone he trusted
implicitly, 
respected, and cared for.  The years of sharing life-threatening and 
improbable situations had formed a deep, unspoken bond between them. 
He 
had never known anybody as well as he knew Scully.  Although it had
only 
been three weeks, the gap in his life created by her absence seemed an
unbridgeable chasm.  
  A shrill but muffled ring pierced Mulder's somber reflections. 
Standing
 up, he frantically threw jacket and cushions out of the way as he
tried 
to zero in on the location of the noise.  The sound suddenly increased
in
 volume as the last cushion was catapulted into space and Mulder
snatched
 his cellular phone from its wedged position down the side of the
couch.  "Scully?" he answered, her presence in his thoughts causing him
to 
half-expect that it was she who called him. "Fox?" queried a female
voice, but not Scully's.  "Diana?"  Mulder sat down on the frame of the
couch.    
He hadn't spoken with Diana Fowley since the morning of his
reassignment, although she had called and left several messages on his
answering 
machine. Mulder hadn't bothered to respond.  "I was worried when you
didn't return my calls, Fox."  She paused.  "How have you been?" she
asked 
tentatively.   Mulder let stony silence pass for a couple of moments.  
"Well, my ex-wife shows up out of the blue after having absolutely no 
contact me in the last few years aside from her signing of the divorce 
papers, to take over my life's work and the next twenty years of my
life 
in apparent collusion with one of the people I despise most on the
entire planet; I'm about two steps short of losing my job, which is
itself a long stopover in Mundane Land with the occasional side-trip to
Tedium City; the
 one person who I actually trust and care about is going through a
family crisis; and  to top it all off, the Knicks have only seventy to
one odds 
of winning this season."  Mulder's cool reply was charged with irony.
  "Fox, I know how you must be feeling right now; how things must look,

but..."  "Diana, you never knew what I was thinking when we were
married, 
why should things be any different now?" interrupted Mulder.  "Since
you 
went on your little field trip from which you failed to return, I've
seen things; things that have changed me; things you couldn't possibly 
understand unless you had shared them. I'm not the person I used to be.
 
And you certainly are not the person I perceived you to be.  Don't
presume
 to know what I'm thinking."  Mulder paused to take a couple of deep 
breaths.  He had felt his anger gaining momentum as he spoke; his ire
had
 not yet had a target to fully unleash itself upon and his resentment 
threatened to completely overwhelm his self-control.
  "I know how my actions must look to you, Fox.  They must seem like
the grossest form of betrayal.  But when I heard that you were being
forcibly reassigned, and Spender was taking over, what else could I do?
 I couldn't just stand back and let the Bureau assign somebody with no
comprehension of the true validity of the work.  _I was there_ when you
discovered the X-Files, 
remember?  I felt...feel, the same passion for this work as you, Fox. 
I 
wish I could make you understand that." 
 Again, Mulder let a long stretch of silence pass. "Let's just cut the 
crap, Diana.  Was there a particular reason you had for calling me, or
did
 you just want your knife back?  I'm sorry if my back blunted it."
  There was a long pause on the other end of the line.  When Fowley
spoke 
again, her voice was subdued and rigidly devoid of emotion.  
  "Fox, the reason I called you is that I'd like to speak to you.  In 
person.  Would it be too much trouble for you to visit my office early 
tomorrow morning; around eight?"
  Mulder leaned back, chewing on the inside of his cheek.  "I'll think 
about it," he said, and hung up.  Tossing the phone back on the couch, 
where it again managed to land in the same niche, Mulder closed his
eyes, and was soon lost in thought.