Title: Told You So Author: RocketMan >lebontrager@iname.com< Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is intended. Barenaked Ladies own this song, and I am borrowing both title and lyrics for this piece. WARNING:::: Spoilers for Season 5, and some 6, and The Movie--in this story, they DO NOT HAVE THE X-FILES!!!!!. CONTAINS some violence AND bad language. I would have to say R, especially for the racist views portrayed. PS--This is MSR, but lightly. . .no mushy stuff. ~~~~ Told You So ~~~~ ~~~~ Rescue ~~~~ "I never jumped in and rescued you, but I wanted to I didn't tell you which way to go, 'cause I thought you'd know. . ." --"Told You So" Barenaked Ladies ~~~~ The motel room was lit by soft candles they'd found in the drawers, suggesting that blackouts happened often. Scully was standing by the door, pacing as she looked over their notes on the case, glancing intermitently at him for reassurance. His black eye was still slightly swollen, but the dazed look no longer glazed his features, and he had managed to work a bit on his profile. For a fleeting moment, she was oddly proud that Detective Bonne had only managed one punch before Mulder flattened him. The man was a sexist. . .racist. . . She bit her lip and shook her head. No matter what she thought of the policeman working with them, they were all on the same side. . .to catch these killers. During this comfortable silence, hell had broken through the door. They'd never seen it coming. ~~~~ Mulder licked his lips and shook his head to her silent stare, struggling in the arms of the huge man and trying in vain to break free. The room was darkened, the poor candle power keeping him from seeing her clearly, but her eyes held a shine of fear and determination that made him feel sick. "Just stay quiet, stay quiet. . ." came a voice from behind her. Mulder jerked on the arms holding him, only to receive a quick kick in ribs, and he revised his count, guessing there to be about four men now in his motel room. He wasn't sure who had guns. Silently, he raised four fingers to her. Scully saw and nodded quickly, understanding his meaning. There was one man beside him, one man holding his arms back, one man behind Scully, and another back by the door, speaking. Not very good odds. "What do you want?" Mulder said quietly, displaying a calm he did not feel. "You're cops. Cops are no good, no good." The voice sounded child-like, confused almost, with a high nasal quality that made Mulder shiver. "We're not cops," he said honestly, praying the four men would not find ther badges. "Yes, yes you are. They told me. They all told me." "Who told you?" Scully said. Mulder cursed her silently for drawing the attention back to her. "Them. They told me. They come to me and tell me." Mulder felt the hair on his neck stand up, and his wrists were twisted roughly as a length of rope tightened around his hands. The man was crazy, and he had three nutty friends to help him. Strange, but not uncommon. Recently, the number of 'club' serial killers had risen dramatically, a kind of collective psychosis. Just the thought of whole organizations of mass sociopathic killers that got together every week to discuss effective methods made Mulder want to vomit, the whole deranged YMCA for psychotics gave him permanent nightmares. He flexed his arm muscles and pulled on the rope as it was tied, hoping to gain some slack. "Cops gotta die. They all gotta die." Mulder felt panic stab through him suddenly, with a double blade of fear and despair slicing him. "Why do cops have to die?" Mulder said, seeing Scully struggle with her ropes. The man in shadows behind her thrust a hand forward to snatch her hair, causing a cry to escape her lips as he pulled tight. Mulder pushed down his rage and closed his eyes. Nothing. He could do nothing. Just breathe. "Cops. . .why do cops have to die?" The slight man at the doorway shifted from foot to foot, eyes darting to Scully. The hand holding her hair yanked back again, and she shivered, but said nothing. His tongue licked her ear and she closed her eyes, cold fury lighting in her cheeks. The man in the doorway frowned and nudged her captor. "Stop. Stop. Not that. They're unclean. . .You'll pollute the race." The hold on Scully lessened and Mulder breathed out painfully through his mouth, relief blossoming through him. Her hair fell naturally around her face, the color dim and the waves limp from their captor's hands. She quickly looked up to Mulder, her eyes telling him she was okay. It wasn't true. It wasn't true. She was shaking, blood trickling from her hairline. Mulder watched the man shove her to the floor and kick her down, causing only a grunt from his stoic partner. He jerked forward, reaching for her, only to be strangled by a hand from behind and a punch to the ribs. He heard a crack and felt his breath rip like needles through his lungs. Not good. This was not good. His swollen eye throbbed unmercifully, and he felt his chest begin an echo. "You're no good," the man in the shadows said, coming closer to them. "No kidding," Mulder muttered. Scully heard his quick breath in the painful silence, the rattle of his lungs as he struggled for air. As the man pushed past her, she noticed a strange tattoo covering his inner wrist. Like a Nazi symbol, but convoluted, twisted and turned into a dragon-like point, it was threaded all along his forearm. The man holding her stepped up along with the Tattoo Man, forgetting her. She felt through the carpet, quietly searching for her Sig, her breath a painful gasp through a bruised body. Mulder licked his lips and took another breath. "I'm not a cop. We're not cops." The Tattoo man shook his head, the shadows clinging to him. "You lie. Cops all lie. The stupid shits all lie. Therefore," he said, smiling suddenly. "You're a shitty cop and you're no good." As he talked, his voice tinged with a New York accent, a street slang that only made him sound even more insane. "I seen lots of cops, you little shit. Lots of nigger-lovers goin' round and protecting them. You all lie. And you're lying now." It was twisted, the way this man's voice had turned from a hollow, childish monotone, to a passionate, tortured rage. He wanted to say schitzophrenic. . .multiple personalities maybe. . . But his roaming thoughts were knocked loose as another foot sank into his side, causing him to drop to his knees with a groan. "And we're gonna make sure this place is free of Jew-boys like you, and clean of Irish whores like her." He pointed behind him, gesturing to his partner. Mulder felt the cold barrel of a gun snuggle to his temple, warming with his sweat. He glanced to Scully, saw her rising up behind the men, her eyes wide with a mixture of desperation and rage, and her gun shaking in her hands. She was quick, and the Tattoo man was arching back in pain as the other three scrambled to get off a shot. Mulder snatched his own weapon from the floor and fired two rounds into the gut of the man that'd kicked him, then panned his aim to the right, squeezing off death with a cramped finger for the next would-be murderer. In the aftermath, he heard the gurgle of blood, and the soft ragged breaths of his partner. He turned, pushing himself off the floor and swaying unsteadily on his feet. Scully was curled against the doorframe, sucking in her breath as if she had just run for her life, her hair swathing her face in a shroud of mystery. "Scully?" he said, and picked his way through the mess of his motel room to her side, pulling out his cell phone and dialing 911. She glanced to him and grimaced. "I'm okay," she said as he relayed his badge number. Mulder ended the call with the address and the command to hurry. He pulled her hands away from her thigh, flinching as blood welled up in a dime sized hole through her inner leg and along the savage explosion of muscle and tissue where the bullet had ripped out. "Clean through," she muttered. Mulder shook his head and clamped his hands down hard on her leg, feeling his arms shake with weariness as the adrenaline wore off. "Not so clean, Scully." She nodded and closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her strength. "You saved us," he said softly, looking at her face until her eyes opened, staring right into her. She grinned weakly and shrugged. "I couldn't let a bunch of racists be the end of us." He nodded and slumped down beside her, nudging the door open with his foot, glancing out to the darkened parking lot for a glimpse of the ambulance. He felt suddenly exhausted, and his head dipped forward, coming to rest on her own sweat slicked brow, their breath mingling fast and hard. "They dead?" she said. He nodded against her skin. "Getting that way." She didn't say 'good' but he could sense she wanted to. "Far be it for me to tell you how to do your job. . ." she said softly. He cocked his head back away from her, eyebrow lifting. "But?" She winced. "But next time. . .let's try to take them out before they pull my hair. It kind of pisses me off." He snorted, shaking his head of laughter. "No kidding." She grinned at him and licked her chapped lips. "Bill used to pull my hair." He glanced to her, then down to the leg he held so tightly. Blood was oozing between his fingers and spilling into the carpet. "Gotta get something," he said, and removed one hand to rip off his T-shirt. She nodded, frowning at herself. "Make it tight, like a tourniquet. I should've thought of this. . ." Lines of worry were snaking along her forehead and biting into her cheeks. He tied it off and rested one hand there, just in case, glancing back to her eyes. "I think. . ." She paused to look at him, her eyes fuzzy. "I think I'm in shock." He nodded softly and stood, gathering a blanket from the bed to drape over her. When he came back beside her, she was shivering, her lips blue and teeth almost rattling. "Hey," he said, pulling the cover along her shoulders and clasping it at her chin. "Hey, Scully. Come on." She looked to him. "Here. . .I'm here." He bundled her tighter, then slid her gun from her lap, shaking his head. "My hero," he said. "Someone has to. . ." The sound of sirens cut their awkward talk short, and he rose from the floor to guide them in, promising to come back. She closed her eyes and stopped thinking. ~~~~ ~~~~ Problem ~~~~ "You had a problem with your new-found wealth, you brought in on yourself I never told you I told you so, but I told you so. . ." ~~~~ She saw the television bolted to the wall first, some kind of British comedy show in silent parody along the screen. Glancing over, she saw his eyes, staring at the wall, deep in his own thoughts. She cleared her throat weakly, moving in the hospital bed to get his attention. He turned to her, smiling, eyes soft. "Hey, you." She breathed heavily through her nose, mouth tightly shut against the urge to pant for air. "How do you feel?" he said, frowning. His hand wiped her sweaty hair from her forehead, then deepened his frown. She opened her mouth to respond but found her throat constricted. "It's okay. Just rest, Scully. You're going to be fine. Three of the guys who attacked us are dead, and the other is awaiting a trial once he's released from the hospital." She nodded, then flicked her eyes to the papers and files spread along the table. "The case?" she said roughly, pushing herself up in the bed. "Going all right. Turns out those four were probably sent to finish us off. . .keep us out of their business." "Their business? They're the killers? All four of them?" Mulder frowned and shook his head. "I. . .I don't think so. Actually, a lot has happened. The police found Detective Bonne murdered in his home the day after we were attacked. He never reported in that morning and so some officers went over to check out his apartment." "What happened? Did the same guys kill Bonne. . .the ones who tried to kill us?" Mulder licked his lips. "I'm not sure. Hartley, the guy in the hospital, says no. He says Bonne was one of their inside men. . .fits with all that racism crap they were spouting." "*Bonne* was working with the murderers?" Mulder gave a frustrated grunt. "I don't know." She nodded and cleared her throat again. "In much pain?" he said, watching her carefully. She shook her head. "Good stuff they've got me on." Mulder helped her sit up, carefully manuevering her leg so that it would not be irritated. "Good. You still want to talk about the case?" he said. Scully held her hand out for the case file. He handed it over, adding, "It's a pretty far reaching conspiracy." She glanced to the sheaf of papers, sifting through prison records and IQ tests and psychological profiles. "Conspiracy of what?" she said, growing more and more agitated with his behavior, the way he hid every scrap of information and made her dig for it. "Weekly deposits of five hundred dollars were found in Bonne's account, plus his biweekly detective pay -- he made no pretenses of covering it up. Also, we found a lot of racist literature in his personal effects, including a copy of Hitler's book, and some other socialist and Nazi pamphlets." "I knew there was a good reason you punched him," she said weakly, shaking her head. She reached out and skimmed her fingertips along his yellow eye. "Is this getting any better?" she said. He shrugged. "Yeah. Doesn't hurt so much anymore." She looked back to the papers, shaking her head. "Keep going. Explain what this has to do with the four murders. . .the woman in Boston, the couple in West Grove, Virginia, and the man in San Francisco." He nodded, then rubbed a hand through his hair. "Okay, Bonne again. I took a look at his phone records, and returned checks, all that normal, routine stuff. This guy was lousy at covering his tracks. We got a number he called to correspond with the dates he deposited the five hundred." "Like he was calling for a drop. . .?" Mulder nodded, hesitantly though. "I think so. Not much proof for that, and the whole Boston PD doesn't want to even begin to think one of their Detectives was this crooked." "Anything else? The four murders?" He cracked a grin. "Patience, Scully. I'm getting there." She rolled her eyes, then winced as her leg throbbed. "So the place he called. . .it's a front for a company called Soma. Don't ask how long it took to figure that out." Scully frowned, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully. "Soma. . . soma. . .where have I heard that before?" Mulder watched her think, willing her mind to produce something new he hadn't stumbled over, grateful to have her back. "Oh. . .soma. It's Greek for 'body'," she said. He blinked. "Hm. Interesting. Soma is a genetic engineering company. . .specializing in drugs that increase hormone levels in pregnant woman, vitamins to take during pregnancy, and some other things." Scully sat back against the pillows. "Soma. . .very strange. So why was Soma paying Bonne five hundred dollars a week?" Mulder gave her a dazzling grin. "To propogate the secret Nazi agenda?" She shook her head. "Come on, Mulder. I know you've got some kind of theory." "Actually, no. I have no idea. Let me just fill in all the connections, and *you* can come up with the theory, Agent Scully. Because, frankly, I think you've been slacking off on the job these past few weeks-" She went white. "Weeks? I've . . .been in here weeks?" Mulder closed his mouth and sighed. "Yeah. Three." She took in a shaky breath, then glanced once more to his face, to the faint outline of a bruise. "Have you been sleeping at all?" He looked like he was about to lie, then thought better of it. "Not too much. How do you think I got all this information so quickly?" She closed her eyes, ignoring the feeling that time had robbed her again, that her life was slipping from her hands. "Keep. . .keep going. The rest of the connections Mulder." "The rest. All right. Hartley, the Tattoo guy, is also a phone number that appeared a few times on Detective Bonne's phone records. Too many times to be a wrong number." "So, Detective Bonne calls Hartley, and Soma. . .why? What was he doing for them?" Mulder shrugged. "I really haven't had the energy to think. . ." Scully glanced guiltily to his pale and drawn face, reaching out to take his hand. "Why don't you get some sleep, Mulder?" He shook his head. "We have to jump on this before it gets cold. . ." "You've been jumping. . .shit, Mulder. You've been asking 'how high' for the last three weeks. Rest. I'll be here when you wake, and so will Soma." He scratched his ear absently, then nodded. "Yeah." She expected him to leave, but instead, he curled up in the unmade bed next to her, using his suit jacket as a blanket and his palm as a pillow. She sighed and closed her own eyes, banishing the haunting images of Nazi-dragon tattoos and a dead Detective. ~~~~ ~~~~ Let It Go ~~~~ "Have to let it go it's time to let it go Now I can't believe it took so long to leave Perhaps one day I'll grieve Or I never will." ~~~~ She felt so much better, in her own clothes, sitting in the motel room double bed watching a black and white movie that she really wasn't following. Motel rooms. . .they still held no fear for her. Even after all the horrile things that had gone on in motel rooms. So many attacks, panics, fears. . . She still loved being on the road, still felt that thrill when Mulder explained a new case, just the same as when her father came home with a new base. Mulder switched off the television as the credits flashed, and then rolled on his back to see her. "Want to get started?" She nodded, almost feeling eager. Three weeks of coma would do that, she figured. "Hartley. Okay, full name. Joseph S. Hartley, graduated high school, but barely, managed to get a girl pregnant, ran away from home with said girl, and both were picked up and detained. Her parents were called, and he was given a week in jail for being with a minor. The girl disappears for the remaining five months of her pregnancy, comes back without a baby." Scully flinched and sighed. "Abortion? Adoption?" Mulder shrugged. "I got an idea. . ." "Shoot. . .ah, scratch that. . .bad choice of words." Mulder's fingers skimmed her upper thigh, a light touch that glanced along the bullet scar. "My idea. . .Soma contacts these two. . .offers to give them money, *if* the girl goes with them, let's them do tests, that kind of thing." "Are you pulling this out of thin air, or do you have some proof?" He gave her a startled grin. "Some proof. . .The parents of this girl aren't religious, nor do they seem to care about what everyone would say. They're somewhat flamboyent themselves, with little gnomes wrestling for lawn space with pink flamingos. So, sending her away seems really out of character. Then, I came across some old police records, saying the parents, Mr. and Mrs. Steven Page, filed a formal missing persons on their daughter, Kelli." "They thought she was missing?" Mulder grinned, his smirk so bright it could light the room. "Later, they came back and said it was a mistake. . .a mistake. They're panicked enough to believe their kid's gone *again* and they come back a week later saying it's a mistake?" Scully shook her head. "She called, explained what was going on. . .right?" Mulder nodded. "I think so. Kelli and Hartley. . .she has this kid, comes back without it. But they get married, move to Boston, you know, happily ever after." "They married?" "The day she turned 18. I even talked to her. . ." Scully blinked. "We need to question her about this. Did you mention the baby to her?" Mulder shook his head. "This was before the Soma connection was discovered. I wanted to wait for you anyway. She might open up better with a woman." She nodded, then stood hesitantly, putting her weight on her still sore leg, testing it. "I'm not planning on doing anything stupid. . ." he said softly. "We'll talk, that's it." "I'm okay, Mulder. Just don't expect me to run. . ." He nodded. "Well. . .let's stakeout Hartley first. I think he's central to a lot of this." "I can't believe the judge let him out. . .all because it was dark. . .his voice changed, blah, blah, blah." Mulder sighed. "I wondered briefly if Soma bought off the judge. . ." Scully's eyebrows raised. He shook his head. "Let's get back to Hartley. Concentrate on how he managed to get tangled up with this strange company." "So, he meets them as a kid. . .say 19 and in Boston here, with his pregnant, underaged girlfriend, maybe they're desperate for money. . .drugs, whatever. Enter Soma, their savior, offering a place to escape the shame, for her, and money to live well, for him. Do they live comfortably, Mulder?" He nodded. "Pretty much. Much better than their parents, that's for sure. Much more upscale. They have a daughter. She's got anemia, I think." Scully's face froze and she sank back to the bed. "Anemia. . .Emily. . .she had a problem with her blood. . ." Mulder's face blanked, that look of panic he so admantly refused existed. "You think. . .it's the same thing? You think Soma's a cover for all the other government work?" Mulder seemed to be shocked, horrified, but his eyes were bright, his mind clicking all the details into place. "The daughter, her name's Harris, if you can believe that. She goes to the doctor once a week, for tests, something, I never could tell. I wondered how they paid for that, but maybe they don't. Maybe she's. . .like Emily. . .or changed somehow. Getting closer to a hybrid. I don't know how this fits in. . ." Scully shook her head. "This girl, Harris, it could all be a coincidence." Mulder watched her for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Right. It could all be a coincidence." ~~~~ Hartley's car was four lengths in front of them, his driving somewhat unsteady, weaving between the double yellow lines. Mulder prayed the man didn't have a wreck; they were taking a chance that Hartley would lead them to Soma's meeting place, or headquarters, and not kill another driver. "You think he's drunk?" Scully said. Mulder grinned. "I think he's getting a hand job." Scully's eyebrow rose, and she shook her head. "You're getting pretty crass, Mulder." He shrugged. "It's three in the morning, Scully. You get crabby, I get crass." "So long as you direct it at others. . ." she muttered. She really didn't need his rough voice insinuating anything, especially not at three a.m. Not only did she get crabby, but she became easily confused, her walls slipping away. The brown Lincoln Mercury braked to a sudden stop and Mulder coasted on by, glancing at the car from his rearview mirror. Scully licked her lips and watched the driver side door open, and the large man step out. Mulder pulled into a grocery store lot, parking haphazardly and killing the engine. Scully opened her door and jumped out, wincing as her body seemed to bounce along the pavement. After six hours in a cramped car, her leg was stiff and numb, causing jagged bolts of pain to glance through her. Mulder started for the cluster of offices Hartley's Mercury had stopped at, taking care to stay in the shadows made by trees and buildings. She stayed close behind him, perring ahead to watch for the man or any of his Soma friends. Hartley around furtively, an embellished move that only made him seem more ridiculous, more suspicious. The door blinked shut after him and they moved forward. Scully jotted down the address on a napkin from her jacket pocket. "I'll see who owns this office space. If it's a real company, maybe we can find out who's been funding this group, even though I doubt Soma would be so obvious." "You never know. Dectective Bonne was pretty careless," he offered. She shrugged nad crept forward, feeling him right behind her. Mulder edged around the empty windows of the vacant office, noting a securely locked door and a for sale sign in the corner. The came upon the next rented office, the door Hartley had disappeared into slightly propped open, having not shut completely. Scully tapped his shoulder. "I'm going to go in," she said. Mulder grabbed her wrist. "No way," he hissed and pulled her back. "Someone has to find out what they're doing." "Not you," he said, shaking his head. She yanked away from him, eyes shining with a fury tempered only by gratitude for his concern. "That crack in the door is big enough for me, but too small for you. There's a bell on the top bar and if it opens further, they'll know someone's here." Mulder glanced to the door, noting the silver bell and recalling the faint tinkling he'd heard as Hartley had pushed it open. She was right, and he knew it. Scully started forward, then came back. "I have my beeper on vibrate Mulder. If someone comes in behind me, call." He nodded and backed just around the corner as she started forward again. Holding his breath as she squeezed by in the tiny space, Mulder licked his lips nervously and glanced around for others. It was quiet once she disappeared. About ten minutes after she had slipped inside, a car engine alerted him to another presence. A grand Park Avenue hummed into sight, the windows tinted and the car shining even in the dark. Mulder flipped open his cellular and crept to a bush, hoping the cover would muffle the beeps of his phone. Her bepper was not pre-programmed and he cursed every digit that rang so audibly through the night stillness. Glancing quickly back to the car, he watched it stop, and the driver exit, rubbing his hands on his linen pants. Mulder rapidly dialled in a 911 message, hopefully letting her know the man was coming up quickly. He snapped his phone shut and prayed she'd get the message in time, that she'd even feel it. Sometimes, he would beep her for hours before she even noticed it was vibrating, but that was mainly during her autopsies. Surely she'd be more aware of it, since it had now become her lifeline. He held his breath as the man went inside. Still, the door was left open a crack. He breathed out explosively, then glanced around him, looking for guards or henchman patrolling the office building. Ten minutes later, men began shuffling out, their gates heavy and exhausted, all of them looking somewhat drunk or maybe entirely too sobered. Each stepped into a beautiful car, most of them American models, though there were a few exceptions, and then the engines came on, one by one. Mulder scrambled for cover as headlights beamed forward, casting brilliance where he once had been sitting. The entourage pulled away from the office building at ten minutes intervals, requiring Mulder to sit and wait for an entire hour, worrying. When the seventh man had left, Mulder darted from his hiding place on wobbly legs, rushing the building and checking quickly to make sure no one else remained. As he ran to front door, he slammed into Scully, who was coming out, her hands clutching her beeper. Mulder caught her before she could lose her balance, then hugged her tightly. "What happened?" She grimaced. "You were right. . ." ~~~~ ~~~~ Agreed ~~~~ "I never told you I agreed with you I don't think I do I wasn't sure quite what the whole thing meant, but I'm glad you went. . ." ~~~~ They were halfway back to the motel before she said anything more. "I think it's like Emily," she whispered. He nodded, kept driving, knew he couldn't look at her. She would cry and he'd be too blinded by . . .rage?love?. . .to drive straight. "Emily," he repeated, tasting the name on his lips. "It was Soma. I'm sure. They talked about keeping the line pure. . .talked about how these 'procedures' would ensure their survival. They sounded brainwashed." Mulder nodded. "When Hartley was yelling about cops being stupid. . .it sounded passionate, but off. Like he had to memorize it and then play it out." "Someone was in charge. I couldn't see faces, hiding like I was, but one man, smaller than the rest, with a deep voice. It was strange, that deep of a voice coming from so tiny a man." Mulder knew she was skirting the issue, dancing away from a truth she still didn't want to admit to. "Do you think they're using Kelli Hartley's eggs for this?" Scully blanched. "It sounded like all their wives were breeders. . .nothing more. Kelli might love him, but he doesn't love her. He was talking. . .awful things. Mean. Spiteful. Disrespectful of her and her body and her little girl." Mulder's fingers tightened on the wheel. She continued. "Breeders. Some kind of small scale plan for hybrids? I don't know. It was mainly a peptalk, trying to keep Hartley from feeling scared, reminding him that the race was getting polluted by outsiders, that the genetic procedures were the only true and right means of straining out 'defective' genes." "The Deep Voice actually said that?" "Yeah. Then he reminded them they needed to be careful, that the enemy was out there, watching them. When he said that, I thought he *knew* I was there, and was going to reach out and snatch me from that room. He was hypnotizing, easy to listen to, a kind of modern Adolf Hitler, I suppose." Mulder turned gratefully into the motel parking lot, putting off their conversation until he had the car between two white lines and the engine off. She took his hand and squeezed it briefly. "I don't know if we can stop this, Mulder. . ." He glanced down at their twined hands, shaking his head. "I don't either." ~~~~ The motel room was soft-lit by one lone yellow bulb in the corner, an odd position for the fixture, but it cast just enough illumination for Mulder to see her face. She was nibbling on her lower lip, an unconscious habit that he hadn't seen from her in about four years, not since her abduction. "I'm confused about all this," she finally said, shaking her head free from the mists. He sat down on the bed, sinking into it and being enveloped by the comforter and sheets. Wriggling around, he managed to sit upright, with his back to the wall. "Well, let's see. We have these four murders first." Scully nodded, her eyes becoming bright as she recalled information from the cases. "Right. First was the man in San Francisco, Ed Robertson. He was stabbed and the walls were smeared with his own blood. Robertson was a lab technician for Masterson BioTech, and had worked there for twelve years. Masterson wouldn't tell us the nature of his work, which right away sounds strange." Mulder tucked his legs Indian style, allowing her to settle at the foot of the bed, thick file folders in her hands. He took up the diatribe, spouting the facts of the second and third victims. "Mother and son, next. Susan and Greg Rogers in West Grove, Virginia, and found in the same conditions. Room smeared with their blood, stabbed multiple times, and the child placed in her arms. Rogers was a research team leader for Nye Industries, a company that has some background in genetics, just as Masterson does." Scully nodded, waiting to voice her questions until all sides were covered. "Then, most recently, the woman in Boston, Ashley Hall, strangled this time, but cut soon after her death to allow the killer to smear the walls again. She was a secretary. The FBI labs have identified what kind of brush was used to paint the rooms. It's a type of culture swab that researchers use for larger organisms, the tip about the width of my palm." The light in the corner blinked dangerously and Scully jumped, then shook the feeling from her mind. "Okay, here are the problems," she said, adjusting her body to fit more comfortably in the bed. "Two have connections, although small ones, with working at companies who perform genetic tests. But, Hall? A secretary?" Mulder gave her a small embarassed smile. "I sort of . . .I guess I forgot to tell you. Hall, Rogers, and Robertson all worked at Sorensen Corporation, in their genetics division. Hall was a secretary there too, and Rogers and Robertson had minor roles. It seems as if someone is killing off all the workers." Scully frowned, adding the new information to the tidbits she alraedy knew. "So. . .Sorensen is in trouble then? Should we be looking up all of its formal employees and asking them to be more careful?" Mulder shook his head. "I don't have definite proof of this. It seems that Rogers is the woman's maiden name. . .but the woman I found at Sorensen is Saunders, meaning she changed her name somewhere along the way." "How do you know for sure it's her?" "Positive ID's by twenty or so former co-workers, plus one lady who swore that Saunders got married and changed her name soon after being fired." "She was fired?" Mulder nodded. "Was Hall and Robertson fired as well?" Mulder frowned, then rifled through the folders, mentally berating himself for not seeing that connection earlier. He took a deep breath, read over the papers, then glanced back to her soft eyes. "Yeah. They were all fired." ~~~~ Sorensen Corporation was housed in a large office building in downtown Boston, the smell of rain and soot heavy in the air. The chrome and glass floors rose mockingly to the sky, but its dirty facade and worn looking lobby spoke of recession and low budgets. People walked smoothly from elevator to the hall, slipping inside blank doors before Mulder or Scully could register their existence. The entire place had the sense of removed time, of drifting through a moment without any sense of direction. The large greeting desk boasted cherry finish and a smooth line of gold plated sterling silver trim about waist high. Mulder asked to speak with the president of the company, flashing his FBI badge and looking official, his face a stern mask. The woman merely looked at him, then slowly stood up, gesturing to another woman just down the hall. The second figure walked slowly toward them, and the secretary sat down, ignoring everyone again. Mulder repeated his request to the blonde before him, easing closer to Scully in an unconscious effort to shield himself from the woman's dead eyes. "I'll go see if she can see you," the woman said. Mulder blinked. "She?" "Harris Sorensen, the president and CEO," the blonde said coldly, obviously offended that Mulder was surprised that Sorensen was a woman. He was, but it wasn't because he had some kind of ancient ideas on what women were supposed to do, but because he didn't see it very likely that a woman would be behind something tramatic enough to cause an entire group to resort to murder. The blonde walked off, leaving Mulder and Scully in the foyer, waiting. ~~~~ The woman behind the desk seemed more alive than any person they had met at Sorensen yet. Harris Sorensen was a petite woman, with thick brown hair and thin eyebrows, and designer suits that put Scully's to shame. He was impressed immediately with her tasteful decorating and subdued femininity, and silently took in the noble way her chin rose. Shaking hands, she invited them to sit down, her smile one of professional courtesy, but genuine. "You're FBI? What exactly do you need?" she said, getting right to the point. "We're investigating the deaths of three of your former employees, Ms. Sorensen. You can help us catch the killer by providing information about them, details of their projects-" Harris Sorensen was already shaking her head, lips tight and no longer smiling. "I'm sorry, Agent. . .We have government contracts here. . .I can't let you have that information." Mulder gave her a knockout smile, but she seemed impervious to it. "You don't even know what we need yet, Ms. Sorensen. Why don't you hear us out?" Scully sat back silently, watching the tight lines around Harris' face and chin. "I already know who has been murdered, Agent Mulder. I know this already, and believe me, I've thought and thought about why all of this is happening." "And you've come up with nothing?" Mulder said softly. Sorensen nodded, but Scully leaned in closer, eyes narrowed. "How did you know that three of your *former* employees were dead, Ms. Sorensen? In a company as large as this one, I'm sure you don't know everyone. . .so how can you be expected to remember three you fired?" Sorensen's face clouded and she glanced away. "I fired them. . .that's why I know. We keep tabs on everyone we fire. . .just-just to make sure. Government regulation, really, Agent Scully. If we didn't, they might sell secrets to foreign powers." Her tone of voice said she thought the entire thing ridiculous, but obeyed because her company needed the money. Mulder took over the questioning again, as if to rescue the woman from Scully's probing, making Sorensen think she was off the hook, leaving entry for his partner to jump in again. "So, you've come up with no commonalities in each of their cases? No project they all worked on together?" Ms. Sorensen shook her head tightly. "Ashley was a secretary. . ." "Can you tell me why they were fired?" Her eyes twitched, nostrils flared reactively for just a moment, then her face was under control again. Scully took note of it and watched her as she lied. "Well. . .you know. Poor workmanship, low leadership qualities, inability to follow suggestions or helpful advice." Mulder cocked his head. "You can't fire someone without cause, Ms. Sorensen." "There were individual causes. . .Miss Hall hung up on callers repeatedly, she grew frustrated with the busy atmosphere. She . . .uh, polished her nails at the desk." Mulder's eyes narrowed. Scully rubbed her fingers along the arm rests of the leather chair. "Ms. Sorensen," she said softly. "I think you're lying to us." Her eyes jumped and she shook her head. "No. No, I'm not." But her voice had a panicked quality to it, a note of desperation. Scully leaned forward, shaking her head. "We can get a search warrant, Ms. Sorensen. There's plenty of evidence-" A harsh laugh interrupted Scully's warning and the woman shook her head. "They'd never let you in here. If they knew you were here anyway. . .they'd never have allowed it." Mulder sat forward eagerly, matching Scully's tilt. "Why? Why wouldn't they? It seems to me that they've got you so deep in something, you can't get out. . .if you tell us. . .maybe we can resolve all this." Harris seemed childlike now, her understated beauty more of a childish gleam, a kind of innocence paraded before the masses. "You don't get it. They're *dead* and . . .they're dead." "And what? Yes, they are dead, but what does that have to do with you?" She looked crazily to Scully, ignoring Mulder. "You'd understand. . .you'd understand. The babies. When I found out what my father was letting them *do*. . .I couldn't. The government. . ." Her words were pathetic and harsh, rising when she offered blame. "The government went behind my back. . .talked to Susan, told her it was for the best. Her baby boy. . .Greg. . .was not really hers. One of the projects. And Ashely, keeping records for them, and Ed. . .all of them *in* on it. I fired them." Mulder licked his lips, glancing around as if worried about listening devices, his eyes straying to the window behind them. Scully took a deep breath. "Do you know a man named Hartley?" Harris' face paled. "Is he dead too?" Mulder blinked, then looked to Scully. "No. . .he tried to kill us." "He worked on the projects. . .I couldn't let them go on. I just couldn't. I don't care if it was the government." "So, how did you escape the government? Did they just let you fire everyone?" Harris rubbed her eyes, shaking her head. "No. It *wasn't* the government. I thought it was, so did Susan. She *told* me it was the government, but it wasn't. I don't know who it was. Maybe it was my father's. . .his own pet project. . .but someone kept it going after his death, kept it funded even after I fired them all. I fired our accountants, and I do the books myself now." She sighed, then looked to the ceiling. "I can't believe I'm telling you this. I'll probably be dead next, right? That's how it always works." Mulder attempted to say something, but she cut him off. "Look. . .let me get this all out. As long as I'm killing myself, I might as well not be so cryptic. . .let you understand all this shit my father dragged this company into." She licked her lips, then sat up straighter, tucking her hair into place, smoothing her skirt. "About five years ago, when my father died, I inherited the company. I had been working as Vice for a few years, and had noticed some discrepancies that my father wouldn't let me look into. So, I started really digging, trying to figure out where about a third of our money was going - I had one of the accountants working with me. . .my . . .boyfriend. . .that sounds so middle school, though. Jake. . .he was killed in an accident, ruled homicide but no one ever solved it. I gave up on it." She took a deep breath and Mulder saw her eyes stray to a photograph in a wrought iron frame. A yong man with serious eyes and wrinkle lines along his forehead stared out from behind silver glasses. His midnight black hair blended with the black dress Harris was wearing in the picture. "I went through Jake's stuff about three months later, looking for clues, thinking I could solve it all by myself. He'd found that a company named Soma was funneling money through our off shore accounts, then taking more than they put in. But, we were getting some of it back as donations for genetic research. That, in and of itself, is strange. No one donates money to a for-profit organization, but that's what was happening. Some grants showed up too. . .undersigned as government agencies I'd never heard of. I'm sure they were made up." "So Soma has inside officials. . .government people who could fake the grant?" She shrugged. "I didn't think about it. I just tried to forget. I cancelled the program, and pulled out of the accounts off shore, putting my money in the Barbados, in Switzerland, various other places." "You just tried to shut everything down. . ." Harris nodded. "I didn't have any idea what was going on. . .I was sickened about Jake, furious. . .About two months later, I realized that the accountants I had were screwing around the books, making money appear where it was really disappearing. I fired them first. Hartley. . .one of the accountants. . .he threatened that *they'd* get me. I didn't care really. Jake was dead. . .I felt dead. I still do." Scully shifted in her seat, unable to take her eyes from Harris' face. "So. . .the money gone again, I looked around. Found the project, found it in some warehouse I didn't even know we owned. . .huge vats of greenish slime and tiny bodies in them. . .all these little babies. I. . .I think I screamed when they moved. All of them alive. . ." She shuddered and Mulder could easily picture it, this shell shocked woman finding rows and rows of babies in containers, being kept alive for experiments. "Susan was there. She tried to stop me. . .I couldn't believe what they were doing. She told me about Greg, how her baby was special, pure. She *said* that. Pure. As if being in that green fluid made the difference. I'm not a genetics person, so I have no idea what crap she was spitting at me, but all I could see was Jake dying for this." Harris put her head in her hands, still not crying, not allowing herself that luxury. The room was strangely still, as if everything hinged on her next words. Mulder watched her breathe, in and out, sliding slowly down in the leather chair. "I asked her if the babies could survive outside this stuff, she said no. . .Agent Mulder, I don't believe in abortion. I think it's murder. . .but I killed them all. Susan. . .I had to hit her, knocked her out. Then I went around and unplugged each of the little pods, ripped the wires from them, slammed the equipment into the glass until it shattered. I stood in the middle of the room, holding Susan, the green fluid up to my ankles, swirling, the dead babies floating around, catching on my legs. . ." She shuddered hard and a trickle of blood appeared below her lip, her teeth stained red from biting. Scully stood and handed her a tissue, offering support even though she barely glanced to them. Harris closed her eyes and continued with her story, her voice flat and emotionless. "I fired everyone. Shut it down. Started doing the money myself, gave everyone excellent references, hoping I wasn't ruining their lives by kicking them out. I didn't care that much, though. Susan. . .she came to me a few months before her death and said that it didn't matter anymore. She said it was still going on, that it would always be going on. But at least. . .at least it's not because of me. I told her that. She laughed." Harris slumped back, looking drained, weak. "So, now you know everything. Am I going to be responsible for your death too?" ~~~~ ~~~~ Painless ~~~~ "I never thought that it could be painless, but it is I guess I had myself fooled into needing you did I fool you too?" ~~~~ Scully was sleeping in the car when Mulder pulled into the rest stop, turning the engine off with a flick of his wrist and sitting back. He glanced out at the lights dotting the clean sidewalk, hearing the trees whispering in the breeze even through the car. The day had left footprints along the building, small patches of light where halogen bulbs burned. Mulder wondered how they'd ever bring this vast conspiracy to its knees. It seemed they always got so close, seemed they had a clear idea of the horrors swirling beneath the depths of the government, and then it all fell apart. Two days ago, Harris Sorensen had been found in her bathtub, wrists slashed to the elbow, the water reddened with her blood. It was listed officially as suicide, but Mulder and Scully had their doubts. Two drinking glasses in the living room, two dirty plates in the sink. Looked like her killer was a close friend, coming over for dinner. Scully had searched police records for six hours straight, looking for a Jake killed under mysterious circumstances, but no file was ever found. Mulder had interviewed the Boston police officers, finally discovering one man who remembered the scene, but he had been a rookie, and the details were fuzzy. Blood smeared on the walls, he thought. Wasn't sure. Wouldn't testify to it in court. Boston PD wouldn't look any further into Harris' 'suicide' and kindly asked them to leave. Mysetriously, fingerprints were suddenly found at all three murder scenes, namely on Greg Rogers' wrists, Susan Rogers' bedside lamp, Robertson's bedroom door knob, and then in the blood painted on Ashley Hall's walls. Of course, they were clear and precise, and shouldn't have been missed the first time, never should have been looked over, the police department would be seriously given a 'talking-to' about proper procedure, and they matched perfectly to Hartley. Mulder and Scully weren't even needed to testify because the prosecutors chose to convict him for the murders rather than the attack. They were smiled at, handshaked, thanked, then packed off in their newer model rental car with more thanks and smiles and handshakes. Scully slept beside him in the car, her head tucked into the corner, where the door met the frame. The faint light spilled along her neck and down her thin cotton shirt. He shook her gently, running his thumb up and down her shoulder. She woke slowly, then glanced to him. "I'm going to the bathroom, then it's your turn to drive." He turned before he saw her nod, then slipped from the car, knowing she was coming in behind him without having to hear the car door slam shut. The lobby housed a map on one wall and two doors, one with a stylized woman and one with a rather dumpy looking man, the genders printed clearly beneath each picture. He and Scully parted there, wrapped in their own thougts, Mulder remembering the frustration, Scully warding off exhaustion. When she got back to the car, he was sitting in the passenger seat, smiling, and she felt more awake. Getting in, she managed to bump her head on the doorframe and bite down on her lip, blood welling up immediately. His cool touch of fingertips along her lip made her jump, but Mulder stilled her shaky limbs with a heavy hand, then wiped the small line of blood from her mouth. She flashed her thanks through her eyes, then shoved the keys into the car, still not ready to leave yet. Mulder sat quietly, waiting for her to either talk or drive, but she did neither. The night was thick and welcome in their car, muffling their tension with a sense of otherworldness, dampening their fears with a softening touch. "Scully. . ." he said softly. She made no move, but he knew she was paying attention to him. "I don't know what more we can do." She shrugged. "Hartley. . .he's a scapegoat. The offfice space was rented out to a new business. . .TCBY, I think. . .everything's disappeared." He sighed heavily, but it did not relieve the cloying stuffiness. "I don't know what more we can do," she repeated back to him. He glanced at her. "Sometimes. . .I wish we could just run off. . .quite doing this crap. It never seems to end." She nodded. "I bet when we get back, Skinner will ask for the report, and all our notes and all our evidence, and we'll never see it again." He snorted. "I don't think they're going to be *that* obvious." Scully shrugged. "What are we doing, Mulder?" He grinned suddenly, reached over to take her hand. "We're sitting in the dark talking about a case that's closed, when we could be making out." Hm. . .maybe she didn't find that one funny? She turned, looking at him for the first time since she'd gotten in the car. "This isn't worth it, Mulder." He licked his lips. "What?" "Getting nowhere, but going through awful things, hearing horrible atrocities, and loosing sleep. I feel like I'm all alone Mulder. . ." He shook his head, running his finger along the inside of her wrist. "You're not alone. Scully, you're not alone." She shivered. "I am, Mulder. . .and so are you." She pulled her hand away and started the car. ~~~~ Skinner asked for their paperwork, official reports, and evidence. The request was lying on their desk before they'd even gotten in. Scully looked to him and said, "I told you so." He frowned. ~~~~ Scully sank further into her bathtub, content with the sound of thousands of tiny bubbles popping around her. The suds covered her entire body, tickling and feeling like cushions of air, making her float haphazardly in the water. The candle on the back of the toilet hissed as the wax met the flame, then sputtered before finally dying. The room sank into darkness, finally defeating the tiny flicker of illumination. Her one consent to happier times had died. She sighed and refused to get up. The darkness was welcome. The water was hot, searing through her skin and into her bones, leeching away that sick feeling she always had after frustration. Amazing that the sick feeling hadn't already replaced all of her marrow already. She felt herself falling asleep, her limbs weighted with exhaustion. She let her eyes drift close. ~~~~ Mulder found her in the bathtub in the dark, but healthy and alive, no faint trail of blood, no razors placed just so. He sighed in relief and sank to his knees beside her, watching her sleep in the faint light from the doorway. Her brow was smooth, fingers resting daintily along the rim of the tub, one foot sticking out, propped on the edge, knee raised. Mulder slid one hand into the water, found it slightly cool, the remaining bubbles gliding over his hand like a caress. The bubbles barely covered her anymore. . . He bent forward and ran his light fingers along her neck, dipping to her collarbone. She woke, startled at seeing him hovering over her, but relaxed back into the tub, his touch still trailing along her neck. "I was worried. . ." he said softly, trying to explain. Scully said nothing, simply raised her head a bit, allowing his fingers to dance right under her chin, then back along to her ear. Her eyes closed and he lowered to his knees, resting his chin along the edge and propping his elbow on her raised knee. Her hand moved from the rim of the tub to slide along his cheek, an almost unconscious gesture. He gently kissed the side of her finger as it swept past his lips, then the very tip, nudging into her touch as her nail tugged on the corner of his mouth. She opened her eyes when his free hand slipped into the water, but said nothing. He lifted her out of the chilly water and nestled her close to him, getting to his feet again and standing, arms tight around her. Mulder grabbed a towel with his straining fingers, his shirt soaked in water and suds, and she took it from him, smiling as he set her down. The towel wrapped loosely around her body, and then his arms did too, drawing her tightly up into him, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, trying to apologize for the madness they'd been thrust into. She shook her head and lightly kissed his shoulder, turning her cheek. "I don't feel alone anymore. . ." she said lightly. Mulder grinned and his soft laughter tickled her throat as it reverberated. "Told you so. . ." he said. ~~~~ end adios RM