Part Four

"So what it amounts to is that you need money?"  Mulder
was edgy, unable to sit still.  Jo had made him a cup of tea,
to calm him down.  His fingers drummed the side of the
couch.

Marsh gave him an easy smile.  "Yeah, that broken window
cost us more than we thought."

"And if I give you this money, then what?"

Marsh frowned.  "Then we get our next edition out.  I thought
you were into this, Mulder.  That you wanted to uncover the
lies and deceit, like we do."

Mulder nodded and sipped his tea.  "I do, Marsh, I just don't
know why you need more money."

Marsh opened his mouth to reply, but Jo interceded, slipping
onto the couch with him and laying a warm hand on Mulder's
arm.  "Remember, we talked about our sister organization
out west?  The one in Arizona?  How they needed funds?  We
ended up sending them most of what we had saved up.  Maybe we
should have held onto it, but..."  She let her voice trail off.

"If you really want New Light to be successful, one of you
needs to start managing your resources better."  Mulder took
another sip from his mug.  He let the warm liquid flow down his
throat.  He tensed his muscles, then relaxed, trying to ease the
tension.

"Yeah, we know," Marsh said.  "It's probably a good thing
you're around.  We can use someone with a good head on
his shoulders to keep us in line."

"It's gonna take more than that to keep you solvent."  Mulder
rested his head on the back of the sofa.  He felt looser now,
more at ease.  Jo leaned back with him and he stretched his
fingers out to play with a lock of her hair.  She smiled at him,
her brown eyes crinkling at the corners.

Mulder closed his eyes briefly.  A wave of drowsiness swept
over him.  The odd hours he was keeping were starting to
get to him, he thought.  Wasn't as young as he used to be. 
Not like Jo.  Not like Marsh.  At times, he wondered why they
bothered to associate with him.  He did have experience
they lacked.  Skills and contacts they needed.  Other times,
he wondered why he should continue to support them.  Their
goals were admirable, but the organization itself left
something to be desired.  Maybe, he told himself, that was
reason enough to stay involved.  He knew the authentic from
the fake.  And then, too, Jo would look at him like she was
now.  Like he was the best thing in the world.  Like they
needed him.  Like she needed him.

Mulder smothered a yawn.  "I suppose I could scare up a bit
more cash for you.  But we really need to work on some sort
of budgeting, a fiscal plan, or none of the things we hope to
achieve will ever happen."

"Yeah, okay, Mulder.  You're the money guy.  Whatever you
say."  Marsh gave him a sincere smile.  "We appreciate
all that you've done for us.  We'd be lost without you, man," he
said and got up to leave.

~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder's apartment was dim.  There were glasses and
empty cans on most horizontal surfaces and newspapers
were strewn around the floor.  It smelled pungent.  A quick
glance told her the fish tank badly needed a cleaning.  Her
heart sank as she waded through the debris on the floor
toward the back of the apartment.  It had been bad before.  Now it
was worse.  

Unsure of what she was even looking for, Scully moved into
the kitchen.  More debris, empty take-out cartons, beer cans
and a half-filled bottle of orange juice sitting on the counter
next to the sink.  She resisted the impulse to put the juice in
the refrigerator.

There was no garbage basket in plain view, so she creaked
open the doors under the sink.  Wrinkling her nose, she
squatted down and pulled the plastic bin onto the floor.  She
patted her left jacket pocket and located a pair of latex gloves. 

Scully reached into the rotting depths of the receptacle. 

Three half eaten pizza crusts, six cigarette butts, a score 
of crumpled cellophane and a variety of other debris later, 
her search proved fruitful.  The business section from an
outdated newspaper was crinkled around the shards of an 
empty pill bottle.

Scully sifted through the bits of plastic carefully.  The bottom
part of the bottle was semi-intact and held remnants of a
white powder.  She hoped it would be enough.  She slid
what she had found into a plastic evidence bag and
pocketed it.  The rest of the kitchen turned up nothing of
note. 

Moving back into the main area of the apartment, she made
a quick tour around the living room again before deciding to
try the bedroom next.  Tentatively, she placed her hand on
the knob of the bedroom door. 

The bedroom was no better, but no worse than the
rest of the apartment.  The air was stale, sheets and
blankets in a heap on the bed, shoes and other assorted
articles littering the floor.  She moved toward the bed,
tangling her foot in a discarded heap of women's clothing. 
She pushed it away, provoked.  On the edge of the bed was
a limp, white t-shirt with a small dark, damp looking stain. 
She leaned down and sniffed.  Blood.  Scully chewed her lip
and considered whether or not the shirt would be missed. 
Deciding it might be, she looked around.  Two hairbrushes lay
side by side on Mulder's dresser.  Bingo.  She carefully
extracted several lengths of hair from the one she knew
belonged to Mulder and dropped them into a baggie she
removed from a pocket in her jacket.  She did a quick
assessment of the room, then left quickly, closing the door
behind her.  She didn't want to push her luck.  Best to get out
now.

As she crossed the front room to the apartment door, a
noise in the hall caused her to freeze in place, heart
pounding.  It wouldn't do at all for Mulder to find her in here. 
The footsteps receded.  Heart still racing, she took a breath
and moved rapidly toward the door and out of the apartment.

~~~~~~~~~~

The door flew open with a crack.  Not bothering to close the
door behind him, Mulder paced across the small entry room
and back again, this time slamming the door loudly.  It gave
him so much satisfaction he repeated the action, then
whirled and marched into the other room.  His couch
waited.  An old companion.  A trusted companion.  He
dropped onto its worn surface and ran a hand over his face.  He
was over-reacting, he knew.  The rising anger and injury he felt
were unfair.  He half-wished he could pick up the phone and call
Scully.  She would be calm and rational.

He dubiously eyed the cell phone that lay skewed on the
coffee table.  He couldn't call. This was a mess of his own
making.  Deep down, he knew that if Scully thought him in
trouble or need of help, she would do what she could to
make things right for him.  But.  But he couldn't bring himself
to ask for help.  Not from her.  Not with this.  The thought of 
losing her support, his ally in so many things, brought a 
bitterness to his mouth.  Or maybe it was just the Goddamn 
stale air in this place.  He rose with a jerk and pushed 
the window open further.

A baby.

And she wanted to keep it.

You need to get ready, she said.  *We* need to get ready. 
Make arrangements.  Plans.  Talk about guardians and wills.

What the hell was she thinking?  What was he thinking? 
Neither one of them was fit to be a parent.  He could understand
wanting to bring the baby to term, but adoption seemed like the
logical choice.  Give the baby to someone who actually wanted
one.  Someone equipped to be a parent.  Not him.  Certainly not
Jo.  Mulder had few illusions about the possibility of Jo changing
her lifestyle to accommodate a dependant.

He just needed to think.  To talk to someone.  To figure out what
to do.  And though he longed for her organized mind, Scully was
not an option.  His head began to hurt, a vise squeezing his brain. 
That was another thing Scully could have helped him with.  The
headaches, the nervous twinges, the fatigue, the sleeplessness.

Stumbling into the bathroom, he splashed water on his face. 
He stared at the mirror and a face with sunken eyes stared back. 
His upper lip twitched.  He looked like shit.  Maybe he really was
sick.  The flu or something.  He should eat better.  Drink less
coffee, eat more vegetables, more protein.  

He drank a tall glass of water and tumbled into his bed.

He dreamt in black and white.  Images flicked on and off in
his brain.  Scully in the morgue, standing over the body of
what he knew was an alien and what she posited was
something simian.  Their first case.  For some reason, her
long hair was loose, not tied back, and fell to obscure her
face as she bent over the body.  When she looked up,
Scully was gone and Jo stood incongruously dressed in
scrubs, rib cutters in hand.

The scene morphed.  He was standing outside, a backyard
swing set before him.  Samantha glided back and forth in
front of him in a graceful arc.  Her dark hair streamed behind
her and she turned her head to give him a dazzling little girl
smile.  At the height of the arc, she let go of the chains that
held the swing to fly through the air.  She landed with a thud
in a cloud of dirt.  When the dust cleared, she turned and
waved at him, hair now short, Jo's features imprinted on her
own. 

~~~~~~~~~~

"Mulder, listen, I know you're still upset about this, but it
makes sense."

Mulder looked at Jo, trying not to let his annoyance show. 
He had awoken groggy, still tired.  "I'll concede that I need...
*we* need to make some kind of arrangements, but I'm not
changing my Power of Attorney."

"I don't get what the big deal is.  Shouldn't I be able to have
that Power of Attorney in case something happens to you?  We're
having a baby together."  She stood at the desk in the living room
facing the window.  When she turned to look at him, the light
diffused in her hair making her appear soft and vulnerable.

Mulder shook his head, more to shake the cobwebs loose
than to signify disagreement, though disagree he did.

He tried again.  "Jo, Scully has Power of Attorney and
Medical Power of Attorney.  I think that's the way we should
leave it."

"But, Mulder, if we're going to do this, you're going to have to
share parts of your life with me," she took a step toward him. 
"Besides, I thought you weren't talking to her anymore."

Mulder winced.  The light from the window was beginning to
bother his eyes.

"No, we aren't exactly talking.  We aren't exactly anything
anymore, I guess."

"All the more reason to turn those responsibilities over to
someone who you are talking to.  Someone who is in your
life.  Someone who cares."  Jo's voice had gone soft and
had a slight quiver.  She stepped forward again and laid a hand
on Mulder's arm gently.

Mulder obstinately shook his head.  "Jo, I know it's hard for
you to understand, but even though we may not be on the
best terms, she would still do what's right.  For me and for
you.  And for the baby."

Jo backed away again, turning back to the window.  "Well,
you may be sure, but I'm not.  She doesn't like me.  She
doesn't like being you involved with me or with New Light."  Jo
dropped her head to her chest, trailing her finger through the
dust on the desk.  "She's been checking up on you, you
know.  On us.  On New Light.  She doesn't trust you like you
trust her."

Mulder maneuvered himself between Jo and the window. 
He peered into her face. "She's done some preliminary
research, yeah."

 "It's more than that.  She's trying to break us up.  To separate
us." Jo looked up at him.

"How do you know this?"

"Wen told me.  He overheard her talking to someone."  Jo
shrugged.  "Someone she works with, I guess.  Wen said
that they were talking about New Light and how to discredit
it.  How to get you away from the organization."

Mulder shook his head.  "Why would she do that?"

"Because, like I said, she doesn't like me.  She doesn't like
that you've left the FBI and are working with a new group. 
She doesn't care about the work we're doing, only about
keeping you away from us.  Away from me."  Jo reached out
and laid her hand along side Mulder's neck.  "I don't trust
her, Mulder.  She scares me."

Mulder squeezed his eyes shut tight.  A faint ringing had
begun at the base of his neck and was reverberating through
his skull.  It made him light headed and foggy.  He needed
room to think.  Away from everything and everyone.

"Look, Jo. For now you'll have to trust me on this even if you
don't trust Scully."  He stopped and exhaled, long and slow. 
"I have to think about things, okay?"  

Jo nodded slowly, her face a mask of thoughtfulness.  "All
right.  I can wait."  She tugged at Mulder's arm and drew him
to the couch.  "Want me to make you some tea or coffee? 
You look tired."

"No.  I've been drinking too damn much coffee lately.  I'm
either drinking coffee and so buzzed up I can't sit down, or
I'm so tired I can hardly stand up."  The ringing in his head had
increased.  The world seemed too bright and too loud.  The
touch of Jo's hand on his skin abrasive.  He shrugged her
off.

"I need to get some air.  I'm going out."  He stood up,
swaying with the sudden movement. He walked carefully to
the door, stopping to pick his leather jacket up off the floor. 
He could feel Jo's eyes at his back.

Mulder stopped at the door, hand on the knob.  "It'll be okay,
Jo."  He looked back over his shoulder at her sitting alone on
the couch.  

She nodded once, a quick bob of her head, and he left.

Mulder made it to the ground floor before he began to feel
lightheaded and dizzy.

Dizzy, confused.  A good way to describe how he was feeling
lately.  His world had slid sideways  and here he stood,
immobile and too lethargic to move.  He had become an empty
canvas, existing only to be painted by others dreams
and desires.  He wondered what Scully would say about that. 
About what the Gunmen would say.

~~~~~~~~~~

The coffee warmed her hands, chasing out the cold she had
carried in.  Outside the grey day was losing ground to night. 
The wind knocked on the window along side Scully's booth and
threw leaves and stray bits of litter against the glass.  Scully
didn't notice this seeming bid for attention or the chill coming
off the window.  She was absorbed in her reading.  A thick file
lay in front of her.  She was a quarter way through a long series
of notes when a presence at the side of the table caused her to
look up.

"Mulder," she said, surprised and irritated at the same time. 
The last words he said to her still stung.

Mulder tilted his head toward the empty seat across from her. 
"Is it all right if I sit down?"

Mutely, she nodded.  "How did you find me?"

"Just lucky, I guess.  I went by your apartment, and thought I
would check here before heading back.  I know that you like to
stop in here sometimes."

"It's a change from being home," she said and shrugged.

"Interesting case?" Mulder asked, nodding at the file.

"Not particularly," she said dryly.  "I'm surprised you've deigned
to honor me with your presence.  I was under the
impression you thought I was less than yesterday's trash."

"Yeah, about that." he fell back into the booth.  The
understated lighting draped his eyes deep in shadow.

She put her coffee down and waited.  Mulder stared at the
table top in soundless contemplation.  Long, silent minutes
passed before he raised his head.

"I just wanted to say how sorry I am."

Unable to breath, Scully didn't answer.  She wasn't even sure
she was supposed to.

After a moment, Mulder continued, "It's just... everything
happened so fast.  Sometimes, I don't know what to make of
it."  He slid out of the booth and stood abruptly.  "I should go."

"Mulder," she hoped her voice didn't sound as hopeless as she
felt.  "I -- "

"It's okay, you don't need to say anything." he turned and strode
out of the cafe.

"Mulder, wait -- "  But the place where he had been was vacant.

He passed the window she was sitting next to, a dark blur in
the twilight.  Scully bit back her anger and tried not to cry.

~~~~~~~~~~

She was lonely.  She was lost.  Absence, making her heart
not fonder, but obsessive.  Skinner thought she needed to step
back. Scully thought she needed to try harder.  Pulling in the
threads, knotting the ends, carefully stitching a coherent
argument, she plied the fabric of Mulder's new life only to find
the seams were ripped and that it all fell apart in her fingers.

~~~~~~~~~~

Getting the lab to do an unofficial analysis of the hair and
powder residue she had found at Mulder's apartment had
been easier than Scully thought.  Either the labs were slow,
or they had gotten used to the X-Files' unorthodox way of
doing things and it no longer fazed them.  Someone had
even slipped an envelope under the office door marked 'Dana
Scully' in thick green marker.  Scully was grateful.  It was late,
and chances were there would have been no one left in the labs to
get the results for her.  She would have to remember to send
her thanks.

She sat at Mulder's desk and pulled out the lab report.   The
analysis confirmed what Scully had thought: the strands of
hair she submitted were from both Mulder and an unknown
person.  Jo, she assumed.  

The rest of the findings were dismaying.  Tests done to Mulder's
hair sample had produced positive results for both amphetamines
and barbiturates.  Specifically, pentobarbital, a short-acting
barbiturate, and dextroamphetamine, used in the treatment,
among other things, of narcolepsy.

Either Mulder taking the drugs himself -- something she had
trouble believing -- or someone was giving them to him
without his knowledge.  Marsh, Jo and Wen.  All three or any
one of them.  For what purpose, Scully wasn't yet certain.

She leaned back in Mulder's chair and closed her eyes. 
The chair had a familiar creak.  If she tried hard enough, she
could almost hear Mulder's footstep coming down the hall. 
He would be coming in to tell her that they should grab some
dinner.

A slight stirring of the air made her sit bolt upright.

"Dana?  Everything okay?"  Ritter stood in front of her,
frowning.  His tie was askew and she thought he looked
painfully young.

"Hi.  Sorry.  You startled me."  She pulled the chair closer to
the desk and swiped at her hair.  "What are you doing here
so late?"

Ritter shrugged.  "Just had some stuff to finish up.  I needed
to drop these files off before I left."  He plunked several
folders on the desk.  "I didn't expect anyone else to be
around.  Eat yet?  Wanna grab something?"

"No, thanks, Peyton.  I'm going to head home, I think."

Ritter nodded, peering into her face.  "You look tired.  You
should get a good night's sleep."

Scully smiled wanly.  "Believe me, I'd like to.  There has just
been too much going on."

Peyton leaned over the lab reports.  "These Mulder's?"

At Scully's nod he picked them up and scanned through
them.  He let out a quick puff of air.  "So you think what?  Is
this something Mulder would do?"

"You mean take drugs?  Not the Mulder I know."

"So... somebody is slipping him a mickey?"

"That's my theory."

"Those guys in New Light?"

Scully rotated her shoulders, trying to relieve the stiffness. 
"That would be my guess.  What I don't know is why."

"Money?"

"That would seem logical, but how do they hope to get it? 
Just confuse him enough to make big donations to their
organization?"
                    
"I've heard of worse plans."

She let the waves of fatigue wash over her.  She was tired,
so tired, and frustrated.  The weight of this recent knowledge
just felt like too much.  

Home.  Bed.  That's what she wanted.  To pull the covers
over her head and never come out, to just give in.

Dimly, she could hear Peyton rummaging around in the file
cabinets.  Then he was gently shaking her shoulder.  "Hey,
wake up and go home."  She could hear amusement
in his voice.  "I'll need you to be sharp tomorrow.  We have
that meeting at 9:30 and I don't want to have to go alone."

"Yeah, okay Dad.  Just a couple more minutes and I'll get
up."

Ritter tugged Scully to her feet.  "Don't give me that 'just a
few more minutes bull'.  I know how *that* works."  He
steered her to the door.  "Come on, I'll walk you to your car."

"All right.  Just let me grab some things."  She walked over to a
large shoulder bag sitting on the floor, stuffed with papers and
files.

"Geez, better watch it.  Someone might get the idea that you're
a workaholic," Ritter teased.

Scully smiled slightly and bent to heft the bag.  A sharp pain
coursed through her abdomen.  Her fingers loosened
involuntarily and the bag fell back with a heavy thud to the
floor.  She pressed a hand to her left side and stifled a gasped.

Ritter paled.  "Oh, God.  Let me get that.  I'm so sorry..."

"It's okay, Peyton.  It'll pass."

"It's not that.  I mean, I wish..." he glanced around feebly.  "You
don't know how much I want to take back what happened. 
Everything.  Not just the shooting.  I was so..."

Scully sucked in a breath, trying to maintain her calm.  "It's fine,
really.  We're both lucky that more damage wasn't done."

"Yeah.  Lucky." Ritter croaked.  He pulled the bag up from the
floor.  "I'll get this.  Lean on me if you have to."

~~~~~~~~~~

Ritter had followed her home in his car.  It was sweet, but
unnecessary, she said.  He had insisted.  She was too
tired to be driving, he said.  The least he could do was make
sure she got home okay.  Scully was too tired to argue.  She
went into her building while Peyton looked for a place to park
his car.  He would bring the shoulder bag with her files up, he
told her.

Something hot to drink and sleep.  It sounded good.  The only
problem was the figure that slouched brashly against her door. 
His blond, shoulder length hair glowed dully under the hallway
lights.  At her approach, he quirked a smile Scully knew more
than one woman would find charming.  She wondered who he
had sweet talked into letting him into the building.

"Keeping late hours, I see," he said by way of greeting.  His
leather jacket swung open and exposed a snug white t-shirt
that stretched across his chest, revealing his defined
muscles.

Scully bit back a retort and moved past.  "Is there something
I can do for you?"

That produced a bigger smile.  "Several things, probably." 

Scully waited.

Marsh finally sighed and said, "We need to talk about Mulder."

Scully raised her eyebrows.  "Okay, go ahead.  Talk."

Marsh shook his head.  "Not out here."

"What's wrong with out here?"

"I'd feel better if we weren't is such a public place, wouldn't
you?"  The corner of his mouth tilted up slightly and he leaned in
towards her.

"Not necessarily," Scully said.  She looked Marsh over
carefully.  "Step back, jacket off," she said.

"What?"

"Step back, remove your jacket.  Toss it over to me, onto the
floor."

Marsh did as she asked.

"Okay.  Now, put your hands on your head and turn around
slowly.  Good.  Now raise your pant legs one at a time."

"What's this all about?  You're sure picky about who you let
into your apartment."

"I don't know you.  I don't trust you." Scully tossed the jacket
back to Marsh.  "Pick it up.  It's clean."

"And the rest of me?  Do I pass inspection?"

Scully eyed the snug fitting t-shirt and jeans.  "Yeah, for now."

He followed her into her apartment without waiting for an
invitation.  "I'm Marshall DeYoung."

"I gathered as much," said Scully.  She dropped her jacket
and the leather case she had been carrying onto the couch
and made her way to the kitchen.

Marsh leaned against the dining table and watched her fill
the tea kettle with water.  His leather jacket creaked slightly. 
"I stopped by find to out if you could see your way to letting
Mulder go gracefully."

That stilled her.  Shoulders rigid, she turned to face him. 
"Excuse me?"

"Well, I was just thinking, that if you were a bit more...
flexible on this whole thing, that it would make things easier
for Mulder.  For all of us, really."

"And exactly in which ways is my inflexibility making things
difficult for Mulder?"

Marsh lifted one shoulder.  "It's an intangible thing at best. 
But he's holding back on us, and I think that you're part of
that."

Scully turned back to the sink.  She closed her eyes briefly
and took a quick breath.  Carefully, she placed the cover of
the kettle and set it on the stove.  She lit the burner
underneath and watched the flames for a moment before
answering.
                         
"He seems pretty invested to me.  I'm not sure that I can
help you."

"You could help me and Mulder both by being on board with
what he's doing."  Marsh had moved into the kitchen and was
standing too close.

"Mr. DeYoung, I can't be on board with something I think is a
mistake."  His presence was unnerving her.  It was the
fatigue, she told herself.

He laughed.  The sound was clear and, in another situation,
Scully would have said infectious.  "Call me Marsh, okay?" 
He maneuvered around so that he stood even closer. 
"Maybe we should talk about what New Light does, so that
you have more information.  Would that help you to feel
more comfortable?"

"I think I have plenty of information.  Marsh."

"And I think that I could give you a more in-depth view of
how we work.  I wouldn't mind going over things with you.
Personally."
 
"Agent Ritter and I have gathered quite a bit of information
already on your organization."

"Yeah, I've seen you and the boy scout studying late into the
night," Marshall smiled, almost smirked.  "He can't give you
the kind of information that I can."  He leaned down into her. 
His eyes crinkled around the edges.  He said conspiratorially,
"You know, I just have this hunch.  He's a nice boy, Dana, but
a bit too nice for you.  I get the feeling that you would really
prefer someone a little rougher around the edges." 

Startled, Scully moved back a fraction.  Cursing herself for
giving ground, she straightened her back.  "I'm not sure where
you're going with this, but I think it's time for you to leave."

"I'm just giving you a chance, Dana.  Mulder's a big boy, he can
make his own decisions.  Cut the apron strings before
someone cuts them for you."  Marsh's voice was soft, but there
was something dark behind the words.

Scully raised her eyebrows.  "Are you threatening me, Mr.
DeYoung?  Because I don't respond well to threats."

Marsh nodded his head slowly, he locked eyes with her.  The
look was too intense, too personal, but Scully forced herself to
hold it.  He said, "I bet there are other things that you would
respond to."

There was an startling, sharp rap on wood, and Scully carefully
stepped back and of the kitchen.  Peyton had poked his head
in by the time she had gotten halfway to the door.

"Hey.  Sorry, but it was unlocked.  I brought this."  He held up
the shoulder bag.  "What's up?"  His eyes traveled from
Scully to DeYoung.

"Just hashing things out with Dana," Marsh spoke up before
Scully could say anything.  He drew his jacket together and
nodded to Ritter.  "Be seeing ya'."

Ritter stared at the door for a beat, the turned to Scully. 
"What was that about?"

She shook her head.  "I'm not sure, really.  Either he was
trying to scare me off, or trying to reel me in."  She paused. 
"Thanks for bringing the files up."

Ritter smiled.  "Not a problem.  How are you holding up? 
You've been a bit out of it, lately."

Scully laughed shortly.  "A bit.  Yes.  That's putting it mildly. 
Do you want some tea while you're here?  Coffee?"

Peyton's eyes scanned the room, then came to rest on
Scully's face.  "Yeah, thanks.  Just one cup, though.  You
look like hell.  You should get to bed."

Scully smiled wearily.  "You don't look so good yourself,
sailor."  She turned back toward the kitchen.  "Okay.  One
cup."

End Four