Scully sat in the familiar office of her FBI therapist. They had been talking for over an hour, but Scully did not feel any progress had been made. Nor did the therapist. "Dana, we've discussed your recent traumatic experiences, including your brother's accident; we've covered your recent history from your abduction, to the death of your daughter, to your cancer. I feel that we've made excellent progress in resolving these issues, and you seem to be able to articulate on your feelings in these matters well. But when we raise this issue of this crossroads you feel that you are at, you get very vague as to your reasons for feeling like this." The therapist paused. "I get the feeling that we're evading another issue here." Scully felt a small surge of annoyance. "Like what exactly? I'm having a career crisis; it's not all that rare...it all seems pretty cut and dried to me." The therapist looked down at her notes. "I don't believe you really came in here for career counselling. I think subconsciously you feel you have another unresolved area of your life that you feel you need to deal with. Are there any feelings or thoughts that you've had recently that have in some way distressed you, or made you uncomfortable in some way?" Scully thought for a while. She was inclined to disagree at first, but on second thoughts she realized that something had been bugging her a little. "I have found it difficult in my line of work...that is my previous line of work with Agent Mulder...to have the time to keep up with my friends...and whenever I did get the opportunity, I felt that we had less and less in common...I have really drifted away from all of them over the past few years, and now, especially with my sister's death, I find that...that I have no one to talk to about things that trouble me...I don't like talking to my mother or brothers about things like that...I've certainly given them enough worry over the last few years...and especially now I find I have no one aside from family to talk to about anything." "You say 'especially now', Dana. What do you mean by that, do you think?" Scully thought about it. "Did I say that?" Scully asked, looking faintly surprised. "Yes, you did." She paused for a moment. "Dana, you've mentioned before that you quite frequently used to discuss things with Agent Mulder...When you said 'especially now' is it possible that you mean especially now that you have reduced your contact with Agent Mulder quite drastically?" "I...don't...know..." Scully said slowly. "Over the last couple of years, we've actually discussed things that bothered us about cases less and less..." The therapist looked sharply at Scully. _Now_ they were getting somewhere. "And why is that Dana?" "I think...I feel that we both want to avoid causing each other any pain, knowing how much each other has gone through...we just don't want to add to each other's burdens." "And how does it make you feel when you know Agent Mulder is holding back these feelings from you?" "Umm, hurt I guess. And a little angry." "Why?" "Because I care for him...we've been partners a long time and have shared so much...he's always been there when I needed him and I know that he always would be." The therapist gave Scully a direct look. "Because you love him?" she asked quietly. Scully flushed. "Agent Mulder and myself having always strictly adhered to the Bureau's policy regarding partners' out of hours relationships..." "Dana, I'm not Assistant Director Skinner here. I'm your therapist, and you're avoiding the question." Scully was silent for a couple of moments. Finally she raised her eyes to meet those of her therapist. "Yes," she said, half defiantly and half with surprise. "Because I love him." The therapist sat back in her chair. "_Now_ we're getting somewhere," she said in satisfaction. Bill from Bill's Auto Repairs and Panelworks wiped the back of his grease-covered hand across his grease-covered forehead. He leaned against the damaged car that was their latest project and looked with some dissatisfaction at the legs protruding from under it. They belonged to his assistant Jimmy. Jimmy had been acting...strange. For one thing, he had suddenly become extremely competent. More so than Bill himself. Bill did not like being overshadowed. For another, he seemed to have lost his sense of humour. Bill had told him a great joke about two blondes and a redhead, and Jimmy had just looked at him kind of blankly, and then smiled an almost condescending smile. Bill did not like being condescended to. And now, instead of working on the car that Bill had assigned to him, Jimmy had insisted on mucking around with this one, and had proceeded to lurk under it for most of the morning. Bill couldn't understand it. He doubted that anything short of a complete rebuild from ground up was going to get this car working again...but he always liked to have a look at the cars others said were a write-off...just in case he could squeeze some money out of it somehow. At any rate, the only time Jimmy had reappeared was to tell Bill to turn down the music down. Tell! It was time to take steps. "Jimmy!" No response. "Jimmy boy! Come outta there!" After a few moments, Jimmy did so. He had a dissatisfied expression on his face, which, while perhaps being a refreshing change from the look of blank incomprehension it usually wore, was profoundly disconcerting. "What the hell have you been doing down there, all day boy?" Bill demanded. Jimmy looked at him. Was that an expression of annoyance that flitted across his features? "Working." Jimmy smiled faintly. "I found what I was looking for." Jimmy stood up and brushed past Bill and headed out the door. He paused and turned back. "Thank you." He said, and then kept on walking. Bill stared after him. He then pulled out the mostly empty bottle of whiskey that he had secreted in his overalls, looked at it, and through it quickly in the garbage with a shudder. The phone rang, causing him to jump. "Yeah? I mean, Bill's Automotive Repairs and Panelworks here, Bill speaking." "Bill? S'me Jimmy. I'm real sorry...I sure dunno what happened, but my head is awful sore this morning. I'll be runnin' a little late today...Bill? Hello, Bill?" Bill had dropped the phone, and had slowly made his way into his office. He casually opened his desk drawer and grabbed the full bottle of whiskey that was lying in it. He unscrewed the cap, and drank straight from the bottle. Mulder walked through the halls of the FBI building, lost in his own thoughts. He bumped into somebody. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Agent Mulder?" Mulder looked up. The man he bumped into was someone he'd seen occasionally around the FBI building. Someone who had always looked at him with a disconcerting familiarity, as if he knew him well, but Mulder had no idea who he was. "Agent Mulder, I wonder if you'd mind accompanying me? I would like to talk to you." Mulder looked at him. "I'm guessing this is less of a request and more in the nature of an undeniable invitation sir?" Mulder asked with irony. The man, who looked to be in his late fifties, shrugged. "The decision is yours of course...but I have something to offer you that you might find...irresistible." Mulder looked at him, his expression veiled. The man returned the look just as coolly. "Alright," Mulder said. "Let's go." "Not here," said the mystery man. "I'd like to go somewhere where we are the only people who hear what is said." Mulder looked at him sharply, but the man began to walk quickly out of the building. Mulder, his interest now and truly piqued, followed after. Outside they caught a cab to a park, where the older man led Mulder to a park bench away from the groups of children with their families. "All right," said Mulder. "Let's talk." The man glanced around warily. "You don't know me, Agent Mulder, and you don't need to know me. Suffice it to say that I'm in a position that commands quite a bit of power." Mulder's face remained impassive. "Quite an achievement for a humble government employee," he said blandly. The man gave the merest hint of a smile, and he turned his head to watch the children playing in the distance. "I've said that you don't know me, but you know others like me. Others that too have no name, no substance in this world of ad-breaks, fast-food, carefree commercialism and shopping networks. The world you and I live in on the other hand Mr. Mulder, is much more sinister. But," the older man looked directly at Mulder. "I'm sure that you have been aware of that for some time now." Mulder said nothing, but continued to sit in impassive silence. "Most of my colleagues are much too extreme for my liking however, which is why I've begun to distance myself from all of this over the last couple of years. There have been steps taken, things done that were completely unnecessary, and that exposed us to unnecessary risk. I think most of them have lost sight of the original simplicity of our, shall we say, organization? They seem to get quite a kick out of over-dramatization and the cheap theatricality of it all. I almost believe that some of them are in it just for the joy of lurking in dark corners, forming half-baked plots, dropping mysterious half-hints...as if the things we dealt with weren't impressive enough without all these urges for tacky over-dramatization. Most of it I find quite amusing, but assassinations, kidnappings...where does that ever get us? All it does is draw attention to us, and every few more that believe, make it a little more difficult for us to work. Would you believe, some of us have had to talk very fast to stop your own untimely demise?" Mulder raised an eyebrow. "I'm very flattered I'm sure...but what claim to fame do I have that should ensure my continued existence?" "Well, it mightn't have been so bad in the beginning, but after a while, particularly after Agent Scully joined you, you began to have some semblance of credibility. You weren't just some kook who hadn't been taking his medication...and Agent Scully was the ultimate skeptic and scientist. That was bad enough. But if you were to be...eliminated? This would just be taken as a confirmation that you were on to something that needed to be covered up. If we look like we're not taking you seriously, most people will just dismiss you as a loser, a freak." "Gee, thanks." Mulder drawled. "Why are you telling me all this?" The older man looked at him. "I need a favour." "From me? Gee, the way you were talking had me thinking that you were the type that people begged for favours...not the other way around." The man looked off into the distance again. "I have a daughter." He said finally. "I have never actually met her...when you live the kind of life I do it's not advisable to have any connections. Better merely to exist on the somewhat empty satisfactions of power. However, I have allowed myself to keep track of her whereabouts, her progression through life. Consequently I was most distressed to hear that she'd attacked someone recently with no provocation. I may never have met my daughter, but I know that this is all wrong. Something is just not right. There has been some diagnosis of schizophrenia or some such nonsense...but I don't believe that for a second." Mulder's mind clicked several things into place. "Your daughter...her name is Jessica Maitland?" The man looked surprised. "Yes...how did you know?" "I was in the new X-Files office this morning...a file was sitting out looking like it needed someone to love it." "You were in the X-Files office this morning? Why?" Mulder regarded the man with a veiled expression. "What, you're people haven't bugged it yet? Or maybe you're getting your reports straight from the horse's mouth? Your little friend Agent Fowley wanted to offer me a job." "She what?" The older man looked surprised and annoyed. Mulder smiled a mirthless smile. "I see your newest recruit has been indulging in a little individualist activity on the side...but I wouldn't worry too much about it. I think my ex-wife is just trying to get back into my good books after betraying everything I hold near and dear." "Your what?" Mulder's expression registered surprise. "You didn't know that either? You're obviously over-paying somebody." He smiled again. "To be honest, I thought you and your little 'organization' had planted her as an attempt to try and subvert me to your evil cause." "No...Agent Fowley seems to have her own agenda." The man was silent a couple of moments. Then he shook his head. "But we were discussing my daughter. You know all the details of the case?" Mulder nodded slowly. "Good. I would like you to go and investigate it. It's your kind of...you know, thing." Mulder looked into the distance. "Why don't you have your tame agents, Fowley and Spender look into it?" he asked finally. "Like I said, Fowley seems to have her own agenda...besides, this is not something I would like her to know about. You never know when someone will use knowledge to their own advantage, but they will usually do it sooner or later." "What about good ol' agent Spender? Surely he is this year's winner of the evil-doer's lackey award." The man made a derisive sound. "Spender got given the X-Files on a silver platter and he couldn't even be remotely successful in dealing with that. He's a hopeless incompetent...a self-absorbed jack-ass that postures and squawks around trying to make someone other than himself aware of his grand importance. Instead, he offends people left, right and centre and proves again and again how woefully incapable of handling anything that might involve things more complex than monosyllabic instructions spoken slowly and clearly directly to him followed by slides and brightly coloured diagrams." Mulder, despite some serious disagreements with the purpose of and general existence of this man, couldn't have summed up his opinion on Agent Spender any better himself. "What's in it for me?" he asked bluntly. "I give you all this information, and you still want more?" Mulder gave him a chilly look. "What have you told me that I don't already know? That there is some shadowy organization out there that's really running things? So what's new? That my life is in danger? Tell me something I don't know. All in all you've told me precisely dick, except confirming for me that you are part of a group that has abducted Scully, killed her sister, taken her unborn children, implanted her with some chip, the removal of which led her and several other innocent women to develop cancer, infected her deliberately with an alien virus for which you did not have a definite cure...not to mention ordering the death of my father, and the abduction of my sister. In fact, the only thing that's preventing me from pulling out my gun and shooting you is the presence of some pre-school witnesses, but don't test my patience because there's some trees and bushes over there that will provide some pretty good cover if I change my mind. Now you have about thirty seconds before I either walk away or shoot you so you'd better do some pretty fast talking." The man looked taken aback. "I have underestimated you Agent Mulder. You want an offer? How about being reassigned to the X-Files, without the ever-useless Spender and Agent Fowley? On satisfactory completion of this assignment of course." "What about Agent Scully?" "Well, I don't think..." Mulder began to walk away. "Wait...come back." Mulder half-turned. "Alright, Agent Scully will be reassigned as well...providing of course, that her dedication to her brother doesn't see her leave the Bureau altogether." Several things clicked into place again for Mulder. Before the man knew what was happening, Mulder had his gun in the centre of his forehead. "You organized Charles Scully's car accident, didn't you?" Then as the man remained silent he raised his voice and pushed the gun harder against his forehead. "Didn't you!" The man met Mulder's angry gaze. "I had nothing to do with the arrangements...like I said, I have no patience with this kind of thing. I didn't even know about this little scheme to separate you and Scully until it was too late to do anything about it anyway." Mulder contemplated him for a second in angry silence. "I think you're a liar," he said in a menacing half-whisper. The man began to shake. "I swear to God, Mulder it's the truth. In fact, I think it was probably your old cigarette-smoking friend. This plan has his nicotine-stained fingerprints all over it." Mulder was silent for another couple of moments. "How do I know that this isn't just some other scheme...why would you be telling me these things?" "If anyone asks why I was talking to you, I'll just tell them a slightly edited version of the truth, that I was trying to convince you to work for us. It's been tried before, as you know. As for the other...I can't prove what I'm telling you obviously," He almost smiled. "You're just going to have to 'trust' me." Mulder held the gun to the man's forehead for the space of a couple more heartbeats. "Alright," he said at last. "I'll do it. But you'd better hope for Charles Scully's imminent and complete recovery, because if he dies, I will hunt you down and I will shoot you." He put his gun away. The man rubbed the circular indent on his forehead. "I knew partnering you with Agent Scully was a mistake. And I definitely knew that trying to use your feelings for her to our advantage was an even greater mistake. Nobody listens to me." Mulder's glare was stony. The man pulled out a piece of paper with a name and address on it. "This is the address of where they are holding my daughter. The name belongs to one of the more influential people at that institution...he knows that you're coming and will make sure that you have access to everything you need." He smiled faintly. "One of those empty satisfactions of power," he said. Mulder took the piece of paper and tucked it into the pocket on the inside of his jacket. Without another word, he walked away. The man on the bench took out a creased photo of a blonde girl, aged about twelve. "Don't worry sweetie," he said with tears in his eyes, running his thumb over the photo. "Daddy's going to make it all better." The Man opened the door to his non-descript motel room. Without bothering to turn on a lamp, he threw his jacket on to the bed and sat down on a barely comfortable chair. The flame from the match lit his lined face briefly as it lit the inevitable cigarette. The Man inhaled deeply, then sat back in his chair, exhaling slowly. "Still trying so very hard to reject the gift I gave to you?" came a voice from the shadows. With reflexes honed by a life lived on the edge, the Man went for his gun. Feeling its unyielding familiarity in his grip, he felt confidence gradually returning. He reached over and turned on the lamp. "You!" he said in tones from which all confidence had fled. The man known as Jeremiah Smith looked at him. "What, surprised to see me still alive? You should know better. Our existence here depends on being quite...resilient." The Man nervously stubbed out his cigarette in a convenient ashtray. "They said that you'd been 'taken care of.' I know what that means." He said, trying to grasp at the shreds of his former confidence. Jeremiah Smith looked away. "'They' have made quite a practice of telling you things that you'd like to hear...particularly when they are not true. They seem to think it increases their power over you. Don't ask me, I'm the rebel. If I understood the way they think I would probably still be one of their little drones." "What do you want from me?" the Man attempted to ask in an authoritative tone. "I am here, to tell you to desist from your attempts to kill, injure or separate Agents Mulder and Scully," Jeremiah Smith responded coolly. "We feel that they will be quite useful in our plans, so I have come here to warn you to leave them alone in future. If their work is discontinued for some reason, or one of them succumbs to an untimely demise, for you it would prove...unfortunate." "You're threatening me?" the Man asked in disbelief. "I would have thought you were more than familiar with the process, and wouldn't need any particular help in identifying it. I have just come to remind you that as well as having the power to heal, we can also choose to have quite the opposite effect. Lung cancer can be a terrible way to go...I don't think you'd like to fall victim to it...again. Just think these things over next time you have the urge to have someone tamper with the brakes of someone related to Agents Mulder and Scully." Noting the other man's expression of surprise, Jeremiah nodded. "Yes, I've examined the car myself. I recognized your unique style throughout this whole scheme." Jeremiah Smith rose to leave. As he had his hand on the doorknob to leave, he said, "We will win you know. Perhaps you'd better give some thought as to whose side you'd like to be in when that comes to pass." Quietly, he turned the handle and left the room. The Man sat breathing fast, looking into the distance, the smoke from his hastily extinguished cigarette still weaving a languorous pattern in the air. TWO WEEKS LATER Mulder made his way to the offices of the mysterious father of Jessica Maitland. Without bothering to knock, he went straight in. The man looked up, unsurprised by this intrusion. He leaned back in his chair. "Well?" "Your daughter has been discharged from the mental institution. It would seem that she had a cut and dried case of possession...not, of course that that is what is going on any official report." Mulder was not being entirely honest...there had been something that annoyed him about this case, something unusual about the possession that he just couldn't put his finger on. In this particular case, however, he didn't particularly care about being overly stringent. The girl was cured, that was the important thing. "But, I brought in a priest...it took quite a few hours, but your daughter returned to normal, with no memory of the events prior to her attack on Mr. Salinger." The man let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you," he said quietly. "How about just keeping up your end of the bargain?" Mulder said in a dangerous tone. Without another word, the man picked up his phone. "Diana? It's me...I know, but this is an exception. Please come and see me right away... No, not then, I mean right now...Thank you." He hung up and looked at Mulder. "Agent Mulder, please report to the X-Files office first thing tomorrow morning. You have been officially reassigned. I would appreciate it if you would also let Agent Scully know." Mulder looked at him, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "The empty satisfactions of power, huh?" He said in an amused tone. He turned to leave. "Oh, don't forget about Charles Scully, either," he warned. "I meant what I said." Mulder opened the door and quietly left the office. The man breathed a sigh of relief. No wonder so many people wanted Agent Mulder out of the way. He was a dangerous man. He heard a knocking at the door. "Come in," he responded. Agent Diana Fowley came in quickly and shut the door behind her. The man came out from behind his desk to meet her. Her arms came up to pull him into an embrace, but he quickly grabbed them and forced them down. "What, what's the matter?" she asked in a mystified tone. "I'm just pondering the significance of the fact that you failed to tell me that you and Agent Mulder used to be married," he replied coolly. "I find it difficult to believe that such an important fact would just slip your mind." Fowley began to look uncomfortable and couldn't maintain eye contact. "Could it be that you still harboured some yearning for your old flame? And here I was thinking I was the only iron you had in the fire. Well, either way, it would seem you have lost both of us my dear. Mulder has attached himself to Scully like a limpet...I doubt anything short of the universe imploding would be sufficient to detach him. He got quite passionate about her safety you know, even waved his gun at me. It would appear that young Miss Scully feels the same way, if the small electronic devices I have in the FBI therapist's office are functioning correctly. All in all, it's all quite cloying and quite sickening really. I think the simple lust that you and I had going was much simpler...but, my dear, I don't appreciate being used. Thus, I believe that I will have you sent to, now, where was it...ah, that's right. Salt Lake City. That was where you wanted Agent Scully sent, was it not? How pleasing it is when a pleasantly ironic solution presents itself." Fowley stood dumbstruck. The man made a shooing motion with his hand. "Quickly, quickly my dear, before I find a less...amicable way to deal with you." Fowley fled. The man sat at his desk again, and put his feet upon it, crossing them as he did so. "Ah," he sighed. "The empty satisfactions of power."