textfiles/stories/forgotte

               FORGOTTEN SOULS
                    By:  CAC
                                                                    
Alias:  The Stinker

                                                                        
FORWARD
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I don't know exactly how to describe this one except that there is a touch
of romance, some mystery, some old friends and some new ones. There'll be
some unexpected twists and turns and hopefully some new or different
insights.  Our heroes may have gotten in over their heads and need a
little "outside" intervention, when some old enemies return.  No copyright
infringements intended etc.....

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                                                                PRELUDE
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When everything you own
Will fit in a paper sack
No one notice you leavin'
Nobody ask you when you comin' back
You live in a rented room 
Your money run out too soon
You've pawned all your hopes
Bummed all your smokes
And you leave by the Quarter Moon
Kathy Matea---



The morning sun rose steadily above the decaying tiles of  old abandoned
"Fisher's Market" 
and shone its cascading brightness through the carefully cut openings of
the large,  weathered, cardboard box in the deserted alley.

Rose Bellman awoke to another day of "experience" as she was fond of
calling it, for there were many times when she wondered if this could
possibly be "life."  She carefully folded the plaid blanket she had found
the day before in a dumpster off Lincoln Ave. and placed it neatly beside
the other discarded treasures that she had accumulated over the past ten
years since her husband's death, then she considered silently whether or
not *she* could be a "discarded treasure" as well.  Memories of the good
times, before her husband's lingering illness had made them destitute,
crowded her mind and a tear found its way to her eye.  That's enough of
*that* kind of thinking, she told herself as she emerged from her shelter
and stretched in the warm summer air.  Today would be a good day, she
decided arbitrarily...maybe he would be there today.

Straightening her faded, tattered clothing, she brushed her hair and
readjusted the contents of the old rusted shopping cart and started her
rounds.

It was about 8AM when she finally rounded the corner and spied the tall,
stark white facade of the J. Edgar Hoover building.  It was a forbidding
structure yet it held for her nothing but fond memories.  Every day she
would pass this way in hopes of seeing the young man who had quite
possibly saved her life some three years past and today she was not
disappointed.  She spotted him far off, strolling gingerly down the
walkway, but unlike every other day, this time he was not alone.  A
petite, attractive young woman walked beside him,  playfully nudging him
in the side as he tilted his head back in amusement.  Rose rejoiced in his
laughter and in his companion for in her opinion he had been without both
for far too long.

Seeing him now reminded her of the first time that they had met over three
years ago.  She'd had a full cart when the young thugs had attacked her,
pushed her to the ground and toppled her cart.  They had done it in broad
daylight, in front of dozens of people who would not help and across from
this very building.  She knew she would have fared much worse had it not
been for the timely intervention of a young man who had been walking
behind her.  After chasing the buggers off, he'd lifted her to her feet
with a surprisingly gentle strength, uprighted her cart and replaced the
items that had fallen onto the sidewalk.  A soft  voice had inquired if
she would be all right and fawn-like hazel eyes shone with genuine
concern.  The eyes...he was an attractive young man, yet his eyes, though
kind, were ancient....they held within their fathomless depths a sort of
pain that she had rarely seen in one so young.  They were so sad.  He had
given her what money he had and told her to get a warm place to sleep, for
the night would be cold.

She smiled as the couple approached.  She had never asked for money or
anything but he had always  discreetly given her something under one
pretense or another, always being careful to preserve her dignity.

"Hi ya Mulder," she said cheerily.

Recognizing the voice, Mulder turned temporarily from his conversation
with Scully to gaze down at her and smile warmly.

"How ya doin' Rose?  Any new gossip on the streets these days?"

"That depends," she replied with a wink, "Who's your *friend*?"

"Roselyn Bellman, this is my partner, Dana Scully.  Dana, this is Rose,
mother hen extroidinare, matchmaker, etc. of all that  lives and breathes
between here and Lincoln  Ave."

"What he's politely tryin' to say is that I stick my nose in where it
don't belong," she explained with a chuckle.

"What I mean is, you worry about everyone but yourself."

"Who me?" she said curtly with a grin.  "You're more guilty of that than I
am....still gonna save the world, are ya?"

"OK, OK.....now I've got two women giving me lectures," he sighed.

Rose awarded Scully with an approving stare and asked with surprise, "You
lecture him too?"

"All the time," she answered with sparkling eyes and a smirk.

Mulder, who was beginning to feel like the odd man out, interrupted the
conversation, "pardon me ladies but could you at least talk about me
*behind* my back?  Hey Rose, you need any donations for the shelter?"

"Nah, I got this research company that's gonna give me $150.00 just to
brush my teeth, what's left of them anyway.   Ain't that somethin'?  I
didn't know guinea pigs made so much money..." She nodded her head in
disbelief, grabbed his hand and squeezed as he palmed her a twenty.

"It was good to see ya again, Rose....take care of yourself."  He  and
Scully turned to leave when Rose tentatively grasped Dana's sleeve and
whispered, "he's a "keeper," honey...I hope you care.  If you do, you'll
ride his butt when he needs it cause a lot of the time he don't know
what's good for him."

Dana smiled in mild amusement.  "I think I can handle it."

Rose raised an eyebrow and replied, "I bet you can."

Dana said good bye, ran up the steps and met Mulder by the door.  "What
was that all about," she asked quizzically.

"I helped her out once, a long time ago."

"Looks like you still are......I saw what you did."

"What did you see?"  His voice raised in pitch and cracked faintly.

"I saw you give her the twenty."

His face flushed as he bowed his head.  "What's a twenty?  For me it's a
pizza and a beer,  for her....it's a weeks worth of groceries."

A corner of her mouth turned up in a half-smile.

"Mulder, you're a "soft- touch"."

"OK, so I'm an easy mark and I'll never get  rich."

"How many "bums" do you support, anyway?" she asked facetiously.

"They're not  "bums," Dana," he said with a slight tinge of resentment in
his voice.  "At least most of them aren't.  Most are just decent human
beings who for one reason or another got dealt a raw deal in life and with
the throw of the dice "we" could be "them".  They've fallen through the
cracks, Scully...They're rejected by government programs supposedly
designed to help them and ignored by a society that doesn't want to even
acknowledge their existence."

The conversation continued as they walked down the hall and into the
office.  "I mean, take this case for instance.  Nobody would've even
looked into it had it not been for the number and similarities of the
deaths.  Dana, these people are dropping like flies all over DC and no one
seemed to even give a damn because they were itinerant.  Are we beginning
to think of them as "expendable" because if we are, then I'm gonna have to
rethink my definitions of what it means to be *human*.  Are our lives any
less *important* just because we didn't discover the cure for cancer or
create world peace---when does a *life* cease to be viable?"

He looked up to see her smiling at him and realized that he'd gone off on
another tangent.

"You know Mulder, that's  exactly what I can't stand about you."

His face took on a hurt expression.  "What?"

"Your total *lack* of fervent expression,"  she commented drolly.

He raised his head slowly and gave her a side-long glance containing just
a hint of roguishness, then just sighed.

"Sometimes, Dana, life really *bites*, ya know that?"

"Face it, Mulder, you can't save the whole world."

"Maybe not, but  I can save my little piece of it, can't I?  I have to
believe that one person can make a difference, else I wouldn't be
here...doing this, would I?"

"Well, I think if you're gonna start saving your piece of the world, we'd
better start with these coroner reports."

"How many does that make, now?" he asked.

"Twenty-two victims within the last two weeks."

"Can I see the reports?  I know you could give me an accurate overview but
I can't remember them verbatim if I don't see them and the information
could be vital to the case."
She handed him the reports and he scanned each one as the written images
imprinted themselves permanently upon his memory.  Watching this process
had always intrigued her and she had often wondered exactly how much
information the human mind could absorb and store before it "overloaded,"
so to speak.

He finished the last of the coroners' reports, handed them to her and
repeated the exercise with the police reports, then sat silently for
several minutes in quiet contemplation.

"Dana, none of these victims should be dead... in each case, the cause of
death was unknown.  They just *died*.  No poison, viruses, bacteria,
disease, injury, or obvious sign of violence were indicated."  He gazed at
her in puzzlement and asked, "How can people just *die*?"

"They don't," she replied with conviction.  "Just because they didn't find
a reason for the deaths, it doesn't mean that there wasn't one."

Sometimes her steadfast belief that all things had a logical and
scientific explanation really irked him, for he had often found through
personal experience that "some" things, at least, defied both logic and
reason.  On the other hand, she had proven to be his balance and anchor,
if you will, for he had to admit that there were times when he needed an
objective point of view.  He conceded that he did occasionally have a
tendency to willingly accept belief based more on faith than fact and
Dana, more times than not, kept him from going off the deep end.  He got
up, crossed the room and casually sat on the corner of her desk as he
gently pulled the file she was reading from her hands and plopped it
unceremoniously on top of the computer.  Startled, she shot him a
questioning stare.

"I am more than positive that if there is *anyone* who could figure out
what the  cause of these deaths was, it would be you, but right now I have
a hunch that perhaps *how* they died may not be quite as important as
*why*......According to the police reports, the majority of deaths
occurred in the area between  Lincoln Ave and Franklin Street.  I think we
should make a little visit to the area, talk to a few people, and ask a
few questions....*someone* must know *something*.  Bring your reports if
you want....you can go over them on the way."

Well that was short and terse, she thought, just like his manner had been
most of the morning when he had addressed her directly.  Maybe his shorts
were too tight or somebody stole his Twinkies.  She got up, grabbed the
report off the computer and the remaining ones off the desk and headed
quickly for the door which he held open for her.

She observed him as he drove in silence.  Something was eating at him, for
he'd been aloof and distant toward her all day, except for the brief
moment this morning when she had made him laugh in spite of himself.  The
silence was deafening and she was not about to let it go on.

"That's it," she said in frustration, "pull the car over right now."

"What?"

"I said, pull the car over."

"What's the matter?" he asked with concern as he drove to the side of the
road and parked.

"You're what's the matter."

"Huh?"

"You've not been yourself all day....what gives?"

"Nothing."

"Don't tell me "nothing".  I know you better than that, so what's your
problem?"

He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, stared out of the window and
replied in a hushed voice, "I couldn't sleep last night so I drove over to
see if you were still awake....you were but you had company and I didn't
want to *intrude*.  I mean it's none of my business who you invite over at
one in the morning."

"Oh, so that's it," she said in a somewhat annoyed tone.  "You saw Brian
and automatically jumped to the wrong conclusions and got all bent out of
shape.  Jesus, Mulder sometimes you really piss me off.  Are you that
insecure?  Not every woman is a "Phoebe Greene," ya know."

This last  remark cut like a knife and upon seeing the hurt in his eyes,
she immediately regretted the words.  This is not what she had intended,
for he was the *last* person she would ever want to hurt.

Ouch, he thought, go for the jugular, Dana.  She's right, though,...you
*know* she's right.  Don't  blow everything, Mulder, just because some
bitch messed with your head ten years ago.

He lowered his eyes and took a deep breath.  "You're right," he murmured
in a low voice.  "You're absolutely right and I'm sorry."

She  reached up with her hand and tenderly brushed back the stray hair
that had fallen into his eyes again. 

"Brian is my god son's father.  The boy became ill last night and he came
over to pick up a couple of prescriptions that I wrote for him so they
wouldn't have to take him to the emergency room."

Mulder slouched down in the seat a little ashamed and a lot embarrassed. 
If he could've shrunk down to the size of a pin head or even disappeared,
he would've but as it was he could only endure and apologize.

"You sure know how to make a guy feel "microscopic" don't you? " he asked
in an apologetic voice.

"Fox Mulder, you may be a lot of things.....but "microscopic" definitely
isn't one of them," she snickered.  She thought she should let him "stew"
for a while but she couldn't stand to see him unhappy so she decided to
let it drop.

"Forget it, OK?  We have work to do."

They spent the better part of the afternoon trying to talk to people who
wanted nothing to do with them.  They were the "establishment" and
therefore in the eyes of these displaced persons, the *enemy*.  After four
hours of fruitless inquiries, they finally gave up and returned to the
office.

"Well, that was a total waste of time," he grumbled in frustration. 
"They're not gonna talk to *us* and I *know* they know something.  The
streets are zipped up tighter than a clam shell."  He looked at his
watch..."Geez, it's four o' clock and I've gotta go."

He picked up a small sports bag behind his desk and sprinted toward the
door.

"Where are you going?"

"I've sort of got an appointment at 4:30 and if I don't get goin' now, I'm
gonna be late."

"Like I said, where?"

"Langly Park."

"What's at Langly Park?"

"Soccer."

"Soccer?" she asked in surprise.

"Yeah, I sometimes help out a friend of mine and coach his team.  After
the practice today, the Georgetown  Alumni arranged for an exhibition
game.  See Scully, I do have a "life" after all."

"What kind of team is it?  College, High School, what?"

"Mac had some trouble getting help and since I owed him one and I played
at Oxford, I kinda got volunteered."

"You're avoiding my question....you still haven't told me what kind of
team it is."

"High school girl's soccer team," he mumbled inaudibly.

"What?"

"High school girl's soccer team," he stated plainly, daring her to make a
comment.

 " I think I'd like to tag along on this one....This I've gotta see," she
remarked wickedly.

"Just keep the cheering down to a minimum," he joked as they hastily left
the building.

At the field, Mulder introduced her to Winston MacConnel, a tall, muscular
man of about fourty years.

"Ms Scully, are you planning to stay for the exhibition game?  It should
prove to be ....interesting.  We're playing the University of Maryland 
Alumni and we've tied for the last three years.   Perhaps with Mulder's
help, this year we'll win.  Have you ever seen him play before?"

"No, can't say that I have."

"Well, I'd say you're in for a great game, cause he's one hell of a good
player.  What he lacks in "bulk," he makes up for in speed, skill and an
intense determination....the man doesn't *like* to lose, which is why I
conned him into helping me out.  After all, it's all for charity you know.
 Well,  I gotta go change too.  You can sit in those front bleachers with
the team members' families."

She strolled across the field to the bleachers directly in front of her
and sat down next to a talkative girl about twelve years old.

"Hi, my name's Julie, what's yours," she asked between the popping bubble
gum.

"Dana."

"My sister's practicing tonight....you got a sister here too?"

"No, a friend of mine is playing in the game afterwards.  So does your
sister like playing this game?"

"I don't know if she likes it that much or not, but she sure enough likes
the coach's friend.  Katie says he's "hot" and has a cute butt too.  He
helps Coach Mac sometimes...and he's real good but most of the time the
girls just act dumb and don't listen.  He keeps tellin' em' to watch the
"damn" ball but all they ever do is watch him."

Dana chuckled to herself, remembering her own high school crushes and told
Julie, "You can tell Katie at least she has good taste."  

She spied Mulder as he walked onto the field with Mac and the girls and
had to agree that the soccer garb suited him...he wore it well.  They set
up the  equipment, and divided the group in half for skills training. 
Dana watched with amusement as Mulder tried to maintain some kind of order
among his group of giggling adolescent females, while at the same time
patiently conducting the necessary drills.  He appeared totally oblivious
to his effect on them and she had to give him high marks for maintaining
his cool cause she'd have been banging heads by now.

The practice ended and the game began as she watched with fascination. 
This sport was a lot rougher than she had envisioned it, for in the first
half alone, he'd been tripped,  knocked to the ground twice, elbowed,  and
of all things ---kicked in the face (how that happened, she still wasn't
quite sure).  He gave as good as he got, however, and managed to "head in"
one goal and kick in another.  Both teams were fiercely competitive and at
the end of the second half the score was still tied until Mulder, seeing
that  Mac was open, passed him the ball to set up.  Mac in turn, slammed
it into the goal just as Mulder was slammed to the ground.  He knew he'd
fallen wrong and vaguely heard the whistle blow through a red haze of
pain.  Damn leg, he cursed to himself as he tried to shake it off and get
up, but it disobeyingly collapsed beneath him and he dropped to the ground
like a sack of rocks.  It had taken a couple of months of therapy to get
the leg back to normal after a bullet had shattered his femur and damaged
the surrounding muscle and tissue.....now, it was going to give him
trouble again.  Shit.  He heard far away voices and felt strong hands lift
him to his feet as they helped him limp unsteadily to the bench.

"Did we win?" he inquired groggily.

"Yeah man, we won.  Thanks pal, now I owe *you* one," Mac laughed as he
slapped Mulder on the back.  "You gonna be OK?"

"That's  *my* line."  Mulder heard the familiar, cross voice and cringed,
for he could tell by the tone that this was not going to be an accolade
for a game well played...a job well done.  This was the tone reserved for
"what the hell are trying to do...kill yourself etc., etc., etc.?"  He did
seem to get hurt a lot  more often than he used to in the last few
years....maybe there *is* such a thing as being "accident prone." 
Rationalizing the situation, he came to the conclusion  that since this
wasn't a new injury--just an old one acting up--that it shouldn't really
count anyway.  Sounded logical to him.  

Of course what sounded like logic to him, sounded like so much stupidity
to her and she quite elegantly voiced her opinion to that affect.

Dana crossed over to the chest, filled a plastic bag with ice and slapped
it none to gently over the visible scar on his leg, causing him to grimace
and jump a few inches off the bench.

"You didn't tell me this was going to be a recreation of ancient Roman
gladiatorial combat.  The way you guys play, you'd think this was the
blasted  Coliseum......"  She took a deep breath and sighed.  "I was proud
of you....I don't know too much about the game but you looked real
good....I just don't like to see you get hurt."  She placed her hand
lightly on his shoulder and squeezed gently.

"Come on, let's get you somewhere a little more comfortable.  You need to
stay off the leg, at least for tonight."

He stared up at her in surprise.  This was not her usual approach.  He had
prepared himself for the usual lecture and had his rebuttal arguments all
in order....maybe she was trying to throw him off.  It worked.  He didn't
know what to say or how to react and he found himself at a total loss for
words.....Blast her.

She helped him hobble into her apartment and eased him gently onto the
couch, placing the extra pillows under his leg for elevation, then went
into the kitchen.  He  found the remote and went through the channels
until he found an old classic repeat of "Creature Feature" that he didn't
think he'd seen before.  Putting the remote down on the end table, he
discovered a small bag of mixed seeds  so he grabbed a handful and shoved
them in his mouth...they were a little different than what he was used to
but all in all, not too bad....and he was hungry.  By the time Dana
returned with another ice pack, he'd practically eaten the whole bag.  She
entered the room, stopped suddenly and stifled a laugh, then sidled over
to the sofa sat down next to him and placed the ice on his leg.

"What are you doing," she asked with exaggerated patience.

"Watching TV, why?"

"No, I mean with that bag.."

"I was just having a snack...I didn't think you'd mind..."

"Oh, I don't mind at all but "Ragman" might."

"Who's 'Ragman'?"

"The parrot who's food you just ate." 

 With his mouth full of seeds, he stared down at the bag in his lap and
upon failing to find a descreet way to spit, swallowed noisily and
coughed, "I didn't know you had a parrot."

"I don't....it's the neighbor's bird.  I'm watching it for a couple days
and now he'll starve because you ate his food." She overdid the pout for
effect.

He took this information in stride and replied with a sheepish grin, "I'd
have shared with him."

"Dana, did you find anything remotely unusual, "medically" in any of those
coroner reports today...something about them bothers me and I just can't
seem to pinpoint it."

"That sure was out of the blue."

"Not  really.  I've been working on them in my head all evening and
something about them just isn't right.  I *can* think about more than one
thing at a time you know."

"I don't remember anything unusual except for the obvious 'lack of cause.
Why are you thinking about this now?  It's getting late and you need to
rest,  not think about things that can wait until tomorrow."

"Can't help it....the information's there, so I think."

As she got up from the couch, he winced in pain.  

"Hurts, huh?" she asked.

"Yeah."

She went into her bedroom and he noticed she'd returned with that damn
little black bag.  He hated that bag...he sometimes wished that little
black bag would fall into a big "black hole" and appear somewhere across
the universe in another dimension far away from him.  She pulled out what
he was afraid she was going to pull out, two nasty looking syringes.  Oh
Shit, not those goddamn needles.  Sometimes there were advantages to
having a doctor as a partner....this was not one of those times.

"What are they for?" He eyed them  and swallowed nervously.

"One is a painkiller and the other one is a muscle relaxer."

"What is it with you and.....those *things*?  Haven't you ever heard of
aspirin and beer?"

"Why are you always such a baby? Roll over and drop em.'"

"Dana, ordinarily I'd love nothing more than to comply, but....."

She interrupted, "Do you want to be able to walk in the morning or not?"

"Oh geez.....Ow...."

"Don't I get any compensation at all?" he asked drowsily.  Boy, this stuff
worked fast, he thought dizzily.....wonder if it comes in six packs.

"Compensation huh?"  She bent over and kissed him long and passionately,
then pulled away and studied his face for a response.

"I can live with that," he slurred dreamily, then passed out in her arms.

"Trust me," she replied ruefully to his sleeping figure,  "Not tonight
Sherlock, right now you need sleep more than you need *that.*"  She
lowered  his shoulders slowly to the couch, propped his leg up, covered
him with a blanket, and turned off "Creature  Feature" along with the
lights, then went to bed.

The next morning Dana followed a rested and slightly limping Mulder into
the office and as  he went to his desk, she made a beeline for the coffee
pot.  For some reason she just needed a shot of caffeine to get her going
today.

"Hey Mulder,  do you want any coffee?" she called out. She waited but
there was no answer...".Mulder, do you want some coffee?"  Well great, now
he's ignoring me or maybe he's just gone deaf.  She stormed into the  room
and stopped abruptly in the doorway....something was wrong.  He stood by
his desk with eyes closed, obviously distraught and biting a tightly
clenched fist as the folder he held in his other hand dropped to the floor
and came to rest at his feet.

"Mulder, what is it?....what's wrong?"

He slowly opened his eyes, removed his hand from his mouth and replied
shakily, "There's been another death." He pointed to the report on the
floor and walked away from it.  She bent over, picked it up and read the
name:  Roselyn Bellman...Oh God, no..not Mulder's friend.  She walked
quietly up behind him and broke the "office" policy they'd agreed upon  by
quietly hugging his waist in sympathy and comfort.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said, knowing that the words were grossly
inadequate but not knowing what else to say.

His eyes clouded and he bowed his head.  "She wasn't always homeless, you
know.    She and her husband came to this country in 1952 and started a
business in 54' that lasted for thirty years.  They had a good life
together until he got cancer in 82' and the medical bills bled them dry...
after the insurance maxed out, they sold the house, then the business.  By
the time he died, there was barely enough money left to bury him and Rose
ended up on the street.   All that work...and all for what? So she could
die in a gutter off Lincoln Ave?"  His eyes pleaded with her for an
explanation, a reason....anything but she didn't have any more answers
than he did.

"Scully, will you do something for me?"

"You want me to do the autopsy?"

He nodded his head gratefully in affirmation.  He couldn't explain the odd
request and didn't fully understand exactly why he'd made it, except that
it would be the last thing he would be able to do for her...that and
seeing that she was buried beside her husband.   "I know it's not logical
and maybe not even very professional, but I just wanted it to be done by
somebody.....who would care."

Dana ran her hand lightly down his arm and squeezed his hand in
understanding, then led him down the hallway toward the small sterile
room.  The depth of this man's sensitivity never ceased to amaze her. 
With this one small gesture of tenderness, he had revealed more to her
about affection and loyalty than *any* of the self proclaimed purveyors of
"truth" and "love" that seemed to fill the airways these days.  No, he
wasn't perfect...god knows he drove her crazy, but he was honest and
genuine and she decided in the long run, that *imperfection* suited her
just fine.

He sat waiting in the hall while Scully went to work in autopsy room. 
There was one more thing that he decided he would do for Rose and that
would be to find out who or what had put an end to her life. *How* he
would do this....he wasn't quite sure, for he knew that the homeless
people involved wouldn't talk to him, Scully, or anyone else even remotely
resembling an authority.  If they wouldn't talk to him, who *would* they
talk to?  A thought flashed through his head like a lightning
bolt...they'd talk to each other....Mulder you've been a fool, he
chastised himself, suddenly deciding what he had to do.

Dana emerged from the room exhausted and sat down on the bench beside
Mulder, as his faced questioned her findings.  She shook her head slowly .

"I don't know, Mulder.  My report is the same as all the others as far as
the possible common, outside causes of death but....unlike my colleagues,
I took example from you and tried looking for the "uncommon", unusual, and
even "bizarre" possibilities and guess what?"

"What?" he asked, instantly becoming alert and leaning forward in
anticipation.

"Well, it seems that everyone else centered on outside causes...foreign
substances that shouldn't be present etc.,then I considered that maybe the
culprit could be something internal, something that should be there, that
wouldn't show up on a toxicology screening because it wouldn't be
considered a toxin."

"AND?"  he asked impatiently.

"I discovered *huge* amounts of adrenaline in the bloodstream...I know
this is going to sound really weird but it was if she had been "scared to
death".  I also noted that she had undergone a recent surgical procedure
to  remove her ovaries. However, that isn't an unusual operation for a
woman her age."

"It would have been for Rose," he replied cryptically.  "She could never
afford an operation  and she never mentioned it to me."

"Mulder, it's not exactly the kind of operation that you'd go tell your
young male acquaintances  about.."

"You didn't know Rose....Every ailment  she'd had in the last ten years,
was dutifully explained in great detail to whoever would listen."
"So what do you think is going on here?"

"I don't know, but  I'm gonna damn well find out.  Dana, can you take me
by my place...I have a few things to work out, then I'm gonna need you to
drop me off somewhere.  No questions asked....OK?"

"You know I can't promise that."

"OK, how about just promising not to give me any grief about what  I've
gotta do."

"Which is?"

"We'll talk about it later," he replied lost in thought. 

He spoke very little as she drove him to his apartment, and she didn't
press him for conversation.  She knew the look and the mood....His mind
was working overtime again which meant he'd decided on a plan of action
and was mentally working out the details of whatever bizarre approach he'd
come up with.  She was almost afraid to ask, so she didn't....God help
her, he'd tell her when he was ready.

She pulled up in front of his apartment where he got out of the car and
proceeded to walk with a perceptible limp up to the front door to check
his mail, but before she pulled away he waved to her and shouted.

"Give me about an hour, OK?"

She waved back and drove away.  What in the hell was he up to this time? 
She was almost certain that since he didn't let her in on the secret, it
was probably something dangerous that she wouldn't approve of... and that
frightened her.

An hour later she returned to his apartment, knocked on the door and
waited to hear his voice.  When no response was forthcoming, she tried the
door, found it unlocked and ventured inside, picking her way through the
clutter.

"Mulder?" she called hesitantly.  "Mulder, are you in here?"

"Yeah," he called from the bedroom," Just a second, don't move...I'll be
right out."

He shuffled out into the hall and stood in the light.  Her jaw nearly hit
the floor, for he stood before her in the crummiest looking set of clothes
that she'd seen in a decade and he looked like he'd hadn't bathed in a
week.  Oh Mulder, she thought, you're headed for a rubber room this time
for sure.

"Well, Whatta ya think?  It's kinda like "Mad" magazine's version of "GQ".
It's what all the really stylish vagrants are wearin' these
days....bitchin' huh?"

"You've lost your mind...where in God's name do you think you're going in
that get up?"

"Starlight Ballroom?"

"Mulder, be serious, just what do you think you're doing?"

"Damn it, Dana, those people are too scared to talk to us....but they will
talk to each other, so I'll just be one of the "others" for a while. 
It'll work, I know it will."

"You're not going down there alone.   It's just too dangerous....you're a
preppie Oxford graduate, so what do you know about surviving on the
streets?"

"Don't think that you're coming with me....I know just as much about it as
you do, but I can look ten times grundgier, act twenty times grosser and
Dana, you just smell too damn good for the part.  Besides, I need someone
on the outside in case I run into trouble."

"Mulder, you don't smell either."

"Give me a couple days....I'm working on it."

She smiled in spite of her misgivings and commented dryly, "No one will
ever believe you...your hands are much too clean."   

He casually inspected both hands,  then walked over to the potted plant by
the window, shoved both hands into the dark, rich, soil, and wiped the
excess off on his shirt and grinned wickedly.

"Always wanted to do that.  Oh, I almost forgot." Taking his weapon from
beneath the tattered trench coat, he opened his desk drawer and placed it
inside.

"You can't be going out there unarmed...Mulder, that's really dumb."

"Ok, how many *bums* do you know who carry Glocks?  I mean most of them
can't even afford food."

"Point taken, but I don't have to like it, now do I?"

She drove him to the corner of Franklin Street and let him out of the car.
 As he bent through the window to say good bye, she grasped his hand
tightly and asked, "did you bring any money for food?  Where are you going
to sleep?"

He gazed deeply into her eyes and said reassuringly, "OK, mom, I brought
twenty, one dollar bills and I'll find someplace to sleep...if I need to. 
I'm a big boy....can I go play now?" He smiled teasingly. "Oh, meet me
here tomorrow afternoon...same time, same place." He brought her hand to
his lips, kissed it in knightly fashion and ducked out of the window.  She
watched him slowly saunter down the street and heard him say as he rounded
the corner and vanished from sight, "Once more into the breach, dear
friends."

She didn't like this...no, she didn't like this at all.  Fighting the
temptation to follow him, she started the car and returned to her
apartment in an exceedingly anxious mood.

The air was filled with a combination of noxious odors that he  recognized
but was unaccustomed to smelling on a regular basis.  The offensive stench
of urine from the alleyways, the odious scent of rotting garbage and filth
that overflowed the dumpsters and spilled into the street combined with
the stale smell of alcohol and vomit to make his stomach lurch.  Perhaps
he was not as prepared for this as he had thought, but he was committed to
this endeavor and he'd follow through.  He traveled down Franklin Street
to the Hobo encampment that he'd been to earlier, beneath the Harding St.
overpass and told several people that he was searching for Rose Bellman. 
The first two men he'd asked were from out of town, the next three people
refused to even look at him and the woman he'd approached backed away from
him in fear.  Discouraged, he sat down and leaned his back up against one
of the overpass supports and placed in head in his hands.  Maybe Dana was
right...maybe he couldn't be convincing enough to pull this off.  Lying
wasn't exactly his forte', in fact she had told him more than once that
he'd be terrible as an undercover agent for just that reason. Subterfuge
always went against his basic nature and the guilt he felt in its
performance seemed to surface unconsciously in his body language and
expression.  He sighed in frustration and anger...anger at life's seeming
unfairness....anger at wasted lives...needless deaths...his own
inadequacies that he felt prevented him from solving this case.  Lost in
his thoughts, he failed to hear the approaching footsteps that halted
before him until the voice brought him back to reality.

"Heard you were looking for Rose," the voice mumbled cautiously. "What did
you want with her?"

Mulder looked up slowly, into the face of a man of about fifty.  His face
though dirty and whiskered, wore the look of distinguished intelligence
and his tattered clothes seemed outlandishly inconsistent with his bearing
of authority.

"She's an old friend who told me that if I ever came here, to look her
up...said she'd help out if she could...I never thought I'd have to take
her up on the offer, until now," he replied with a trace of bitterness.

"My name is Doctor Jay," he said, offering his hand to Mulder.  "You
haven't been at this too long have you, son?"

Mulder stood, grasped the man's hand in a firm handshake and replied
honestly, "No, I haven't.  It's that obvious, huh?  Just lost my job two
weeks ago...opened my mouth when I should have kept it shut and now I'm
out on my ass.  I don't plan to make this a living if I  can help it...I
just need some time to get back on my feet and I thought maybe Rose could
help."

"Well, I  have some bad news for you, my boy....Rose died yesterday.  I'm
sorry."

Mulder let the sorrow he felt earlier in the day show in his eyes and in
his manner.  It was a convincing display, mainly because his feelings were
genuine and he didn't require any acting ability to express them.  Dr. Jay
patted him gently on the back in sympathy and made a decision.

"Listen, by the way, what's your name?  Can't keep calling you "son"."

Mulder thought for a moment.  He couldn't use Fox or Mulder because he'd
been around here yesterday and his name wasn't exactly "common"...someone
might remember.  He could use his middle name, although he hated it as
much as "Fox".  The only person who ever used that one to excess was his
aunt Carol, who insisted that a good, solid, Scottish name should never go
to waste...Shit.

"Ian," he said disdainfully.

"I take it that you're not to pleased with your name."

"No, I can't say that I'm exactly *thrilled* with it."

Dr. Jay laughed and asked politely, "Since you genuinely appear to have
been a friend of Rose, I'll take you to her "place".  It's not much but I
don't believe anyone has been by there yet so her things may still be
intact.  Perhaps there will be something among her personal items that may
be of some use to you."

"Thank you," Mulder replied gratefully.  "I would appreciate that very
much."

Dr. Jay was an unusual man and certainly unlike any "vagrant" that he had
ever met.  The man spoke with impeccable English, carried himself with
regal dignity, and appeared to be unbelievably intelligent.  What the hell
was this man doing on the streets?

Mulder was led down Franklin Street to Lincoln Ave and then down an alley
to a large cardboard box across the street from a deserted market.  He
stuck his head inside the box to discover Rose's collection of
treasures...a program from an opera..candlestick holders..various pieces
of costume jewelry, the Christmas cards he'd given her for the last three
years...the small shelter was filled with momentos of her life. Regret
pulled at his soul and tears filled his eyes.  Maybe he should have done
more for her...Come on Mulder, pull yourself together, why do you always
get so damned involved?  He sat on the ground and began sifting through
her things, maintaining in his mind that he was looking at "evidence" not
pieces of someone's life, when he came across the business card.  What
would she be doing with a business card?  He turned it over in his hand
and read it out loud.

"Vestor Laboratories, New Products for a New Age.  1947 Jefferson Ave.
Washington, DC."

He put the card in his pocket, remembering that Rose had mentioned that a
research company was paying her to use some product.  It was probably
nothing, but his instincts told him to check it out anyway...and he'd
always trusted them in the past, why stop now.  He backed out of the box 
and looked for Dr. Jay but he had disappeared as quickly as he'd appeared
at the encampment.  It was dark now and he was getting hungry despite the
tumult in his stomach from the unsavory sights and sounds around him, so
he headed toward a diner he'd spotted on the way over here.

It was a small place, but it appeared to be clean... probably a lot
cleaner than he was at the moment, he thought wryly.  He walked in and
asked to use their bathroom, for  he really needed to wash his
hands....among other things and was rudely told by the waitress that the
restroom was for paying customers only.  He stared at her with strained
patience and hoarsely croaked, "I *am* a paying customer."  He pulled out
the wad of ones and showed them to her.  "Now, will you please point me in
the right direction to the restroom and get me two hot dogs with
everything?"
The waitress pointed to the far corner of the room, turned abruptly with a
harumph and placed the order.  He returned to the counter feeling a little
better, paid for the dogs and sat down on a stool.

"Sir, you can't eat that here," she said in an uppity tone.

"Why not?" he asked, slightly perturbed.

"It's bad for business."

"Bad for business?" What the hell was she talking about?

"People don't wanna see *derelicts* eating in here...it makes em' think
the place is dirty."

His face adopted an unreadable expression as he stood up and announced to
the waitress in a slightly raised voice,"Well, geez, lady, why would
anybody think that?  I know....maybe you think that I might pick my nose
and wipe it on the counter....or spit on the floor..." he turned to leave,
but couldn't resist one last retort and looked over his shoulder as he
walked to the door....." Hell, I might even *Fart* on the way out."  He
slammed the door behind him, took a bite of the hot dog and made his way
toward the Harding Street overpass.   He didn't like being a non-person.

He walked as quickly as he could, for he had a strange sensation of being
followed and wanted to get somewhere where at least he wasn't alone. 
Seeing the campfire lights in the distance, he picked up his pace as he
passed another alleyway.  Suddenly there was a blur in the darkness and he
felt several hands slam his body into the brick wall just inside the
alley, smashing his face into the rough, unyielding surface. Stunned, he
slid to the ground on hands and knees where a solidly booted foot impacted
several times with his stomach and rib cage.  Warm blood filled his mouth
as they took the remaining money from his pocket and just when he thought
they would finish him off, he heard a familiar voice yell for them to
stop, accompanied by a strange whining sound, then all was silent as he
drifted off into a state of limbo.

The sun's warmth upon his face slowly brought him back to consciousness as
he opened his left eye and slowly tried to sit up.  Oh shit, that was a
mistake, he thought painfully, and brought a hand up tentatively to touch
his face and then his forehead.  The whole right side  was ballooning,
especially his right eye and his mouth.  It seems that a tooth had gone
through his tongue and into his bottom lip.  His chest hurt when he
breathed, his stomach was sore, and his leg ached unmercifully, from the
dampness, no doubt.  He thought seriously about giving up, then about Rose
and all the other nameless, invisible people who would die if he didn't
find an answer to this puzzle....No, he wouldn't give up...couldn't give
up...the truth *is* out there and it was his responsibility...his moral
obligation to find it.

He surveyed the area and discovered that he was back at the encampment. 
How in the hell did he get back here?  Spying a pile of blood-soaked rags
at his feet, he was wondering who had cared for him during the night, when
a voice boomed into his left ear from behind his shoulder.  

"Well, Ian my boy, it seems you've finally decided to wake up after all,
eh?  You had me worried there for a while."

Mulder had jumped at the sound of his voice, for the man had once again
approached him without detection.  I've got to be more alert, he thought,
I must be getting "sloppy".

"What happened, Dr. Jay? I don't quite remember."

"My you are a "newbie" aren't you?  It appears that you were "rolled,"
quite effectively I might add, in the alley just a block away from here. 
My dear Ian, there are many thing you'll need to learn if you expect to
survive here, two of which are the following:  Number one;  If you have
any money, never show it to anyone--you never know who's watching and
Number two:  *Never* walk these streets alone after dark.  I found you in
the alley, brought you back here, and cleaned you up a little....you
certainly were a sight."

"How did you manage to move me?" he asked, incredulously.  Mulder studied
him openly.  Doc was only about 5'4" and weighed maybe 120 lbs., while he
was 6'1" and was nearly sixty pounds heavier.

"I'm a lot stronger than I look and I didn't have to carry you very far."

"Well, in any case, I owe you.  Thanks."

"Don't mention it.  I am certain that you would have done the same for
me."

Mulder reached into his pocket and pulled out the business card that he'd
found among Rose's things.

"By the way, do you know anything about this research company?  Rose told
me that they pay good money for people to test their products."

"Take my advice, Ian, pass on the offer."

"Why?"

"Let's just say that I don think they're what they appear to be and leave
it at that.  Forget about it."

"Whatever you say, Doc."  He placed the card back into his pocket and
dropped the subject for the time being.

Doc took a pot from the fire and poured an amber-colored liquid into a cup
and handed it to Mulder.

"Here, drink this tea and I"ll guarantee you'll feel much better in about
twenty minutes."

"What kind of tea is it?"

"Just my own special herbal blend," he said mysteriously.

Mulder brought the cup to his swollen lips and took a small sip.  It had a
sweet, pleasant taste and warmed him from within, in such a way that he
drank the entire cup.  He turned to offer his appreciation to Doc only to
find that the little man had vanished again, leaving nothing behind except
a dark pair of sunglasses which Mulder immediately placed over his bulging
and discolored eye.  He got up very slowly and discovered that he did
indeed feel much better....he'd have to find out what was in that stuff
cause he could use a truckload of it.

Much of his day was spent casually asking the local population about the
vagrants that had died over the last two weeks and one name kept
reappearing, linking these people into a common thread.  They had all been
human guinea pigs for Vestor Laboratories.  The afternoon went by quickly
and he set out down Franklin Street to meet Scully.  Whatever was in the
tea had worn off several hours ago and he was beginning to feel pretty
ragged again but he was determined to conceal that fact from her.

She pulled the car up to the curb on Franklin Street, rolled up her window
and locked the doors as she sat impatiently awaiting his arrival.  A vague
uneasiness had possessed her ever since she'd left him here yesterday
afternoon.  He was late....she glanced at her watch for the umpteenth time
and then back down the street and sighed with relief as she saw his tall
figure moving in her direction.  Something about him seemed different. 
Even from a distance, she could tell his limp was more pronounced than it
had been the day before and his normal erect bearing was slightly hunched
forward in fatigue.... or pain?  Why had she let him go through with this?
 Face it Dana, you couldn't have done anything to stop him...not once he'd
made up that incredibly pigheaded mind of his.  She got out of the car and
met him on the sidewalk.

"What happened to your face?" she asked with concern.  "And what's with
the dark shades?"

"I tripped and fell," he lied guiltily.

"The glasses are from a friend...the sun was really bright today."

"Mulder, it's nearly 5:00...the sun is going *down*."

He purposely ignored the last remark and abruptly changed the subject. 
Pulling the business card out, he handed it to her, saying, "Listen Dana,
I believe that this research company is somehow involved with all of these
deaths because the only common denominator that I could find was that all
of the victims were in one way or another connected to *this* research
company.  I need to know *everything* that you can possibly dig up about
it...who owns it, what kind of research they do, what they eat for
breakfast if necessary.  See if you can get a position on the "inside." 
If you have to, talk to Frohike or Byer at the Lone Gunman.  They can get
you an ID and forged credentials faster than the Bureau.  Meanwhile, I'll
work on it from this end...meet Vestor Lab's *newest* guinea pig."

Without warning, she reached up suddenly and snatched the glasses from his
face before he could move to stop her.

"Jesus Christ, Mulder," she stared in shock.  "That did *not* come from a
damn fall and you know it.  What the hell *really* happened?"

"OK...I guess, I kinda got mugged, " he rasped, stifling a cough.

"*Kinda?  I'd say from the looks of that....it was *definite* not
*kinda*... You need to get medical attention.  That's a nasty cut."

"It'll have to wait.  This is important and I have a feeling we're running
out of time."

"Do you realize what kind of infection you could get in this filth with an
open wound?"

"I'll be careful," he replied dryly.

"You mean like you were about getting mugged?"  she fired back
belligerently.

"OK, fine..give me a band aid.  Look I'm sorry, I'll take care of it when
I get the time....it's been an *experience.*"

"No, *I'm* sorry.  I didn't mean to snap at you, it's just that you worry
the hell out of me sometimes and I don't like the feeling."  She stepped
forward to embrace him but when he
retreated from her a couple of steps, she glimpsed at him in confused
surprise.

"Uh Dana, Hey I'm pretty *ripe* right now," he ventured in a flustered
tone.  "Maybe you might want a rain check on the hug. At this point, I'm
beginning to gross *myself* out," he commented wryly as he ran his hand
over the stubble on his face.

She inched her way toward him, casually sniffing the air...".Fee, Fi, Fo,
Fum,"....she looked seductively into his eyes....".look out Mulder, here I
come."  She slid her arms around him in a comforting embrace and softly
kissed his swollen lips.  There was something persistently satisfying in
having him here, *safely* locked in her arms.... out of harm's way and she
secretly wished that she could keep him that way indefinitely, but knowing
that to be an impossibility, she settled for times like these to get her
through.

"You're right," she said ruefully, "You stink. After this is over, You're
definitely gonna need a sound scrubbing, so make sure you come back in one
piece....It's only fun, if your alive to enjoy it."  She squeezed him
tightly and though the pressure caused his ribs to explode in pain, he hid
the grimace on his face in her hair and rested his cheek on top of her
head.

"I'll be careful...I promise, but I have to do this."

"I know.  I'll hold up my end, get the information and hope the Lone
Gunman are as good at their job as you think they are." 

He gazed at her longingly with his good eye and shuddered.  He didn't want
to return to the cold, lonely darkness, but that's where he was needed, so
that's where he had to go.

"Gotta go," he muttered reluctantly.  "Gotta get back before sunset."  He
felt his face gingerly and stated in a droll tone, "being a creature of
the night has some real drawbacks in this area.  Oh, Dana, can you loan me
a few bucks.  Since my involuntary donation to the local gang population,
I seem to be without funds."

She eyed him with concern.  "When's the last time you ate?"

"I had a couple bites of a hot dog last night before I threw them back up
about twenty minutes later in an alley.  Why?"

"Just eat something....odds are ten to one, your blood sugar levels have
taken a nose-dive...don't think that I don't know why you eat those damn
seeds all the time.  Speaking of which....." She pulled a bag of sunflower
seeds from her coat pocket and handed them to him.  "Ragman says he
doesn't mind sharing either," she quipped with a mischievous grin.

"What a bird," he replied in mock admiration and chuckled softly.

He took her small hand delicately within his own and squeezed gently, then
turned and limped slowly down the street.  She stood and watched his
retreating form until he was no longer visible.  God, she didn't want him
to go back there.

Upon returning to the office, she began her investigation concerning
"Vestor Laboratories" and soon discovered that it was a virtual maze of
dead ends, dummy corporations, and multiple ownerships of questionable
validity that were shrouded in secrecy.  What had they stumbled into this
time?  She called in favors and finagled unauthorized information and
still had only narrowed it down to four possible parent companies.  She'd
taken it as far as she knew how.  It was time to enlist some unauthorized
and in her opinion, unorthodox help.  She finally relented and called
Frohike at the Lone Gunman.  

They  seemed quite happy to hear from her and after hearing of her
predicament, actually appeared to be ecstatic over what was for them a
chance at a new and challenging contest of wit and hardware.  Geez, they
were an odd lot, but they were geniuses at whatever it was they did and
they took information gathering to a higher level than anything that the
Bureau could even hope for.  She observed in amazement as they hacked
their way into protected computer systems, forbidden files, and denied
accesses, untill finally they narrowed down the electronic paper trail to
its source.

Vestor Labs was in reality a research facility solely funded by
questionable secret factions within the US government and was conducting
experiments in "variant biogenetic cloning."  What was meant by "variant,"
she wasn't exactly sure, but if it was buried this far underground, it
couldn't be anything good.

They hacked their way into the "company" personnel files and added Dana's
fictitious name and profile, then assigned her as physician in charge of
incoming applicants, relocating the existing physician to another
facility, then provided her with the necessary ID and credentials.  My
God, she thought, on the wrong side of the law these guys could be deadly.
 She thanked them for their help and went home to spend a restless evening
of speculation, resulting in a nearly sleepless night.

Mulder made it back to the camp just before the sun dipped below the
horizon.  He'd been afraid that he wouldn't make it in time because he'd
stopped along the way to buy a couple cans of soup.  Oh..well, that was
brilliant, Mulder, you got the soup...now all you have to do is figure out
a way to get the damn things open.  He got out his pocket knife and after
fifteen minutes of struggling, finally managed to open the cans and pour
the contents into the pot in the fire as he poked up the flames with a
stick.

Surveying the camp, he was astounded at the variety of people who were
forced to reside here.  About a hundred yards away from him was a woman
living in an abandoned car with her two young daughters.  The children, he
thought angrily to himself.  This was an injustice to them and to the
future of humanity....They should be worrying about school, tests, and
what games to play, not where they would find their next meal, how to stay
warm, or who to fear.  He made a decision that at least tonight, they
wouldn't have to worry.  As a lone figure observed him from the shadows,
Mulder rose from his seated position, crossed the compound to the car,
removed his coat and placed it around the children's' shoulders, then left
the soup he'd made with their mother.  He returned to his spot, leaned his
back up against a cement support, with his knees up under his chin and his
arms wrapped around his legs and let his head drop down to doze off into a
restless sleep.

Upon waking the next morning, he found himself wrapped in an old blanket,
with a steaming cup of the strange amber- colored tea by his side.  He
smelled its sweetness and drank it thirstily as if it contained life
itself.  It warmed him throughout and seemed to breathe new life into his
tired, aching body....what was in this stuff?  He suddenly realized that
he hadn't eaten in over two days and the headaches and bad temper that
usually accompanied a missed meal or two were pointedly absent
now.....That's really weird, he thought absently.

"How are you feeling this fine morning, Ian my boy," the voiced boomed
beside him as he started and dropped the empty cup to the ground.  Lord, I
wish he'd stop doing that...Where in the hell did he come from this time?

"I'm feeling pretty good.  Thanks, Doc."

"You looked a little chilled last night so I loaned you a blanket.  Lose
your coat?"

"Not exactly.  Let's just say someone else needed it more than I did."

"Still bent on seeing those "Vestor Labs" people, eh?"  he asked, seeing
the card in Mulder's hand.

"Yeah, I have to Doc....It's not the money.  I really can't explain it
right now."

"I understand completely, but do be careful."  Doc handed him a mirror,
and a sealed Bic razor.  "Can't help you with the shaving cream, guess
you'll just have to use plain soap."

"Hey Doc, than....ks.."  Where'd he go?  This was becoming too damn
"spooky" even for him.  Well, never look a gift horse...He peered at his
reflection.  At least his eye and lip were almost normal in appearance now
except for the bruises so he soaped up his face and very carefully removed
two days worth of stubble.

Scully entered the sterile looking building and signed in on the log. 
She'd discovered earlier this morning that her duties included giving
physicals to new applicants and this would be her tenth one since lunch. 
She ambled into the examination room to discover it occupied by one lone
figure.  This form however, was not a stranger, for she was more than a
little familiar with the profile and the carriage of the man in the room. 
She smiled with a certain wicked glee, for she knew that there was a part
of this exam that he wasn't gonna like at all.

"Good afternoon Mr.....,McLeod?"  

He turned in stunned surprise at hearing her voice.  Frohike and the guys
had outdone themselves this time.  He thought that they'd be able to get
her in as a research assistant or something, but as attending physician? 
Jesus, those guys had balls.  He'd really have to commend them when he got
out of this mess.

My name is Dr. Erickson and I'll be conducting your physical today." she
said in a normal tone, then under her breath added, "Mulder, I don't know
exactly what we've gotten into this time but whatever it is, it's big" 
Raising her voice again she ordered with authority, "Please remove your
clothing and put on this hospital gown."  She handed him the gown, which
he eyed with particular loathing.

"Do I have to?"

"Yes," she hissed from between her teeth.

He disrobed, put on the gown and sat down heavily on the exam table.

"Ask me to cough and we're gonna fight," he told her testily.  "OK,
*Doctor,* now what?"

"Now, you get a physical, that's what."  She had him where she wanted him
and she wasn't about to let him weasel out of it this time.  She'd
*wanted* to check him out yesterday when she'd seen the condition of his
face but he'd been elusive and she'd missed her chance....not this time,
Sherlock.

She lowered the gown to just below his waist and gasped at the ugly purple
discoloration that stretched from the middle of his ribcage to the middle
of his abdomen.

"Why didn't you tell me about this yesterday?" she whispered angrily.

"Because there was nothing you could do about it and I didn't want you to
worry, " he rasped quietly.

She continued the exam and was not at all happy with her findings.

"How'd I do?"

"Your blood pressure is almost as non-existent as your blood sugar levels,
you  probably have several cracked ribs, there's fluid in your lungs, and
you're on your way to becoming dehydrated.  Otherwise, you're as healthy
as a horse.  You still haven't eaten, have you?"

"No, well, I was going to and something came up and I didn't get a chance
to, so ...."

"According to your physical, you should be passed out on the floor and I
personally can't see how you're able to stand on your feet."

"That good, huh?"  He managed a lop-sided grin.  "I feel just fine...am I
done now?"

"Not quite." she said pursing her lips.

"They need a sample."  She made a small snorting sound under her breath.

"I already went," he replied warily.

"Not that kind of sample."

"I give..what kind of sample are we talking about?"

She raised herself up on tip-toes and whispered in his ear.

"They want *what*?"  His voice cracked as his face turned a bright beet
red. "No, way...you're kidding, right?"

She slowly shook her head no and tried unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh,
for the look on his face was priceless.  She explained in a hushed
whisper, "read the report I'm going to give you...when you find out what
kind of research these people really conduct, it'll make sense."

"This is *WAY* above  and beyond the call of duty," he whispered through
clenched teeth.

"I'm sure you can "rise" to the occasion," she gasped, barely able to
contain the laughter that was stuck in her throat.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Not at all..."  She placed her hand over her mouth and stifled another
laugh converting it into a fake cough in an effort to recover.

He bent over and brushed his lips past her ear and commented in a very
hushed voice, "at least give me some *inspiration*," then in a
semi-leering tone, "talk dirty to me, Scully...."  She pulled him down and
spoke into his other ear.  His eyes took on an unnatural sparkle as both
eyebrows climbed upward beneath the persistent stray hair, while his face
took on a puzzled expression of disbelief.

"You can do that?"  he asked dubiously.

She gave her head an affirmative nod as he closed the door to the
lavatory.

He emerged from the room several minutes later and headed toward the pile
of clothes on the chair across the room.  "Can I get dressed now?" he
grumbled.

"Sure...where is it?"

"*It* is in there, right next to  a card that says, 'thinking of you,'" he
snickered.

"You tell anyone about this and I'll change my name and move to
Pittsburgh."

Dana handed him all the information that she had gathered thus far, as he
pulled on the rest of his clothes.  She grasped his elbow as he turned to
leave.."be careful and EAT something.  There's a small diner about two
blocks away from here....pay it a visit."  He smiled wistfully and walked
down the hallway toward the exit.  One large and two small forms watched
him from the shadows.

Since he was her last scheduled appointment for the day, Dana gathered her
things together, logged out and drove home to what she hoped would be an
uneventful evening.  She need time to catch her breath and interpret the
information she'd discovered.  That "time" was not forthcoming, however,
for when she walked through her apartment door, she noticed her answering
machine was flashing wildly and demanding her attention.  Plopping down
heavily on the couch, she depressed the play button and immediately
recognized Byer's voice.

"Agent Scully, I hate to bother you but we have been digging into the
"matter at hand" and have uncovered some pertinent and unnerving
information that you absolutely must see.  It is imperative that you get
here as quickly as possible."  She bounded from the couch and sprinted for
the door.

Mulder eased into the little diner and sat in a booth at the back of the
room, hoping to blend in with the background.  He didn't want a repeat of
his last "diner disaster" so he just ordered dinner and tried to remain
low key.  Taking the reports Scully had given him out of his pockets, he
proceeded to follow their line of investigation to the research center and
its reason for existence:  "Variant Biogenetic Cloning."  Oh, that's just
wonderful, he pondered.  They're into biogenetic cloning and he just left
a healthy helping of *his* genetic material on their doorstep, so to
speak.
He hoped Scully had the presence of mind to destroy the sample after
running whatever tests she was required to run or he envisioned his life
becoming like a grade C sci fi movie with evil Mulder clones chasing his
ass from here to eternity.  Get a grip, Mulder, you're letting a
hypoglycemic haze turn your brain into a wellspring for incoherent 
thought.  Ok, snap out of it....biogenetic cloning, you understand...but
what is this "variant" shit all about?  Think damn it!!  Variant: 
different, disagreeing, diversified, irregular, unusual,
alien.....*ALIEN*?  Fuck...that's it.  A thousand different scenarios
flooded his mind and none of them had a happy ending.  His mind reeled. 
They've skipped injecting the alien DNA into adult subjects with pre
formed ethics and moral development and had found a way to clone it
directly into cloned human DNA within the reproductive structure itself. 
Oh God, they're crating their own hybrid beings from scratch, beings that
would have no predisposition of right or wrong.  They would only know what
they were taught...and he *knew* who their teachers would be.  What do you
get when you cross the inhuman strength and abilities of alien DNA with
the unstable psychosis of an Eve? Fucking Armageddon that's what.  Didn't
they fucking learn anything for the Leitchfield Experiments?  He knew what
they were doing, but *who* could he tell?  Who in the *fuck* would believe
him?
The waitress came with his food but he had completely lost his appetite
and in fact was fighting the urge to throw up, when he found himself
surrounded by several men in black suits.

"Come with us agent Mulder and don't try and make a scene."

Scully looked at he screen in disbelief.  How did these people get into
the facility's research files?  What she saw there was even *more* amazing
and horrifying...The were creating beings--alien/human beings and she had
been naive enough to believe she'd put an end to their experimentation
with the destruction of what she thought was their only alien tissue
source.  She'd obviously been mistaken.  Then another shocker......the
report was posted by Dr. Sally Kendrick.  My God, the "Eves" were back.

Frohike beamed with pride, "We also accessed their fax files, since it was
built into the computer...it was easy.  I thought that you might find this
of interest.  It's a request from the research facility to the FBI Bureau
records section, first for a fingerprint comparison and then for a
complete medical file on.....guess who?"

"I don't know, Frohike, why don't you tell me?"

"Our very own...Fox Mulder."

"Oh my God, we've gotta find Mulder.  They're on to him and he's in
danger."

"What do you mean, we?" asked Langly.

"Come on guys, I need your help.  They may have gotten to him already and
I can't look everywhere at once."

"What do you want us to do?" asked Byers.

"Two of you need to check out the Hobo encampment under the Harding Street
overpass; I need someone to keep an eye on the research center; and I need
someone to come with me to check out a hunch."

"Everyone synchronize your watches...cellular phones charged with spare
batteries...we have a "missing Mulder," our mission....find him.  Is
everybody ready? The Lone Gunmen ride again!!  Let's do it.

These people were just *too* weird.  This was all a game to them, at least
that's how it seemed.  Didn't they realize that this was a life or death
situation?  Jesus, they may be strange and quirky but they were all that
she had and they were willing to help.  She'd take what she could get.

Dana and Frohike went to the diner where she'd told Mulder to go eat.  The
waitress remembered him because he'd ordered but instead of eating, he'd
left with several strange looking men in black suits.  Frohike immediately
called the Harding Street team and told them to go to the research center
instead.  Dana prayed that her instincts were correct...it was the only
place she could think of that they could have taken him.

He struggled as the men forced him down the hallway and hurled him to the
floor of the examination room he'd been in earlier.  He tried to raise
himself up but  the effort was made more difficult by the fact that they
had bound his wrists together behind his back, so he sat where he was
instead.  The door to the room slowly opened once more and three familiar
people walked inside.

"Eve Eight, I presume, along with Cindy and Tina,"  he said acidly.

"What a commendable memory, agent Mulder."

"There's nothing commendable about it...I was born with it."

"Mr. Mulder, I don't mind saying that you've been a real pain in the ass
to us.  Do you know that?"

"I certainly hope so," he replied with loathing.

"And our research was progressing along so well with a steady
uninterrupted supply of guinea pigs.  You see, for the material we needed,
to be "usable," the oxygen levels and metabolic rates had to be "boosted,"
as it were.  Necessary for viable hybrid material, but unfortunately,
fatal for the donor--some things you just can't replicate in the lab.  By
the way, what tipped you off that these deaths were artificially induced? 
We took great pains to eliminate any evidence of foul play."

"The fact that there *was* no apparent reason for death and that the
occurrences only affected one group of people in a contained area."

"We were doing the country a service by ridding the streets of the human
refuse that burdened the system.  No one would miss them...why did you
care?"

"These people were human beings....with the same hopes and dreams as
anyone else...One of the "human refuse" was my friend."

"You should choose your friends more carefully.  You know the girls were
quite upset with you for turning them in.  Where they were sent was not a
nice place, you know."

The twins stepped forward, smiled at each other and then at him.

"You can't die the same way as the others," Tina informed him.

"It would look too suspicious," remarked Cindy.

Eve Eight threw his medical file onto the floor before him.

"How did you get that?" he asked suspiciously.

"I have contacts in high places,"  she laughed, not quite sanely.

Tina and Cindy stared at him with evil, conspiring eyes.

"You don't like to eat shellfish, do you agent Mulder?"  The twins spoke
in unison.

"Not particularly," he answered warily.

"They make you pretty sick, don't they?" said Cindy.

Tina chimed in, "In fact, they make you so sick, that if you don't get
medicine right away, you could die, couldn't you?"

His answer to them was a cold seething stare of contempt.

Eve Eight stepped forward with a hypodermic full of a thick, milky
substance.

"Do you know what this is Mr. Mulder?"

He backed up against the table and nodded his head negatively.

"It's called "mucopolysacharides" and it's sometimes used in the treatment
of arthritis, but it's also know as concentrated green lip mussel....a
very powerful shellfish concentrate.  It's a painful shot, but extremely
effective."

The men came forward in a rush and held him to the floor as she injected
him through his clothing.  He lay motionless for several minutes as a
liquid fire seemed to devour him from within.  An old fear gripped him as
a childhood memory filled his mind.  He sucked in air but expelled it with
a pitiful wheeze.  Mucous filled his lungs and throat and no amount of
coughing could dislodge it.  He sucked in another breath but again could
not release the stale air  that was already trapped in his lungs. 
Gasping, he tried to cough but found himself drowning in his own body's
fluids.

The room went black.  He didn't know if the lights went out or if he was
dying.  He felt himself gently being lifted and carried away.

Scully and the Lone Gunmen began to advance toward the building.  She
wasn't certain how they would get inside but she couldn't just stand here
and do nothing.  They began to quicken their steps forward when Dana
perceived movement on the ground just ahead of her.  A voice yelled for
her to stay back from the building and they all froze as the structure
disintegrated into a huge fireball that lit up the sky for miles, while a
singular small shadow fled into the night.

A strange little man bent protectively over Mulder as he lay gasping on
the ground.

"Doctor Scully, I believe he is in immediate need of this medication."  He
handed her a syringe.

"What is it?" she asked distrustfully.

"Ephenephrine.... Please ...I would not harm him."

She bent over and shone the flashlight on Mulder's face.

"Jesus, he's cyanotic."  She grabbed the syringe and administered the
medication.  His breathing slowly eased into a normal rhythm, his cheeks
began to regain some color and his lungs and air passages started to
clear.  He sat up carefully and coughed raggedly.

Dr. Jay...What are y... I mean, how did you get here?"

Think of me as a bioethic policeman---Experimentation on intelligent life
forms is expressly forbidden and those who choose to disobey are severely
punished.  We were very pleased with your performance in this matter and
yours as well Dr. Scully.  Perhaps we shall meet again under more pleasant
circumstances, Fox."

"How did you know my name and who are w.....e?"

They both looked up to find that the little man had disappeared into the
darkness.

"Dana, did you see him?" he asked hopefully.

"Yeah, I saw him."

"Good, I was beginning to think he was a figment of my imagination."

She and Frohike helped him to his feet.

"What happened to you?"

"Asthma."

"You never told me you had asthma---"

"I don't.... usually, at least not since I was ten.  I'm just violently
allergic to shellfish."

"The lab was destroyed," she said with infinite satisfaction...."and
hopefully, the research with it."

"Somehow, I've got the feeling that Doc had something to do with that."

"It's ironic."

"What?"

"The same substance that killed all those people....saved your life.  Are
you sure you don't want to go to the hospital?"

"No, I'll be fine with a little food and a real long nap."

They arrived at her apartment late, turned on the lights and found a large
thermos placed in the middle of her dining room table with a note
attached.  "Fox, drink this tea.....I guarantee you'll feel much better,
Doc."

"Wonder how he knew I'd come here?"

"Lucky guess," she said with one eyebrow raised.  She went into the
bathroom and turned on the tap.  He heard the water running as he sat down
at the table and guzzled a cup full of the amber liquid.  It's
rejuvenating qualities were incredible.

"Hey Scully," he shouted, "think you can get this tea analyzed?  I feel
like I could run a marathon."

"Mulder, " she yelled back, "Come here."

He walked into the bathroom.

"What's the matter?"

"You *STINK*."

A huge splash resounded throughout the apartment as the faint sound of
laughter echoed off the walls and hung in the air.

Somewhere  in time, Rose Bellmen smiled in approval.........

When living leaves my pride bruised up
I'm fragile as a feather
The storms of life just won't let up
You're like a change in weather
When dust settles on my dreams
You wash them clean
Like a warm spring rain
On the roof above
The way you call my name
When we make love 
While the world outside my window
Goes insane
You're here to remind me
A few good things remain
Kathy Matea---

                                                                FINE